The heartland of the Land of Fire was already warm with early summer heat. On both sides of the main road leading to Konoha, the woods were dense and vibrant, and cicadas chirped nonstop. After a long journey, Tsunade's group finally entered familiar territory. Relief could be seen on the faces of the wounded and their escorts, they were almost home.
Their journey passed through several bustling towns that served as rest stops. Every time the horses' hooves tapped onto the bluestone streets lined with shops and stalls, a faint but unmistakable ripple would pass through Tsunade's seemingly composed eyes. The gambling dens, which she hadn't touched in over a year, were like hooks embedded in her heart. As soon as she stepped into these familiar towns, those buried urges tugged at her.
"Nawaki, pick up the pace. Let's reach the next rest stop before dark." Tsunade's voice was calm, her tone brisk as always. Nawaki responded promptly, directing the team with energy.
Mikoto rode alongside Ryo, her gaze drifting softly over the passing streets. Ryo remained calm, scanning his surroundings with vigilance to ensure safety. The team arrived at a spacious inn under the escort of guards and quickly arranged accommodations for the wounded.
Once things settled, Tsunade began her "persuasion." She explained to Nawaki, Mikoto, and even to thin air, as if talking to herself, "To convince those old fossils in Konoha, I need to relax a bit. Get some… inspiration." Her steps unconsciously led her to the bright, bustling building at the end of the street—a casino.
They were still within the Land of Fire, and with someone like Ryo standing guard, there was no need to worry too much about safety. Besides, this was just to "clear her head." She gave herself mental approval.
But casinos don't bring inspiration. They bring ruin. Within minutes of stepping into the world of dice and chips, the money Tsunade had been carrying vanished. Her attempt at finding "inspiration" had only fed the tables. When she stumbled out of the doors, the night was deep, and the street carried the smoky scent of izakaya.
Losing had its consequences. Tsunade didn't hesitate. She walked straight to where Nawaki was eating a late-night snack with the guards.
"Nawaki," her voice was slightly slurred from alcohol, but the command in it was unmistakable, "lend me some money."
Nawaki's hand froze just as he reached for a rice ball. He instinctively shielded his pouch. "Sis… not again… I don't have—" It was useless. Tsunade's hand moved like lightning. He only felt his fingers go light. His carefully saved allowance, meant for blueprints and tool upgrades, was already in her pale but firm grasp.
"I'll pay you back." She tossed out the promise casually as she turned and headed toward a nearby izakaya glowing with a red lantern and the aroma of sake.
Nawaki watched her figure disappear down the street, then sighed and took a quiet bite of his rice ball. He was used to it.
Alcohol, too, numbs the heart. Tsunade returned deep into the night, soaked in the scent of sake. Her steps were unsteady, her vision blurred. But with the balance of a shinobi, she found her way to the inn entrance with ease.
The night guard rushed to help her. She waved him off.
The issue now was her empty purse. She'd lost even the money meant for lodging. The corridor stretched dim and quiet. Tsunade stood in the lobby, trying hard to recall Mikoto's room number. But her mind was fogged by alcohol.
Nawaki? He was probably still sulking.
Mikoto? Where was her room again?
Her instincts, dulled but not dead, expanded outward. Amid the various chakra signatures, there was one she recognized best. That presence was steady, familiar, and strong.
Tsunade smiled and wobbled toward it, step by step, until she arrived at Ryo's door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the corridor.
The door creaked open, and Ryo appeared in a loose robe. His expression was calm, his eyes clear.
"Something wrong?" His voice was low, steady.
Tsunade leaned against the doorframe, mumbling, "Nowhere else."
Ryo glanced at the drunken Sannin. His brow furrowed slightly. Waking Mikoto or calling the staff at this hour didn't seem wise. He paused, then nodded.
"Come in."
The room was small and simple. One bed. One armchair by the wall.
"You take the sofa tonight." Ryo pointed at the armchair without hesitation. There was no debate.
Letting Tsunade sleep on the bed while he slept on the floor? Not happening. To Ryo, she was Tsunade-hime—a comrade who could punch a Jōnin into the dirt and drink a crate of sake without flinching. She could handle a sofa.
"The sofa… alright…" Tsunade mumbled and collapsed onto it. Her breathing deepened almost instantly.
Ryo ignored her and lay back on the bed. For someone used to life-or-death vigilance, a stranger's presence in the room would normally trigger his instincts. But Tsunade was familiar. Her chakra, her scent, even her drunken sloppiness, all blended into the usual background. No danger here.
Fatigue pulled him into sleep.
Moonlight poured through the paper window, casting a faint glow. The room was quiet, only the sound of breathing remained.
Time passed. Then, the figure on the sofa stirred.
Maybe the sofa was too small. Maybe it was the midnight chill. Or maybe it was just muscle memory in a drunken haze. Tsunade got up, wandered to the bed, lifted the blanket, and climbed in beside Ryo without a sound.
She adjusted herself and quickly returned to sleep. Ryo, dead asleep, didn't stir.
Until the edge of dawn.
In his sleep, Ryo felt the warmth beside him. His body reacted out of habit. Living with Kushina had built a subconscious routine. Half-asleep, he reached out.
His arm moved. Instinctively, searching for the warmth it remembered.
But what he touched wasn't a small figure.
It was… soft.
Full.
Resilient.
His hand jerked.
This wasn't Kushina.
This was—
His eyes snapped open. His instincts flared like a kunai thrown in the dark. His arm recoiled instantly, and his body shot backward with reflexive precision.
His heart pounded.
"You done copping a feel?"
A voice whispered beside him.
Tsunade's voice. Calm. Too calm. Dangerously calm.
Her amber eyes met his. A mix of fury, shock, and something else swirled in them. Shame. Maybe even vulnerability. Her expression was cold, her voice even colder.
It was the quiet before the storm.
Ryo's brain kicked into overdrive. Defend himself? Say it was a dream? Pretend nothing happened?
All useless.
Trying to explain would only make it worse.
He suddenly sat up, his tone righteous and sharp.
"Not my fault! You're the one who climbed into my bed!"
"You—Get out!"
Tsunade's face went crimson. Her voice cracked, trembling with humiliation and rage. Her mind knew it wasn't entirely Ryo's fault. She had drunk. She had crawled into his bed. But the shock and embarrassment left her no room for logic.
She needed space. Time. Quiet. Anything to stop the chaos in her mind.
She pointed at the door.
"Out!"
"Fine!"
Ryo was ready for that.
He rolled off the bed, grabbed the handle, and left in one swift motion. He didn't look back.
Then.
From behind the door, a voice.
Not angry. Not loud. But crisp and haunting.
"So, how did it feel?"
The voice pierced the silence like a kunai.
Ryo froze. His mind blanked.
This voice wasn't the furious Tsunade from moments ago. It sounded calm.
And without thinking, without any filter, his traitorous mouth replied.
"Quite soft, actually."
(To be continued.)
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