The final rays of the setting sun saturated the Mist encampment, a place now littered with corpses.
The air was thick with the heavy, metallic stench of blood and the scorched ozone of dissipated chakra.
Saiki stood in the center of the ruins, his arm locked around Mei Terumi's waist, his gaze sweeping across the aftermath with a terrifyingly flat indifference.
Roughly three to four hundred Mist shinobi remained alive.
Most of them stood frozen in pools of their own kin's blood, their eyes hollow and vacant.
Their weapons lay scattered in the mud; they had lost both the strength and the courage to resist.
The Mizukage was dead.
The Seven Swordsmen were extinct.
The elite vanguard of their village had been butchered to the last man.
Against such an opponent, resistance was a joke.
Saiki's gaze finally settled on these survivors.
His eyes held no murderous intent, but they held no mercy either.
It was the look one gives to a pebble on the road or a weed crushed by the wind—objects entirely beneath notice.
To Mei, however, that look was a signal of impending genocide.
Is he going to... kill them all? The thought pierced her heart like a shard of ice, making her entire body go cold.
She had seen how Saiki killed—casual, detached, without a flicker of hesitation, as if he were merely brushing dust from his shoulder.
That was how Ao died. That was how Zabuza died. That was how the Swordsmen and the Mizukage perished.
And now, he was looking at the last few hundred.
"No..."
Mei found a surge of strength from somewhere deep within her despair. She whipped around in his hold, her hands clutching Saiki's waist with a desperate force.
She buried her face in his chest, her voice trembling with a raw, primal terror:
"Don't... I beg of you... do not kill them..."
Saiki looked down at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.
In truth, he hadn't planned on continuing the slaughter.
Killing was a tool for him, not a hobby.
The high-end combatants were gone; the Mizukage and the elite were erased. The war was effectively over.
Whether these Chunin and Genin lived or died would not change the strategic outcome.
He had only been looking at them to gauge the Mist's remaining potential for a counter-insurgency.
But in Mei's mind, that clinical appraisal was the prelude to a massacre.
"Please..." Mei looked up, tears carving tracks through the grime on her face, her emerald eyes shimmering with grief. "They have no fight left in them... spare them... I'm willing... I'll pay any price!"
Saiki remained silent, just watching her.
Taking his silence for coldness, Mei steeled her heart and offered the only thing she had left—a condition she never imagined she would ever utter:
"I... I can be yours! I'll be your woman! Your property! Anything... just let the rest of the Mist go!"
The words were whispered, yet they carried the weight of her entire dignity and courage.
Saiki arched an eyebrow.
He took a long, slow look at the girl—no, the young woman—in his arms.
Mei was the same age as him, fourteen.
But in the Shinobi world, girls matured early, and two years of brutal warfare had stripped away her childhood innocence, leaving behind the voluptuous allure of a mature woman.
Her auburn hair whipped in the sea breeze, and her exquisite features were made even more heart-wrenching by her tears. Her tall, shapely figure was perfectly outlined by her skin-tight Mist uniform.
She was, undeniably, a beauty.
And a proud one at that.
For such a woman to throw away her soul and offer herself as "property"...
Saiki suddenly found the situation quite entertaining.
He reached out and used his thumb to gently wipe a tear from her cheek. His touch was uncharacteristically tender.
"Are you certain?" he asked. "Do you understand what becoming my woman actually entails?"
Mei bit her lip so hard she drew blood, nodding fiercely. "I know... it means I no longer belong to the Mist. I no longer belong to myself. I belong only to you. Whatever you want... I will do."
Her eyes were full of humiliation, but deep within them was a spark of resolve—the willingness of a leader to sacrifice everything for her people.
Saiki looked into her eyes and suddenly smiled.
It wasn't his usual cold smirk; it was a playful, almost charming grin.
"You misunderstood," he said. "I never intended to kill them."
Mei froze.
"What... what did you say?"
"I said," Saiki repeated, "I had no intention of continuing the slaughter. These trash-mobs make no difference to me."
He paused, leaning close to her ear, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper:
"However... since you were so proactive in offering yourself, it would be rude of me to refuse such a generous gift, wouldn't it?"
Mei's face turned a violent shade of scarlet.
Shame, anger, and a crushing sense of regret flooded her mind.
I miscalculated. She had sold her soul, only to find the buyer was never going to take the lives she was trying to save in the first place.
What have I done?! "You... you bastard!" She raised a hand to strike him, but Saiki caught her wrist with effortless ease.
"Thinking of backing out?" Saiki smirked. "You said it yourself—'your property.' I accept the contract."
"I only said that because I thought you were—"
"It doesn't matter what you thought," Saiki interrupted, his tone turning absolute. "A woman must stand by her words. From this moment on, you are mine."
He pulled her waist tight, pressing their bodies flush against each other.
"As for the rest of you..." Saiki looked at the surviving Mist ninja, his voice calm yet resonating in every ear. "Take the bodies of your Mizukage and your Swordsmen and crawl back to the Land of Water. Tell your Elders the war is over. If you ever cross our borders again... I will personally go to your islands and erase the Hidden Mist from the map."
The threat was delivered softly, yet it made the survivors shiver with a bone-deep dread.
None of them doubted for a second that he could do it.
"Get out," Saiki finished.
As if granted a divine pardon, the surviving Mist ninjas scrambled to their feet. They hoisted the remains of their leaders and fled the camp in a panicked rout, not even daring to look back once.
Within minutes, the gargantuan encampment was empty, leaving only Saiki and Mei.
The sun had finally dipped below the sea, and the world grew dark.
The sea breeze turned cold.
Mei leaned against Saiki, her body trembling—though whether from the cold or the fear of her new master, it was hard to say.
Saiki released her and bent down to collect the spoils of war—Samehada, the Lightning Blades, and Hiramekarei—sealing them into a scroll.
Then, he took Mei's hand.
"Let's go," he said. "Back to the camp."
On the journey back, Saiki chose to walk along the coastline rather than fly.
He held Mei's hand firmly.
The moonlight glittered on the waves, and the sound of the surf rhythmically striking the reefs filled the air. The scent of blood still lingered, but the battlefield was fading behind them.
Mei followed him in a dazed silence.
His grip was neither tight nor loose, yet it felt like an unbreakable shackle.
It was the physical manifestation of his ownership.
After sending a clone back to the front lines with the news, they arrived at a hot spring inn built into a hillside.
In wartime, most establishments near the front were abandoned, but this one seemed to be operating—lanterns flickered at the gate, and shadows moved within.
"I'm tired," Saiki said suddenly. "We stay here tonight."
Mei had no voice to object.
They entered. The owner was a withered old woman who looked at Saiki's blade and Mei's Mist uniform with a flicker of terror before settling into a professional mask of neutrality.
In war, one saw many strange things. Survival meant asking no questions.
"One room. With a private bath," Saiki said, tossing down a stack of bills.
The old woman nodded and led them to a secluded wing—a classic washitsu room with tatami mats and paper doors. Outside, a bamboo fence enclosed a steaming open-air hot spring.
"Dinner?" the woman asked.
"Two portions. To the room," Saiki ordered.
Once they were alone, Saiki leaned his blade against the wall and sat on the tatami, looking at the Mei standing by the door.
"Come here."
Mei bit her lip and walked over but remained standing.
"Sit." Saiki patted the mat beside him.
Mei hesitated before kneeling in a formal posture, looking like a prisoner awaiting sentencing.
Saiki looked at her tense profile, then reached out and caught her chin, forcing her to face him.
"Remember," he said. "You are my woman now. Relax. I don't like seeing you this brittle."
Mei's lashes fluttered. "I... I don't know how to do this."
"Simple," Saiki said, leaning back against the wall. "Serve me."
"S-serve you?"
"For example," Saiki pointed to his shoulder. "A massage. I've been walking all day. My muscles are tight."
Mei's face flushed again.
She stood up and moved behind him, kneeling down to place her hands on his shoulders.
Her movements were stiff and clumsy at first.
But as a ninja with an elite understanding of human anatomy, she soon found a rhythm. Her fingers applied just the right amount of pressure to his acupoints.
Saiki closed his eyes, savoring the service.
It was incredibly comfortable.
Beyond the physical relief, there was a psychological satisfaction in conquering a woman as proud and powerful as the future Mizukage.
Dinner arrived—a simple spread of sashimi, rice, and miso soup.
They ate in a heavy silence.
Then, Saiki stood up and began to undress.
Mei jolted, her head whipping around. "W-what are you doing?"
"Bathing," Saiki said matter-of-factly. "You're coming too."
"I..."
"Do I need to strip you myself?"
Mei's face turned a shade of red that looked painful. Ultimately, she surrendered.
She turned her back to him, her fingers trembling as she undid the buttons of her uniform, shedding the layers until she was down to her undergarments.
Saiki was already in the hot spring, leaning against the stone rim with his eyes closed.
Through the rising steam, he watched Mei's silhouette. Under the moonlight, her skin looked like polished marble, and her voluptuous curves were a masterpiece of nature. Her long auburn hair hung down, partially shielding her modesty but only adding to the allure.
Mei hesitated for an eternity before gritting her teeth, shedding the last of her clothes, and slipping into the water as far away from Saiki as possible.
The heat of the spring began to soothe her frayed nerves.
But a second later, Saiki's voice cut through the mist.
"Come here."
Mei went rigid.
"Come," Saiki repeated, his tone calm but brook no argument. "Continue the massage."
Mei bit her lip until it bled, slowly wading through the water to reach him.
The water made her skin slick and supple; as her hands returned to his neck and shoulders, the physical contact became intensely intimate.
Saiki could feel her fingers shaking.
He could hear the frantic pace of her breathing.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body—a heat that didn't come from the water.
"You're nervous," Saiki noted.
Mei didn't answer.
Saiki turned around in the water to face her.
In the small tub, they were now inches apart. Through the crystalline water, the outlines of their bodies were visible.
Mei tried to retreat, but Saiki's arm snaked around her waist.
"Why are you running?" his voice dropped to a low growl. "Didn't you say you wanted to be mine?"
"I..." Mei's voice was a tiny whimper. "I wasn't ready..."
"You don't need to be."
Saiki leaned in and captured her mouth. Her lips were soft and wet.
The kiss was sudden and dominant, a claim of ownership.
As his tongue pushed past her teeth, Mei tried to struggle, but her body betrayed her.
Perhaps it was the heat, or the trauma of the day, or the simple realization that there was no escape.
She surrendered.
She closed her eyes and began to return the kiss with a clumsy, desperate intensity.
Saiki felt her compliance and deepened the invasion.
The water rippled around them. Under the moonlight, their joined silhouettes looked hazy and erotic.
Initially, Saiki had just wanted to tease her, to enjoy her submission.
But as the kiss turned carnal, and her soft, heavy breasts pressed against his chest, a fire ignited in his gut.
He wanted her. Truly.
Saiki scooped Mei up out of the water and carried her back to the bed, pinning her against the mats.
Mei lay there, one hand covering her chest and the other shielding her groin, her eyes squeezed shut.
"Open your eyes," Saiki commanded.
Mei obeyed, her gaze shimmering with a mix of tears and steam.
"Look at me," Saiki said. "Remember who owns you."
Mei stared at him.
In the dim light, his face was handsome and sharp, his wet black hair framing his deep eyes.
This was Saiki Shiroya.
The God of Calamity who broke her village.
The man who now held her life in his hands.
"Saiki..." she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her again. This time, she wasn't just submitting; she was participating.
Saiki pulled her hands away from her body. He cupped her firm, yet perfectly sized breasts.
The contact made her shiver. He could feel her fear, her shame, and her uncertainty about the future.
In the past, Saiki had avoided younger girls.
But today, his emotions were volatile after the slaughter, and Mei had walked right into his trap.
Touching her "small buns," he realized the difference between a girl and a mature woman.
Tsunade and Kushina were large, soft, and all-encompassing.
Mei was sleek, elastic, and full of youthful vitality.
The sensitive girl trembled as Saiki's fingers teased her nipples, rolling them until they were hard peaks.
When he finally left her mouth to bury his face between her breasts, biting and sucking on the cherries, Mei felt a shame unlike anything she had ever known.
Is he a child? How can he do this? The combination of bashfulness and panic overwhelmed her.
Saiki feasted on her, his teeth grazing the soft flesh. Mei pulled his head closer to her chest, unsure if she was trying to hide or welcome the assault.
As his hand wandered downward, she clamped her thighs shut—a final reflex of modesty.
But Saiki's touch was magic. He slowly coaxed her legs apart.
Unlike the older women, she was incredibly tight and "unspoiled."
The riverbed was only just beginning to turn muddy.
Saiki kissed her damp lips, his tongue exploring her mouth to keep her relaxed as he prepared her for the intrusion.
The future Mizukage was a mess of quivers and broken moans.
Finally, Saiki drove forward, breaching her final defense.
Mei let out a sharp cry, her fingernails digging into Saiki's back as the world seemed to fall away.
The pain was sharp, but the feeling of being stretched and filled to the limit was even more intense.
In one night, she had gone from the Mist's greatest genius to a captive, to... this man's woman.
Saiki held her through the tremors, kissing her tears away. He stroked her face and body, soothing the agony until it transformed into a rhythmic, pulsing pleasure.
The bed creaked violently under their movements.
The moonlight watched in silence.
By the time the sun rose, Saiki had thoroughly plowed the maiden soil, sowing the seeds of a new future within her.
The night was long, and Mei Terumi had been reborn.