Summer screamed with cicadas while they ghosted through Water Country's border jungles, scrapping with rogue ninjas who fought dirty and died uglier.
Crimson crystal and bone-chilling ice danced under blazing sun or cold-ass moonlight—every clash a fireworks show of death and dazzle.
Each real fight welded the trio tighter; combat XP stacked like crypto in a bull run.
Fall hit with maple leaves on fire. They'd chill on the veranda of some ryokan hot-spring joint, sipping tea, eyeballing the flaming hills, plotting the next lick and target pick.
Mei "just happened" to stroll by—dropping fresh intel, supplies, and extra probing questions about Makoto's backstory and endgame.
Makoto? Grinning, flirting on the razor's edge—come closer, babe—but the second she leaned in, his vibe screamed TOUCH ME AND DIE. Her gut said bad idea. So they stayed at spicy banter, zero skin.
Kid was a walking fog bank—the closer you got, the less you saw.
Winter steamed in with onsen bliss. They soaked the grind away, half-joking, half-serious about a future that sounded dope but stayed blurry.
White's ice game went surgical. Red Lotus's crystals? Bigger, harder, meaner. Both leveled up hard in the downtime.
Makoto? Lightning still crackling off him 24/7—pushing limits like a madman.
Half a year flew by in sweat, blood, and the occasional "tax collection" on scumbags.
Red Lotus and White weren't babysitting cases anymore. Full-on killers. Talent → straight murder stats.
Night dropped over a misty town near Kiri. Top floor of a bougie ryokan—Makoto at the window, staring at Hidden Mist's silhouette through fog and dark.
Just wrapped daily training. Gold-tinted player HUD only he could see: Naruto World Online.
Scanned Player Inventory—balance so fat it gave him a semi.
Half-year hustle? Chef's kiss. Wiped rogue dens, black-on-black hits—war chest ready to juice his build again.
Lightning Chakra Mode? Mastered. Tweaked to his specs.
With Uchiha brains, mid-tier Hashirama blood (chakra + HP on god mode), and Honsuto Makoto physique? He speedran what Raikages grind decades for.
Tell the ninja world? Every "genius" would rage-quit.
Somewhere in Konoha, Uchiha Haruto—grinding taijutsu—sneezed his ass off. Who's talking shit?
Makoto smirked. "Fourth Raikage finds out? Instant redline—'THIS AIN'T NINJUTSU!'"
Cheat once, feel nice. Cheat forever? Orgasmic.
Player shop? Loaded up on lightning scrolls—common, rare, stolen Kumo classics.
Blue-sky thinking + anime brain + tanky body = custom lightning jutsu nobody's ready for.
Self-made ninjutsu? Sure. But slow, low ROI. Remix existing? Max efficiency.
Makoto's creed: Every second, every ryo—must ROI.
Mei as temp "partner" (and black-ops umbrella)? Harvest insane.
Wings fattening. Time to plot the next arc.
Or… time to bounce back to Konoha.
Makoto stretched, decided: Onsen first, scheme later.
Private backyard spring—bamboo screens, fake rocks, zen AF.
Hot water gurgled from stone beast mouths. Steam curled like stripper smoke under yellow lanterns.
He sank in, back against smooth slate, eyes shut—every knot melting.
Dead quiet. Just water trickle, snow-drip, and the occasional frozen bug chirp.
Knock knock. Barely there.
Makoto's eyes cracked. Shadow on the shoji—curvy, shy, teenage perfection.
Tiny shuffle. Then—soft, shaky, hopeful:
"U-um… can I come in?"
Red Lotus. Voice lower, fluffier—ear-tickling.
Makoto's lip twitched. Birthday girl's feeling bold.
"Come on in."
Dead air. Water gurgle. Snow plink. Fingernails scraping wood—nervous as hell.
Red Lotus at the door—brain blue-screen. Push or step first?
She'd bathed with him before—servant duties, side-sleeping, whatever. Excuse to stay close after catching feelings.
But tonight? After the cozy birthday he threw? She wanted extra credit.
Heart vs. shy: FIGHT.
Finally—shoji slid. Tiny creak.
First glimpse: smooth calf, glowing under lantern. Bare foot—ankle dainty, toes pearl-cute, curled from nerves or cold stone. Pink flush.
Paused in the steam cloud. Then—commit.
Door wide.
Girl in nothing but a white towel. Misty, ethereal—like an ink-painting sprite stepped out dripping.