Pakura's words struck a chord with the Sand jonin gathered in the tent. Relief and excitement flickered across their faces.
That's right, no matter how formidable Uchiha Gen was, he was still just a young man. Sixteen, barely grown, with his years shaped by blood and battle rather than pleasure. How much could he truly know about women?
Perhaps, with just a hint of sweetness, he'd stumble straight into temptation.
"Pakura-sama," Baki said gravely, bowing slightly, "I'll send word to the village at once. They'll prepare every piece of intelligence we have on seduction techniques. The village won't forget your sacrifice."
Pakura inclined her head, her expression calm, though unease pricked beneath the surface.
The Sand's high council didn't hesitate when Baki's message arrived. They gathered dossiers, summoned kunoichi spies to share their field experience, and packaged it all for her study. Even the Fourth Kazekage, Rasa, wrote personally.
He didn't frame it as an order. Not for Pakura, the gifted jonin Chiyo treasured, the pride of Sunagakure. Instead, his letter wove appeals to loyalty, duty, and the 'greater good of the village,' gilded with promises of honor and reward.
The words were honeyed, but the weight beneath them was heavy: if you don't secure more quotas, you're failing your village.
Pakura was not yet the betrayed, broken woman she would one day become. She still loved Sunagakure fiercely. And with Rasa's personal appeal added to the council's, her resolve hardened.
If it meant strengthening her village, she would even sacrifice her innocence.
But she prayed it wouldn't come to that. She studied the training scrolls with determination, committing each subtle tactic to memory.
On the fourth day, Pakura made her way alone to Konoha's camp.
Her outfit looked the same at first glance; black sleeveless combat dress, backless cut, light-purple leggings, matching wrist-length sleeves, and the wide bandaged belt. But today, there was one difference.
A vertical slit now ran down the center of her chest, revealing a line of pale skin and a deep valley of cleavage—bait, calculated and deliberate.
Konoha Camp – Deputy Commander's Tent.
"Lord Gen," a chuunin guard announced, "Pakura of Sunagakure requests an audience."
Seated at his desk, Uchiha Gen glanced up from the papers. His lips curved slightly. "Understood. Invite her in."
Then, in a deeper voice: "Extend the security perimeter. Pakura and I have confidential matters to discuss."
He paused, tapping his pen once against the wood. "And send two Type-B meals. I'm hungry."
His sixteenth birthday loomed in only a few days, August ninth. He doubted there would be time to celebrate properly soon, the tide of war against the Iwa-Kusa alliance would decide everything.
So perhaps, he thought, this meeting would serve as an early gift.
"Yes, Lord Gen!"
Moments later, the guard ushered her in.
Pakura pushed through the tent flap, heart tight with nerves. Gen had already risen, smiling faintly as he gestured her over.
"Welcome, Pakura. Please, sit." He moved from his desk to the low table reserved for tea.
"Thank you," she murmured, sliding down beside him... Beside, not opposite.
Gen's brow arched. And when his gaze flicked to the new cut in her top, he understood instantly.
Sunagakure had deciphered his hint.
He had never truly intended to claim such an advantage. But if they wanted to send her into his lap? Why should he refuse?
This wasn't Konoha's homeland, after all. Negotiations weren't charity; if the Sand wanted concessions, he'd take his price. Within the limits set by Konoha's high council, of course.
Orochimaru was the true commander here, and Gen knew the sannin cared little about Hiruzen's evaluations. If Orochimaru himself no longer bothered playing the loyal heir, why should Gen worry about seeming overly indulgent?
"Have some tea," he said, pouring. His eyes never left hers. "Tell me, what brings you here this time?"
Pakura curved her lips into a gentle smile. "I wouldn't dare advise...I only carry Sunagakure's intent to continue our negotiations with Lord Gen."
"Oh?" His voice was light, but edged with amusement. "And the price?"
Her heart twisted with contempt, but she shifted closer anyway, letting the faint, heady perfume she'd chosen drift between them. "Our price," she murmured, "depends entirely on what Lord Gen can offer."
"Then I'll show some sincerity."
Gen formed quick seals. With a puff of chakra smoke, a green-and-red scroll appeared in his hand.
"The bottom line from Konoha's elders is seven percent," he said simply. "Anything beyond that, they'll reject outright." He placed the scroll before her. "This is the original document. See for yourself."
Pakura leaned forward to take it, cleavage deepening as her eyes flicked over the parchment. Every line, every seal, every watermark were authentic.
When she finished, she returned it carefully. "Then… seven percent it is."
Gen's smile broadened. "Agreed. Provided," his gaze sharpened slightly, "I'm satisfied with the price you offer me."
Pakura drew closer still. Her legs shifted, smooth and pale against dark cloth, until one rested lightly across his thigh. Her arm curled around his neck, breath warm against his ear as her lips brushed near.
From his angle, the swell of her chest was impossible to ignore.
Gen let his hand fall naturally atop her leg, fingers resting casually against her skin. He inhaled her scent, then spoke in a calm, even tone,
"More pressure. I can still take it."
Pakura froze, momentarily speechless.
She was just about to shift into the next move she'd memorized when a clear voice called from outside the tent, "Lord Gen, your Type-B meals have arrived."
Pakura started to pull her leg away, but Gen pressed it firmly back down, shaking his head. His whisper brushed her ear: "No need. Watch."
He clapped his hands together, fingers crossing in a practiced seal.
Poof!
A Shadow Clone appeared at his side.
Pakura blinked.
The clone looked down at itself, scowling. "Tch. You only know how to enjoy yourself. All I get is the errands…"
Gen raised an eyebrow.
"You enjoy the perks, but I suffer the chores," the clone grumbled as it stomped toward the flap. "Unfair. Completely unfair."
Pakura could only stare, half-stunned, half-mortified.
Gen's mouth twitched. "…Don't mind him."
Silence stretched for a beat. Then, almost at the same time, both said the same thing in their minds,
This is so embarrassing.