The ramen bowl gleamed under the kitchen light, steam rising in delicate spirals. Tsunade lifted a spoonful to her lips and paused mid-sip.
"This is incredible," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "How does ordinary ramen taste like this?"
Hanekawa smiled from across the table. "Made with care."
Tsunade snorted. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so." She returned to her meal with the unselfconscious enthusiasm of someone who'd never worried about appearances. Within minutes, the bowl was empty, the broth drained completely.
"More?" Hanekawa stood to clear the dishes.
"I'm full." Tsunade stretched, then her expression shifted to business. "You're skipping the negotiations today?"
"Learning Dissolution Release instead," Hanekawa said casually. "Mei's teaching me."
Tsunade's eyebrow arched. "Mei Terumi? What's the arrangement?"
"A bet." He watched her expression brighten at the mention of gambling. "But I've already won—I'm getting the technique either way."
"Clever." Tsunade's laugh was sharp and approving. She stood, then paused beside him. Before he could react, her hand ruffled his hair—a gesture she knew he hated. She was already at the door by the time he registered the movement.
She really just used Body Flicker to mess with my hair, Hanekawa thought, shaking his head.
---
The Hidden Mist delegation's courtyard was quiet when he arrived. Mei answered the door with her characteristic cool demeanor, though Hanekawa noticed her bare feet—no stockings today.
"Concerned about my health?" she asked dryly when he mentioned it.
"Illness begins with the feet," he replied seriously.
"Illness comes from the mouth," Mei countered, rolling her eyes. "Are you a medical ninja now?"
"Among other things."
The morning dissolved into focused training. By noon, Hanekawa had absorbed enough of the Dissolution Release fundamentals to continue independently.
"I won't be coming this afternoon," he announced.
Mei's eyes narrowed. "Admitting defeat?"
"The morning's sufficient. I learn quickly." He stood, brushing dust from his clothes. "See you tomorrow."
"Wait." Her arms crossed. "After all this teaching, don't I deserve something?"
His gaze drifted—entirely by accident—toward her lower half.
"Pervert!" She flushed crimson.
"What did you mean, then?" he asked innocently.
"I'm hungry," she said with exaggerated dignity.
Ah. The universal language of a good cook's power.
Twenty minutes later, he left her with a fresh meal and a satisfied expression, though she maintained her protest: "I don't like your cooking. I just can't cook myself!"
"Of course," he said, biting back a smile.
---
Kurenai was practicing water techniques in the courtyard when he returned. She abandoned her forms immediately, practically vibrating with excitement.
"You're back!"
He reached out and gently pinched her cheek. "Hungry?"
"Always, when you're here," she said, taking his hand without hesitation.
Inside, he knelt before her. She raised her leg without prompting, revealing the white bandage wrapped around her thigh. Unlike Mei, Kurenai wore nothing beneath—a detail that made him grateful for her innocent trust.
He tickled the sole of her foot.
"Stop! It's ticklish!" She giggled, pulling away, then obediently raised the other foot.
"Where's your father?" he asked, removing her shoes.
"Still at negotiations. They're not going well." She settled against him on the sofa, completely at ease. "I've been learning Water Style: Water Severing Wave."
"Be careful with that one," he warned. "It can cut your mouth if you're not precise."
"I know. You'll be there anyway."
The casual certainty in her voice made him smile.
---
Two hours into their afternoon training session, Kurenai's cry of pain cut through the courtyard.
Hanekawa was at her side in seconds. Blood stained her lips and tongue—the water technique had caught her in three places.
"Open your mouth," he commanded gently, already channeling healing chakra. Green light flowed from his palms, sealing the wounds with practiced efficiency.
"All better?" he asked.
She flexed her tongue experimentally. "No scar either. You're amazing."
"Go rinse your mouth. And be more careful."
"It's okay," she said, already heading inside. "You're here to fix it anyway."
That's not the point, he thought, but her happiness was infectious.
---
January bled into February with endless negotiations between four villages—each one grinding against the others like tectonic plates. The Iwagakure delegation finally cracked first, their loss of the Four-Tails jinchuriki too significant to sustain their position.
The peace ceremony convened in the Hokage Building's conference room. Hanekawa sat in the front row beside Tsunade—a position that would normally be reserved for jonin of greater standing, but no one objected. The contracts lay before each attendee, terms finalized after a month of exhausting discussion.
Tsunade scanned hers and sighed. "Ohnoki's stingy. No Dust Release."
"That's not stingy—that's survival," Hanekawa said. "But the Earth Style techniques they offered are solid compensation."
Except for the flying ones, he thought. The Light and Heavy Rock Technique and its superior variant—the one that granted true flight—were conspicuously absent. Ohnoki had clearly recognized their strategic value and refused to part with them.
"He's a Jinchūriki," Tsunade muttered. "You should have pushed harder."
"We'll acquire them eventually," Hanekawa said lightly.
Tsunade gave him a sharp look. "Don't even think about it. Ohnoki is nothing like the Third Mizukage."
"I know." He smiled. "But the future's long."
The Third Hokage entered with Minato and the other senior leadership. Kitsuchi, Iwagakure's representative, stepped forward. The signing was ceremonial—two names on paper, and suddenly the balance of power had shifted.
Applause filled the room.
Tsunade leaned toward him, already distracted. "When will the Mist negotiations finish? I'm dying to hit the casino."
"Today," Hanekawa said. "No talks scheduled—we're celebrating the Iwagakure agreement. Take the afternoon off."
Her entire demeanor transformed. "Really?"
"Why would I lie?"
Within the hour, they were heading toward the gambling district, Tsunade's earlier fatigue completely evaporated. Behind them, the Hokage Building settled into the quiet satisfaction of a successful negotiation.
Hanekawa had learned long ago: sometimes the best way to manage a legendary kunoichi was to know exactly what she wanted.
And Tsunade Senju wanted to gamble.