The first light of morning in the Land of Fire was a soft, gentle thing, a pale, watercolour wash of gold and rose that filtered through the paper of the shoji screen. It was a light that promised peace, a stark and beautiful contrast to the maelstrom of pain and dissolution that had been Rohan's last waking memory of his transit between worlds. He awoke not with a gasp, but with a slow, deliberate intake of breath, a conscious acknowledgment of existence.
Pain was the first reality. It was a deep, foundational ache, a dissonant chord playing in the symphony of his new body. The dimensional passage had been an act of unmaking, a brutal grinding between the gears of reality, and his form, for all its divine resilience, had been shattered. The God's Blood in his veins, a sluggish, golden river of life, had been working tirelessly through the night, stitching and mending, reweaving the tapestry of his being. He could feel it now, a slow, methodical restoration. He estimated his recovery at a quarter of the way complete; the agony had subsided into a vast and profound soreness, the brokenness replaced by a fragile, newly-minted wholeness.
He lay still, taking inventory. The futon beneath him was soft, the blanket light. The air smelled of clean linen, antiseptic herbs, and the faintest, lingering scent of a woman's perfume and sake. And beside him, a steady, rhythmic breathing. He turned his head, the movement a slow, careful negotiation with his protesting muscles.
Tsunade was there, slumped in a chair she had pulled beside his futon, asleep. Her head rested on her folded arms, her blonde hair spilling over the dark wood like molten gold. Even in sleep, a faint line of worry was etched between her brows. The formidable Godaime Hokage, reduced by exhaustion to a guardian at his bedside. A strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred in his chest. It was not fondness, not yet. It was… recognition.
And with that recognition, the fog in his mind began to part.
But the landscape it revealed was not the one he expected. The memories of Kolkata, of a small, cramped room in Roypara, of a loving but uncomprehending family, of a life of quiet desperation and otaku dreams… they were gone. Not just faded, but erased, as if they had belonged to another person in another lifetime, a story read and then forgotten. The emotional attachments, the anxieties, the very identity of Rohan Sarkar, the unemployed thirty-four-year-old from West Bengal, had been scoured away by the dimensional crucible. They were the price of passage.
In their place, a new set of memories bloomed, as clear and solid as if he had lived them his entire life. He remembered the history of this world. He remembered the Sage of Six Paths and the birth of Ninjutsu. He remembered the founding of Konohagakure by Hashirama and Madara. He remembered the Great Shinobi Wars, the faces of all the Kage, the intricate web of politics and blood feuds that defined this war-torn land. He looked at the sleeping woman beside him and saw not just a character from a story, but Tsunade Senju: granddaughter of the First Hokage, the world's greatest medical-nin, one of the Legendary Sannin, a woman haunted by the ghosts of her brother Nawaki and her lover Dan Katō, a gambler who had fled her past only to be dragged back to lead her village. He knew her. He understood her.
This world's memories were now his own.
But as this new history settled into place, another, deeper layer of memory unfurled beneath it, a truth far more profound. It was a memory of self, a core identity that had survived the crucible intact.
He was a newborn god.
The knowledge was as certain as the ache in his bones. He remembered his origin, not a place of geography and buildings, but a state of being: a Nexus of All Realities. A place or non-place from which all stories, all timelines, all possibilities could be observed. He remembered watching the endless, shimmering threads of fate, seeing the potential futures of countless worlds, including this one. He had seen the paths that lay before Naruto Uzumaki, before Sasuke Uchiha, before the woman sleeping beside him.
He remembered the feeling of being unattached, of being an observer for eons, and the sudden, overwhelming desire to participate. He remembered choosing to leave that Nexus, to forge a body and a soul and step into one of the stories. He remembered knowing there would be a cost to such an exit, a price for a conceptual being to incarnate, but he had been unaware of its severity, of the violent unmaking it would entail.
And finally, he remembered his System. The Supreme Divine Lottery. The eight impossible gifts. The God's Blood that was even now healing him. The Compass that pulsed gently in his heart. The Space Ring tattooed on his finger. The infinite supply of divine food. The Rokushiki mastery coiled in his muscles. The plugins waiting in his mind.
A strange duality settled over him. He was Rohan, a being with an innate, encyclopedic knowledge of the Naruto world, yet simultaneously, he was a nascent god, an outsider looking in, holding powers that could shatter the very foundations of this reality. He felt like an actor who had woken up on stage, not only knowing all his lines and the entire plot, but also remembering that he was the one who had written the play.
Tsunade stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her honey-gold eyes fluttered open, clouded with sleep for a moment before sharpening with startling intensity as they focused on him. She sat up straight, her professional mask sliding into place, but beneath it, Rohan could sense the possessive anxiety that had kept her by his side all night.
"You're awake," she stated, her voice a low rasp. She reached out, her hand hovering over his forehead, her palm glowing with the green light of diagnostic jutsu. "Your recovery rate is… absurd." She sounded more baffled than pleased. "Your cellular structure is regenerating at a pace that defies all logic. What are you?"
Rohan looked at her, his sky-blue eyes holding a depth of knowledge that had not been there the night before. He could have continued the amnesia charade, but his new memories gave him a better path. He could play a different role, one more suited to his new understanding of her.
"I… remember," he said, his voice a soft, melodic whisper. He let a carefully constructed look of wonder and confusion grace his beautiful features. "I remember this world. I remember you, Tsunade-sama. The Hokage."
Tsunade's eyes narrowed. The seal over his heart remained quiescent. He was speaking his truth. "You remember? Yesterday you had amnesia."
"The memories… they feel new. Like I'm reading a book I've always known," Rohan explained, weaving a tapestry of truth and misdirection. "I don't remember… before. A life before the pain. But I remember the Sage of Six Paths. I remember the Uchiha. I remember your grandfather."
Tsunade's suspicion warred with her medical curiosity. This was an unprecedented phenomenon. Retroactive memory implantation? Or something else entirely? But the more he spoke, the more she felt a primal, possessive thrill. He was a mystery, a beautiful, powerful enigma, and he was hers. His value grew with every revelation. An individual with no past allegiances but an innate knowledge of their world? That was a strategic asset beyond price.
"And what else do you remember?" she pressed, her voice softening, her hand moving from his forehead to gently cup his cheek. Her thumb stroked his impossibly smooth skin.
Rohan leaned into her touch, a submissive gesture that belied the cosmic power he held in reserve. "I remember that I was… alone. That I had no more attachments. And I chose to… leave. To come here. I didn't know the journey would break me."
Every word was the truth. The seal on his heart was a silent witness. Tsunade felt a wave of possessive triumph. He had no one. He had chosen, in some inexplicable way, to come here. He was a blank slate, a treasure that had fallen from the heavens directly into her hands. The loneliness that had been her constant companion for decades began to recede, replaced by a fierce, burning need to keep him, to protect him, to own him utterly.
But for now, there was the matter of his recovery. "You need to heal," she said, her tone shifting back to that of a medic. "At this rate, it will still take days for you to be fully mobile. You'll stay here. I'll have Shizune bring you meals."
Rohan shook his head gently. "Food… won't be necessary, Tsunade-sama. And your healing arts, as magnificent as they are, are not what my body needs." He paused, gathering his strength. "If I may… I need to meditate. To focus my own… energy. I believe I can heal myself much faster if I am left alone for a time."
Tsunade hesitated. Her instinct screamed at her to refuse, to keep him under her constant observation. But the look in his eyes was clear and confident, and the truth seal remained calm. More than that, this was a test. If she was to own him, she had to grant him the illusion of agency. She had to show trust, even as her heart hammered with the fear of him vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.
"Very well," she said, her voice tight. "I will have the room sealed. No one will disturb you. But I will be right outside." She stood, her gaze lingering on his face, a hungry, obsessive light in her honey-gold eyes. "Do not disappoint me."
She left, and Rohan heard the distinct sound of seals being activated outside his door. He was alone.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Now, for the real healing. Conventional methods were too slow. He had a universe of five-star cuisine at his disposal.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the fourth gift from his lottery. He thought of rich, life-giving food, of potent, restorative wine. A faint, shimmering light coalesced in the air before him. The sterile, herbal scent of the room was instantly overpowered by a wave of divine aromas. A lacquered tray materialized on the floor beside his futon. On it was a steaming steak from a Sea King, its juices sizzling, releasing a scent of rich spices and perfectly cooked meat. Beside it was a loaf of dark, warm bread that smelled of honey and herbs, and a crystal goblet filled with a shimmering, ruby-red wine that seemed to pulse with a gentle light.
The bounty from the world of One Piece. An infinite, eternal supply.
With great effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He took the goblet, the crystal cool against his fingers. The wine smelled of sun-drenched berries and pure, concentrated life. He took a sip.
The effect was instantaneous. The wine was not merely a liquid; it was a potent elixir. A wave of warmth and vitality washed through him, ten times more powerful than Tsunade's medical jutsu. He could feel the God's Blood in his veins surge, accelerating its work. The deep ache in his bones began to recede, replaced by a pleasant, tingling warmth. His cells drank in the potent life force, multiplying, mending, knitting him back together at a visible rate.
He ate the steak, each bite releasing a burst of flavour so intense it was almost overwhelming, and with each swallow, he felt his strength returning. The minor cuts and bruises on his skin vanished. The deep, internal damage began to mend. He was a divine engine, and this food was his fuel. He ate and drank, and with every passing minute, his recovery leaped forward. Twenty-five percent became forty. Forty became sixty. The pallor of his skin was replaced by a luminous, healthy glow. His movements, once stiff and painful, became fluid and graceful once more.
Outside the sealed room, Tsunade paced like a caged tigress. Her senses, honed by years of combat, were screaming at her. She could smell it. An impossible aroma, rich and decadent, seeping through the seals. It was no food she had ever encountered. It was a scent that made her own stomach rumble and her senses heighten. It smelled of power. Of life.
Her resolve broke. She couldn't wait. She had to see. With a single, silent hand sign, she created a tiny, almost imperceptible gap in the privacy seal, just enough to peer through.
What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
Rohan sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by an ethereal glow. The source of the divine aroma, a half-eaten meal, sat before him. But it was the change in him that was truly shocking. He was no longer the pale, injured creature she had left minutes ago. His skin was luminous, his posture elegant and strong. He was radiating an aura of vitality so potent she could almost taste it in the air. He was healing himself, not through meditation, but through consumption of impossible, miraculous food.
And in that moment, Tsunade understood.
The full, staggering weight of what he represented crashed down on her. He wasn't just a strategic asset with knowledge. He wasn't just a powerful healer. He was a source. A living, breathing miracle who could conjure sustenance from nothing. Sustenance that could heal the body and restore life force at an unbelievable rate.
She thought of the village's strained resources. Of the food shortages during wartime. Of shinobi dying from wounds that even she couldn't heal in time. He could solve it all. He could feed armies. He could save countless lives. He could make Konoha invincible. He could make her invincible.
Her possessiveness, already a powerful current, became a tidal wave. He was no longer just a desire, a fascination, a cure for her loneliness. He was a necessity. The single most valuable treasure in the entire world had fallen into her lap, and she would rather die, rather burn the world to the ground, than let anyone else have him.
With a thought, the door to the room slid open. Rohan looked up, his sky-blue eyes meeting her burning, honey-gold ones. He showed no surprise, only a calm, knowing acceptance.
Tsunade strode towards him, her movements filled with a hungry, predatory grace. She didn't speak. Words were inadequate for the storm of emotion raging within her. She knelt before him, her hands coming up to cup his face, her gaze devouring him.
"You," she breathed, the word a raw, possessive prayer. "You are mine."
And then her mouth was on his. It was not like the kiss from the night before, which had been an act of branding and exploration. This was an act of pure, unrestrained hunger. It was a relentless, desperate assault, a kiss that sought to consume him, to absorb his very essence into herself. Her lips were soft but firm, her tongue tangling with his, tasting the faint, sweet aftertaste of the divine wine.
She pushed him back against the futon, her body pressing down on his, a dominant, claiming weight. The kiss went on and on, deep and punishing, stealing his breath away. Rohan, his body now almost fully recovered but still new to such intense sensations, felt his head spin. The sheer, obsessive force of her passion was overwhelming. He was drowning in her, in the scent of her skin, in the desperate, hungry need that radiated from her in waves.
His lungs burned, his limbs grew weak, not from injury, but from the relentless, breath-stealing kiss. The world began to fade at the edges, his consciousness fraying under the force of her obsessive affection. Just as he felt he might pass out, she finally broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air. But it was only a momentary reprieve. Her lips found his again, and again, and again, each kiss a reaffirmation of her claim, a declaration of her endless, healthy, but terrifyingly obsessive hunger for him.
Trapped beneath the Hokage, lost in a whirlwind of passion and possession, Rohan's last reserves of energy gave out. The world dissolved into a soft, dark blur, his last conscious thought the feeling of Tsunade's lips on his, her fierce, possessive whisper echoing in the silence of his mind.
"Mine…"