Yakushi Nono? She'd been stalking Makoto's every move like a goddamn ghost, but the kid was slippery. Close enough to smell his cologne, far enough to stay untouchable. That shit was eating her alive—day and night, like a bad itch in a cast.
Then—BOOM. Two earth-shaking blasts ripped through Cloud's outskirts. Chakra tsunami, pure apocalyptic vibes—Tailed Beast Bomb. Nono knew that flavor; she'd survived the Nine-Tails rampage in Leaf. No mistaking it.
Cloud turned into a kicked hornet's nest. Alarms, screams, ninja scrambling like roaches when the lights flick on.
Jackpot.
Nono didn't hesitate. She ghosted through the chaos like a shadow on steroids, slipping into Makoto's plush "containment" mansion—the one Cloud had decked out like a five-star prison.
Guards? Pulled thin by the "emergency." Perfect.
She tore through every room. Heart sinking lower with each empty closet.
Bedroom jackpot: two Cloud kunoichi out cold, drooling in genjutsu comas.
"…Too late."
Mask hid her grimace, but dread clamped her chest like a vice.
She bailed, melted into the pandemonium, and worked every sleeper contact she had.
Pieced together the nightmare: Uchiha elite breached Cloud, yoinked Makoto, and went toe-to-toe with perfect Eight-Tails jinchuriki Killer Bee. Left Bee half-dead. Then vanished like smoke.
Mission target snatched by his own clan. Failure. Capital F.
No bullshit. Nono triggered max-evac protocol—fastest, stealthiest route outta Dodge. Straight back to Leaf for face-time with the boss.
Slipped in through Root's secret tunnels only a handful of freaks even knew existed. Didn't even change outta her dusty, dew-soaked catsuit. Beeline for the underground bunker that smelled like despair and bad decisions.
---
Root HQ – Deep, Dark, and Depressing
Danzo's face? Uglier than the concrete walls. Skeletal hand crushing a Hyuga intel scroll. Knuckles white. One eye boiling with rage.
"Those naturally evil Hyuga bastards!! Hard-headed, stingy sons of bitches!"
"Cockroaches in a septic tank—stink and won't die!"
His mutters echoed like a villain monologue. Over a year of pressure campaigns, and the Hyuga still wouldn't bend. Danzo, the Shadow of the Shinobi World, was pissed. Clan extermination blueprints were looking real tempting.
He'd even dialed back the Uchiha "special attention" to focus on breaking Hyuga. And for what? Jack shit.
Then Nono's report hit: Cloud chaos, Makoto likely snatched by Uchiha.
Danzo's eye flickered—tiny spark of joy. Talent. Kid was a silver-tongued, scheming little shit. Root was starving for someone who could talk circles around Hyuga elders. His current goons? Mouth-breathing drones. Useless in a debate.
Intel said Makoto was a horny little gremlin. Perfect. Plan B: sic "Walking Shrine Maiden" Nono on him—seduce, control, recruit. Lock him into Root for life. For Konoha.
He yanked village logs, cross-checked ANBU reports. Tied in Sarutobi's offhand comment: "Itachi's been real down lately. Quiet. Doubting the Will of Fire…"
Danzo's conspiracy brain went brrr. Clicked like puzzle pieces.
Shisui and Itachi made it back. Makoto didn't.
Face went nuclear dark. That sharp-tongued Uchiha brat? Dead on the road. No way Shisui and Itachi wouldn't drag him back kicking and screaming.
Explains Itachi's emo phase.
In half a second, Nono's bombshell body and face lost all value. Danzo wasn't Sarutobi—he didn't give a fuck about tits. Single his whole life for Konoha's future. Tools without a target? Reassign or discard.
He flicked his hand like swatting a fly.
"Report received."
Voice flat as a gravestone. "One day. Rest."
"Then you ship out. Long-term infiltration. Foreign soil."
Nono's mask hid the flinch.
She looked up, voice muffled, tired, pleading—careful as hell.
"Lord Danzo… I've been undercover over a year. The orphanage kids are still little. I just wanna… see them. Comfort them."
Makoto likely dead. Debt unpaid. Those kids' hopeful faces haunted her. Home.
Danzo's one eye froze her.
Even in that bland catsuit, her curves were criminal. But his gaze? Zero lust. Just suspicion dialed to eleven.
This "Shrine Maiden" was tainted. Soft. Kids. Feelings. Unacceptable. Root needed ice, not empathy.
She dared ask for leave?
If Kabuto hadn't been poached by Orochimaru, Danzo's perfect script: Nono vs. Kabuto. Deathmatch. One survivor—pure tool. No heart. No mercy.
Missed opportunity.
"Root ninja don't get baggage," he snarled. No negotiation. "One day. Then you go where you're needed."
Pause. Eye glinted. Threat.
"Remember your orphanage director cover. Your Shrine Maiden value. Don't make me say it twice."
Her spy skills? Strategic nuke. He'd milk her dry—send her to the deadliest hellhole, squeeze every drop of intel for his ambitions and "Konoha's future." Then? Erase.
Nono bowed her head. Mask blank. Hands clenched white at her sides—only betrayal of the storm inside.
"…Yes, Lord Danzo."
Voice dead calm. Like the plea never happened.
---
Land of Water – Border Blizzard Hell
World's just white noise and pain.
Snow like razor blades. Wind screaming. Breath? Instant ice sculpture. Weak ninja would freeze solid just thinking about moving.
But one figure trudged through like it was a brisk jog.
Kid. Maybe twelve. Black hair popping against the snow like a middle finger to camouflage.
Blizzard slams him. He doesn't flinch.
Wearing? Thin-ass clothes. White haori flapping like a cape. No coat. Ballsy or insane.
But here's the kicker: blue lightning crawling all over him. Arcing. Crackling. Pops and snaps like a live wire.
When it got too rowdy, he'd frown, rein it in, keep walking. Controlling a goddamn thunderstorm in his veins.
Makoto.
Threads? Cloud specialty—Mabui hooked him up before he bounced. Night Moon elder tossed in the secret sauces; Mabui handled the wardrobe.
Thinking of her gentle smile, the way she'd thought of everything—even Leaf's weather—Mako's lips twitched.
Fabric? Pricey as hell. Conducts lightning chakra like a dream. Glows when juiced. Doesn't burn. Spreads the current even across his skin.
She didn't know "back to Leaf" was a fake-out. Dude was in Ice Hell, Water Country.
But he kept the fit. No more naked teleport mishaps.
Pain hit—white-hot. Little Makoto was a full-on lightning rod. He sucked in frozen air, wrestled the chaos inside.
After snagging every Raikage's lightning chakra mode notes—especially the Second's OG blueprints—he got it. Deep.
Even beasts like the Third and Fourth took years to master.
Makoto? No time for that grind.
Theory down? Practice. Straight to the deep end.
[Revive Coin] safety net. Death? Try again.
Few days of this lunatic training—still miles from mastery, but he hit the goal: lightning quenching his body, stats skyrocketing.
Mindset chilled. Main point: bulk up fast. Full mastery? Slow burn.
He marched through the storm, electricity dancing wild on his skin.
If the Fourth Raikage saw this shit? Jaw on the floor, then: "You trying to fry yourself, kid?!"
Any jonin trying this? Veins explode. Cells necrotize. Dead or crippled in hours.
But Makoto? [Hentai Protagonist] physique + [Basic Hashirama Bloodline]. He tanked it.
Destruction. Repair. Stronger.
Every tear of pain? A hit of that sweet, sweet power-up high.