She shouldn't have gone to the hospital again, at least not so soon after her last visit. But she went anyway..
The moment her feet brought her near the pediatric wing, she told herself it was logical: she needed to blend in. Resume normal patterns. Appear grounded. She'd worked in this wing dozens of times before. But subtility was never my game.
The staff present there glanced when she arrived. One of the young nurse-chūnin offered her a weak smile and asked if she'd be overseeing the genin drills this week.
Tsunade nodded wordlessly and stepped inside.
The room was brighter than she remembered. Or maybe it was her eyes. Sunlight cut across the training mats. Dummy arms and torso models were lined up against the back wall — chakra-embedded wood meant to simulate battlefield injuries. Genin fumbled with gauze, chakra-thread, antiseptic scrolls.
One kid burned his own sleeve trying to cauterize an injury simulation. Another fainted during a pulse check.
She watched, arms crossed. Silent. Observant. Her mind cataloging every flaw.
Then a voice broke through the buzz.
"Hey, you wrapped it backwards! I told you, diagonal left, not right!"
It was high-pitched. Bright.
Familiar.
Tsunade's stomach tensed.
Slowly, as if turning her body to stone would stop time, she pivoted toward the far side of the training floor.
There he was.
Nawaki Senju.
Kneeling by a training dummy, sleeves rolled up, grinning like the idiot he'd been in every memory that haunted her.
His bandages were crooked. His hands too fast. He laughed when another boy tripped and fell face-first into a roll of gauze. Helped him up. Patted him on the shoulder.
And looked exactly like their father.
She watched. Enough with the sentimentality. I should just break his leg.. and marry him a ordinary wife who will feed him..
She shook her head, that unscarred, unbroken child — with the same fire in his eyes that one day made him think he could change the world before the world even knew his name.
Alive.
A hand touched her elbow.
"Tsunade-sama? You alright?"
She turned. Blinked once.
It was a nurse she didn't know — young, polite. Probably fresh from training.
"I'm fine," Tsunade said smoothly. "Headache. a little Low chakra."
"Oh—shall I have the medics take a look?"
"No." she shook her head.
She left before the nurse could ask again.
She didn't stop walking until she reached the old Konoha wall near the Senju pond.
She sat under a pine tree, pulled out a blank scroll from her robe, and began to write:
Project Nawaki
- No mission assignments until at least age 16
- Delay chūnin exam placement
- Fake performance reports: emphasize sloppiness
- Begin covert training in survival seals, defensive chakra reflex
She didn't cry.
She wrote.
And if by any chance, things don't go as I say, I'll just break his legs.. Hmph.. Who is going to stop me anyway.... Princess Tsunade Hime doesn't need to report to anyone
Head back. Eyes closed. Hands steady.
She whispered the name she couldn't say aloud earlier.
"Nawaki, Your sister will protect you this time"
The wind rustled through the leaves above her, and for the first time since waking up in the wrong body, Relief
Part 5 – "Not Again"
---------------------------
The Senju compound was still.
Even the koi pond didn't ripple (literally) — as if the water itself sensed that its caretaker wasn't quite who she used to be.
Tsunade sat cross-legged in the center of her childhood room. The same one she'd left behind the day Nawaki died.
She unrolled a blank scroll onto the floor. Slowly. Deliberately.
Her hand hovered over her kunai pouch. The blade felt familiar. Comforting, even.
She pricked her thumb — clean, efficient — and let the blood roll across the paper.
A mark.
She dipped the tip of her finger in the trail and began to draw.
One curve.
Then another.
A tight spiral, nested within a crescent.
Then six small dots around the edges.
The Ōtsutsuki clan mark.
She'd seen it carved into ancient stone.
Seen it pulsing behind Kaguya's eyes.
Seen it embedded in the flesh of a boy she once called Hokage.
These gods..... weren't gods.
They were parasites.
And humanity had been cultivated like livestock for generations. Atleast that was how things were supposed to go.
Tsunade looked down at the mark, red and fresh against parchment, and felt something twist inside her.
Disgust... Everything that every happened, everything thing that ever went wrong, they were behind it.
She folded the scroll neatly and tucked it into the hollow beneath the floorboards — the same place she used to hide candy as a child.
Her fingers brushed the wooden edge.
She stared at the empty space for a long time.
Then, to no one in particular, she spoke:
"We're not doing this again."
Her voice was calm. Steady. I'll definitely f**k her good
Sounded wrong in many ways, but Tsunade-hime was not one to speak lightly.
Outside, the village lights flickered on, one by one.
Need to visit Grandma Mito.....