"You're… leaving?"
Mei had a lot she'd planned to say to Uchiha Yorin.
But the moment she heard "I have to return to Konoha," all of it suddenly felt unimportant.
She'd marched north and south at his side, watched him defeat enemy after enemy and pull off miracle after miracle; her heart had long since chosen, and her faith in him was absolute. Her dependence on him had grown strong—so strong that at the word "leave," her heart fell into chaos.
Yorin didn't hide anything. He told her what the Third had brought, his own guesses, and the plan that followed.
"Another fight?" Mei faltered, then forced herself to adjust. "But… you'll come back, right?"
Like Hiruzen, her first instinct was to recoil from war. But in the next breath she repositioned herself: whatever happened, she would back Yorin. Whether for herself or for the Mist, following him was the best course.
"The only hitch is… if we ally with Konoha, we'll have to convince the Water Daimyō."
Like the other villages, Kirigakure ran on its country's purse—direct subsidies, mission allotments… without them, the village couldn't breathe. Unless the reforms, trade and investment projects with Konoha succeeded enough to lift Mist out of that fiscal dependency, foreign policy would always have to track the Daimyō's will. For routine missions or border skirmishes that was fine; for a full-on village war, you needed a treasury behind you or you didn't fight at all. Renaming "New Mist" and calling Mei "First" instead of "Fifth" didn't solve that.
"Konoha and Fire Country will put the word in," Yorin said. "Konoha Transport folding Water Country into the network sweetens the pot. If Mist voices its intent, the rest should follow."
"…Mm." With that, the last thread of anxiety unraveled. As expected of Yorin. He makes the impossible look easy.
"Then that's that. I'll run to Konoha and come right back," he said. "Mist is in your hands."
"I'll keep it in order. Please don't worry." Then, softer: "And please… come home soon. And while you're in Konoha—remember someone's waiting for you here."
Home…? A heavy word.
Yorin looked at her more seriously. Most days, Mei met him in heat and spice; she never hesitated to lean on her looks to win his favor. But now, cheeks lit rose, she'd laid bare something closer to confession—shy, lovely, entirely different from her usual. Fresh, and very real.
"Mm," he said. "Mist really has become my second home."
He gave her a brief hug. "We leave tomorrow."
"Before you go, come to my room." Leaning against his shoulder, Mei smiled. "I have a gift for you."
Yorin blinked, then nodded. "I'll look forward to it."
…
That night, the Leaf contingent and their new allies in Mist held a farewell banquet.
When word spread that Konoha's troops were withdrawing, many mist-nin visibly relaxed—and grew cheerful. There was pork and oil to spare, so the Mist laid out grills and jars; everyone ate barbecue together.
The mood made sense. Even as allies—and not the paper-thin, break-tomorrow sort but the interest-bound kind—it was still uncomfortable having another village's army inside your walls. The Konoha shinobi weren't saints. Under Uchiha pressure there'd been no crimes—no unpaid meals or "free" brothel visits—but there were always a few idiots strutting about like conquerors. Their eyes, their tone—irritating enough on their own.
Most mist-nin were not clever; many would never truly parse Yorin's "coup" narrative—maybe not in a lifetime. But even the dullest began to understand when a thousand foreign shinobi marched back and forth. Integrating two villages, rebuilding the Shinobi Sect, remaking minds… it would all take time. Long, heavy time.
Yorin thought as much while he poked at the grill.
"Don't overthink it," Pakura said at his side, pouring him sake. "Enjoy the night. Look—the moon's beautiful."
"Ah. Mm… oh."
He looked up. A silver full moon. If only he didn't know a certain clan lived up there, it would have been perfect.
And Pakura's eyes unmistakably gleamed with "one more round"—but he'd promised Mei… No matter. If even Jiraiya could "handle ten," he certainly could too.
He tossed back the sake—weak stuff; it wouldn't slow him. Across the fire, Tsunade was already drunk, arm slung around Uchiha Mikoto, laughing too loud. Terrible drinker, Yorin thought, ignoring Fugaku's pleading look and glancing to Mei.
She met his eyes, then dipped her head, flustered.
"Tch," Pakura muttered under her breath, fingers twitching with the urge to twist his waist—then thinking better of it. Jealousy isn't my style… So I really am a woman who can fall in love, huh?
Yorin squeezed her hand in quiet apology. They held each other's gaze a moment—leaking just enough saccharine into the air—then moved among the crowd.
Plenty of mist-nin came to toast Yorin, as if they could drink him under the table and claw back a little pride. He didn't refuse a single cup. Mei fretted; he soothed her with a look.
Reassured, Mei started tallying names. Those trying to drown Yorin would find out later why their luck turned. Being targeted by the Mizukage without knowing why: delicious.
"I propose a toast!" Fugaku rose, lifting his cup. "To New Mist, to the Ninshū, to our friendship—cheers!"
"Ooooh! Cheers!"
Tsunade let go of Mikoto, then chugged herself insensible. "Hahaha! That Tsunade is such a lightweight!" Mikoto, flushed and giggling, swayed—and face-planted too.
Fugaku lunged to help his wife—but someone beat him to it. He looked up: Yorin had already caught Tsunade. The two men met eyes, nodded without a word, and Yorin shouldered Tsunade away to her room.
Mei blinked. "…H-hey—wait—what about me?"