Overall, the conversation went pretty well. I got to know a bit more about Fugaku, drank some excellent tea, and for all the breath I wasted talking, I got a house as a gift. If only every day could be like this.
So, how much did my relationship with Fugaku level up? Well, if you're invited to share dinner, that means you're being shown a lot of trust. Although, I'm not used to having dinner at four in the afternoon… And I'm definitely not used to sitting on my knees for long stretches – after that two-hour traditional-style conversation, my knees were screaming in pain, so you can understand why I was horrified when I saw we'd be eating at a low table in the living room.
Sorry, Fugaku, but I'm sitting on my butt. I get a pass – I'm an artist.
Oh, and the look on Itachi and Sasuke's faces when Mikoto called them to the table after serving the food – priceless.
Fugaku, as the head of the house, sat at the head of the table. I, as the guest, was to his right. Across from me sat Mikoto, with Itachi next to her, and since there was no more space on that side, Sasuke was seated next to me. No way the youngest daughter would sit across from the clan head. That's where I'd be if I'd been invited for lunch, after which we'd get down to business.
Funny situation, really. I'd met every member of Fugaku's family before I'd even met him, so his formal introduction of his daughters felt a little too amusing.
I wouldn't wish a guest like me on any man.
A traditional dinner in their family is pretty simple and, honestly, a bit dull: everyone sits and eats in silence for a long time. If I were alone, I'd have finished that little bowl of rice in a couple of breaths, but I was far from alone, and I definitely wasn't holding a spoon.
During those two hours chatting with Fugaku, I'd gotten a good look at his "brick-face-no-jutsu" technique. So, not a single emotion showed on my face when something touched my knee.
Out of the corner of my eye, I didn't notice any movement from Sasuke's side. It was hard to tell who had touched my knee, partly because of the thick tablecloth that hung halfway to the floor.
It definitely wasn't Fugaku – he was sitting in the traditional pose, and only his knees were visible under the table.
Maybe… Mikoto? She'd probably already opened the scroll and seen the painting and the note. Was this her way of saying thank you? A little physical contact? Right in front of her husband? Wow, I really underestimated you, Mikoto – you're a bold woman.
And it definitely wasn't Itachi – she's not tall enough, her legs wouldn't reach. So, it had to be Mikoto.
Well… if someone says "thank you," you have to answer. Luckily, I'm not at the Hyuga's, and no one at the table is using the Sharingan.
Okay… slowly… VERY slowly, inch by inch, I started to stretch my leg out under the table. Don't forget about Fugaku's knees – otherwise, I'll lose my own. Damn, at my age, are hormones really supposed to be this wild? I'm acting like my clones, but unlike them, I'm fully aware of the risks.
For a second, I pictured my own gravestone: "Died a brave death – made a move on the wife of the Uchiha clan head." I can just see Danzo pouring sake over my grave, shaking his head and admitting how wrong he was about me, saying in another life we could've been friends.
Seriously, the moment I set foot in this house, I started making one dumb move after another. Is Uchiha clan madness contagious? Or is the land here just cursed, and everyone eventually loses it? Maybe Danzo sprays some kind of psychoactive gas here every morning – who knows.
Meanwhile, to my confusion, my leg still hadn't reached her knee, and my leg isn't exactly endless, but it could reach the edge of the table.
Fine, let's try a few more centimeters, and if it doesn't work, whatever – my brain was already starting to come back to its senses.
Contact. The realization hit me suddenly, and it took all my self-control not to let my SHOCK show on my face.
No, Mikoto's knee was probably fine. The problem was, I hadn't expected sudden pressure on my leg from both sides.
Right now, I wanted to laugh hysterically and cry at the same time.
Hello, Mikoto, didn't expect this, did you? Here I am, your guest. Mind moving your legs a bit? I'm feeling a little awkward here. I never set out to find out what your panties are made of. Sure, you changed into comfy home clothes for dinner, but maybe you should've kept the yukata you wore for the official meeting.
And there's no way to say anything with my face or eyes – at least two people would get suspicious. God, why me? Sure, I wanted to get to your holy place, but not like this.
Hmm, maybe I could try Morse code with my toes. Problem is, I don't know Morse code, and I doubt she does either. But maybe she'll get my mental message.
"Let go," I tapped my toes a few times. But you know what? Mikoto was absolutely terrible at reading my mind. I get that spreading your knees is kind of an invitation to keep going, but squeezing them tighter? Now I can't even pull my leg out!
Oh, and here's a fun fact. The ball of your foot, no matter how tough it seems, is really sensitive to warmth. So, let's sum up: in front of me sits a woman I really like, next to her is her daughter, also a beauty, and to my right is the head of a clan of born killers, who also happens to be her husband, and my leg is currently pressed up tight against this woman's pussy. Oh, and I forgot to mention – my self-control is slipping again.
Well, I touched her a few times and I'm still alive. Mikoto isn't pointing at me, and Fugaku hasn't stabbed me, so what's the harm in a couple more touches? If Mikoto's going to take my leg for this, I might as well enjoy the feeling one last time with my favorite right leg. Apparently, my left leg got jealous, since I always get up with my right, not my left.
Knock knock, anyone home? No answer? Maybe I should knock again, or a little harder.

Fine, I've touched her like ten times already – one more or less won't make a difference.
Ooo, Mikoto, my dear. You finally realized that unless you move your knees, I can't get my leg out? Sorry to disappoint, but you should've thought of that earlier. Still, as a true gentleman, I'll give a lady her personal space. There, my foot's no longer pressed up against your panties. Wait, is it just me, or did they get warmer? Better check! Luckily, my toes can just reach.
Man, if I weren't wearing a kimono made of thick, quality fabric, I'd probably be poking the underside of the table right now. She's so soft and warm! Damn, I could do this kind of foot relaxation every day, especially after morning training. Okay, that's the pubic mound – you keep it trimmed short. So the entrance to your rich hidden place is a little lower, got it, all matches up with eighth-grade anatomy. Left outer lip, right. Checked each one from bottom to top a dozen times. Now let's stick out the big toe and run it up from the bottom, along the deeper part of the fabric. There's the cherry on top – pretty firm, actually, I'd say swollen. No, no, I'll save you for dessert. I want to enjoy the delicate mouth of your river a few more times.
Alright, the river's flowing, the shore's wet, time to check out your little pearl – though that's not really the right word, my finger's not feeling anything cold right now.
You know, Mikoto, I used to box, so it's time to remember how to work the bag. Left, right, uppercut, double, dodge and… a round of non-stop hits for endurance.
Oh, Mikoto, you put on a skirt for dinner, and you didn't even take off your makeup – I guess it's fate. Don't worry, blush as much as you want, the powder's on your side, it won't give you away.
When her legs suddenly squeezed mine and started trembling a little, I realized the match was over.
I can only admire her – the whole time, she didn't flinch above the table, and just like at the start of dinner, she kept eating as if nothing was happening. That kind of self-control is something to envy. Personally, I'd have a hard time focusing on both food and my leg at the same time, but I think I managed a solid B. But if she'd tried something like that with her legs, I doubt I'd last a minute, let alone care about food.
A few minutes later, dinner was over and Fugaku stood up first, turning to me. I got up right after.
"I must apologize for not being able to show proper hospitality until the end tonight. Unfortunately, I'm expected at a council of elders. I hope you enjoyed the meal," he asked politely.
"Not at all, Fugaku-san, I completely understand. And the food was excellent – your wife is a wonderful cook," I complimented his wife, and he smiled just a little, as if I'd praised him. Local customs, I guess.
"I hope you won't mind taking a look around our district. I'm sure my daughter would be happy to give you a tour," he glanced at Itachi.
"I have to be at… work in twelve minutes," she said right away, glancing at Sasuke.
"Sasuke, show Akira-san around our district. It was nice meeting you," he nodded to me.
"Likewise," I replied with a smile, and he left the house with a proud, straight-backed stride.
"Oh, what's that under the table?" Sasuke piped up, and under all our watchful eyes, bent down and started feeling around. "Oh, Snowball, you've been sitting there this whole time?"
Ah, so that's who touched me…
****
"And this is where I usually train," Sasuke pointed to a clearing with some trees.
"Uh-huh."
"I use that tree as a target," she pointed at a rock.
"Uh-huh."
"And over there, I beat the First Hokage," she pointed in another direction.
"Uh-huh."
"Akira-san! Are you even listening to me?" Sasuke snapped me out of my thoughts. Saito had already given me the full tour of the district, so my mind was on other things.
"Sorry, I got a little distracted. What did you say?" I asked her.
"Umm, what were you doing at our house?" she asked, a little embarrassed.
"Oh, your father just wanted to… wait, he didn't tell you?" I put on a surprised face.
"No, was he supposed to?" she looked uncertainly back at the house.
"Oh, Sasuke-chan, why do you think I was invited to your house and treated like a special guest? Here's a hint: you weren't seated next to me by accident."
"Umm, maybe my father found out you're my teacher and wanted to meet you?" she guessed.
"Oh, my young student, if only…" I shook my head with a sigh and went on, "the thing is, your father somehow found out about the details of our last training session. And only we know it was training – to a random bystander, it might have looked… a little too close."
It didn't take Sasuke long to remember, judging by how her ears suddenly turned red.
"So… what did my father say to you?" she seemed really worried.
"We can't be teacher and student anymore," I shook my head and sighed.
"But… why?" she protested a little.
"Sasuke-chan, people wouldn't understand if a student married her teacher."
"Huh?" she lost the thread for a second.
"You still don't get it? Oh, my young student… though now, I should call you my young fiancée." Judging by her face, she just got the blue screen of death.
"Akira-san… you must be joking," she said quietly, looking away.
"Do you really think your father would invite a random stranger to dinner, someone he didn't even know yesterday? On top of that, he's already given us a house in the district. But don't worry, you're still too young, and we're just engaged – when you turn sixteen, we'll make it official." My inner troll was absolutely delighted.
"But… but that's so sudden. I don't even know what to think," she stammered, looking lost.
"I get it, Sasuke-chan, you're still too young for this kind of news. And I'm sure you already have someone in mind. Don't worry, I'll try to sort this out peacefully, gently explaining to your father that I'm not the right match for you."
"I don't have anyone in mind." Sasuke shook her head and blushed.
"Well, either way, I'm seven years older than you. Look at me – I probably seem old and decrepit to you, maybe not even good-looking for my age." I really need to invent the Oscars in this world and give one to myself.
"Mmm," Sasuke shook her head, "I… I think you're handsome," and she dropped her head, trying to hide her suddenly burning cheeks.
"Sasuke-chan, don't say anything on impulse. For now, just go home, sit down, think it over, or better yet, talk to your mom – she'll give you good advice. And remember…"
****
Finally, after calming her swirling emotions, Mikoto stopped pacing in the kitchen. After washing her teacup, she went back to the bedroom and among her things, including some scrolls, she pulled out a specific one.
"Akira, you bastard… How could you do that to me, right in front of my husband and daughters? Where did you get the nerve?!"
What really got to her was that every time she remembered the incident, her pelvic muscles clenched up tight.
Mikoto wasn't exactly a saint – by the end of the day, her husband couldn't always share the futon with her, and even when he could, the real pleasure only came after she'd been holding back for a while. So, it wasn't rare for her to indulge herself. But what really pissed her off was that a simple game of footsie had almost made her melt right there at the table.
"Just like my first time, back when I was a teenager, cleaning my room and the corner of the table accidentally pressed between my legs. I started moving my hips, not understanding why it felt so good… Mmm." Mikoto touched herself under her skirt. After dinner, she'd had to toss her panties straight into the laundry.
"No, no, hold it together, Mikoto, you've already sinned enough today, even if it wasn't your fault… That damn lucky bastard, if he weren't such good friends with Kushina, I'd have killed him tonight. And… I need to find a way to hint to her that he's not exactly the best future match – with a pervert like that, you always have to keep your guard up." With that, Mikoto opened the scroll and, using a special seal, pulled out its contents. Luckily, there were only two things inside: a rectangular box tied with a ribbon, and a note.
Mikoto read the note first.
"Hello, Mikoto-san. Since it turned out I'd be coming to your house, I figured I'd find a way to discreetly give you your portrait. I decided to call the painting 'Strength Amid Sorrow.' Don't ask why it looks like that – when my brush moved across the canvas, I just felt like painting you that way. Call it an artist's intuition. By the way, that outfit really suits you – you look especially beautiful today."
"Pfft, you wrote this before you even saw me." She smirked, and turning the note over, saw a postscript:
"It was hard to get a sealing scroll – I only have one, so I hope you'll find a way to return it."
"Yeah, right, like I'm giving it back." she muttered, feeling a little better for the petty revenge.
The note in her hand instantly burst into flames and scattered as a bit of ash, which she nudged under the nightstand with her toe.
Then Mikoto started opening the box with the portrait.
"So beautiful." she couldn't help but admire the girl on the canvas, only realizing a second later that it was her own portrait.
"Black clothes, loose hair, blood-red Sharingan, and tears." Suddenly, Mikoto remembered the war years – every week brought bad news to the clan, sometimes they didn't take off their mourning clothes for days. She'd come to hate the road to the cemetery. She hadn't fought in the war herself, but she understood all its horrors, and it hurt to realize that every day, there were fewer and fewer clan members. The hardest blow was the day she came home from her cousin's funeral. When she opened the door, she found her mother sobbing on the floor, with a folded cloth bearing their clan's crest and a hitae-ate lying on top. Her own eyes filled with tears, but she didn't have the strength left to show her grief.
Wiping the corner of her eye, she put the portrait back in the scroll and hid it among her other scrolls.
"Mom!" the voice snapped her out of her memories, and after wiping her eyes again, she smiled and got ready to leave the room, but the door opened on its own.
"Oh, sweetie, what's wrong?" It was rare to see her daughter so anxious.
Sasuke, head down, started pacing the room, explaining what was bothering her.
"And anyway, how am I supposed to act now?" she turned to her mother, who was trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. "What's so funny? I'm serious." Sasuke pouted.
Mikoto shook her head and, smiling, led her to the kitchen, where she spent the next hour giving her a crash course in "future daughter-in-law 101."
"But don't worry, my little tomato. No one's marrying you off to anyone," Mikoto said, stroking Sasuke's head.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Sasuke's eyes widened in surprise.
"Your so-called teacher was just joking. Your father invited him to discuss police reforms he wants to implement, inspired by some ideas from your teacher's book."
"Oh, so that's what it was." Sasuke sighed in relief, then squinted, "so he tricked me!" realization dawning.
"Hehe, that's right. Think of it as a lesson. Trust, but verify. Better you learn that from something silly like this, rather than on a mission."
"Still… it's kind of mean. I was already wondering if a ring would get in the way of throwing shuriken. What a… baka." and then she paled, realizing she'd just cursed in front of her mom, but to her surprise, Mikoto just nodded. "Now I kind of get that last thing he said to me. When I heard it, it sounded weird."
"Oh? What did he say?" Mikoto leaned in, curious.
"Let me remember… 'And remember: the best way to get revenge on a man is to marry him.' But I don't get why marriage is a good way to get revenge."
"Ah, don't worry about it. When the time comes, you'll understand." she stroked her daughter's head again.
"These words, Sasuke could never figure out on her own, and since he told her to talk to me, it's clear those words were meant for me. Hah, 'shameless' must be his real name.
Well, Akira, you're not getting a gift like that from me – I'll find a way to make your life difficult. You shouldn't have stained my honor."
🔥~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🔥
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