Noon light slipped into the narrow alleys of the southeastern district, gliding over the tall windows of houses pressed tight together.
Akira left the interrogation unit the same way he'd arrived: with a sack over his head.
This Morino… He knew I hadn't even shaken off my hangover, and still made me run in circles, reciting every detail three times. A real torture chamber. Offering tea would've been far too humane, he thought dryly as he headed toward the village center. All he wanted was a bowl of thick, fatty ramen, a hot shower, and a proper sleep. The bench in the railcar was not what you'd call restful.
The world didn't begin and end with Ichiraku. After a quick bite at the first decent cafe he found, Akira headed for the northwest district. He hadn't even crossed the main street when he changed course for the hospital. After ramen and shibazuke pickles (sliced cucumber, eggplant, ginger, and myōga), his headache finally started to ebb.
At the same time, the pain from the wounds he'd picked up in the Hidden Grass began to make itself felt more clearly.
He'd sweetened his story for Morino. Yes, he'd beaten a "jōnin" whose strength was closer to a weak chūnin, and a few not-quite-chūnin who were really genin, but he hadn't walked away unscathed.
Thanks to Fujiko's training, his reactions had sharpened and he'd gotten better at deflecting thrown weapons, but a few shuriken still found flesh. The cuts were shallow, yet nasty. His only truly serious injury came from his clash with the Kage - which, honestly, hadn't lasted longer than a single exchange.
The Grass leader broke Akira's clavicle with a punch. Akira answered with a focused lightning strike that charred the man's elbow and dropped him.
Medical help came from the last place he expected. It was no secret that outside the Five Great Nations, most countries were in dire straits when it came to iryō-nin. In the Land of Grass, "dire" didn't begin to cover it - their only healer served the daimyō's court.
So how did they treat their small band of shinobi? Herbal salves and bandages, and if wounds were bad, they went to Karin's mother. Not "asked," as Akira learned - consent wasn't much of a concern.
And it wasn't that they forced her to use iryō ninjutsu - the method itself was wild. The wounded bit into the woman's flesh until she bled, somehow drawing on her life force to speed their healing.
A few locals and newly flipped shinobi offered to treat Akira's wounds using the "quick" method. That sparked a memory: canon mentioned a Karin with the same ability - healing those who bit her. Guessing it was her, he asked to meet. They quickly led him to a straw hut, twelve square meters, on the village edge. There he found not only Karin, but Akane - her mother.
It would be a lie to say they were pleased by a sudden night visitor. Akira's pleasant looks helped calm the initial fear, but he had no trouble spotting the wariness in their eyes. *He's a stranger. A shinobi. Smells of alcohol. What does he want?* flickered behind Akane's impassive face.
Despite the strangeness of the method - and his sympathy for their situation - Akira didn't talk down to them. His own health came first, and since he preferred businesslike clarity, he started there. He said he'd taken several injuries and wanted Akane's help treating them, and offered 50,000 ryō in return.
Akane didn't refuse the generous offer, but demanded payment up front. *No promises. Cash first. I won't work for free again.*
By luck, the wallet he now kept sealed to his forearm was short by a little less than half the sum, and a check torn from his book was useless outside the Land of Fire. Even so, 30,000 ryō satisfied her. Her suspicion began to shift toward curiosity - mostly because of the fūin on his arm.
Akane asked no questions. She simply rolled up her sleeve, revealing an arm covered in bite scars. They crisscrossed so tightly there was barely a square inch of untouched skin.
It wasn't a pretty sight. Knowing he'd have to bite hard enough to draw blood, and apologizing in advance for the indignity, Akira got to it. One bite was enough. His healing cuts tightened further, knitting under a tougher scab. The pain in his clavicle eased.
While Akane dressed the wounds with practiced hands, Akira turned over the idea of bringing them to Konoha. If he'd been sober and sensible, he'd have written a long list of pros and cons - from the headache of extraction to the logistics of supporting them afterward - not to mention getting Akane to agree.
But in his not-quite-adequate state, one odd thought tipped the scales: Her life force is off the charts even for an Uzumaki - which means stamina. She'd make an excellent housekeeper!
When he offered a move to Konoha, Akane refused. First, they wouldn't let her go; second, she had no means to live long in the Land of Fire. Akira soothed the first point: he'd become the Kage of the Hidden Grass, and no one there could overrule him.
It sounded absurd - and implausibly plausible - so he spent fifteen minutes explaining what had happened and the cause of the commotion in the streets. As for money and housing, he assured her he'd help with both.
Only a naïve person - or a fool - would agree right away. In the end, tired of arguing, Akira pressed the sore spot: he asked her to think about her daughter's safety in a country in revolution. Never mind that he'd lit the spark.
Now, thinking it over, he had to admit he didn't exactly "need" Akane - and, frankly, not even Karin.
If I need treatment, ethically and practically it's better to go to a hospital than rely on a walking healer I have to bite. And as for a housekeeper… Kushina would happily help me run the household, Akira thought, and then stopped in the street as a more troubling realization struck.
Mikoto, Kushina, Hayana… What do they have in common? They're beautiful - and they have daughters. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times - and four - and it's a pattern. Well… as far as fetishes go, it could be worse.
Soon he reached the hospital, where he went straight to the first iryō-nin he saw and got proper treatment for the remaining wounds. He decided not to bother Hayana yet - better to wait until the fuss around him died down.
After learning which room his clones had brought the ladies to, he headed there. He wanted to reassure them - and meet them properly, sober. "Room twenty-three…" He stopped at the door and knocked twice before entering.
Hmm. So my clones talked the staff into giving them a private room. Of course they did - they're clones, they don't pay, he grumbled inwardly as he walked toward the center of the room.
His entrance drew the attention of the girl at the window, gazing out over the village, and of Akane, calmly sitting on the bed and peeling an apple.