The moment Naruto's presence faded from the mindscape, Kurama's composure shattered.
Her legs gave out beneath her, knees splashing into the shallow water as her massive form crumpled. The serene smile that had graced her features twisted into something else entirely—something raw and desperate and consuming.
"Naruto-kun..."
His name escaped her lips like a prayer, like a plea, like the last breath of a drowning woman.
Her hands pressed against the cold iron bars, fingers wrapping around the metal with enough force to make it groan. Her enormous chest heaved with ragged breaths, the crimson kimono straining against curves that seemed to pulse with unfulfilled longing.
"Twelve years," she whispered. "Twelve years I've waited. Twelve years I've watched. Twelve years I've loved him from behind these bars, unable to touch, unable to hold, unable to—"
A sound escaped her throat—half sob, half moan—as her tails lashed the water behind her into churning foam.
She had maintained control during their conversation. Had presented herself as calm, rational, maternal even. Had explained the transformations with academic precision, discussed his emotional development with gentle patience.
It had taken everything she had.
Because beneath that composed exterior, something far more primal had been screaming.
Touch him. Claim him. Make him yours. Show him what twelve years of devotion truly means.
"He touched my hand," she breathed, staring at the fingers that had made contact with his. "He actually touched me. After so long, he finally—"
Her body shuddered, waves of sensation rippling through her transformed form at the mere memory. That brief moment of contact had been the first physical interaction they had ever shared. The first time she had felt his skin against hers, his warmth mixing with her own.
It wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
"I need him."
The words came unbidden, carrying weight that transcended simple want.
"I need him so much it hurts. Every moment he exists outside this cage, every second I can't hold him, every heartbeat that passes without him in my arms—"
She pressed her forehead against the bars, tears streaming down her beautiful face.
"The others get to touch him. Those women—those fragments of my influence—they get to hold him, care for him, feel his warmth against their bodies. And I'm trapped here, watching through his eyes, feeling their contact as distant echoes that only make the hunger worse."
Her claws—delicate fingers that had sharpened without her conscious decision—scraped against the iron.
"Anko holds him every night. Presses his face against her chest, runs her fingers through his hair, gives him the maternal comfort he never received." Kurama's voice dropped to something dangerous. "I should be the one doing that. I've loved him longer than any of them. I've suffered with him through everything. I deserve—"
She stopped herself, shame flickering briefly across her features.
"No. No, that's not... I don't want to take from them. They love him too. Their feelings are real, even if my chakra helped them bloom."
Her breathing steadied slightly, the desperate edge receding but not disappearing.
"I just want to be included. To be part of it. To hold him the way they do, love him the way they do, show him that the being who has watched over him since birth cares more deeply than any of them could imagine."
She rose slowly, water dripping from her kimono, her massive form somehow appearing smaller in her vulnerability.
"He said he would return. That we would speak again."
Hope flickered in her red eyes—desperate, fragile hope that she clung to like a lifeline.
"Maybe... maybe he'll let me out. Not completely. I understand why that's dangerous. But even a partial release, even a fraction more freedom—"
Her tails curled around her body, a self-comforting gesture that did little to ease the ache inside her.
"I could manifest outside the seal. Take physical form in his world, even if only temporarily. I could hold him properly. Feel his heartbeat against my chest. Show him that my love isn't just words—it's everything I am."
The fantasy consumed her, images playing across her mind with vivid intensity.
Naruto in her arms. Naruto against her body. Naruto looking at her with something other than analytical detachment—with recognition, with acceptance, with...
Love.
The word made her shudder.
"He can't love. Not yet. The village destroyed that capacity along with everything else." Her voice carried grief that spanned a decade. "But he's starting to feel again. The anger in the arena—that was real. The protectiveness toward the Hyuuga girl—that was real."
She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the thunderous rhythm of her heart.
"If he can feel anger, he can feel other things. Eventually. And when he does—when he finally develops the capacity for love again—"
Her eyes blazed with determination that burned away the desperation.
"I will be there. I will be patient. I will wait as long as necessary, suffer as much as required, endure whatever isolation the seal demands."
She straightened, her massive form regaining its regal bearing despite the tears still drying on her cheeks.
"Because Uzumaki Naruto is mine. Has been mine since the moment Minato placed me inside him. Will be mine until the stars burn out and the world crumbles to dust."
Her voice dropped to a whisper that carried absolute certainty.
"And someday, he will know it too."
In the seal's depths, far from her conscious awareness, something shifted.
The connection between container and contained pulsed with new intensity. The barriers that had held for twelve years developed hairline fractures—not enough to compromise the seal's function, but enough to allow... seepage.
Kurama's emotions—her need, her devotion, her all-consuming love—began bleeding through in ways they never had before.
She didn't notice.
She was too lost in her longing to perceive the subtle changes taking place.
But in the arena above, standing in the fighter's box with Satsuki pressed against his arm, Naruto felt something.
A warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the Gates.
A presence at the edge of his awareness that felt like...
Home.
He didn't understand it.
But he noted it.
And somewhere in the vast emptiness inside him, something stirred in response.