Karura sat close beside Rasa, a gentle smile gracing her face.
The two were so near that not even a finger could slip between them.
Rasa had no idea how it came to this.
Everything had seemed normal since Yasha Rei entered the kitchen a few minutes earlier.
He had greeted Karura politely.
And when Karura sat on the sofa next to him, the atmosphere had become warm and relaxed.
But somewhere along the way, things shifted.
Karura kept inching closer, until she was pressed against him.
At first, Rasa didn't notice.
He trusted Karura, so he hadn't paid much attention to her movements.
Besides, the mood had felt easy—almost like when he was with Pakura, though still a little different.
But as her fragrance grew stronger and her voice came nearer, he realized too late what was happening.
By now, Rasa was pressed into the corner of the sofa.
He felt the soft, yielding curves of Karura's body against his, and the faint perfume rising from her skin.
Rasa was a different man in dreams than in reality.
If this had been a dream—
He might have thought for a moment, then thrown himself at her, just as he once did with Tsunade.
But this was reality. Acting on impulse might feel good, but the consequences? He couldn't ignore them.
Still, the smile never left Karura's face.
Even though he said nothing, even though the air had turned awkward, she kept smiling brightly.
"Rasa, why are you sweating? Are you too hot?"
She suddenly acted as if she'd just noticed.
Karura reached into her collar and pulled out a folded white cloth, preparing to wipe his face.
Rasa blinked, startled.
When she tugged the cloth free, the generous curves beneath her conservative clothes bounced slightly with the motion.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Who keeps a handkerchief stuffed in there?
Is this real, or am I still dreaming?
Just as Karura leaned closer with the cloth, Rasa reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"Rasa, what's wrong?"
Karura's gentle eyes blinked at him in curiosity.
"Karura… what exactly are you doing?"
His rough palm tightened around her slender wrist, and he couldn't help but ask at last.
For a moment, Karura faltered. But she quickly smoothed her expression and answered with a soft smile:
"Isn't it obvious? I'm wiping your sweat."
Rasa had been single for over twenty years. Now that he'd asked, he wasn't about to let it go.
"Is that how you wipe sweat? Yesterday you did it normally. Are you under some kind of illusion?"
Her gentle mask cracked. She waved her hands quickly and protested:
"No, no! I read in a book that if I did it this way—"
"My boyfriend would feel happy. So I tried it. It's not an illusion!"
At last, Rasa understood.
He exhaled and relaxed.
"Don't do that again. It just feels strange."
Moments earlier, he'd actually been wondering if she was trapped in some genjutsu.
Part of him even worried his encounter with Tsunade had leaked, and that Konoha had sent someone after him.
It didn't make much sense, but the thought had crossed his mind.
"And what book told you this?"
"I'd like to see what kind of book teaches something so odd."
Karura's face flushed red. Instead of answering, she murmured shyly:
"So… you're admitting what I said just now?"
"Admitting what? Wait—boyfriend?"
Rasa repeated automatically, then paused in realization.
"Wait… you tricked me into this, didn't you?"
"Well, a boyfriend is a boyfriend," she said with a smile.
Rasa found himself smiling back.
He had planned to confess eventually, when the moment was right.
But Karura had taken the initiative.
That was fine by him.
He had no obsession with pride, no belief that men had to confess first.
And truthfully, he didn't mind her little tricks.
When Karura heard his response, she didn't answer—tears simply welled in her eyes.
Then she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.
"Yes… I did it on purpose."
"It's just… I'm an old maid. I've never been in love."
Her blushing face grew even redder as she said it, but she didn't stop.
"I was too scared to ask directly. What if you said no? But I didn't want to wait anymore, so I could only hint like this."
Rasa wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back, feeling the warmth of her delicate frame.
His heart was tangled with emotion.
He had never expected his first girlfriend to come to him this way.
He had always imagined it would be the result of his own heartfelt confession—
Or something born in the fires of battle, forged in trust and survival.
But maybe this wasn't so bad.
Maybe something simple was best.
Karura melted into his embrace, her back stroked gently by Rasa's hand.
But when he didn't say anything more, her sweetness turned into unease.
Only then did she realize what she had done.
Such behavior wasn't common—or even accepted—among men in the Sand Village.
The culture was conservative, old-fashioned.
Most men were proud, especially ninjas.
They wouldn't tolerate women making the first move, not even in love.
Her pale hands twisted in her lap, her eyes lowered. Her voice trembled:
"Why… why aren't you saying anything?"
"Do you hate me for being so forward? If you do, I'll apologize!"
She struggled faintly, as if to pull away.
"Who said I hated it? I was just thinking."
Rasa felt her movement and quickly stopped her, speaking with gentle amusement.
It seemed women in love always feared losing what they'd gained.
Especially someone like Karura, whose nature was soft and kind.
And she already cared deeply for him—her feelings magnified everything tenfold.
At his words, her brow eased, her restless heart finally settling.
Then Rasa remembered something and teased:
"You still haven't told me what book this was from."
A book that taught such behavior couldn't possibly be serious.
Even as he held her lightly, Karura's face glowed with joy.
Her eyes shone with love as she answered without hesitation:
"Icha Icha Paradise."
Rasa froze.
That title… so familiar, yet far too early.
It was only the 46th year of Konoha.
At this point, Jiraiya should only just be dreaming up such a book.
Even so, in front of his new girlfriend, Rasa asked bluntly:
"I've never heard of it. Where did you buy it?"
He had many flaws.
But one strength was that he never put on airs.
He didn't bother with false dignity.
If he didn't know something, he asked—
Even in front of the woman who had just become his girlfriend.
...
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