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Konoha Hospital.
Early-morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, scattering dappled shadows across the ward's floor. Sasuke slowly opened heavy eyelids; the first thing he saw was a head of brilliant blond hair glowing warmly in the light.
Naruto, sitting in the chair beside the bed, brightened when he noticed: "You're awake? Congratulations—the surgery was a success. You're now a girl."
Sasuke: "???"
The raven-haired boy tried to bolt upright, only to be slammed by a wave of physical weakness; he sank slowly back onto the pillow, his breath hitching. A sick, indignant flush tinted his pale cheeks.
"All right, all right." Naruto waved his hands, his tone easy. "You just overused your chakra in that fight; it's not like you took a critical hit anywhere. It's a joke, Sasuke. Ease up."
"Hn, boring." Sasuke turned his face away, his voice still gravelly.
"Boring or not, it's a little prank—much like your attempt to incinerate me with that Great Fire Annihilation back there." Seeing Sasuke press his lips tight, Naruto dropped the grin and spoke seriously: "Listen, if you really want to grow stronger, bumbling along by yourself won't cut it. You're pushing your limits, but you're doing it inefficiently."
Naruto's gaze flickered to Sasuke's pitch-black eyes. In his mind, the calculation was cold: Sasuke absolutely could not die. Not because of sentimentality, but because those eyes were a vital piece of the future. Until they evolved into the Eternal Mangekyō, Sasuke was a strategic asset that needed protection—even from himself.
"I'd hate to lose a decent rival," Naruto added casually. "Once you're discharged, let's train together."
Sunlight spilled between them, scattering motes of dust. Sasuke stayed silent, something flickering in the depths of his dark eyes. Hn… he mused. Naruto really was stronger; if the guy was willing to show his methods, it might be the edge Sasuke needed.
But then a dreadful thought struck him. "Hold on. No way am I wearing green spandex and yelling about 'youth' every five minutes." Sasuke eyed him warily, unconsciously inching back on the mattress. He knew Naruto trained with Might Guy. Just picturing that thick-browed man's regimen sent a chill down his spine.
Naruto blinked, then burst out laughing: "Where'd you get that idea? I don't wear it, so why would I make you? I can't stand that aesthetic either. Relax—absolutely no spandex. But…" He deliberately dragged out the pause. "If you really want to try, I could put in a word with Guy-sensei."
"No need!" Sasuke cut in at once, firm.
After visiting Sasuke, Naruto's Shadow Clone found a quiet corner, formed a seal, and dispelled with a soft poof. Almost simultaneously, the real Naruto—sitting in class pretending to pay attention—jolted slightly as the memories flooded in.
He brushed the feedback aside. More important things demanded attention. Twirling a pen absently, his thoughts raced: Which book should I 'write'?
He couldn't exactly publish a generic romance. He needed something that would sell in a world of ninjas. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. It's decided! Poverty was a great motivator.
That weekend, in a small publishing office, an editor stared at a manuscript, his eyes bulging and his pen trembling as he read the final pages:
"...Shimura struck a match and lit a cigarette with almost ritual solemnity. Smoke curled, carrying his thoughts away. He knew some knots cannot be untied with Ninjutsu.
A faint rustle came from the bed. Chiyo was wrapped in the quilt, her skin beaded with fine sweat like a rose in morning dew. Her breathing rose and fell in an inviting rhythm. Any ordinary man would sink back into the warmth.
But Shimura only watched the sparks at his fingertip. To him, the tiny flickers of burning tobacco were more real than the fleeting beauty of the night. In a world of temptation, only the smoke remained honest."
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