Woyin Village, hot spring inn.
Warm steam drifted lazily through the air, filling the open bath with a soft, hazy glow. Sarada sank into the hot spring, her tense nerves finally relaxing.
The warm water slid over her fair skin. Above the surface, the flat curve of her chest barely broke the waterline. Her black hair was soaked through, clinging lightly to her cheeks and neck. From time to time, she leaned back completely, letting herself sink under the surface, exhaling slowly.
After a night of psychological torment, her eyes had finally returned.
The instant her eyeballs settled back into their sockets, the Sharingan stirred. Two tomoe rotated quietly, steady and calm.
The white-robed man stood nearby, gazing into her eyes with faint disappointment.
After despair, fear, loss, and redemption, she had only advanced a single step.
Well… progress was still progress. Standing still would have been worse. There was no need to demand too much from her.
After all, her father was someone who had awakened his Mangekyō through the rage and destruction of an entire clan.
After a long night, the man in white allowed Sarada to rest for a full day. He wasn't truly pressed for time.
The hot springs were divided between men and women. On the other side of the wall, the pale-faced man in white robes sat submerged in the water, his body half-hidden by steam.
"Cough—cough…!"
A painful spasm shook him. He covered his mouth, but dark blood spilled between his fingers, splashing into the pool and instantly staining part of it red.
Other guests were bathing nearby, yet none of them seemed to notice him at all. They chatted quietly, relaxed and unaware, as if he didn't exist.
The man's breathing grew heavier. Staying any longer would only hasten his collapse.
He stood up, forcing himself to move. Before leaving, he formed hand seals, using water release to wash away the blood, then fire release to evaporate every last trace.
Moments later, as guests wrinkled their noses at a faint metallic scent lingering in the steam, the white-robed man had already wrapped himself up and left the bath.
Open-air viewing platform.
He sat on the wooden corridor, one hand bracing against the floor, the other resting on his knee. Cold, damp air filled his lungs as he breathed slowly.
A cool morning breeze passed by, carrying a hint of dew.
He exhaled softly.
His body was reaching its limit.
Breaking past human boundaries always came with a price. His body carried Boruto's bloodline, but his heart pumped blood of his own—an unstable hybrid.
To keep that body functioning, the illusion of Drunken Life had to remain active at all times.
That was why he never fought recklessly. Yet last night, even a small use of Lightning Release had overstimulated his cells far more than expected.
The hot spring, which soothed Sarada, was like molten lava to him. Increased circulation only accelerated his internal collapse.
Time passed quietly.
As the sun climbed higher, Sarada finally emerged from the bath, reluctant and exhausted. Her limbs felt weak, her head light.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes unfocused, as if she were drunk. She staggered as she walked.
The door to the guest room slid open.
On the viewing platform outside, the white-robed man glanced back at her state and couldn't help twitching his lips.
She looked exactly like a daughter who'd stayed out all night drinking—reeking of alcohol, grinning foolishly, then dumped back home in a pitiful state.
Sarada spotted him through her haze and felt a strange sense of relief. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed backward onto the floor, instantly falling asleep.
White-robed man: …
The problem was that she hadn't even bothered to wear her bathrobe properly. It was thrown on haphazardly, barely hanging in place.
When she fell, both what one wanted to see—and absolutely didn't want to see—were exposed.
Silence filled the room.
The man in white walked over expressionlessly.
Just as Chongming was holding an imaginary high-definition camera in one hand and popcorn in the other, fully prepared to enjoy the spectacle, Sarada suddenly vanished from view.
She had been kicked straight into the next room.
Chongming: ...
…
The incident didn't end there.
Not long after the two white-robed figures left the battlefield, a nimble shadow arrived with a few swift leaps.
The ruins were unmistakable. The signs of an intense battle were everywhere, and even the cool morning air carried residual heat.
No bodies.
That alone gave him a headache. Had the enemy been cautious enough to clean up even the corpses?
His crimson pupils spun silently, capturing every detail in the surroundings. He searched meticulously.
Finally, not far away, he found fragments of a shattered syringe.
This was… a drug currently under development by the organization. It granted power far beyond the body's limits—for a short time—at the cost of death.
That meant the intelligence team that sent the signal had already injected itself.
And yet…There was no trace of the enemy.
They had still failed. Even after staking their lives.
Suppressing his grief, Uchiha Tsukifu clenched his fists.
He would avenge them.
The enemy couldn't have gone far. He had arrived shortly after the signal. Considering the battle duration, he must have narrowly missed them.
Most likely, the enemy was recovering somewhere in the village. Even without knowing their exact strength, Tsukifu trusted the drug's effectiveness.
Their comrade must have inflicted serious damage.
So he shifted his focus to the village hospital, using genjutsu to subtly inquire whether anyone with severe injuries had been admitted that morning.
But no matter how he tried, he found nothing.
In the end, he could only monitor those leaving the village, watching their movements closely.
After all, chakra reserves always betrayed a shinobi.
…
Afternoon, dusk.
The man in white hadn't expected Sarada to sleep for so long. She remained unconscious until evening.
He sat quietly, watching the sun sink into the valley, warmth and light slowly fading away.
Suddenly—
"Ah!!!"
The scream shattered the calm.
Irritated, the white-robed man stood and walked to her door.
"Why are you barking like a dog in the middle of the night?"
Sarada: …
She hurriedly dressed, her face burning red with embarrassment.
He didn't want to get involved and simply said, "If there's danger, bark. If not, we leave immediately."
"O-Okay… right away," Sarada replied softly.
It turned out Chongming had kindly filled her in on the "highlight reel" from that morning. She hadn't remembered anything when she first woke up, but once reminded, everything came flooding back.
Including the dull ache in her stomach from that kick.
Sarada quickly cleaned herself up and changed clothes.
The red cheongsam was gone, abandoned along with her old self.
Now she wore a white-and-yellow short-sleeved dress, a loose outer coat draped over it. Pale gold chrysanthemums were embroidered across the back.
Her black over-the-knee stockings were replaced with white knee-high socks. Light-colored shorts were hidden beneath the skirt, giving her a fresher, more energetic look.
The white-robed man glanced at her indifferently.
Sarada caught the faint disdain in his eyes.
Some things, it seemed, couldn't be disguised.
Flat is flat.
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