The tournament continued.
At least, it tried to.
Genma Shiranui stood in the center of the arena, his senbon hanging loosely from slack lips as he stared at the spectacle unfolding in the fighter's box. Seven women—their transformed figures so extreme they seemed to belong in fever dreams rather than reality—had formed a protective mass around Uzumaki Naruto.
He couldn't even see the boy anymore.
Just curves. Impossible, physics-defying curves, pressing together from every angle, creating a cocoon of feminine flesh that completely obscured their shared focus.
"Uchiha Satsuki versus Gaara of the Desert!" he called out, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent stadium. "Competitors, enter the arena!"
No response.
The mass of transformed women didn't even acknowledge his words.
"Uchiha Satsuki!" Genma tried again, louder. "Report to the arena immediately or forfeit your match!"
Nothing.
In the pile, Satsuki heard the words. Processed them. Understood their meaning on an intellectual level.
She didn't care.
Her face was pressed against Naruto's chest, her arms wrapped around him from behind while Sakura claimed his front and Anko encompassed them all. The tournament, the match, Gaara, her entire ninja career—none of it registered as important.
Only this mattered.
Only him.
Only the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat, the simple fact of his existence pressed against her own.
"Naruto-kun," she murmured into his shirt. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Water? Food? Different position?"
"I am adequately situated," Naruto replied, his voice carrying that familiar flatness despite the unprecedented circumstances.
"Good. That's good." She pressed closer, her enormous chest compressing against his back. "Tell me if that changes. Tell me anything. I want to know everything you want. Everything you need. Everything you think."
"Your dedication is noted."
"It's not dedication. It's existence." Her voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "I don't exist without you anymore. There is no Satsuki apart from Naruto. There is only us."
In the arena below, Gaara stood alone.
His dark-ringed eyes were fixed on the fighter's box, sand shifting restlessly around his feet. He had been waiting for this match—had anticipated testing himself against the Uchiha's Sharingan, had prepared strategies for her fire techniques.
But she wasn't coming.
Because of him.
Because of Uzumaki Naruto.
Mother—the voice in his head that had guided him since childhood—was unusually quiet. Uncertain, even. Something about the chakra radiating from those transformed women felt... familiar. Like a distorted echo of his own demon's power.
"The match is forfeit," Genma announced finally, resignation heavy in his voice. "Winner by default: Gaara of the Desert."
The crowd murmured—confusion, disappointment, growing unease at what they were witnessing.
Gaara didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on the pile of women surrounding his intended future opponent. On the boy at their center.
Interesting, he thought. Very interesting.
"Satsuki." Sakura's voice was muffled, her face buried in Naruto's shoulder. "You missed your match."
"I know."
"Gaara won by forfeit."
"I know."
"You don't care?"
"No." Satsuki's arms tightened around Naruto. "I don't care about anything except him. Do you?"
Sakura considered the question seriously.
A month ago—even a week ago—she would have been horrified by Satsuki's casual dismissal of a tournament match. Would have argued about career implications, village expectations, the importance of demonstrating their skills.
Now, pressed against Naruto's warmth, surrounded by sisters who shared her absolute devotion, she understood.
"No," she admitted. "I don't care either."
"Good." Satsuki's voice carried satisfaction. "Then we agree."
Ino had claimed Naruto's left arm, her transformed figure wrapped around the limb like it was the most precious thing in existence. Her face nuzzled against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
"What's your favorite color, Naruto-kun?" she asked softly.
"I don't have preferences."
"Then I don't have a favorite color either." She pressed closer. "Whatever you eventually decide to like, I'll like it too. Whatever you hate, I'll hate. Your opinions are my opinions. Your desires are my desires."
"That's not a healthy psychological framework."
"I don't care about health. I care about you." Her voice carried absolute certainty. "Being perfectly aligned with you is more important than any individual identity I might have had before."
Hinata nodded from her position at Naruto's right side. "She's right. We all feel the same way. There is no 'us' separate from 'you' anymore."
"Your individual personalities—" Naruto started.
"Are irrelevant," Tenten interrupted from somewhere in the pile. "We remember who we were before. We just don't care about that person anymore. She was incomplete. Empty, even, in her own way. Now we're full. Full of you."
"Overflowing with you," Temari added, her face pressed against his leg. "Every thought, every feeling, every moment of existence—it's all about you now. And it's perfect. It's the most perfect thing we've ever experienced."
Anko's arms tightened around the entire group, her massive form encompassing them all like a protective shell.
"My boy," she breathed. "My perfect, precious boy. We're never letting you go. Never. The village can burn, the world can end, nothing matters except keeping you safe and loved and ours."
In the stands, the spectators watched with expressions ranging from confusion to horror to fascination.
This wasn't normal. This wasn't anything close to normal. Seven women—including a foreign kunoichi, a jonin proctor, and some of Konoha's most promising young ninja—had essentially abandoned their responsibilities to form a cuddle pile around a twelve-year-old genin.
In public.
During a major international event.
The Hokage had risen from his seat, his aged face pale with concern. ANBU operatives surrounded his position, awaiting orders. But what orders could he give? The women weren't attacking anyone. Weren't directly threatening the village. They were just... devoted. Obsessively, overwhelmingly, impossibly devoted.
"Hokage-sama," an advisor whispered. "Should we intervene?"
"Intervene how? With what justification?" Hiruzen's voice was heavy. "They're not breaking any laws. Unusual behavior isn't a crime."
"But the Nine-Tails chakra—"
"Is not actively harming anyone." The old man's eyes fixed on the mass of transformed flesh hiding his surrogate grandson. "Yet."
The unspoken implication hung in the air.
This situation was unprecedented. Unpredictable. And potentially catastrophic if it escalated further.
But for now, all they could do was watch.
And wait.
And hope that whatever was happening wouldn't destroy everything they had built.
"Naruto-kun." Sakura's voice was soft against his neck. "Are you happy?"
The question penetrated the analytical haze that usually dominated his mind.
Was he happy?
He didn't experience happiness. Didn't experience anything, really. The capacity had been destroyed years ago, leaving only emptiness where emotions should have been.
But...
But pressed against this warmth. Surrounded by bodies that existed solely to comfort him. Enveloped by devotion so absolute it defied comprehension.
Something was there.
Not happiness, exactly. Not in the way he understood the concept from observation and analysis.
But not nothing, either.
"I don't know," he admitted.
It was the most honest answer he had given in years.
Sakura's arms tightened around him. "Then we'll keep trying. We'll keep loving you until you figure it out. Until you feel it. Until you understand what you mean to us."
"What do I mean to you?"
"Everything." The word was whispered by seven voices simultaneously. "Everything. Everything. Everything."
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Naruto didn't analyze the statement.
He simply... accepted it.
Let it wash over him without trying to categorize or understand or file it away as data.
Just accepted that these women loved him.
That they would do anything for him.
That they had ceased to be individuals and become extensions of his existence.
It should have been disturbing.
It wasn't.
It was...
Warm.
The tournament continued around them.
Matches were fought. Winners were declared. The crowd eventually stopped staring at the cuddle pile in the fighter's box and returned their attention to the combat below.
Shikamaru forfeited against Temari's replacement—some confused Sand genin who had been pulled from the audience to fill the bracket.
Shino's match against Kankuro ended in the Aburame's favor, his insects overwhelming the puppet user's defenses.
Gaara watched everything with those dead eyes, waiting for his chance to fight someone who might actually provide a challenge.
But Team Seven's matches were over.
Satsuki had forfeited.
Naruto had already won.
And the cuddle pile showed no signs of dispersing.
Hours passed.
The sun tracked across the sky, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to evening. The tournament's remaining matches concluded without incident, though the energy in the stadium never quite recovered from the morning's strange events.
The mass of transformed women hadn't moved.
They had shifted positions occasionally—taking turns at the center of the pile, rotating who got to press their face against which part of Naruto's body. But they had never separated. Never allowed even a moment's gap between their flesh and his.
"You need to eat," Anko murmured, her maternal instincts emerging through the fog of primal need. "And rest. This position isn't good for long-term—"
"I'll go wherever you go," Satsuki interrupted. "If you're taking him somewhere, we're all coming."
"Of course." Anko's voice carried no argument. "We all go. We all stay. We're never apart from him again."
"Never," the others echoed.
Naruto observed this exchange with his usual clinical detachment.
But something had changed.
He was beginning to understand—not emotionally, not yet, but intellectually—what their devotion actually meant.
They had given up everything for him.
Their individual identities. Their personal ambitions. Their relationships outside the group. Their entire existence had been restructured around his wellbeing.
It was, objectively speaking, the most valuable resource he had ever been given.
And for the first time, he found himself wanting to... protect it.
Not because of tactical calculations. Not because of pragmatic assessment of their utility.
Because something inside him—something small and fragile and newly awakened—recognized that what they were offering was precious.
And precious things should be protected.
"We should relocate," he said, his voice cutting through their murmured devotions. "Somewhere private. Somewhere we can..."
He trailed off, uncertain how to complete the sentence.
Be together, supplied something in the back of his mind. Something that sounded like Kurama's voice.
"...continue this," he finished.
Seven pairs of eyes lit up with joy so intense it was almost painful to observe.
"Yes," they breathed as one. "Anywhere. Everywhere. As long as we're with you."
And as the pile slowly, reluctantly began to untangle itself—maintaining constant contact throughout the process, never allowing even a moment of separation—Naruto found himself thinking something he had never thought before.
Maybe this is what home feels like.
He filed the thought away for later analysis.
But he didn't dismiss it.