"Hinata, Sasuke, Naruto—the three of you have three days' medical leave. During that time, you are absolutely forbidden from doing any more of this reckless training. Understood?"
Iruka sighed. He'd given the order, but the look in each of those three children's eyes held a stubbornness he couldn't miss. They had no intention whatsoever of listening to him.
Their hand injuries had been healed with the Healing Technique, but the very fact that healing was necessary proved they'd failed this round of training. True progress only came when you survived the ordeal and let the body recover on its own.
Still, regardless of outcome, the body would remember the trauma. That cellular memory would provide a marginal edge next time—a small but real boost.
Getting hospitalized hadn't been part of the plan, but the silver lining was three days of excused absence from Iruka. At least they wouldn't have to worry about being hunted down for truancy.
Hinata held up her right hand, idly flexing her slender fingers. The medicinal baths and training had roughened the skin somewhat, but her fingers still looked remarkably delicate—the kind of hands any girl would envy. She didn't particularly care what they looked like. All that mattered was that they possessed the kind of power she demanded.
"Tch~ Iruka-sensei is such a worrywart. I'm a grown-up already~ Besides, I'm definitely going to finish this training!"
Naruto walked behind Hinata, hands clasped behind his head in his trademark pout. On his other side, Sasuke wore his customary mask of cold indifference—but not even his Uchiha pride could deny the fact that he'd been defeated by that electrified cauldron.
Worse, he'd been sent to the hospital alongside this dead-last. Humiliating.
"Sasuke! Please wait~!"
Two slightly breathless female voices called out from behind. Sakura and Ino, each carrying a handmade bento box, rushed toward the trio. Their target was obvious—the impassive Sasuke.
"Um~ Sasuke, I made you a bento. You just recovered, so... please take it..."
They skidded to a halt before him and bowed in unison, arms extended with perfect synchronization, presenting their bento boxes. They'd clearly been worried sick during his hospitalization. The exquisite craftsmanship of those lunch boxes spoke to the painstaking effort they'd poured into preparing them—gifts born of genuine devotion.
Sasuke turned and regarded the two girls. Not a trace of warmth entered his dark eyes. Instead, a flash of wounded anger crossed his face—the pride of someone who believed he was being pitied.
"I have zero interest in you or your bento. If you've got the time for this, go practice your ninjutsu instead."
He delivered the rejection without breaking stride, walking away without a backward glance. Naruto clawed at his hair in frustration—he clearly wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.
"All right, Naruto, go on ahead. I'll catch up."
Hinata grabbed Naruto by the collar and tossed him backward, then fixed him with a cold stare that conveyed a single, unmistakable word: scram. Naruto took the hint, clamped a hand over his mouth, and fled.
Ino slowly straightened. The blonde girl's pretty face carried an inexpressible sadness. For a young girl on the cusp of first love, having a carefully prepared gesture rejected with such ice was a blow that cut deep.
Sakura remained in her bowing position. The pink-haired girl trembled faintly. Warm tears slid from beneath her bangs and pattered onto the ground. But though those drops could soak hard earth, they could not penetrate the cold heart of the boy she loved.
"Sakura..."
Ino's face twisted with mingled sympathy and conflict. Rivals they might be, but in this moment they were simply two girls who understood each other's pain.
"...It... really hurts... Seeing Sasuke collapse and go to the hospital... and I... couldn't do anything for him..."
Sakura straightened slowly. Two clear tear tracks lined her delicate face. But the pain wasn't from rejection—it was self-reproach.
"Heh heh heh~ Exactly. If things had been just a little worse, Sasuke might not have made it."
Hinata regarded Sakura with undisguised malice glittering in her white eyes. "And even though he survived this time, who knows whether he'll pull through next time?"
"You—!"
Green eyes blazed. Sakura's bento box hit the ground with a ceramic crack, and in one surge she grabbed Hinata by the collar, nearly lifting the smaller girl off her feet.
"Why do you keep putting Sasuke through this?! If all you want is to make money, there's no reason to go this far!"
Tears still fresh on her face, Sakura's eyes burned with fury. She could feel the naked malice radiating from this white-eyed girl.
"You've got the question backwards, Sakura. I'm not the one torturing him—he simply doesn't have the ability yet. That's why the training hurts him that badly."
Hinata seized Sakura's wrist. Her white eyes turned sharp as blades. Her fingers clamped down—and with a dry crack, Sakura's wrist snapped clean. The pink-haired girl screamed and staggered back, cradling her arm. Ino threw herself between them, arms spread wide. "Stop! Hinata! That's enough!"
"Relax. Nothing personal—just returning the favor for Sakura's little stunt. We're ninja, not saints."
Hinata wagged her right index finger, then reached into her tool pouch and produced two scrolls. "These are Konoha's Healing Technique and Mystical Palm Technique scrolls. The first one cost a thousand ryō. The second is an A-rank ninjutsu—set me back thirty thousand. Expensive merchandise."
She looked down at Sakura, who sat on the ground clutching her broken wrist, jaw clenched tight, refusing to make another sound. Hinata tossed both scrolls at her feet.
"You said you want to help Sasuke, right? Then I can promise you this: master the healing ninjutsu in these scrolls, and you'll not only be able to treat his injuries on the spot—you'll be able to help him train faster. If you're serious about this, then put down the shopping, the makeovers, the flower arranging, and all that other nonsense. Make yourself actually useful."
She stepped back and swept her gaze across Ino and Sakura, her tone dripping with calculated venom. "Whichever one of you masters these healing techniques first, I guarantee she'll be the first one at Sasuke's side. So show me your resolve. See you around~"
Hinata walked away. Behind her, Ino and Sakura stared at the two medical scrolls in silence. After a wordless exchange of glances, each girl picked one up.
From a distance, using the Byakugan's rear field of vision, Hinata confirmed what she'd expected. A cold, satisfied arc curved her lips.
That's right. Just like everything I've put myself through—every last one of you canon darlings can eat your share of hardship too. That's how it should be.
"Heh heh heh~ I feel slightly better now."
Sigh... Why was he doing this, again?
Shikamaru yawned hugely and rubbed his eyes, staring blearily at the mountain of charts and figures spread before him.
These were the sales figures for Fox Tales across the Land of Fire—actual sales and preorder counts from every region, requiring calculation to determine the optimal distribution schedule.
The data was staggeringly tedious. Even Shikamaru's IQ demanded an all-nighter to crunch through it. The ordeal rivaled an office worker pulling overtime to hit a deadline.
"Oh my~ Shikamaru? Still up this late?"
Shikaku Nara opened his son's bedroom door in surprise. He'd noticed the light was still on during a trip to the bathroom—remarkable, given that his legendarily lazy son had never once in his life voluntarily stayed up past bedtime.
"Can't help it... Took someone's money, so I have to finish what they asked me to do..."
Shikamaru dragged himself through the final calculation and filled in the last number. Done, at least for now... though knowing that woman's pattern so far, this kind of grunt work was almost certainly not a one-time thing.
Best strategy: drag his feet on the deadline by a few extra days.
"Ha! That's rare—someone actually managed to buy your cooperation? So, let me guess... how much did she pay you? A hundred ryō? Two hundred?"
Shikaku nearly laughed. His son was eleven. Hearing a kid talk about "taking someone's money" was genuinely amusing.
"Not much... two hundred thousand ryō."
"Ha ha ha~ Only two hundred thousand and you sold ou—PFFT—!!!"
Shikaku's automatic laughter cut off as he nearly choked on his own spit. He stared in horror at his raccoon-eyed son. He knew Shikamaru's personality inside out—the boy would never bother with a pointless lie. Two hundred thousand ryō was roughly equivalent to two months of the family shop's entire gross profit. Even Shikaku himself would have to work hard to earn that kind of money. "Wait... Shikamaru? You're joking?"
"No... I don't get it either—why she'd spend big money hiring me when I'm literally just a brat who hasn't even graduated..."
Slumped over his desk, chin propped on one hand, Shikamaru eyed his father—who had unconsciously dropped into a full kneeling bow on the floor. "Hey... Dad. I feel like I'm doing thirty-year-old stuff right now."
"No... this IS thirty-year-old stuff..."
Shikaku glanced at the dense spreadsheets covering his son's desk and wisely chose not to press for details. He reached over and ruffled Shikamaru's hair with a look of paternal pity. "Try to get some sleep. I'll have your mother brew something to help with the fatigue tomorrow."
"Yeah... g'night, Dad."
Shikamaru peeled off his shirt, collapsed into bed, and sank into a miserable, exhausted sleep.