A few days slipped by in suffocating silence.
Ryo's recovery was astonishing. Strength returned to his left arm like the spring tide, and he no longer confined himself to the bed. He began moving around, slow and cautious at first, then quickly steady and powerful.
Within the cramped tent he paced and stretched. Each motion drew smooth lines of muscle and carried an irrepressible aura of killing intent.
The numbness from the poison was completely gone. Power surged in him, and he longed for the raw satisfaction of blood and battle.
Mikoto still shadowed him, bringing water, medicine, and those bland rations. But something had changed.
She had grown quiet, no longer forcing conversation. When Ryo exercised, she would stand in the shadowed corner, a rolled medical scroll in hand. Yet whenever his movements tugged at a wound, her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the scroll's edge, then relaxed when he steadied.
When those bright black eyes occasionally met Ryo's, she would dodge like a frightened deer. A faint, suspicious blush flashed across her pale cheeks, slow to fade. There was clear annoyance at herself in her gaze, and a kind of timid avoidance, as if still mortified by that accident, not daring to look him in the eye.
Ryo's face stayed iron-cold. He ignored her.
At last, just then, the air changed.
Tsunade stepped in as Ryo, back to the flap, practiced one-handed forms. Every punch ripped the air with dull, sharp pops. Sweat soaked his vest, clinging to the taut back muscles already more than halfway recovered.
In the corner, Mikoto sat with her legs to the side, head lowered, fingertips unconsciously tracing the open scroll.
Tsunade's hawk-sharp gaze swept them both. Ryo's sweat-slicked power. Mikoto's deliberate, humble, persistent quail pose. She recalled the faint, ambiguous ripple she had walked in on days ago, and the strange sensation beneath her fingertips when she had checked Ryo's shoulder blade. Instantly, a nameless wicked fire, mixed with irritation, flared up her spine.
She was a shinobi, a medical sage, a veteran of battlefield hell. Mikoto's little tricks were child's play to her. The carefully averted eyes, the blush, the cautious stance, every bit of it was embellished bait.
Anger surged in Tsunade's chest.
She wanted to rip the flimsy act to shreds on the spot and throw this heart-disturbing girl out.
By instinct she wanted to protect the brat who had dragged her back from the edge of hell. She would not let him fall into a little fox's snare.
But then her eyes fell on Ryo's back, those deep, bone-showing scars. Scars earned to bring her, Jiraiya, and even that idiot Orochimaru back alive.
The scolding at her lips thinned into a hard, impatient snort from the nose. "Hmph."
Two steps carried her to Ryo. She yanked up his arm to inspect the injury, rougher than last time, almost venting.
"Enough. You are out of here tomorrow." Her hands flew, and her fingertips skated over skin, the familiar resilient texture only irked her more. The motion hitched a fraction. Her eyes grew stormier. "Standing here like a door god? Brat, back to your own quarters. The disinfectant stink in here gives me a headache."
Decree delivered, she spun and strode for the door.
As she passed the Uchiha girl by the flap, head perpetually bowed, still as a statue, Tsunade's eyes cut sideways, razor-sharp.
Not a question, a verdict and a warning. Threaded within, to her own shock, was a flicker of tacit leave, even a strange, reluctant anticipation. A tangle so complex it annoyed her more.
Tsunade had seen through it, raged at it, then chose the simplest solution, out of sight, out of mind. She dumped the mess.
Let the little fox play her game.
That choice itself carried a guilt and evasion Tsunade did not recognize in herself.
Mikoto kept her head down until Tsunade's footsteps faded to nothing.
Her spine still prickled with the memory of that icy, thorned gaze.
Her heart hammered, half from the terror of being seen through, half from the thrill of passing the test.
Tsunade had seen, and had not exposed it. That eerie permission shook and excited her more than any praise.
Ryo rolled the shoulder Tsunade had squeezed painfully. Bone clicked. He worked his left arm, feeling muscle gather and stretch beneath skin.
Tomorrow he would rejoin the unit. On the field, he would be faster. Harsher.
Next time, he would never be as ragged as on Ridge B-7.
He shook off the useless thoughts and set for one last set.
"Ryo-kun," Mikoto said softly, dust settling in her tone, calm and a newfound resolve he had never heard before. "Starting tomorrow, I will not come anymore."
"Tsunade-sensei asked me to look after you for a while. That task is finished." A tiny pull at the corner of her mouth, like she tried to smile and failed. Her voice was level, unreadable. No performance of guilt, no exaggerated shyness, only a resigned statement, as if that kiss had never happened. "From here on, during squad missions, I will be relying on Ryo-kun to look after us."
Ryo said nothing. He only watched her. The haze that had clung to her for days, the fluster and guilt that annoyed him, had vanished. She stood there, inexplicably clear.
Mikoto bowed slightly with clan-perfect etiquette, smooth but lifeless. Without another word, she quietly gathered the small violet wicker chest in the corner, the one that had held precious sweets and her careful preparations.
The lid clicked softly. She lifted the chest and walked toward the flap, steps still light but carrying a weary distance, as if a weight had been put down. Her black braid swayed with her steps, revealing the elegant, fragile line of her neck.
Ryo stood where he was, gaze unconsciously following the back that was about to slip away.
---
The next day.
Ryo Squad assembled.
Only, the air felt off. Nawaki sensed something wrong in every direction. Between Ryo and Mikoto there seemed to be a strange, complicated bond. And he, was he the odd wheel out?
What exactly had happened while Ryo was recovering?
"Ryo-sama. Danzō-sama requests your presence."
Before Nawaki could sort it out, a shinobi arrived, respectful, to summon Ryo.
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)