The hospital was calm and serene in the early morning.
Sunlight streamed through the window, spilling onto the bed where a woman lay asleep. Her features were as flawless, but a faint furrow in her brow betrayed the unrest stirring within her dreams.
Even in sleep, her hands clutched the sheets tightly, as if seeking some shred of safety. The only sounds were the soft hum of medical equipment and her steady, fragile breathing.
Outside, the golden morning light rose higher, casting a warm glow across her face and making her skin appear almost translucent. The sunlight brushed gently against her eyelids, as though attempting to ease her inner turmoil.
The soft chirping of birds mingled with the morning brightness, and slowly, the woman began to stir.
Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of amber eyes.
"…Where am I?"
In the Land of Rain, sunlight was a rare guest. Its sky was usually cloaked in gloom and perpetual drizzle. Konan squinted instinctively, slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar brightness as she surveyed her surroundings.
Stark white walls, sterile sheets, and the unmistakable scent of disinfectant—there was no doubt about it. She was in a hospital.
Her gaze dropped to her wrist, where she noticed a dark circle of seals etched into her skin.
Closing her eyes, she focused inward.
"As I thought…"
Not just her wrist—her ankles and lower abdomen were marked with suppressing seals. Her chakra had been completely sealed.
She was a prisoner.
Before she could process further, a knock came at the door, followed immediately by someone entering.
"I'm coming in!"
The door swung open, and a tall man stepped into the room.
Konan's eyes widened as she stared at him, her breath catching in her throat.
"Jiraiya… Sensei?"
The familiar silhouette, the unmistakable headband and robes, the weathered but strong face—it all came rushing back. Memories flooded her mind like an uncontrollable tide, and a sheen of mist gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"Aha! Konan, it's been so long—you don't have to get so emotional."
Jiraiya scratched his head awkwardly, his boisterous voice unchanged. He chuckled, trying to mask his own discomfort at her tearful expression.
"But… I'm truly glad you're alive."
When he first heard about the attack on the Hokage, he hadn't thought much of it. But when the report mentioned the Rinnegan and a captured woman with blue-violet hair, his heart sank.
After much negotiation—and a few forceful words—Toshiro had given him the truth. Jiraiya couldn't just sit back and do nothing.
In fact, it was thanks to him that Konan was receiving medical care in a hospital bed rather than being locked in a prison cell. Her chakra may have been sealed, and there were ANBU watching from outside, but this was far kinder than what she would otherwise face.
"Nagato… Sensei, what happened to Nagato?"
Konan's voice trembled with urgency as she sat up slightly, ignoring the weakness in her limbs.
He wouldn't have left her behind. Not him. If she was here in Konoha, then what about—
"Don't worry. Nagato's safe. He was rescued."
Jiraiya paused, gauging her reaction, but chose honesty.
Konan's shoulders loosened at last, the burden she'd been carrying quietly slipping away. Relief washed over her in a single breath.
"You really shouldn't be saying that, Jiraiya-sama~"
At the door, a young man in a green flak vest stood frowning. Kakashi gave a soft sigh of disapproval.
"This woman attacked the Hokage. Sharing classified information with her will only complicate the interrogation."
"We've already cleared this up. I've requested permission from the Hokage to take over her custody," Jiraiya said with a wave of his hand.
"But as far as I know, the Hokage didn't approve."
Kakashi's tone remained dry. Without his usual ANBU mask and dressed in standard combat gear, he looked more casual—but his ever-tilted headband and languid demeanor still set him apart.
Jiraiya winced at the comment, momentarily flustered.
"Well… the Hokage may not have approved, but Tsunade—his advisor—has. So I'm handling it."
He cleared his throat and took a seat beside Konan's bed, eyes softening as he looked at her weary face.
"Konan, can you tell me what happened to you after we parted ways?"
The news had long claimed that Konan and her companions were dead. But clearly, that wasn't the case. Jiraiya could sense it—she'd been through hell.
"If you're willing, I'm here to listen. As your sensei."
That quiet, kind presence, so familiar yet so distant, broke through the walls Konan had built over the years. She'd seen too much darkness, endured too much pain.
And now, in the presence of someone who once believed in her light, the dam finally cracked.
"Sensei…"
The tears she had held back for so long finally spilled, silently tracing down her cheeks.
—
Meanwhile, elsewhere—at Toshiro's residence.
In the bedroom, the aftermath of chaos still lingered.
The sheets were shredded, pillows tossed aside, the quilt reduced to scraps. The floor was littered with scattered belongings: photos, medicine bottles, books, a fallen kettle. Deep gouges marred the walls, as if struck by something—or someone—with great force.
The room told a story of conflict, intense and raw.
On the bed, a single blanket barely covered the silhouette of a sleeping figure, her outline curving gently beneath the thin fabric.
Pakura lay still, motionless in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Her breath was shallow, her hair tousled, a faint glimmer of drool at the corner of her lips. Apart from the soft rise and fall of her chest, she looked more like a porcelain doll—lifelike, but silent.
She looked as if she had been thoroughly ravished.
As time passed, the sunlight gradually bathed the entire room in golden warmth.
"Mmm~"
With a soft groan, Pakura slowly opened her eyes.
At first, her gaze was unfocused, a trace of confusion lingering there. But within seconds, her eyes sharpened, fully awakening to the aftermath surrounding her.
The room was in disarray. As she took it all in, a deep blush spread rapidly across her cheeks—so vivid it looked as though her entire face had been set aflame.
In the act of sitting up, she lost balance and fell back against the mattress, startled by the soreness that pulsed through her body. Hastily, she pulled the blanket over herself, shielding the traces of vulnerability still lingering on her skin. Her eyes darted sideways—and narrowed.
Lying next to her, Toshiro looked infuriatingly at ease. He had one eye half-open, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he admired the chaos they'd left behind.
"Mmnn~"
Pakura's gaze landed on that smug smile—and in a flash, last night's frenzy came rushing back to her. Unable to hold it in any longer, she lunged toward Toshiro.
But not for the reason one might expect.
"Oi, crazy woman! It's bad enough you lost your mind last night—what now?!"
Caught off guard, Toshiro was slow to react. He flinched only when a sudden, sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
She'd bitten him.
With an annoyed hiss, he frowned.
"She really is a little wildcat," he muttered to himself. "Even bites like one…"
And yet, thinking of the chaos they'd shared the night before, he relaxed, surrendering to the moment.
"Ah—! You're not joking?"
He'd thought she was merely being playful, but to his surprise, the bite had been real—and it hurt.
Naturally, he didn't hold back. He retaliated with a nip of his own.
"Ah~!"
Pakura let out a startled yelp, clearly not expecting him to bite back. Her pain quickly turned to indignation, and she clamped down harder, fiercely returning the gesture.
Thus began another skirmish, this time a playful yet relentless battle of stubborn wills.
Eventually, it ended the way most things did—with Toshiro's superior stamina carrying him to victory.
Pakura lay sprawled on the bed, limbs like jelly. Toshiro pulled her gently into his arms, reveling in the softness of her body curled against his chest.
After a while, as the haze of warmth faded, Pakura leaned against him with a rare tenderness.
A strange itch had begun to spread across her shoulder—right where Toshiro had bitten her. Her expression darkened as she turned to glare at him again.
"You just had to leave a mark, didn't you?"
Toshiro raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the accusatory tone.
"That's no ordinary bite mark."
Even as Pakura glared, his hand continued lazily tracing her form. His gaze moved to her slender neck, where the bite wound had already begun to close.
As it healed, a faint black pattern shimmered beneath the surface—briefly forming the shape of his mangekyo symbol before fading beneath the skin.
"I left something inside you," he said with a smirk.
Pakura froze.
"…What insane thing are you saying now?"
Her hand, which had been resting casually on his waist, suddenly pinched him hard.
"I meant your neck," he winced. "That's where I left a seal."
"It'll draw in ambient natural energy—just a little. It'll help regulate your body and gradually replenish the strength you've lost."
Realizing the ambiguity in his earlier words, Toshiro hurried to clarify.
He wasn't lying.
The mark he left was a personal creation, inspired by Orochimaru's curse seal—though this version had a far gentler purpose. Rather than being a tool for control or reincarnation, it acted more like a regenerative catalyst.
Over the years, Toshiro had honed his body using Sage Chakra, allowing it to naturally absorb trace amounts of nature energy. This seal simply extended that benefit to someone else.
"Try to feel it. You might notice subtle changes," he said, his voice low and unhurried.
One hand idly traced the Flying Thunder God seal on her ass as he spoke, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment.
This, he thought, is what life should be.
Not endless battles. Not the blood-soaked chaos of the shinobi world.
Even if there must be fights... it's time to change the battlefield.
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