Anko, it seemed, had already spent the better part of two hours unable to fall asleep at home. As a rule, many experienced shinobi operatives possessed the ability to drop off to sleep instantly when needed, and to wake just as instantly in response to changes in their surroundings. But this time, something seemed to be preventing Mitarashi from sinking into that merciful oblivion.
Scattered rays of dim moonlight filtered through the room's small window, giving the outlines of objects a somewhat mystical bluish-silver tint. Outside — not a sound. Even the crickets seemed to have forgotten their usual serenades this night. The girl lay on her back in her bed, let out a heavy sigh, and tried to roll onto her side.
Suddenly a shadow flickered past the window. Anko tensed. She remained still, but an uneasy premonition began rising from somewhere inside her.
The barely audible sound of the front door lock being picked reached her ears, followed by the quiet but grating creak of floorboards.
Who is that? flashed through Anko's mind.
Some unknown person had crept in to steal something? Not even funny. With her reputation, no one in their right mind would dare even knock on her door unannounced, let alone break into her home. And there was nothing in her home that would appeal to thieves anyway. It definitely wasn't ANBU. They could simply knock if something was urgent — there was no need for them to infiltrate her home.
Running through the possibilities, Anko arrived at one unsettling conclusion: someone from Root had come. But why? Because she had started getting close to the Jinchuriki? That seemed likely.
The door to her room swung open, and a dark silhouette stepped inside. It stood at the entrance for a moment, as though steeling itself. Mitarashi decided to play it safe and inconspicuously reached for the kunai beneath her pillow. But the moment she tried to move…
What is this? A Nara clan technique? But can that jutsu even be used in the dark?
The girl couldn't move a finger — it was as if she had been paralyzed. Everything inside Anko went cold. She tried to use the Hidden Shadow Snake Hands technique, but again — nothing. Any manipulation of chakra, it turned out, was now unavailable to her. She tried to scream, but only a quiet moan escaped her throat.
What is happening?…
The Special Jonin was not the type to be easily frightened. She would give her life for the village without hesitation. And yet right now Anko understood absolutely nothing of what was happening, and her entire body was beginning to break out in a cold sweat and goosebumps. Mitarashi had never felt so completely defenseless. Dying in battle was no shame. But like this — not even able to open her mouth, let alone put up any resistance… Terrifyingly… humiliating.
The silhouette, meanwhile, stepped into the center of the room into the moonlight. It turned out to be a bald man in a shinobi's special ops suit. A crafty smile played across his face.
Anko's eyes went wide in surprise. The paralysis partially lifted. Her body was still stiff as a board, but her lips and tongue were obeying her again.
"S-Saitama?" the girl whispered.
Knew he wasn't as simple as he seemed…
She didn't have time to finish the thought, because the man's silhouette blurred and the shinobi was instantly beside her bed. The kunoichi squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a killing blow…
"Shh… Quiet, Anko," a voice came from right beside her ear.
Her body still wasn't responding, but she hastily opened her eyes.
"Why aren't you…oh…"
Mitarashi didn't finish her question, because she felt the young man gently bite her earlobe. The bald shinobi's hands began carefully tracing the contours of her body beneath the sheet.
"Saitama, what are you…"
Her next question went unasked as her lips were otherwise occupied. The shinobi pressed his lips to hers. The girl let out a small sound, but it had no effect whatsoever on the young man's intentions. The sheet was pulled away and cast aside, and Mitarashi — who always slept bare at home, covered by nothing but soft silken fabric — was left exposed.
With each passing moment, Anko's heartbeat quickened. Saitama covered her body with kisses, gradually moving lower. From her neck to her collarbone, threatening to move lower still.
"Stop, wait!.."
The bald shinobi paused — only to return to Anko's lips, pressing into them hungrily, as though trying to devour her entirely. His hands began to caress, then gently massage her.
"Mm…" a warm sound escaped the girl, and Mitarashi discovered that the ability to move had finally returned to her.
Yet instead of pushing the shinobi away, Anko simply began stroking his bald head in response, then began frantically pulling at his outer clothing, barely breaking away from his lips, which she periodically bit with something close to passion.
A couple of moments later Saitama was bare to the waist. Mitarashi was breathing rapidly, barely restraining herself. She wrapped her legs around his wiry torso, roped with firm muscle, and pressed his smooth head against her chest. Saitama continued his attentions, occasionally teasing with the tip of his tongue…
Then, suddenly, the bald shinobi pulled back.
"What's wrong?" Anko asked.
"Heh," he breathed, "it's just that it's time."
"What do you mean?" Mitarashi didn't follow.
The young man slowly leaned toward her ear.
"It's time… TO WAKE UP — RRRRING!"
Suddenly it felt as though a swarm of tiny hammers had been driven into the kunoichi's head, beating out a loud ringing trill at frantic speed. The entire world began to blur, and the girl's eyes snapped open.
RRRRING…
Anko clenched her teeth and swept the alarm clock off the nightstand in irritation. One hit — and only fragments of the mechanism flew toward the far wall.
"Damn it all! Just a dream!"
She couldn't even say for certain: was "just a dream" a relief or a disappointment? Though no — of course she was absolutely delighted it was only a dream. What a thing to dream about. Her and the bald man…
At those thoughts the girl's cheeks turned crimson.
"Ugh…" she shuddered. "Me and Saitama?.. Absolutely not. Anyone else in the world, but not him!.."
She lay in bed beneath the pale sheet, and memories of the past week began drifting through her mind.
Yes. It had already been a week since Saitama and Anko's first meeting. On the evening of that first day, the kunoichi had come to report to the Hokage. Her surprise was considerable when Sarutobi smirked slyly and said he wouldn't be accepting her report, because the mission rank was being upgraded to B, and Anko was now to escort Saitama for the duration of one month. She also received orders to get closer to the young man if at all possible and uncover the secret of his strength. In that moment the kunoichi had felt like throttling the old man. Mitarashi had barely survived one day with the bald man, and now she was supposed to accompany him for an entire month. And what did "get closer" even mean? She wouldn't have to sleep with him, would she? Probably it was enough to simply try to befriend him. Oh Kami, why her? At least she had managed to negotiate a cash reward equivalent to two B-rank missions.
As for the "secret of his strength" — the girl hadn't understood the point at all. Was the Hokage interested in Saitama's level of training? Didn't he already know? And what strength could that dunce possibly have? Well, sure, the young man had a hard head on his shoulders, and based on Anko's previous conclusions, he was almost certainly a shinobi. But enough to interest the Third as a fighter — enough for Sarutobi to send her to uncover his secret? Either the old man had lost his mind, or the bald man was not as simple as he appeared. Anko had asked the Third what this strange young man's "strength" actually was and where he had come from. The Hokage's only response had been a puff on his pipe. As for where Saitama was from — he said that information was classified. As for his strength — he advised her to check for herself, to see just how powerful the young man truly was.
Mitarashi had initially thought Hiruzen was simply mocking her. The way he spoke, it was as if he was afraid of the bald shinobi. Which couldn't possibly be real, because it simply couldn't. The God of Shinobi, afraid of someone? What nonsense. But on the third day, Anko understood just how deeply she had been mistaken, and what kind of monster she had been ordered to escort.
And it had all started like this…
"Shadow Clone Technique."
White clouds of smoke blanketed Training Ground 66, and then Mitarashi found herself looking at the orange sea once again. And although the kunoichi had witnessed this particular sight for the third day running, the corner of her mouth still twitched, and she could barely keep her composure.
The little brat… flashed through her mind each time.
The reaction was perfectly understandable, for Naruto was performing not just the Shadow Clone Technique, but the forbidden jutsu — the Multiple Shadow Clone Technique.
This jutsu was forbidden because of the danger it posed to the user himself. Its activation consumed an enormous amount of chakra, which could lead to chakra depletion, and in some cases — where the user had weak chakra pathways and an underdeveloped chakra center — could result in a permanent inability to use Shadow Clones in the future. Uzumaki, however, appeared to feel not the slightest discomfort. Anko herself could probably manage a few clones — six or seven was her ceiling. The kid was producing five hundred without effort. Just how much chakra did he have? Or perhaps he was using some alternate version of the technique?
Mitarashi did everything she could to suppress the surges of envy. Yes — she was jealous. A little genin was casually using the most chakra-intensive A-rank technique in existence, one he had apparently learned in a single night — the Hokage had confirmed this in their conversation. On top of that, this jutsu fell into the Kinjutsu category.
"You know what to do, Naruto!" Saitama said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.
The orange crowd nodded in unison and divided into several groups. One hundred jogged off toward the academy. Another group headed for the village library. The remaining three hundred stepped aside together, took up a perfect stance, and began throwing alternating punches forward in sequence.
Back on the first day, the clones' strikes had been utterly sloppy, so Mitarashi had walked over and begun correcting their stances and demonstrating the proper way to throw a punch. She hadn't expected at all that the boy's copies would take her words to heart and within ten minutes be throwing quite decent Konoha Taijutsu-style punches.
Anko was forced to acknowledge Saitama's pedagogical talent. First, the training method using clones was genuinely effective; they were excellent for drilling Taijutsu, and by the third day Uzumaki's copies were already demonstrating near-perfect form. Second, at the bald man's request, Naruto had become considerably quieter. Not surprising — when you only have enough energy to drag yourself home by evening, you're not really in the mood to shout. The little Jinchuriki had also stopped playing pranks and had finally applied himself to something constructive, which meant the Hokage Monument faces were safe for the time being.
Watching the original blond puffing and doing push-ups, Anko turned to Saitama:
"How about a spar?"
Sarutobi had said the Special Jonin should see for herself just how strong the bald young man was. There was nothing else to do right now, so why not warm up? Besides, he seemed reasonably tough, so she didn't need to hold back too much.
"Nahhh…" the hero yawned. "He's not ready for that yet. Let him train on his own for now — in the meantime we can go for a walk. You still haven't shown me the whole village, by the way…"
"Saitama, you misunderstood," the kunoichi cut him off. "How about a spar with me?"
"Huh?.. Like, seriously? You're a girl! What kind of sparring are we going to do?" the bald ninja said in surprise.
"I am a shinobi, just like you!" Anko began to simmer.
"Um… meaning not at all?.. It's just that I'm definitely not a shinobi. I already told you — I'm a Class B hero, Caped Baldy."
Mitarashi hissed like a proper snake.
Temporarily playing along with Saitama's act, she calmed herself down and decided to humor the nonsense just this once:
"Alright, alright. But there's one small problem. If you're a hero, where's your hero's cape?"
"Left it at home, in the other world," the bald young man said carelessly, "along with my costume. Why? Do you want to make me a new one?"
The girl closed her eyes for a couple of moments, then slowly breathed in and out.
"Fine, Saitama. I'm proposing a training match — in exchange, I promise to treat you to one extra-large serving of ramen. Deal?" this time the girl remembered to specify the number of servings. With Saitama, there was a real risk he'd eat everything Ichiraku had.
"Anko, that's what you should have led with. But it's not enough," the hero scratched his gleaming bald head. "As a bonus — show me this Forest of Death of yours. The name is intriguing enough."
"Fine," the girl agreed reluctantly.
Training Ground 44, also known as the Forest of Death, posed no real danger to jonin. To genin and inexperienced chunin — absolutely. But as long as one followed basic safety precautions and avoided the territories of powerful beasts, the place was, for the most part, nothing more than a scary story for the upcoming generation of ninja. Taking Saitama there was therefore perfectly manageable.
"Good. For now — let's move to a different spot," the kunoichi suggested.
The young man and the girl walked about half a kilometer and stopped at the far end of the training ground near a wide row of training posts set up beside a small cliff.
"So, what are the rules? I'm not going to hit a girl, so you'll have to come up with something."
Anko clenched her teeth. Did this man think she was nothing? Mitarashi was a Special Jonin — and a student of the Snake Sannin, no less.
She had wanted to give his impudent face a good kicking ever since their first meeting, as payback for all the grief he'd caused her. And now was the perfect opportunity.
"Well, if you don't want to hit, then I suppose that works in my favor," the girl grinned. "But I'm still going to attack! I'll use everything except forbidden techniques. Need to test your worth, Master Saitama," Anko added with sarcasm.
The kunoichi immediately leaped backward, drawing a kunai from her pouch in midair.
Whoosh.
Saitama tilted his head slightly, and the projectile flew past the bald hero's cheek.
The girl formed a concentration seal and applied one of the most powerful illusions in her not-particularly-extensive jutsu arsenal. Locking her eyes onto Saitama's, Mitarashi held still for a few moments.
"That's…" the young man scratched his bald head in puzzlement.
After throwing the kunai, the girl hadn't followed up with any further attacks. She was just standing there, staring at him, fingers twisted in a strange gesture. The hero was a little thrown off, but then he figured it out:
"Oh! I see. You want to play a staring contest. Whoever blinks first loses, right? I accept the challenge!"
His gaze turned serious — but then, catching a glimpse of Mitarashi's twisted fingers, he decided he needed to find a cool hand pose of his own. After trying to copy the concentration seal, Saitama realized that this finger trick only looked easy — in practice he couldn't come anywhere close to doing it correctly. Giving up on the strange gesture, he decided not to trouble himself with such nonsense and instead showed Anko two "rock on" signs — it looked as though Saitama was paying homage to rock culture, throwing up the heavy metal horns on both hands.
Sweat began to bead on the girl's temples. For half a minute now, the Special Jonin had been trying to draw her opponent into a Genjutsu. But he seemed completely oblivious to her efforts. She might as well have been trying to cast an illusion on a rock. The young man simply mocked her again, saying something about a staring contest.
Maybe it's because the bald one simply has no brain? Actually, that's a fairly logical explanation. You can't influence something that isn't there. How else to explain his immunity to Genjutsu? Or maybe it has something to do with that strange hand seal he's holding?…
"I should warn you," Saitama spoke up. The girl immediately tensed. "I once played a staring contest with Genos; half a day passed, and we ended up in a draw. We had to stop because of the discount sale at the supermarket…"
Suddenly Caped Baldy's eyes went wide, as though he had just remembered something:
"Wait! Genos is a cyborg. Does he even blink?…"
The girl had initially thought Saitama was about to say something serious, but he was spouting nonsense again. Realizing the futility of her approach, Anko decided to move on to other tests of the hero's strength.
"We are not playing a staring contest," the kunoichi hissed. "We're in a training match."
"Ohhhh…" the young man drawled, nodding absently.
Done with the Genjutsu, Mitarashi formed her seals and said:
"Fire Release: Dragon Flame Technique!"
A stream of fire in the shape of small dragons shot straight toward Saitama. He moved aside quite briskly, however, avoiding the jutsu's damage entirely.
With her right hand the kunoichi quickly threw several kunai, while from her left sleeve a number of snakes appeared and launched themselves at the bald hero to cut him off. The young man should have been caught in the trap — but before she could even blink, all the projectiles had been caught and sent flying straight into the open mouths of the snakes. The summoned reptiles instantly vanished in puffs of smoke.
"Interesting technique," the bald shinobi rubbed his chin. "Too bad the snakes dispel — otherwise you could get free meat. They say snake meat is good if you cook it right."
Mitarashi clicked her tongue in irritation.
All you think about is food…
"I'm kind of hungry again, Anko. How much longer are we going to spar?" Saitama asked.
Mitarashi produced two kunai, one of which she threw at the young man's head. Naturally, he caught it effortlessly next to the bridge of his nose.
"You win the moment you press a kunai to my throat," the kunoichi smirked. "That's how you claim victory."
Now she would be watchful and test his close-range combat. Anko's Taijutsu was nowhere near the level of Maito Gai or even Kakashi, but with this bald man, it was the only option left. Kunai in hand, she was already preparing to charge — but then…
"Heh, looks like I win."
"Wh-what?" the girl felt the cold metal handle of a throwing weapon pressing against her neck.
The young man had appeared behind her, pressing the handle of a kunai against her throat. How was that possible? She had kept her eyes on him the entire time. What was that? A Body Flicker Technique? No. Unlikely. The legendary elemental speed? Impossible… but the fact remained — movement speed like that could only be achieved by the Fourth Hokage, or shinobi of his caliber, such as the Third Hokage or the Fourth Raikage. In short, Anko understood that in a real confrontation with Saitama, she would have been a cold corpse long ago, without even having had time to squeak.
"I s-surrender," she said in a hoarse voice.
"Fair enough," the bald hero grinned, extending the weapon to the kunoichi. Mitarashi automatically took it and shoved the kunai back into her pouch. "And now it's ramen time. Let's go, Anko!"
The young man sauntered across the recently scorched grass. The kunoichi stared into the distance for a moment, then gave herself a shake — as if coming out of a trance — and followed after Saitama.
Mitarashi surfaced from her memories and reluctantly shuffled to the shower to get herself together. Three more weeks until the mission was over. But she no longer viewed the assignment as a punishment or anything of the sort. Not at all. She would do what needed to be done. The mission would be a valuable experience.
The only thing left to sort out was herself. Or rather, the feelings Anko had experienced in her dream. Dreams were a remarkable thing, after all. Sometimes they laid bare and brought to light our secret, hidden desires. They were the dark pit of our subconscious, which often caught what the conscious mind could not. And though the kunoichi's conscious mind and common sense were actively protesting what she secretly wanted — the heart, as they say, can't be ordered around.
No, it wasn't love. The girl understood the psychology of relationships well enough. It was simply that when you spent a lot of time with someone, a kind of habit formed. A habit that, over time, could grow into attachment — or even something like infatuation.
Perhaps she had been alone too long and had kept everyone at a distance. And so now this desire had appeared — this need for someone strong. For someone who could always be a shield.
Who knew?
On the other hand, Anko would have preferred to leave things as they were. It would be so much simpler that way. But damn it all.
Three whole weeks to go…