The communal baths reeked of antiseptic and exhaustion when the girls staggered in past midnight. Ino came first—her usually flawless ponytail half-undone, lips swollen with bite marks, and the faint shimmer of foreign chakra still clinging to her thighs. "Four," she muttered to the steaming water, sinking in until bubbles obscured her chest. "Fucking four of them." Across from her, Hinata's petite frame trembled beneath the surface, her Byakugan veins still visible—a sure sign of overuse—while angry purple bruises circled her wrists where silk restraints had bitten deep.
Tenten arrived with an audible limp, her thighs streaked with oil and gunpowder residue. She didn't speak, just dunked her head under the water and screamed silently, sending ripples across the surface where Sakura's healing glow flickered erratically around fresh whip marks crisscrossing her back. "They kept asking for *more*," Sakura whispered to no one, her fingers tracing the outline of a kunai-shaped brand still searing her inner thigh.
The door slid open with a wet scrape. Himari stood silhouetted against the hallway light—naked save for the thin red lines of a latticework cane pattern covering every inch of skin from neck to ankles. She took three steps forward before her knees gave out, catching herself on the rim of the pool with a gasp that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Mission report," Ino drawled hollowly, watching blood drip from Himari's braid into the water. "Fire Country nobles really *do* like playing with their food."
Silence settled like a shroud until Tenten suddenly hurled a shampoo bottle at the wall. "Tomorrow," she spat, "we riot."
Sakura's chuckle was dark as she peeled a stray bandage from her collarbone. "After breakfast."
The communal baths had long gone cold by the time the last whimpers faded. Ino floated on her back, staring at the ceiling tiles where steam had condensed into slow-dripping patterns—one droplet landing directly between her bruised breasts every eleven seconds. She counted them like a mantra. Hinata's knees poked above the water's surface like pale islands, her arms wrapped around them as she rocked slightly, the motion making the chakra-suppression seals still adhered to her inner thighs peel at the edges. Every time they stuck back down, she flinched.
Tenten's forehead rested against the tiled wall, her fingers idly plucking at a split lip. The armory oil had left an iridescent sheen across her collarbones that wouldn't scrub off, smelling faintly of iron and gunpowder whenever she turned her head. Someone—probably Sakura—had healed the worst of the friction burns between her legs, but the skin still pulled taut when she shifted.
Sakura herself sat cross-legged on the bath's edge, green glow flickering as she pressed two fingers to the kunai brand on her thigh. The skin knit together smoother with each pass, but the shape remained—a jagged reminder that Mist shinobi took souvenirs. Her other hand absently traced the whip marks on her back, counting the raised welts like tally marks.
Himari didn't move from where she'd collapsed against the pool's rim, her breathing deliberately even. The cane marks formed an almost artistic grid across her skin, each intersecting line raised just enough to catch the light. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse but steady: "Moriko wasn't wrong about pain being an element." Her fingers twitched toward the small of her back, where the ambassador's seal—a stylized flame—still pulsed faintly with embedded chakra.
No one mentioned the blood still clouding the water around Ino's hips, or how Hinata's Byakugan veins hadn't fully receded even after an hour. The silence stretched until Sakura suddenly slapped the surface, sending up a spray that hit Tenten square between the shoulder blades. "Breakfast," she declared, standing with a wince they all pretended not to notice. "Then we burn that mission box."
Ino's laugh was more of a wheeze as she hauled herself upright, water sluicing off the bite marks ringing her waist. "I'll bring the matches."
Hinata stood last, her movements careful in a way that had nothing to do with modesty. The noble delegation's perfumed oils clung to her skin in patches, smelling overwhelmingly of jasmine and something darker underneath. She paused at the door, her Byakugan flaring briefly as she scanned the empty hallway. "They're waiting," she murmured, not specifying who.
The walk back to the dormitory took three times longer than usual, their footsteps syncing into an unsteady rhythm. Behind them, the bathwater swirled with traces of blood, oil, and the faintest shimmer of foreign chakra before the drain swallowed it all.
The dormitory smelled of medicinal salve and sweat when the five finally collapsed onto futons pushed together in defiance of regulations. Ino sprawled on her stomach, her usually flawless hair matted with bathwater and dried fluids, the Yamanaka clan's signature golden strands now dull against the pillow. Her thighs twitched involuntarily—foreign chakra lingering in overstimulated nerve endings—and every exhale carried the faintest whimper she'd never admit to. Hinata curled into herself like a wounded animal, her Byakugan finally dormant but the skin around her eyes bruised purple from strain. The noble's perfume still clung to her wrists where silk restraints had bitten deepest, mixing unpleasantly with the sharp tang of antiseptic she'd scrubbed across her thighs.
Tenten lay rigid on her back, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes. The armory oil had seeped into her pores, leaving her skin gleaming under the moonlight like a poorly wiped blade. Her fingers kept flexing—phantom sensations of calloused hands forcing her grip around various weapons while other parts of her were *used*—and she'd bitten through her lower lip without noticing. Sakura's healing glow flickered intermittently from her corner, the chakra exhaustion making the light sputter like a dying candle. She'd managed to close the worst wounds, but the kunai brand remained stubbornly raised, its edges an angry red where Mist shinobi had pressed it in with sadistic precision.
Himari didn't lie down at all. She sat cross-legged by the window, her back a latticework of cane marks that formed perfect intersecting lines—some still oozing where skin had split under repeated strikes. The Fire ambassador's seal pulsed at the base of her spine, its chakra tendrils worming deeper whenever she shifted. Every breath hissed through clenched teeth, but her expression remained eerily placid—the blank mask of someone who'd dissociated halfway through the mission and hadn't fully returned.
No one slept. The occasional rustle of sheets or hitched breath cut through the silence, but none of them spoke. Dawn found them exactly as they'd fallen—Ino's fingers tangled in a pillowcase, Hinata's knees drawn to her chest, Tenten's oil-smeared thighs pressed tightly together. Only when the academy bells rang did Sakura stir, her voice rough as gravel: "We'll be late."
They dressed in silence, wincing as fabric dragged over half-healed marks. Ino's mesh armor caught on the bite marks around her waist; Hinata's leggings made the chakra seals peel away with wet *ticks*; Tenten nearly gagged when the smell of armory oil rose from her own skin as she pulled on a fresh blouse. Himari was last to move—her limbs stiff from hours of stillness—but when she finally stood, the ambassador's seal flared bright enough to cast flickering shadows across the floor.
The walk to the academy was a staggered march of injuries poorly concealed. Sakura's limp lessened with each step as her healing chakra sluggishly replenished; Ino compensated for her trembling thighs with exaggerated hip swings that would've been flirtatious if not for the death grip on her kunai pouch. They didn't speak until the academy gates loomed ahead—then Himari stopped dead, her fingers spasming at her sides. "If Moriko's there," she said to the morning air, "I'm going to set her hair on fire."
Tenten's grin was all teeth. "I'll hold her down."
The classroom door groaned open to reveal Moriko perched on the edge of her desk, a steaming cup of tea cradled in hands adorned with rings that caught the morning light like miniature blades. "Late," she sing-songed without looking up, her crimson lips curling around the word as though savoring its taste. Five sets of footsteps faltered at the threshold—Hinata's breath hitching when her swollen thighs rubbed together, Sakura's jaw tightening around a hiss as fresh blood seeped through her bandages. Moriko's nostrils flared slightly at the metallic tang, her gaze lifting to rake over them with the clinical detachment of a butcher assessing cuts of meat. "Mission reports," she commanded, tapping a lacquered nail against the stack of blank scrolls awaiting their trembling hands.
Ino swayed slightly when she stepped forward, her usual grace undone by the persistent throb between her legs where Stone shinobi had left their chakra signatures simmering under her skin. The brush trembled in her grip as she scrawled *Targets neutralized via vaginal chakra absorption. Secondary intel extracted during post-coital sleep.* Moriko plucked the scroll from her fingers before the ink dried, humming appreciatively at the smeared characters. "Four in six hours," she mused, tracing a finger along Ino's jugular where a bite mark purpled. "Yamanaka clan techniques indeed."
Hinata's report was a masterpiece of understatement—*Noble delegation satisfied. Chakra suppression maintained for 8-hour duration*—but her shaking hands betrayed the hours spent biting through silk gagsto muffle screams as aristocrats tested the limits of a Hyuga's famed endurance. Moriko's smirk deepened when she noticed the cracked calluses on Hinata's fingertips from clutching bedposts too tight. "Such delicate hands," she murmured, snapping the scroll shut with a sound like breaking bones.
Tenten's brush snapped mid-character when Moriko leaned over her shoulder to read *Armory efficiency increased 37%. Genital-based maintenance protocols effective.* The instructor's chuckle sent droplets of hot tea splattering across Tenten's nape. "I told them you'd be good with your mouth," she purred, thumbing at the split lip Tenten hadn't let Sakura heal.
Sakura's report was a single line of jagged script—*Mist operative extracted. Kunai retrieval unsuccessful*—but the way her healing glow flickered crimson when Moriko touched the brand on her thigh spoke volumes. "Oh petal," Moriko sighed, rolling the scroll between her palms until it crackled with static. "Didn't they teach you? Weapons are meant to be sheathed."
Himari didn't approach the desk. She simply held out her scroll—still blank—and let Moriko pry it from her fingers with deliberate slowness. The ambassador's seal pulsed angrily at her spine when Moriko's chakra flared to life around them, the air thickening with the scent of singed parchment as the blank scroll burst into flames. "Fire Country sends their regards," Moriko whispered into the sudden silence, watching the ashes drift onto Himari's boots.
The punishment came swift as a kunai strike. "Late," Moriko declared, plucking a bamboo cane from the wall rack with a twirl that made the air whistle. "And looking *unpresentable*." The first crack against Ino's thighs drew a gasp that morphed into something darker when the vibrations rippled through oversensitive flesh. Hinata's turn came with the cane's tip tracing her still-sealed chakra points before striking—precisely—between them. Tenten barely flinched when her palms were struck, the calluses from gripping weapons now serving new purpose.
Sakura took her strikes standing, each impact sending fresh blood trickling down her legs to pool at her feet. When Moriko paused to admire her handiwork, Sakura spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto the instructor's polished boots. The resulting volley of blows left her sprawled across the desk, her ragged breathing the only sound in the room aside from the cane's ominous tap against floorboards.
Himari didn't resist when Moriko gripped her braid to yank her forward, nor when the first strike landed directly across the ambassador's seal. The resulting chakra backlash sent both women staggering—Moriko's sleeve catching fire, Himari's scream ripping from some primal place untouched by dissociation. It was the scent of burning silk that finally made Moriko pause, her chest heaving as she surveyed the wreckage of her students.
"One week," she snapped, tossing the splintered cane aside. "Heal. Then we begin *real* training." The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the mission box on its shelf—its lacquered surface now marred by five distinct sets of scratches. The moment Moriko's footsteps faded, Himari collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the ambassador's seal pulsed erratically—its chakra tendrils now lashing against her spine like a caged beast. Across the room, Sakura's healing glow flickered back to life, painting the pooling blood beneath her in macabre greenish light. Ino was the first to speak, her voice raw with something between laughter and rage: "Breakfast first. Then we burn that bitch alive." Tenten's fingers curled around a kunai still slick with armory oil, her grin feral in the dim light. "I'll bring the napalm."
The infirmary smelled of burnt herbs and old blood when they staggered in, five shadows clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors. The medic-nin took one look at their collective state and silently handed over salve, bandages, and a bottle of clear liquor with no label. Sakura poured it directly onto Himari's seeping seal—the resulting scream shook dust from the rafters. Ino downed a mouthful before peeling her mesh armor away from half-scabbed bites, her smirk returning with the alcohol's burn. "Toasty," she rasped, watching Tenten light the mission scrolls on fire with a spark-charged senbon. The flames cast their bruises in flickering relief—a living tapestry of what Konoha's finest endured.