At that moment, Kurenai felt as though she had been stripped of all dignity and placed on display—judged, evaluated, claimed.
"This combat attire…"
Di Yan's fingers brushed lightly against the coarse purple fabric at her back, tracing its texture as though appraising a relic.
"It carries a wild tension. It suits you, Red."
"It makes you look like a beautiful, untamed predator."
The words sounded like praise.
Yet each syllable pierced like a poisoned needle.
"But…"
His tone shifted.
His grip tightened slightly—not enough to injure, but enough to remind her who held control.
"As one who stands at my side, you should wear garments befitting that position."
"This… invites unnecessary attention."
Kurenai bit down hard on her lip. The metallic taste of blood spread across her tongue, barely suppressing the scream clawing at her throat.
Invisible chakra restraints bound her in place.
She could not even turn her head away from his gaze.
Only her crimson eyes—burning with fury—remained defiant.
Di Yan seemed to savor that silent resistance.
He leaned closer, his voice low near her ear.
"Don't look at me like that."
"That pride… that refusal to yield."
"It only makes you more… interesting."
The words were soft.
The intent was not.
His arm circled her waist—not violently, but with undeniable force—pulling her closer.
She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. The overwhelming density of his chakra.
"I can see it clearly," he murmured. "You still cling to your bonds. To Sarutobi Asuma."
Her heart clenched.
"Release me, Di Yan!" she forced out, voice trembling with rage. "I am a shinobi of Konoha—not a trophy for your ambitions!"
"A trophy?"
The Mangekyo Sharingan spun faster.
A wave of mental pressure crashed against her consciousness. Not enough to destroy—but enough to remind.
"You misunderstand."
"Konoha's era of divided authority is ending."
His grip firmed, but his voice remained composed.
"You are not a trinket."
"You are a bridge."
"A symbol."
Kurenai's breath hitched.
In that instant, she understood.
This was political.
Calculated.
He intended to use her presence as proof—proof that even Konoha's elite Jonin could be subdued.
To challenge the Hokage.
To erode morale.
To establish supremacy over the shinobi order itself.
"I would rather die," she whispered.
"Death?"
He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet the spiraling Mangekyo.
"Before these eyes… even death requires permission."
Silence filled the hall.
Then—
Darkness folded inward.
The world shifted.
—
When awareness returned, Kurenai found herself trapped within a constructed mental domain—an illusion shaped entirely by Di Yan's Mangekyo.
Crimson skies.
Fractured earth.
Chains of chakra binding her limbs.
This was not mere genjutsu.
This was domination of consciousness.
"Lesson one," Di Yan's voice echoed through the void.
"Resistance wastes strength."
The illusion compressed inward. Pressure mounted—not physical, but psychological.
She felt memories surfacing—combat drills, illusions she had mastered, strategies she had perfected.
All being analyzed.
Dissected.
Copied.
A cold system notification echoed faintly in Di Yan's mind.
Ability replicated: Demonic Illusion — Threefold Lotus.
His lips curved slightly.
Not extraordinary.
But useful.
The illusion tightened once more.
Kurenai's breathing grew uneven.
"How… many… times…" she managed weakly.
Her mind trembled under repeated waves of mental overwriting.
He was not merely suppressing her.
He was refining his control.
"Again…?"
Her voice cracked.
The Mangekyo rotated calmly.
"As many times as necessary," he replied.
The crimson world flickered.
And the lesson continued.