Naruto's fist slammed into Kabuto's jaw, sending him skidding across the street. "That's for the old man!"
The crowd gasped. They didn't know what they'd seen—only that Kabuto had faltered, impossibly, and Naruto's strike had landed like destiny.
Orochimaru hissed, serpents recoiling, his smile tight. He saw it. He didn't understand it, but he saw it. He slid back, Kusanagi snapping toward Tsunade—and she moved. Her hands, still bloody but steady now, clenched. She stepped forward. Her fist met the ground.
The street split. Stone cracked in a perfect ring around her. Dust shot upward. Kabuto staggered, caught mid-step. Snakes shrieked, fangs shattering on rock. Kusanagi jolted, redirected by the quake. The shockwave silenced everything for a heartbeat.
"There," Jiraiya said, a grin breaking through his bruises. "There's the sannin I knew."
Naruto cheered, wild, clutching his side. "Knew you'd stand, Granny!"
Orochimaru's golden eyes narrowed. His bandaged arms twitched with pain, his smile stretched thin. He looked at Tsunade—then at Shinkirō. His hunger flared, his caution sharpened. He stepped back. Kabuto staggered to his side, wiping blood from his mouth, fury buried under analysis.
"Next time," Kabuto murmured, eyes darting at Lelouch.
Orochimaru chuckled low. "Heal me, Tsunade. Or I'll make sure this boy dies screaming next time. Your choice."
Tsunade's eyes blazed. "Try."
"Haha." Orochimaru's laughter thinned to a ribbon and vanished into the alley, serpents slithering after him. Kabuto followed, one lens shattered, a smear of blood at his mouth and a look that promised he would return—with a steadier hand.
Sound returned in fragments: the drip of water from a cracked eave; Shizune's breath hitching as she pressed gauze into Naruto's hands; Jiraiya rolling a shoulder and hiding a wince behind a smirk. Lanterns swayed. Tanzaku Town remembered it had a pulse.
Shinkirō settled into stillness, black-gold and implacable, prisms fading to nothing as if they had only ever been an argument the world briefly accepted. Lelouch watched the board, and then—deliberately—watched only the queen.
Tsunade stood in the center of her own earthquake, blood drying on her palms. The tremor in her fingers hadn't vanished; it had been walked through and left behind her like a shed skin. She looked first to Naruto—still grinning through pain because the boy could not imagine any other ending—then to Jiraiya, who met her gaze without asking anything she hadn't already given. Only after that did her eyes find the machine, then the boy inside it.
The crowd's awe hadn't chosen a name yet—devil, god, weapon—but their faces all said the same word: impossible.
"You talk well," Tsunade said at last, voice rough from ghosts and street-dust. She nodded at Shinkirō with a sharp, tired chin. "And you bring unknown things."
Lelouch didn't apologize. "I bring what works."
"That's what worries me." Her eyes lowered to her hands, red on gold skin. She flexed them once, as if testing whether they still answered to her and not to memory. They did. She exhaled—long, controlled. "I don't trust Konoha's council. Not yet. Not with the chair empty and their knives out. If I walk back now, all I'll find are old debts and new chains."
She lifted her gaze, meeting his cleanly. "You say you're building something that isn't just another excuse for men to die. You say you've got discipline, routes, clinics, pay that arrives when it's promised. Fine. Show me. Not with speeches. With a place that stands because of what you've built, not despite it."
Her mouth almost curved; it didn't soften the blade in her tone. "Wave."
Naruto blinked. "Wave?"
"Wave," she repeated, firm. "A village that was exploited, nearly destroyed, supposedly pulled back to its feet by your Order. If it's as stable as your people brag, I want to see the clinics, the ledgers, the dock schedules, the orphans who have teachers instead of graves. I want to walk a market without seeing thugs with new badges. If the Eclipse Order is only a different paint on the same rot, I'll tear it off myself."
Shizune made a small, strangled sound of relief and warning at once. Jiraiya's mouth tugged sideways—the face of a man who knew a battlefield had simply traded armor for paper and still counted as war. Lelouch held her gaze. Calculations flickered and settled. He could have told her about port intake curves, about Wave's tax remissions, or the children enrolled for winter lessons. He didn't. She had told him the only proof she would accept: sight, weight, smell, ledger ink on skin.
"Wave first," he said, inclining his head. "Then Konoha."
"And don't mistake this for surrender," she added, stepping closer until the iron's hum brushed her bones. "You put a fortress between me and a memory, and you said the right thing at the right time. That doesn't buy you my soul. It buys you a look."
"Fair," Lelouch said. "I don't buy souls. I align them."
"Try aligning mine and I'll put you through your toy," she said—but now the line had the shape of breath returning to a chest that had been tight too long.
The morning after Tanzaku Town's chaos smelled of ash, sweat, and damp wood. Lanterns still guttered in alleys where serpents had slithered, and the street Tsunade had cracked with her fist bore the scars of a night no villager would ever forget. Lelouch stood in the quiet aftermath, Shinkirō looming behind him, its frame still humming faintly as it bled off power.
Jiraiya crouched near Naruto, binding the boy's ribs with fresh bandages while Shizune checked the knots. Naruto flinched at every pull but grinned anyway, defiance intact even with blood still damp across his jacket.
"I'm fine," Naruto complained, though his voice cracked with pain. "Don't tie it so tight!"
"You'll thank me when you're not coughing blood mid-fight," Jiraiya said gruffly, tightening anyway.
Tsunade stood a few paces away, arms folded, expression unreadable. Her hands were still faintly stained red, though the tremor that once owned them had been beaten back. Lelouch noted she hadn't washed them yet—testing herself, letting the blood remain visible. Proof that the phobia no longer ruled her.
Naruto caught her looking. "Granny! I'll come with you to Wave. You'll need me."
Tsunade crossed the distance, planted a hand on his spiky blond head, and pressed down until his knees bent.
"No, brat," she said firmly. "You've bled enough for one day."
"But—!"
"No buts. You've done your part. Without you yelling at me last night, I wouldn't have moved. But this next step isn't about fists." Her eyes softened—not much, but enough for Naruto to notice. "It's about ledgers, clinics, markets. Konoha needs you back, not sitting through an audit."
Naruto scowled, fists clenching before loosening. "Then don't forget what I said. Don't you dare run from the hat."
Tsunade almost smiled. Almost. "Idiot boy."
Jiraiya rose, rolling his shoulders with a wince. He looked at Lelouch, eyes narrowing. "You're playing games deeper than a sannin likes, boy. You drag iron demons out of nowhere, you cut Kabuto's strings without lifting a hand… but if she agreed to walk with you, I'll respect it. For now."
Lelouch inclined his head slightly. "The queen has chosen her square. The board will wait for her next."
Jiraiya's lips pressed tight, half amusement, half warning. He clapped Naruto on the back. "Come on, kid. Konoha's waiting."
Naruto gave Tsunade one last grin, then let himself be led away. Their figures receded down the road, shrinking into morning light.
That left Tsunade, Shizune, Lelouch—and Shinkirō, black and gold, its optics still glowing faint crimson like the eye of a god that hadn't decided whether to bless or curse.
"Wave first," Tsunade said, her voice steady.
"Wave first," Lelouch echoed.
Two days later, the world beyond Tanzaku stretched quiet and green beneath the morning sun.
The sea air was bracing when they arrived. Wave's docks stretched long and busy, rebuilt planks gleaming, ropes taut, gulls crying overhead. Where once thugs had loitered with cudgels and broken teeth, now fishmongers shouted prices over the crash of waves, and Eclipse clerks moved among them with ledgers tucked under arms. Children darted between stalls, laughter sharp as seabirds.
Tsunade stood at the pier's edge, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She inhaled once, the salt tang filling her lungs. "It doesn't smell like despair," she muttered. "That's new."
Shizune glanced around, holding Tonton tighter. "It feels… too clean. Almost staged."
"Nothing is staged," Lelouch said. His gaze swept the docks. "Systems either work or they collapse. Wave is functioning because the rules are enforced."
Tsunade turned her head slightly toward him, lips thinning. "We'll see."
Their first stop was the clinic. Once a damp, broken warehouse, it now gleamed with patched plaster and open windows. The air smelled of alcohol, herbs, and sweat. Cots lined the walls, every one occupied, nurses moving briskly in black tunics stamped with the eclipse sigil.
Tsunade didn't wait for explanations. She strode straight to the nearest cot. A boy no older than twelve lay there, chest bound tight, a cough rattling his ribs. A monitor stone glowed faint green beside him.
"What's his name?" she demanded.
"H-Haru, Lady Tsunade," the nurse stammered.
"Condition? Prognosis?"
"Punctured lung from a fishing accident. Treated three days ago. Healing steadily. Recovery within a week if the wound stays clean."
Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "Dosage?"
"Ten milliliters of distilled extract, three times daily."
She studied the bindings, then grunted. "Not bad."
Lelouch watched—not the patient, but the medic. Her scowl softened for the first time since Tanzaku. Not approval. Recognition. When she turned to him again, her eyes were sharp. "Where do you get the medicine?"
"Some we grow," Lelouch said. "The rest we buy in bulk. The Order absorbs transport costs and fixes prices. No fluctuation, no shortages."
"That bleeds coin."
"Coin circulates. A healthy dockworker pays taxes faster than a sick one. A fisherman who doesn't limp sells more catch. Loss in the clinic ledger is profit in the market ledger."
For the first time, Tsunade gave the faintest grunt of approval. "Hn. You've thought it through. Still… medicine isn't just math. When supplies run low, what then?"
"Then the system prioritizes. Children first. Workers second. Soldiers last."
Her brows lifted slightly. That was the first answer that didn't sound like politics.
Next came the market. Stalls lined the square, voices rising in bargaining. Eclipse clerks moved among them with ledgers, collecting neat stacks of coin or stamped parchment slips. No cudgel-wielding thugs, no extortion—only transactions.
Tsunade strode up to a butcher's stall. "You. How much do you pay them?"
The butcher startled, then straightened. "Two percent, Lady. No bribes, no 'protection.' Just two."
"And they don't squeeze you more?"
"No, Lady. Two. They keep drunks out of my stall. My boys walk home safe."
She turned sharply on Lelouch. "Two percent? That's not tax. That's charity."
"Efficiency," Lelouch corrected. "If I ask for more, they cheat. If I ask for less, I bankrupt the treasury. Two percent is the point where both stability and honesty are sustainable."
Tsunade snorted. "You expect me to believe in honesty from tax collectors?"
"Not honesty," Lelouch said smoothly. "Transparency. Eclipse books are open. Any merchant can request an audit. Corruption collapses faster when the lies are visible."
Her lips twitched. Not a smile. Not yet. But the line of resistance in her shoulders eased by a fraction.
By dusk, their last stop was the school. A wooden hall, half-finished, chalkboards tarred and uneven, benches that wobbled—but children filled it, their voices stumbling through multiplication tables. A shinobi with one arm taught them, chalk scratching against the board.
Tsunade stopped in the doorway. Her eyes swept the room—and froze. A boy in the front row grinned wide, his hair messy, his arm raised high as he answered wrong and laughed about it. For a heartbeat, Nawaki sat there. Her chest tightened. Her hands almost trembled. But she steadied them.
She stepped inside. Shizune followed, quiet. Lelouch lingered at the doorway, watching not the children, but Tsunade. The queen measures the living against her ghosts, he thought. Every number I show her tonight will be judged by the memory of two graves.
When Tsunade finally turned back to him, her voice was huskier than before. "They would've been in graves. Orphans. Sickness. Bandits. Now they're here."
Lelouch inclined his head. "For now."
"For now," she echoed. Her gaze lingered a moment longer on the boy's grin before she stepped past Lelouch into the dusk.