"Yorin-chaaaan~ so cute, come give big sis a kiss, heeheehee…"
On the way to Tsunade's room, the half-drunk, half-awake woman realized it was Yorin supporting her and broke into a very Uchiha-like grin, looping her arms around his neck and gleefully groping him.
"If you keep that up, I can't carry you properly. Be good."
Faced with the idiot big sister using booze as an excuse to get handsy, Uchiha Yorin couldn't help grumbling.
"I'm not drunk," Tsunade muttered. "I can still drink."
"Who asked you."
Her sober banter wasn't exactly refined; drunk-Tsunade-speak dropped straight into toddler-romcom levels.
"C'mon, kiss kiss~ don't be shy, Yorin-chaaaan~"
Uchiha Yorin: "…" On a normal night, sure—kiss and be done with it. Tonight? Your breath is a distillery, sis.
One way or another, he got her to her room and was about to breathe when she hugged him from behind.
Ninja world's No.1 S-tier figure pressed warm and soft against his back; Yorin's heart inevitably skipped.
"Tsunade, cut it out. I can't leave like this."
"Leave? I'm not letting you leave." She doubled down, drunk and petulant. "You're going to that Mei girl, aren't you? Don't think I don't know—you're trying to do this and that with her."
She made the lewd finger-and-ring gesture. "And that Pakura—every day you say 'cupping therapy,' but since when does a normal person do it with his mouth?
Think I'm an idiot? You're someone's fiancé and you're still chasing other girls—first Pakura, then Mei. There's that glasses nun back in Konoha too. Hacky Yorin, you're grinding your harem route like crazy—am I supposed to be fake here?"
Borrowing drunkenness to vent sober resentment, she dumped it all out. Yorin wanted to retort: You're not even drunk, are you? This is all an act, isn't it?
"Blah blah, whatever—I'm not letting you go." Soft body, colossal power.
"Don't use Monster Strength for this!"
Loud protest; ineffective. Unstoppable, she pushed him over.
"Hee hee hee, Yorin-chan—soft and sweet…"
Drooling, she cooed, "Come on~ big sis will treat you very well~"
She puckered up, eyes closed, leaning in.
"…Fine."
Drunk antics aside, Yorin knew this wasn't that simple. In his read, she'd been "green" by him so often she'd stockpiled a mountain of frustration and was using a drunk scene to blow the valve.
From that angle—kind of cute.
Per principle—save the main dish for last—he'd planned to enjoy Tsunade at the very end. Doing it now… felt cheap. What if she cried the morning after? What about his "appointments" with Pakura and Mei?
No matter.
Fate laughs at plans—best to laugh along.
If he backed down now, was he even a man?
He closed his eyes and waited. Minutes passed. Nothing.
Weird. After all that bluster, shy at the finish line?
Not okay, sis. Fine—let the man lead. Whatever her years, she was green at this; a novice needs a steady hand—
He opened his eyes. Tsunade had passed out on top of him, fast asleep.
…He stared.
Seriously. Waste of emotion.
He pushed the sleeping woman aside, pouting, deeply unsatisfied.
You tease then run? Usually he teased others; tonight he'd been teased. Worst of all, she left him hanging. Now what was he supposed to do with all that fire?
Right on cue, Pakura appeared, smiling like a professional—"I would never laugh—unless I can't help it"—which told him she'd been watching for a while.
"I only just arrived," she lied.
"…Pakura."
He was as annoyed as he could be.
"What is it, sweet Yorin-chan-chan~?"
So she'd heard.
"I'm very fired up."
"Mm, and what should we do about that?"
She slipped out her hairpin and let her hair fall—and Yorin pounced with a wolfish "grr," exacting public vengeance on Tsunade by devouring the woman who'd witnessed the humiliation.
"Mm-hmm. Yorin-chan isn't just capable and brilliant—sometimes he's very cute," Pakura murmured later.
He couldn't accept the teasing. However fondly said, it was still a challenge. So he cupped her—thoroughly—until she was limp and begging, then headed for Mei's room.
By now the banquet had wound down; people drifted away, or passed out, or coupled off to be thoroughly happy. Konoha and Mist had been cross-pollinating; couples grabbed their "last chance" together, because who knew the next time—or whether there would be a next time?
…
"Ugh, seriously."
In her room, Mei was fuming. She'd planned to firm up her claim—and Tsunade had drunk-judo'd Yorin away. Unaware of Tsunade's later face-plant, she assumed palace-war mastery.
One missed move, and the advantage went to Tsunade. Mei ground her teeth…
…and Yorin slipped in behind her, arms sliding around her waist.
She startled; then, seeing him, lit up.
"You—weren't you—"
"You invited me. As if I wouldn't come."
He hugged her—and kissed her.
One spring night; wish fulfilled; sooner than they realized, the eastern sky paled.
"I'll come back," Yorin murmured, arm around her bare shoulder.
"Mm. I'll be waiting~"
They laced their fingers. Warmth lingered. Then—click—Yorin tagged her with a Flying Thunder God mark.
"Eh…?"
"Minato taught me. I've been practicing; turns out I'm pretty talented with space-time ninjutsu."
"Mm~"
Just imagining him "zip" into her room from Konoha whenever he pleased swept the last sadness away. "There's still a little time, Yorin—why don't we…"
He accepted the party invite.
…
Elsewhere, Tsunade rolled over and reached for Pakura—who deftly slipped away.
Hearing Tsunade mumble "Yorin-chan, hee hee~" in her sleep, Pakura clicked her tongue. "Tch."
…
Morning.
Yorin was refreshed. So was Tsunade.
"About last night…"
Having no memory of the evening past the drinking, Tsunade felt oddly shy. Yorin, solemn, shook his head. "Don't misunderstand. You were plastered. I got you back to your room—Pakura took care of you after that. I didn't do anything."
Tsunade turned to Pakura. No guilty tells. She believed it.
Damn it.
Annoyingly, it was the truth.
A bit deflated, she rallied quickly. No problem. They'd be together all the time; Mei had stayed behind in Mist. That meant—it was her turn. Heh heh heh—
She had no idea Yorin now had Flying Thunder God.
Watching Tsunade grin foolishly to herself, Konan, passing by, couldn't help a disdainful "tch."
Not at Tsunade—but at a certain harem-running philanderer.
She hadn't cared before. Now, for some reason, she did.
…
As for why Konan was there—Yorin had messaged Nagato:
Bro, I've taken over Kirigakure; I'm about to kick off the Age of Sail in Water Country. If you want to be Pirate King, come find me!
Rain Country and Akatsuki had ticked up, but Rain's "four-sides-farm-me" geography was dire. Nagato, unwilling to see his homeland sacrificed when Akatsuki's mask slipped, decided they needed a new base. Water Country—sea-isolated, now under Yorin—was the best choice.
He hurried to Mist—only for Yorin to relay that he was returning to Konoha. Nagato and Konan rushed and made it just in time to see Yorin off.
Yorin welcomed his right hand; they took a side room, layered seals, and talked.
While the men spoke business, the women compared notes. Like a dorm with five group chats for four roommates, Yorin's harem was complicated. Thankfully his power was overwhelming, and, in this era, women's views were traditional and simple. The near-term risk of a harem explosion existed but was low—disappointing certain friends (Nagato, Minato, Fugaku) who'd hoped to watch him crash.
"You didn't come to ask about my harem," Yorin said.
Of course not. If time allowed, Nagato might have—but mostly, those desires had been burned out. Detached, he had a single thought left: do big things.
"Then let's talk."
"In this chaotic, rotten world, I think we shinobi need to reposition ourselves to maintain peace," Yorin said. "Until now, we've been the guests; the Daimyō and nobility the hosts.
It's not pretty to say—but reality is, we're like stray dogs, fighting for scraps the lords toss down. They call it grace. And that 'grace' is supposed to buy our lives, our dignity, our feelings—even our love. They even strip us of being people, calling us tools.
It's been like that for centuries. But it doesn't have to stay that way."
"I don't care for your theories," Nagato replied flatly. "Daimyō and nobles are trash; I know. But are shinobi any better? Swap nobles for ninja overlords—does that really make the world kinder?"
Yorin suspected Nagato had been reading; he was harder to sway than before.
"Yes. But no matter," Yorin said. "I'll make the whole world one family. I'll give everyone power, skill, wealth, and knowledge. On that, I'll build a fairer world. And on that, I'll grant lasting peace."
"How?" Nagato asked. "I know Orochimaru is cloning Uchiha and Senju; he's made progress. So what? Kill the entire world and repopulate with clone Uchihas and Senjus?"
"Of course not. That's a crazy world," Yorin snorted. "But—have you heard of it?"
He said, "Chimera Technique."
Nagato's face didn't change; Orochimaru's did.
Once, before the friendship shattered, Hiruko (Danzō's test subject—under another name in some tongues) had theorized such a jutsu in talk with the Sannin: a way to take bloodline limits. It hadn't existed then—only a speculative rant. But Orochimaru remembered.
"That technique can seize bloodline limits from bloodline shinobi," Yorin said. "Pair it with cloning—and you can build a world where everyone has a bloodline limit… a world where everyone is Senju-Uchiha."
At that, Nagato's eyes finally flickered—hard.
~~~
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