Hayami's hand trembled on the doorknob.
Every instinct screamed run, scream, kill him. But she wasn't in a position to do any of those things safely. Not yet. Mizuki was still her sensei, still had authority, still held the power to make her life—or what was left of it—unbearable. If he suspected something was wrong with "Hayami," he could report her as unstable, defective, unfit for kunoichi duty. In this world, that meant reassignment to the lowest brothel shifts or worse—disposal.
She needed time. She needed information. She needed to survive the night.
So she forced her lips into the shy, trembling smile Hayami's memories supplied.
"Come back inside, sensei," she whispered, voice husky from crying she hadn't actually done in this body. "I… I want to finish what we started."
Mizuki's eyes darkened with satisfaction. He stepped forward, crowding her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. The lock clicked like a gunshot.
"Good girl," he murmured, fingers already sliding under her half-buttoned blouse. "I knew you'd come around. Most of them do after the first time."
He didn't waste breath on gentleness this round.
Hands rougher now, he spun her around, bent her over the edge of the desk. Papers and scrolls scattered to the floor. Her palms slapped down on the wood to brace herself. The torn panties were yanked aside again—no ceremony, no warning.
"You passed out before I could teach you properly," he said, voice low and lecturing, like this was just another classroom demonstration. "Lesson one: endurance. A kunoichi doesn't get to tap out."
His palm cracked against her bare ass—hard.
Hayami yelped, the sound involuntary. Fire bloomed across her left cheek, sharp and stinging. Before she could recover, the second slap landed on the right, even harder. The impact jolted through her hips, made her thighs quiver.
"Count them," he ordered.
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
"One," she gasped.
Another smack—lower this time, catching the sensitive crease where thigh met ass.
"Two."
He didn't stop at five. Or ten.
Each strike was deliberate, measured. Not wild rage, but calculated punishment-training. His hand was broad, calloused from years of weapon work; every impact left a blooming handprint that burned hotter with each successive hit. By the fifteenth she was shaking, tears leaking despite her best efforts to stay composed. Her ass felt swollen, radiating heat like it had been branded.
"Such a pretty color already," Mizuki mused, tracing one of the handprints with his fingertips. The gentle touch after the violence made her flinch worse than the slaps. "You'll bruise nicely. Nobles love that—proof you can take it."
He pressed himself against her from behind, hard cock sliding between her still-sore folds without entering yet. Teasing. Letting her feel how thick he was, how ready.
Hayami's mind raced.
He killed the original. He'll do it again if I fight too hard. But if I just lie here…
She forced her hips back—just a little. Just enough to brush against him.
"Please, sensei," she whispered, channeling every hentai trope she'd ever rolled her eyes at. "I can take more. Teach me."
Mizuki groaned, pleased.
"That's it. Beg properly."
He lined up and thrust in one brutal stroke.
Hayami cried out—half pain, half something darker she refused to name. Her walls were still raw, still slick with the mess from round one, but he didn't care. He fucked her hard, hips slamming forward, each thrust driving her pelvis into the desk edge. The wood bit into her hipbones. She braced harder.
Every few strokes he paused to deliver another series of spanks—five, six, seven at a time—hard enough that the sound echoed off the walls like applause. Her ass was on fire now, every nerve screaming. The pain blurred into a strange, throbbing heat that pulsed in time with his cock driving deep.
She hated it.
She hated how her body clenched around him every time his palm connected.
She hated the slickness growing between her legs, betraying her.
"Feel that?" he growled, reaching around to pinch her clit roughly. "Your cunt's gripping me like it wants more. Slutty little thing."
Hayami bit back a moan. Forced herself to focus.
Use it. Use him.
While he was distracted rutting into her, she let one hand slide off the desk—slowly, carefully—toward his discarded pants on the floor. Her fingers brushed leather, then fabric. A scroll tucked in the inner pocket. Small. Sealed.
Forbidden jutsu? Mission scroll? Something he shouldn't have?
She palmed it, tucked it into the waistband of her skirt where it had bunched around her hips.
Mizuki didn't notice. He was too busy spanking her again—harder this time, alternating cheeks, making her ass bounce with each hit.
"Twenty-five," she gasped when he finally paused.
"Good girl," he panted. "Now take my load like a proper kunoichi."
He sped up, brutal, punishing thrusts. One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back so she had to arch. The other kept spanking—erratic now, lost in his own pleasure. Each smack shoved her forward onto his cock deeper.
Hayami squeezed her eyes shut.
Just finish. Just finish and leave.
He came with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding her again. Hot pulses deep inside. She felt every twitch, every spurt. Her walls fluttered involuntarily around him—traitorous orgasm teasing at the edges but never quite cresting.
He held her there a long moment, breathing ragged against her neck.
Then he pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip down her thighs.
"Clean yourself up," he said, already tucking himself away. "Tomorrow we start group practicals. You, Ino, Sakura, maybe Hinata if she stops blushing long enough. And a couple of the boys. Endurance rotation. You'll need to take at least three at once without breaking."
He patted her stinging ass once—almost affectionately.
"Wear something short. I want to see my handprints when you walk in."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Hayami stayed bent over the desk for a full minute, shaking.
Then she straightened—slowly, painfully. Her ass throbbed with every heartbeat. She could already feel the welts rising, the deep bruises forming.
She reached back, fingers ghosting over the hot, raised marks. Winced.
But she also felt the small scroll still tucked against her skin.
A tiny victory.
She limped to the mirror.
Turned sideways.
Her reflection showed a girl with tear-streaked cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and an ass painted crimson and purple with overlapping handprints.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then she whispered to her reflection:
"I'm not Hayami Tanaka anymore."
A beat.
"But I'm going to make sure every single one of you bastards regrets ever touching her."
She hid the scroll under a loose floorboard she found by memory.
Tomorrow the group practicals started.
Tomorrow she'd see Naruto. Sasuke. The others.
Tomorrow she'd start playing this game for real.
But tonight…
Tonight she just curled on the bed, ass burning against the sheets, and let herself cry for the girl who'd died under Mizuki's body.
And for the fangirl who'd woken up in her place.
End of Chapter 2