Chapter 18: The Hunger of Tomorrow
Morning came with its golden lies. Sunlight spilled through the shutters, warm as a lover's hand, soft as forgiveness. Naruto woke to the emptiness beside him. Sheets cooled, space hollow. Alone.
From outside came the sound of steel and flesh meeting in rhythm. Hina's training—each strike sharp enough to split the silence. Faster. Harder. Driven by wounds not yet closed.
Pain makes better soldiers than hope ever did.
He stretched, muscles protesting but alive, bones still knitting their song of ache. Healing had always been his ally, though never fast enough for his hunger. By next week, he'd be whole. And whole wasn't nearly enough.
The washroom's water was cold. It bit. He let it. Scars liked the sting. When he came out, she was waiting. Eyes on him like a hawk's, though softer, rimmed with that worry she tried to hide.
"Good morning, Hina. Your senses haven't dulled." He grinned with a wolf's teeth hidden, letting the jest carry no edge.
Her lips curved gently, but her gaze traced his frame as if searching for cracks. "Good morning. How do you feel?"
"No problem," he said, drawing her close, wrapping arms around her like a claim, kissing her lightly, though his eyes betrayed nothing. "By next week, I'll be whole again."
That line drew a spark from her. A brightness that masked the storm beneath. She tugged him toward the table, pride stitched in her words. "Breakfast is ready. I practiced in my free time."
Eggs. Simple. Fragile things, broken to be useful. He tasted, chewing slow, letting her wait for the verdict. "It's nice. You did well, Hina. Come. Sit."
She glowed at that, drinking his words like rain after drought. She sat, and they ate together, small intimacies traded like coin—her hand feeding him, his hand brushing her cheek, the quiet moments that bound chains tighter than any oath.
When the meal was done, she returned to her ritual of sweat and strain, her strikes now desperate in their perfection. She wanted strength. She wanted to never be helpless again. He watched her for a moment, a flicker of amusement curling in his chest. Pain was her teacher now, but I was the one who gave her the lesson.
He turned inward, sinking into the dark sea where his Haki stirred. Breath slowed, mind sharpened to a blade's edge. The trick wasn't seeing what had already been written—it was dragging the unknown into the light. He stretched his senses, threads of will cast further, wider, testing how far he could reach before the weave unraveled.
The world trembled at the edges of his awareness, faint, elusive. The future wouldn't yield easily. It had to be broken like a beast, mastered strike by strike.
And Naruto smiled, because beasts had always been his prey.
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The air trembled before the weight of it. A presence vast and familiar pressed in at the edges of Naruto's focus. He opened his eyes from meditation, chakra simmering low, and tasted the intent long before he heard the steps. Z. And dragging something behind him that bled enormity into the world.
Naruto stood. He was at the door when it shattered inward, kicked wide by a boot heavy enough to splinter oak. Z filled the threshold, vast as the sea, scarred lips twisted into something close to pride. Behind him lay ruin made flesh.
"Hey there, brat," the man rumbled, voice deep enough to set dust trembling from the beams. "How do you feel now?"
Naruto's grin came easy, though his bones still ached like they'd been left to wolves. "I'm mending. Give me a week, I'll be whole again."
Z smirked, the expression cruel in its satisfaction. He heaved the corpse forward, the weight of it thundering against the floor. A beast—200 meters—scaled, coiled, eyes glassed in death but still carrying that oceanic malice in their sockets. A leviathan.
"It's what you asked for," Z said, hand falling heavy on the carcass as though to make it real. "A sea king of the depths. Fought hard. Died harder. But it met me."
The monster stank of salt, of iron, of a rage too great to end with breath alone. Naruto stared, something sharp twisting in his chest—not fear, but gratitude edged in awe.
"Teacher," he said, the word steady, heavy. "Thank you. This is more than I deserved. I don't know how to repay this."
Z's hand came down on his shoulder, the weight of stone and trust. "It's nothing. I believe in what you'll become, boy. Believe it enough that this feels small beside it."
Naruto's smile was a blade unsheathed. "Then I'll repay you. Not with scraps or empty promises. With something grand. Something worthy."
Z's laugh rolled out, rough thunder. "I'll hold you to that. Just make sure it comes from the marrow, not the mouth."
And with that he turned, leaving as he always did—no ceremony, just absence. The corpse remained, more gift than burden, though its shadow filled the room like a tomb.
Naruto stepped closer. The leviathan's body towered above him, silent now but heavy with the residue of its ocean-born hatred. A fitting meal for ambition.
He drew his sword. Haki burned along the edge, black flame in steel form. He cut. Flesh parted, but when the blade bit bone it screamed back—chips flying, steel failing before the density of the beast's death-forged skeleton.
Naruto cursed under his breath, examining the blade's wound. Too weak. My armament isn't there yet. And this sword—worthless against what's to come.
A voice coiled through his mind, silk and venom. Arachne. "Master, you still have me. Weapons are crutches. Together, we can fight without such toys."
He chuckled, dark and low. Haha. Yes, Arachne, you're the best. But tools are tools. I won't be caught empty-handed because you're busy drinking the world dry."
And so he worked. Hours bled into dusk. Bones ground to powder, marrow stripped for elixirs, blood thick as tar siphoned into jars. Potions brewed in the quiet, alchemy humming with promise. Strength. Healing. Endurance carved from another creature's undoing.
He did not forget Arachne—her hunger needed feeding. He poured her mouthfuls of the beast's blood, let her gnaw at its meat. She drank deep, feasting not just on flesh but the grudge still smoldering in the dead monster's veins. Resentment became her fire, and she grew sharper in his shadow.
By nightfall the leviathan was less a corpse, more a resource, stripped and sorted into the machinery of Naruto's ambition.
The gift of monsters was never wasted.
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By evening, the air in the hall was heavy with warmth and the scent of roasted meat. Smoke curled lazily from the platters, laughter clattered against the walls, and the crew filled the space with the clink of cups and the scrape of knives on plates. Naruto's cooking had carried the night—Hina's insistence on taste, his discipline in craft. What had once been a necessity had grown into something almost artful.
For a moment, it felt like family. For a moment, even a wolf could pretend the blood wasn't still drying on his hands.
Adam chewed with the gusto of a beast, grease shining on his chin. "Bro, you've grown a lot. You might as well become my personal chef," he said, words muffled around meat. He laughed loud, unashamed, as though the room belonged to him.
Naruto smiled thin, quiet, and shook his head. The words washed past him without weight. He ate sparingly, movements precise, letting the storm of laughter and jests swirl without ever fully touching him. His contentment was a sharper thing—born not of noise, but of purpose.
Hina tended him with quiet diligence, setting food near his hand before he asked, brushing his sleeve in the small ways a woman marks her claim. Her smile softened her, but her eyes—those belonged to him entirely. She had chosen her orbit, and he was her sun.
Across the table, Smoker sat wrong. His fork stilled in the meat, his cigar forgotten. His eyes were not on the food, nor the laughter—they circled, restless, watching Adam, then Naruto. He wore the look of a man measuring a cliff before stepping off.
They're blood-hungry, Smoker thought, his jaw tight. Both of them. They kill as easily as others breathe. Sooner or later, they'll be caged for it, if not buried. And yet… is it wrong?
His gaze dipped. Shadows coiled in the folds of his thoughts, darker with each turn. What use is a prison for murderers? What use is coin spent to house men who've already forfeited the right to live? Maybe the only cure is the blade. Maybe justice isn't bars, but ash.
The laughter grew, but Smoker did not join it. He was sinking, step by step, into the current Adam and Naruto swam in like sharks. The lens of justice tilted, and the world began to look different through the glass.
Naruto saw it. He always did. His smile came like a knife turned inward, subtle and knowing. Smoker was changing, whether he understood it yet or not. Another hand for my game, Naruto thought, watching the man with eyes that saw further than sight allowed. Time will bring him to me. Time always does.
And it was not just Smoker. Drake's silence carried its own rebellion—no encouragement, no faith left in the World Government he served. His eyes carried the weight of disillusion, the hollow mark of a man too long bound to chains that promised honor but delivered rot.
And Hina… Naruto turned, let his gaze drink her in. She smiled, radiant and soft, and yet the truth lay bare beneath it. She is already mine. The world means nothing to her now. I am her horizon, her reason. Everything she does will circle back to me.
He took her hand and felt the warmth of certainty.
That night he slept deep, and when the morning broke, his body felt lighter, stronger. Bones knit tighter, flesh sealing itself into readiness. Within days, he would be whole again. His blood hummed with the promise of power returned.
Three more days, and training resumes.
He rose, stretching the kinks of sleep from his frame, gathering the parcels he had prepared. Bones ground to dust, meats cured, potions refined. They were not for him. Some debts demanded patience, and some seeds needed planting.
A voice stopped him at the door. "Where are you taking those?"
Hina's figure stood in the morning light, her hair catching the gold of the sun.
Naruto turned, the packages in his hands. "To a child I found on the island. A girl with promise."
Hina nodded, her smile quick, almost too quick. But her eyes betrayed her—flicker-fast jealousy, tucked away before most would see it. Most. But Naruto saw everything. He let it pass, his face calm, as she steadied herself into the role she had chosen.
"Come back quickly," she said, her voice soft again, her love a leash she wrapped willingly around her own throat. "Breakfast will be waiting."
Naruto smiled, something gentler this time, and stepped out into the day. He left the parcels at the post, coin on the counter, and a letter with his intent. He would return in a month, he wrote.
As he walked the streets, his thoughts sharpened. The medicines and meats will lift them. They are weak, but not beyond saving. Nami especially. If I hadn't crossed her path, her light would have guttered. Now she can burn brighter, higher than fate ever meant her to.
Patience. A virtue not gifted, but carved by disaster and scar. The kind of patience that meant he could wait a year if it promised a kingdom.
He breathed deep of the morning air, then let it out slow, his focus hardening like iron drawn from the forge.
A bright future, he thought. But not for all.
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The morning was quiet enough to hear the world breathe. Sunlight slipped through the air, cutting the shadows into gold. Naruto stood alone, content in the silence, until he noticed the girl.
Shiro lingered just beyond reach, her small body poised in uncertainty, as though even standing upright cost her something. Her steps wavered, and her eyes carried the weight of storms not spoken aloud.
Naruto's gaze sharpened. He didn't need Haki to see it. Her unease clung to her like a second skin. He raised a hand, calling softly.
The sound struck her like a whip. She flinched, stiffening, the guilt rolling from her in waves. Her lips parted, trembling words dragged into life.
"Sorry… big brother."
The apology was pitiful, raw. It was not the words of someone who had erred, but of someone convinced she was the error. She looked at the floor, as though the ground itself had more right to meet his eyes than she did.
Naruto moved before thought could catch him. His arms wrapped around her, firm, protective, as if by holding her close he could smother the shame out of her. His smile was soft, but his voice carried steel beneath it.
"There's no need to apologize, Shiro. I'm just happy you're here. That you're okay."
Her eyes, wide and uncertain, climbed slowly to meet his. They searched, desperate, for a lie, for the hook beneath the bait.
"Really?" The single word quivered, heavy with disbelief.
"Of course." Naruto nodded, the conviction in his tone leaving no space for hesitation. "You don't have to worry. You're not alone, Shiro. Not anymore."
And then she broke. Her small face twisted, and the tears came like floodwater released. She clung to him, pressing into his chest, sobbing words between breaths.
"I was so worried… worried that big brother might not like me anymore."
Each tear carried her fear, her loneliness, her need to be anchored to someone who wouldn't cast her aside. Naruto felt the warmth spread through him, sharp as joy and heavy as guilt.
His voice dropped, softer now, as he stroked her back. "I could never dislike you, Shiro. You're a good girl. Too good."
A thought flickered at the edge of his mind, dark and curious. Though I wonder… how does the other you feel?
She pulled back just enough for him to see her face. Her cheeks were streaked wet, but her smile bloomed through the ruin, wide and unguarded.
"I also like you, big brother. The other Shiro said… said you are worthy to be a friend."
Naruto held her gaze, and something unexpected twisted inside him. Her eyes, bright even in tears, drew him close to a place he had not intended to go. Desire surged through him—sudden, raw, unbidden. It wasn't the clumsy heat of youth. No. This was older, darker.
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Naruto let her go—gently, as though releasing a fragile bird from his hands. But freedom lasted only a heartbeat.
Hina's voice cut through the stillness like a blade drawn in anger.
"What do you think you were doing?"
Her words cracked against the air, heavy with venom, with the hot edge of jealousy no chain could bind.
Shiro blinked, lost in her own storm, her small face tilting with confusion. But Naruto… Naruto understood the charge instantly. The accusation in Hina's tone was as sharp as any sword. She had seen too much, or thought she had, and jealousy burned in her eyes bright as wildfire.
He stepped forward, calm against her tempest. His voice was steady, low, carrying the weight of control.
"Hina. We weren't doing anything. Shiro was only afraid. I was calming her."
But truth rarely mattered when hearts had already written their story. Hina's lips twisted, disbelief writ clear.
"No—you're lying! I saw you—"
The rest of her words drowned beneath him. Naruto closed the space between them in an instant, his mouth crushing hers, silencing fire with fire. It was no tender thing. His kiss was claim, command, and conquest all at once. Shiro froze where she stood, confusion painted over her, her eyes wide as the scene unfolded like some cruel play before her.
Naruto drew back only when the point was made. His voice cut through the moment, firm, implacable, leaving no room for doubt.
"I wasn't going to kiss her, Hina. If I wanted to, I'd do it here and now, before you, before anyone. Without hesitation. I am not a man who is stopped when he chooses to act."
The words rang with the iron of truth, with a force that left Hina trembling. Her gaze locked to his, fury collapsing into something weaker, needier. She nodded, subdued, as though surrendering to a chain she no longer wanted to break. Her hand reached for him, clinging, devotion spilling into obsession like water breaching a dam.
Naruto sighed within himself. Obsession… devotion too sharp, too dangerous. This is fire that must be controlled, or it will consume the hand that tends it.
He glanced back at Shiro. She had lifted her small hands to cover her eyes, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed she had seen enough. Pretending blindness to what could not be unseen.
"Sorry about that, Shiro." His tone was lighter, almost casual, as if the weight of what had just transpired could be brushed away with a smile. "We'll be heading home now. Join us for dinner."
And with that, he took Hina's hand. She followed without resistance, tethered to him utterly, while Shiro stood in their wake—confused, guilty, and carrying questions that had no safe answers.
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By evening, the sting of death had dulled to memory, and Naruto's body no longer carried the cracks of near-collapse. He trained like a man reforging himself—each strike, each breath, hammered on the anvil of survival. But when the heat of the day bled out and the ocean turned to black glass beneath the stars, he sat on the edge of the world, the sea his horizon, silence his companion.
Until Smoker sat beside him.
"It's a nice view," Smoker said, voice low, steady, almost soft. Strange for a man made of steel and ash. His eyes fixed on the horizon like he'd find answers in the dark water.
Naruto gave a slow nod. "Yeah. It is."
But silence couldn't hold Smoker for long. "Do you know why I'm here?"
Naruto turned his head, expression unreadable. "Enjoy the view? Or maybe you needed someone to talk to."
A dry chuckle slipped out of Smoker, rough as gravel. "Not quite. But it proves you're still human."
Naruto's brow lifted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Smoker's gaze cut sideways, sharp enough to flay. "I thought you predicted everything. That you bent people to your outcomes. That all of us… were just pieces you were moving."
Naruto laughed—quick, hard, sudden. The kind of laugh that made it unclear if it came from humor or derision. "That's everyone's dream, isn't it? Control. But no. People change themselves. I just happen to be standing where the roads twist."
Smoker's silence lingered before he asked, voice heavy: "Then what's your purpose? All of this—you, them, us—what for?"
Naruto studied him, eyes lit with a darker light. His words came quiet, deliberate. "What would you do with the answer?"
Smoker's mouth twitched. "Who knows? But I need to hear it."
Naruto let the silence stretch until the waves whispered their own secrets. Then he grinned. "What if I said I want to rule the world? Would you join me?"
Smoker didn't flinch. His face was stone, unreadable. "Not sold yet. Convince me."
The grin widened, wolfish now. "I like you, Smoker. Power in your hands. Fire in your mind. But why did you really come?"
For a long moment, Smoker sat unmoving, locked in his own private war. Then he exhaled and spoke, slow as confession. "You've cursed your weapon a hundred times over. Said it wasn't enough. While I was hunting, I found an island with a blade—cursed, alive in its own way. I fought its master, tore it from the thing's grip. I brought it here for you. Thought it might feed your hands better than mine."
From his back, he drew it: a sword long and thin, emerald as old blood turned black under moonlight. The blade rippled like water caught in firelight, seven points along its length glowing faint, malignant.
Naruto's breath caught—not in fear, but hunger. His hand touched the weapon, and the curse surged, screaming into him. Shadows clawed his mind, promises whispered in voices made of knives. But Arachne was there, waiting, devouring. The cursed presence shrieked once, then guttered, weakened after years of famine.
"Brother," Naruto murmured, voice almost reverent. He gripped the blade tighter. "This… this will do nicely. I'll repay you with something greater."
Smoker flinched as Naruto pulled him into a rough embrace. The stoic man stiffened, embarrassed, before shoving him off. "No need. You've carried me enough these past months. This is nothing. And besides—" his gaze drifted to the blade, dark as sin in the night— "it doesn't suit me."
Naruto laughed then, loud and raw, the sound rolling out across the waves. "Smoker, you've got the face of a soldier, the fists of a killer, but seeing you flustered? Ha! That's worth more than any cursed sword."
The ocean kept its secrets, the cursed blade hummed low in his grip, and for a moment—just a moment—they were not rivals, not shadows chasing dominion. They were brothers, bound by steel, fire, and the weight of things yet to come.