The ground tasted like copper and dry grass.
I rolled, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, just as a heel slammed into the earth where my ribs had been a microsecond ago. The impact shuddered through the soil, vibrating into my bones.
"Too slow!" the clone shouted.
It—She—was relentless. Even at one-sixteenth power, Tsunade's clone moved like a hydraulic press with a grudge. I scrambled back, my boots sliding on the torn-up turf, breathless and aching in places I didn't know could ache.
I reached into my pouch for a smoke bomb.
My fingers brushed against paper. Not the stiff, wax-coated paper of an explosive tag, but the soft, crumpled texture of a notebook page.
I yanked my hand out, trying to grab a kunai instead, but the motion snagged. The scrap of paper fluttered out of my pocket.
It drifted.
Time seemed to slow down. In the middle of the violence—the dust, the sweat, the roaring blood in my ears—that piece of paper looked impossibly fragile. It danced on a thermal, flipping over once, revealing the jagged, frantic handwriting scrawled in violet ink.
No.
I lunged for it.
"Distracted," a voice said from the sidelines.
The real Tsunade stepped forward. She didn't move fast, but she moved with absolute authority. She snatched the paper out of the air two inches from my fingertips.
"Focus on the enemy, not your litter," she scolded.
The clone stopped mid-punch, freezing like a statue. I collapsed onto my knees, chest heaving, watching in horror as Tsunade unfolded the scrap.
"Please don't read that," I wheezed. "It's... it's just garbage. Brain rot."
Tsunade ignored me. Her amber eyes scanned the lines. I squeezed my eyes shut, reciting the words in my head to the rhythm of my pounding heart.
(Snap, snap, snap!)
Neon-lit Leaf-town
Zapping the brave like insects
We hide in the dark
Gambling for "new starts" just like
Cheap toys in a plastic ball.
The silence stretched. The cicadas screamed, filling the void.
I opened one eye. Tsunade wasn't tearing it up. She wasn't laughing. She was staring at the ink, her expression unreadable. She looked at the rhythm. The structure. The bitterness.
"The rhythm," she said quietly. "It snaps."
She looked down at me.
"You're admiring him."
"No!" I scrambled up, dusting off my pants. "I'm not! It's just... he was terrifying. And fascinating. And I... I had to get it out of my head. It's not admiration. It's... exorcism."
Tsunade looked back at the paper. Her brow furrowed. I expected a lecture. I expected her to tell me that even thinking about Orochimaru was treason.
But the look in her eyes wasn't anger. It was curiosity.
Is it possible? her expression seemed to ask. Is it possible to create something positive from the inspiration of someone so negative? Is this... art?
She folded the paper carefully. She didn't give it back, but she didn't destroy it. She tucked it into her sash.
"So," Tsunade said, the heavy mood suddenly snapping like a twig.
She gestured to the clone. POOF. The copy vanished in a cloud of white smoke.
Tsunade crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her lips.
"You copy the snake's rhythm," she listed, ticking off a finger. "You stole a slug from me."
She leaned in, her eyes widening with mock accusation.
"And you stole a toad from a toad."
My brain short-circuited.
I blinked. My face felt like it had been set on fire. The heat rushed up my neck, past my ears, and settled firmly in my cheeks.
"I—" I stammered. "It's—it's not like that! He's—he's uh—"
Tsunade's smirk deepened. She looked like a cat playing with a particularly slow mouse. "He's what, Sylvie?"
My eyes started to swirl. A headache spiked behind my temples.
"He's my best friend!" I blurted out, my voice cracking an octave higher than normal. "He's uh—he's the one I have best friend feelings about! Completely platonic! Strictly professional toad-based friendship!"
Tsunade stared at me. Her lips twitched.
She tried to stifle it. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. But it was no use.
"PFFT—HAHAHAHAHA!"
Tsunade burst out laughing. It wasn't a polite chuckle; it was a deep, belly-shaking roar that echoed off the trees. It sounded rusty, like an engine that hadn't been turned on in years, but it felt good. It felt light.
"Best friend feelings!" she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, that is rich. You kids are going to be the death of me."
She took a deep breath, the laughter fading into a relaxed smile.
"Okay," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's see what you've got, Wild Syl. Summon the slug."
I shook off the embarrassment, focusing on my chakra. I bit my thumb.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
I slammed my hand onto the grass.
POOF.
"SYLVIE-CHAN!"
Tsuyuyu exploded into existence. She didn't land on the ground; she launched herself directly at my face. I caught her, staggering back as forty pounds of enthusiastic, sugar-scented slime collided with my chest.
"Hi, Tsuyuyu," I grunted, peeling her off my vest. "Ready to work?"
"TSUYUYU IS READY! TSUYUYU WANTS TO BOUNCE!"
Tsunade watched us, her hands on her hips.
"You're defending now," she ordered. "I won't hit you—I don't want to clean you off my sandals. The goal is to catch you. If I grab you, you lose."
I grinned. I held Tsuyuyu up to my face. Her eye-stalks wiggled at me.
"I finally have someone to practice this with," I whispered to the slug. "I've seen Naruto do it so many times with Gamakichi. You know the drill?"
"Transform!" Tsuyuyu squeaked.
"Let's go, Tsuyuyu!"
"Combination Transformation!"
Tsuyuyu glowed. Her body expanded, shifted, and hardened.
POOF.
The smoke cleared.
Standing next to me was... me.
She looked exactly like me—same messy hair, same glasses, same determined expression. Except she smelled faintly of syrup and had a slightly glossier sheen to her skin.
We grinned at Tsunade in unison.
Tsunade raised her eyebrows, genuinely impressed. "Not bad. A solid clone without the shadow clone chakra cost. But how long can you last like this?"
"Long enough," we said together.
Tsunade lunged.
She moved fast—a blur of green and blonde. Her hand reached out, aiming for my collar.
But she didn't grab me.
I turned my back to Tsuyuyu-Me. Tsuyuyu-Me turned her back to me.
We linked arms.
"Up!" I yelled.
Tsuyuyu wasn't human. She was a slug. She was made of muscle and hydraulic pressure. She didn't jump; she compressed and released.
I climbed onto Tsuyuyu's back.
She stuck her tongue out at Tsunade. I stuck my tongue out at Tsunade.
SPROING.
It wasn't a jump. It was a launch.
Tsuyuyu's legs—my legs—acted like high-tension springs. We shot straight up into the air, clearing Tsunade's head by ten feet. The wind rushed past my ears as we soared toward the tree canopy, bouncing off a branch and vanishing into the leaves.
From below, I heard Tsunade's voice, sounding annoyed but distinctly proud.
"Get back here, you slippery brats!"