The grill was soon filled with sizzling Akimichi-grade premium beef, and conversation settled into the easy, competitive banter of high-achieving Academy students. Since none of them were of age for sake, the table was loaded with tall pitchers of mixed fruit juices—orange, apple, and grape.
Inoichi, ever the instigator, proposed a game to occupy his mind while his friend enjoyed the food.
"Here's a thought experiment for the table," Inoichi announced, pouring himself a large glass of orange juice. "Hypothetical scenario: The Third Hokage sends us on a C-rank escort mission tomorrow. What's the first priority you set, before even leaving the village? If your answer is stupid, you drink the whole glass."
Kushina immediately slammed down her glass, juice sloshing over the lip. "Stupid? My answer is to immediately establish fighting formations and defensive perimeters! We hit the enemy first!"
Minato gently pushed a clean napkin toward her. "That's a reaction, Kushina-san. The first priority is reconnaissance. Information gathering always saves chakra." He took a calm, measured sip of his juice, avoiding the penalty.
Shikaku groaned dramatically, resting his head on his hand. "The first priority is to delegate the entire mission to someone else and go take a nap. If that fails, the first priority is establishing a maximum effort-to-reward ratio." He still hadn't taken a drink, finding a loophole.
Makima offered Shikaku a beautiful, appreciative smile, recognizing the brilliance of minimizing exertion. Then she picked up her glass and drained the entire contents of the apple juice in one smooth, unnervingly continuous motion, setting the empty glass down without a sound.
"The first priority is the establishment of absolute authority over the client and the mission parameters," Makima stated, her voice soft but absolute. "If the structure is perfect, execution is inevitable, regardless of the enemy."
Choza, focused entirely on the grill, nodded approvingly at Makima's drinking capacity. "Good answer! Good technique, Makima! Looks like you'll hold your liquor well, even if it's just juice!"
The conversation continued, spiraling into debates about favorite jutsu types, the flaws of the current curriculum, and the political alliances between the Great Nations. With every challenging question, Makima took a drink, always full glasses, always without needing to pause or breathe.
Inoichi, observing through the heightened senses of a Yamanaka heir, was startled. Makima had consumed an impossible amount of liquid—far more than Choza had eaten meat, which was saying something—yet her composure remained flawless. But even her immense internal control had limits against such sheer volume.
As the plates were cleared, and the table was littered with empty juice pitchers, Makima leaned slightly, her head tilting to the side. Her golden eyes were still bright, but they had a momentary, glazed quality, like polished gold caught in a soft sunset.
She turned to Nawaki, who had been desperately trying to secure her attention with increasingly elaborate (and quickly dismissed) battle strategies for the past hour. The slight, intoxicating effect of the sugar volume had slightly dulled the Control Devil's awareness, letting the human vessel's desire for comfort briefly surface—or so it appeared.
Makima rested her crimson-haired head gently on Nawaki's shoulder, her soft scent of jasmine and political ambition washing over him. As she settled, her hand, loose and seemingly seeking comfort, drifted down to lightly brush the back of Nawaki's hand resting on the table, a fleeting, almost accidental contact.
"Nawaki-kun," she whispered, her voice a soft, beautiful drawl that contained the faintest, most adorable lisp. "You have such… strong conviction. It's… very comforting. I feel… slightly drowsy."
Nawaki's face turned a violent, joyful scarlet. His heart pounded against his ribs with the force of a battering ram. She leaned on me! She touched me! Minato and Kushina exchanged amused glances, while Shikaku merely rolled his eyes, adjusting his position so as not to be burdened by the sudden movement.
Minato, ever the gentleman, stood up. "It's getting late. We should escort Makima-san and Kushina-san home."
Nawaki was already on his feet, stiff with duty and ecstasy. He gently placed his hand on Makima's back, acting as her perfect, devoted chaperone.
"Minato, Kushina, don't worry! I have Makima-san," Nawaki declared, practically vibrating with pride. "I will personally ensure she reaches her home safely! It is an honor!"
Makima, leaning heavily but gracefully on the Senju heir, gave a final, sleepy wave to the table. Minato gave the trio a farewell bow, and the pair of them, Nawaki practically floating on air, left Yakiniku Q, the crimson-haired girl's calculated sweetness now replaced by genuine, if juice-induced, exhaustion.
The night air was cool, but Nawaki barely felt it; he was a walking supernova of teenage adoration. Makima's weight on his arm was an incredible, dizzying honor. He was escorting the most beautiful, most politically connected girl in the Academy!
"Makima-san, are you comfortable?" Nawaki asked, his voice a ridiculous, nervous squeak. He slowed his pace to a deliberate, respectful stroll. "I can carry you, if you like. I have great stamina! I am a Senju!"
Makima lifted her head just enough for her golden eyes to lock onto his face. The drowsy look was still there, softening her usual sharp composure into something appealingly vulnerable.
"That is very kind, Nawaki-kun. I do feel rather drained," she mumbled, letting her full weight settle against him. Without another word, Nawaki, seeing this as his ultimate romantic duty, gently knelt and offered his back. Makima transitioned onto him with the grace of a resting cat.
As she settled, Makima's chest pressed gently against his back, a soft, unexpected pressure that instantly short-circuited Nawaki's remaining cognitive function.
In his mind, a thousand unvoiced screams collided: 'SOFT! IT'S SO SOFT! I'M CARRYING HER! SHE'S TOUCHING ME! I'M WORTHY! I'M CARRYING THE FUTURE!'
Nawaki's chest swelled so much he worried his ribs might crack. She needs my strength! She trusts me completely! He carried her effortlessly through the silent streets toward the Utatane manor.
"Of course! You can rely on me for anything, Makima-san!" he vowed, his breath slightly strained from the effort of maintaining a perfect, upright posture. "When I become Hokage, I will put you on the Council! You deserve to be in charge of making decisions. You are the most efficient person I know!"
Makima smiled again, a tiny, almost imperceptible turn of her lips against the collar of her tunic. It was a smile of cold, total victory. She had offered him the illusion of protection, and he had instantly offered her his unconditional will—and a direct route to the political future she desired.
"That sounds like a wonderful, perfectly ordered future, Nawaki-kun," Makima sighed, tightening her grip slightly on his shoulders. "I will look forward to supporting your leadership."
He finally reached the towering, silent gates of the Utatane compound. Nawaki gently lowered her to the ground at the entrance. He mistook political subjugation for romantic success and could not have been happier.
Makima stood perfectly straight, the drowsiness instantly gone, replaced by her usual unsettling poise. She turned back to him, her golden eyes clear and focused.
"Thank you, Nawaki-kun," she said, her voice now crisp and articulate, utterly devoid of the earlier lisp.
Nawaki nodded, oblivious to the shift in her tone, basking only in the final, ultimate compliment. He marched home, oblivious to the fact that he was merely a sturdy, temporary piece of furniture on the Control Devil's path to power.