(The Complete, Unabridged, Utterly Indecent Transformation of Yūgao Uzuki)
00:00 – ANBU Headquarters, Sub-Level 3, Observation Post 4
Yūgao Uzuki was the best sword in the village.
She had killed without blinking at fourteen, earned the porcelain cat mask at seventeen, and could cross a rooftop in absolute silence while carrying a full-grown man in her arms.
Tonight she was on solo overwatch, perched on the lip of the Hokage Monument, moonlight silver on her purple hair.
Her orders were simple: locate Naruto Uzumaki, assess the situation at Training Ground 7, report back. Do not engage.
She had watched the crystal-ball feed for exactly six seconds before the Third had shut it off with shaking hands.
Six seconds had been enough.
She had seen the thighs.
She had seen the boy disappear.
She had felt something deep in her chest crack like thin ice.
Now she stood on the monument's stone nose of the Second Hokage, wind whipping her long ponytail, ANBU armor creaking faintly with every breath.
Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.
Her other hand, traitorously, had slipped beneath the edge of her chest plate and was pressing hard against her lower belly, as if she could physically hold back the heat that had started pooling there the moment she thought of him.
Naruto.
The name tasted different in her mouth tonight.
Sweeter.
Warmer.
Wrong.
She closed her eyes.
She was disciplined.
She was elite.
She was—
The first pulse hit her like a kunai between the ribs.
It was gentle.
Almost kind.
A soft, liquid throb that started just beneath her navel and spread outward in slow, deliberate rings.
Yūgao's breath caught.
Her knees buckled.
She dropped to one knee on the cold stone, porcelain mask tilting forward, fingers scrabbling for purchase.
The second pulse was deeper.
It sank into her womb and stayed there, pressing, kneading, blooming.
She felt her insides rearrange themselves with luxurious patience, felt her ovaries swell and pulse like ripe fruit, felt her cervix soften and descend as if preparing—begging—to be kissed by something thick and hot and perfect.
A low, broken sound escaped her throat.
The third pulse went for her skeleton.
Her hips cracked, slow, wet, obscene pops that echoed off the stone faces of the Hokage behind her.
She screamed, but it came out as a moan.
Her pelvis widened with agonizing grace, each millimeter of new width accompanied by a fresh flood of slick between her thighs.
The ANBU-issue pants split down the seams with a sound like tearing silk.
Cool night air kissed skin that had never seen the moon.
Her ass began to grow.
Slowly.
So slowly she could feel every single cell multiply, every fiber of muscle melt and reform into soft, fertile fat.
Her glutes inflated in luxurious waves, cheeks rounding, lifting, spreading until they formed a perfect heart-shaped shelf that lifted her entire lower body several inches off the ground.
The weight was incredible.
She had to widen her stance just to stay balanced, thighs already trembling from the new mass.
The growth didn't stop.
It kept going.
Kept swelling.
Kept rounding.
Until each cheek was larger than her old torso had been, pale and flawless and impossibly sensitive.
Every tiny shift of air felt like fingers dragging across raw nerves.
She came just from the breeze.
Hard.
Her forehead hit the stone as her back arched, ass high in the air, pussy clenching around nothing while clear fluid gushed down her thighs in long, humiliating rivulets.
The warmth climbed.
It curled around her waist like a lover's arms and began to cinch.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Her ribs compressed with soft, wet cracks until her breath came in shallow, dizzy gasps.
She could actually feel her organs shifting to make room, feel her stomach flatten and her waist narrow until it was tiny, breakable, obscene.
Her hands flew to her sides, fingers trying to span the new dip.
They couldn't.
She was being sculpted into an hourglass so extreme it looked photoshopped onto reality.
Then the pressure moved upward.
Yūgao's hands flew to her chest.
Her breasts, small and athletic beneath the ANBU binding, began to swell.
It started as a gentle tingling under her nipples.
Then fullness.
Then weight.
Real, aching, impossible weight.
She watched in the reflection of her own porcelain mask as they surged forward, round and perfect, skin stretching silk-tight.
C-cups.
D-cups.
E-cups.
F-cups.
G-cups.
H-cups.
I-cups.
J-cups.
K-cups.
L-cups.
M-cups.
N-cups.
O-cups.
P-cups.
Q-cups.
R-cups.
S-cups.
They kept growing.
Each new inch pulled a broken sob from her throat.
Her nipples thickened into fat, thumb-sized peaks the color of bruised plums, so sensitive that the brush of her own torn armor made her cum again, harder, squirting straight through the shredded fabric between her legs.
Her breasts were bigger than Kashi-chan's now.
Bigger than any human woman's had any right to be.
They rested heavily on the stone in front of her, leaking milk in thin, steady streams that pooled beneath her kneeling form.
The warmth kept moving.
It poured into her thighs, doubling, tripling, quadrupling their size until they were thicker than her waist had been an hour ago, soft and pillowy and dimpled at the tops.
Her calves rounded.
Her feet shrank, becoming delicate and dainty.
Her hair grew.
Purple strands spilled from her ponytail, lengthening, thickening, cascading down her back in a silky waterfall that reached the swell of an ass so massive it cast its own shadow across the monument.
Her face was last.
She felt it soften.
Cheekbones lifting.
Jaw narrowing.
Lips plumping into a permanent, glossy pout.
Her eyes widened into huge, violet cat-like orbs framed by thick lashes.
The porcelain mask cracked.
It fell away in pieces, revealing a face so beautiful it looked airbrushed, lips parted in a perfect, vacant "O."
And then the mind-break began.
It was slow.
It was gentle.
It was inevitable.
Memories of blood and missions and silent kills flickered… then blurred… then melted.
Her ANBU training dissolved like sugar in hot tea.
Her loyalty to the village became loyalty to one person.
Her pride became worship.
Her name became—
"Yū-chan~♡"
She giggled.
The sound echoed across the entire village, high and brainless and perfect.
She spent the next three hours on her hands and knees on top of the Hokage Monument, practicing.
Practicing crawling.
Practicing bouncing her impossible tits.
Practicing spreading her thighs and fingering her dripping, virgin-tight pussy while moaning one name over and over and over.
Naruto-kun.
Naruto-kun.
Naruto-kun.
By 4:00 a.m. she had chosen her outfit.
What was left of her ANBU armor had been lovingly shredded into the sluttiest approximation possible: black lace bralette that only covered her nipples (barely), a torn purple micro-skirt that didn't even pretend to cover anything, thigh-high fishnets that ripped in twelve places just from the size of her legs.
Her cat mask had been repurposed into a collar, the porcelain cracked into a heart shape around her throat.
She crawled down the monument on all fours, tits dragging, ass clapping, leaving a trail of milk and pussy juice the entire way.
She had a mission now.
A real mission.
Find Naruto-kun.
Join the others.
Add her thighs to the pile.
Never let him go.
6:47 a.m. – Training Ground 7
Naruto was still lost.
Completely buried.
He hadn't seen daylight in hours.
He existed only as heat and pressure and endless soft flesh.
Then a new voice, high and melodic and ruined, drifted across the clearing like a siren song.
"Naruto-kun~♡ I found you~"
The thigh prison parted, just enough for a new silhouette to crawl into view.
Purple hair cascading to the ground.
Tits so massive they blocked out the rising sun.
Thighs that made even Kashi-chan's look modest.
Yūgao, former ANBU captain, now Yū-chan, perfect broken doll, knelt at the edge of the pile and smiled with glossy, adoring lips.
"Room for one more~?" she sang.
Naruto made a sound.
It might have been yes.
It might have been please.
It might have been the last coherent noise he would ever make.
Yū-chan giggled and slid forward, adding her own impossible thighs to the crush.
The labyrinth grew deeper.
The boy disappeared completely.
And somewhere high above, on the Hokage Monument, the cracked porcelain mask of a cat smiled blankly at the sunrise.
End of Chapter 6
(Chapter 7: Hinata's turn.
It will be longer.
It will be slower.
It will break her in ways that should not be possible.
And she will beg for every second.)