Thanks so much for your support with the Power Stones! Here's the bonus chapter for hitting 100 PS, next bonus at 200 PS.
Also, a little side event: we're currently at 4 reviews. If we can reach 10 reviews, I'll drop 2 extra bonus chapters as well.
Enjoy the read xD!
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Ryo silently looked at the smiling face in front of him, then at the deep, long trench his slash had carved into the ground, and the wild boar carcass in the distance with half its hind leg cut off. A heavy sense of bewilderment washed over him.
What is this supposed to mean?
Just because I did not go to the Senju house for tea, you disguised yourself as Anbu, chased me into the Forest of Death, and "taught me a lesson"?
Is her brain wired wrong?
Ryo felt a herd of curses stampeding through his chest, but only squeezed out a dry line: "…Tsunade-sama?"
Tsunade seemed to completely miss the storm in his chest, or rather, she caught it and did not care.
She ignored the curves traced by her drenched combat uniform as she walked a few steps to stand before Ryo. She looked down at him, but her eyes were much gentler than during the fight, carrying the pickiness of someone satisfied with an inspection.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" She raised an eyebrow. A soft green light bloomed at her fingertips as she pressed precisely on his shoulder and arm grazed by a water blade.
Warm life energy poured in, and the small wounds visibly closed and scabbed. His sore, weak muscles felt as if a warm current had been injected, and his fatigue quickly receded.
Ryo's body recognized the technique at once, A-rank ninjutsu, Shōsen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique).
His tensed muscles relaxed a little on their own, but his guard and confusion did not drop at all.
"Tsk. Not badly injured, just too much consumption. This small body is still a bit weak." Tsunade finished the treatment, withdrew her hand, and patted it clean. Her movements were swift and decisive.
"Do not look at me like that, kid." She finally put away her mischievous smile, though a hint of teasing still lingered in her eyes. "You think I am so bored I ran over here just to beat you up and vent?"
Ryo pursed his lips and stared at her in silence.
The meaning in his eyes was clear. Otherwise?
"Phew." Tsunade wiped the rain from her face, then jerked her thumb at the boar carcass lying behind them. "Let's get this big guy back. I'm starving, and that fight took more out of me than I expected."
Her words carried the casual authority of someone used to giving orders, but there was no real malice in them—just straightforward bluntness.
Ryo: "…"
She raised a brow when he didn't immediately move. "Well? The rain's not letting up anytime soon. You planning to stand here until we're both drenched?"
Ryo took a steady breath, suppressing the urge to argue. He wasn't in top shape, and the last thing he needed was a drawn-out spat with a woman like Tsunade. Better to save his strength for something that actually mattered.
He stood up, forced down his body's protests, walked to the boar carcass, and hefted it up roughly.
Tsunade, meanwhile, casually carried the severed hind leg as if it weighed nothing.
She glanced at Ryo's strained movements, said nothing, and only raised her chin to indicate, "Lead the way."
Rain washed the forest path, leaving behind two silent sets of footprints.
Ryo carried the heavy boar, each step stamping deep into the mud.
The exhaustion in his body had been eased greatly by Tsunade's treatment, but the questions and frustration in his chest snowballed.
By the time they returned to his dilapidated house on the village outskirts, as simple as a shack, the rain had just stopped.
Ryo swung the boar off his shoulder with a clang onto the big bluestone in the yard that served as his chopping block, splashing mud and water.
He reversed his grip and stabbed the chipped, broken sword into the ground, then pushed open the creaking wooden door without a word.
Tsunade followed closely and walked in without ceremony.
The house was extremely simple, with almost no furniture. The most eye-catching things were a huge seasoning box, releasing all kinds of spice aromas, and a pile of homemade long meat skewers and baskets of smoked meat by the wall.
The air was full of firewood, dust, and spices. It was not pleasant, but for Ryo at that moment, it was the only place he could breathe. Though his safe haven had just been invaded.
"Tsk, poorer than I thought." Tsunade looked around without restraint, her gaze sweeping over a few yellowed ninja scrolls in the corner, then landing on the large seasoning box and the neatly stacked leaf-wrapped bundles beside it. "But you are pretty well equipped."
Ryo ignored her. He scooped a ladle of cold water from a chipped ceramic jar in the corner, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. Water slid down his increasingly defined jawline, washing off a trace of his ragged look.
The cold water pressed down the burn in his throat and the agitation in his chest.
He wiped his mouth, did not bother with greetings, and went straight to the big bluestone in the yard.
Konoha's night went quiet again.
Only the whistle of a blade through air and heavy chopping thuds broke the silence.
Moonlight slipped out from behind the clouds, illuminating the focused redhead in the yard.
Ryo rolled up his sleeves, revealing the clean muscle lines on his forearms. Young, but full of power.
The thick-backed cleaver felt weightless in his hands, driven with brutal efficiency.
Swish, swish, swish.
The blade flashed in the moonlight, flowing like water.
Thick hindquarter meat?
A swift chop, clean decomposition into stew-ready chunks, the crisp sound of bone separating from meat sharp and clear. Tough fascia was as fragile as paper under his knife.
Ribs with tender meat?
A precise slicing cut along the bone seam, the tip prying and turning, and evenly thick, snowflake-patterned slices scattered like petals into the rough ceramic basin.
Lean leg meat? Thin slices. The blade ran along the grain, each slice translucent and almost identical in size.
Tenderloin? Large cut. The knife swept in an arc to remove a complete strip.
Separating tendons. Deboning. Trimming fascia.
His movements were swift, precise, and dominant, every detail showing the skill of a seasoned butcher and a self-contained violent meat aesthetic.
The boar's massive body was systematically disassembled under his orderly hands, not an ounce wasted.
Sweat trickled from his forehead onto the cold stone slab. He did not seem to notice, his eyes fixed on the mountain of meat.
Tsunade leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, watching.
The scrutiny and playfulness in her gaze gradually faded, replaced by growing surprise and focus.
This kid's knife work, it is not just strength and speed. It is eyesight, prediction, an instinct in his bones, honed across countless cuts.
This is not cooking at all. It is another form of combat artistry.
The focus and confidence coming off his movements were more condensed and pure than many sword masters she had seen.
This kid had a terrifying sense of control.
When Ryo picked up the large ceramic basin, poured in a generous amount of coarse salt over the mountain of tender slices, then scattered dried chili flakes and various spice powders, and finally drizzled shimmering animal fat and thick miso, the dominant yet complex spicy aroma burst out at once.
Then he slipped on thick "gloves" made from bark and vines, and got to work.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
His powerful hands plunged into the meat, kneading, squeezing, and grabbing. Every motion carried raw power, making sure every piece was tightly coated with the thick spices and oil.
The air began to fill with a rich, mouthwatering aroma.
(To be continued.)
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