"Hmm…"
Tsunade's voice was barely louder than a mosquito's whisper. Her cheeks were flushed a deep rosy red, eyes closing as she leaned in—yet the shyness between her brows made her look even more breathtaking.
Just as something was clearly about to happen between the two of them, a sudden voice intruded:
"Tsunade-sama, I brought it for you—Forehead Protector."
Shizune stood at the doorway, eyes widening as she saw the two embracing. She instantly snapped her head away, pretending she had seen nothing at all.
"Ugh!"
Tsunade shoved Ryoma away on reflex. Her already-red face deepened several shades, and she didn't even dare meet his eyes.
Even Ryoma felt the awkwardness. He vanished in a flash, tossing out only a hurried:
"I still have things to do."
As soon as he disappeared, Tsunade gritted her teeth and shot Shizune a glare sharp enough to kill.
"You didn't see anything tonight. Understood?"
"Tsunade-sama, what are you talking about? Did I just… see something?" Shizune replied innocently.
"Hmph. At least you can pretend."
Tsunade turned and walked back into the room. The moment the door closed, the memory of what almost happened resurfaced—and her heart trembled again.
"I can't… actually be feeling something for that guy, right?"
"No. No way. That flirt… two wives… how could I possibly—"
She cut off her own thoughts, refusing to continue down that path.
Early the next morning, Ryoma used the Flying Thunder God Technique and instantly appeared in front of a towering building.
Since the village had become the central hub of the continent, administrative duties had multiplied several times over. The original Hokage Building had been expanded nearly tenfold—now resembling a modern convention center in scale and layout.
The moment Ryoma stepped inside, people turned their heads one after another. Many saluted him respectfully, their gazes filled with admiration.
Ryoma nodded back politely, greeting them before continuing straight toward the end of the corridor.
Everyone only withdrew their gazes once his figure disappeared around the corner, returning to their respective tasks.
Nara Shikaku and Yamanaka Haichi had just stepped out of the Intelligence Division when they spotted him.
"Lord Ryoma!"
"Anything wrong with the examination rooms today?" Ryoma asked.
His Wood Clone had been monitoring only a handful of targets—the kind of people capable of detecting him with sensory jutsu—so Ryoma didn't have a complete overview of the exam's progress.
Although the examination area was outfitted with cameras and aerial reconnaissance devices broadcasting the exams, they still had blind spots. Ryoma knew exactly where those blind spots were—he had even camped there with Terumī the previous day.
"No problems," Shikaku reported. "A few candidates were forced to withdraw due to severe injuries, but everything has been stabilized. So far, the exam's mortality rate remains at zero."
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
This year's Chūnin Exams were on a much larger scale than in previous years, but security measures were equally strict. Every candidate wore a sensory tracker on their forehead, and five jōnin proctors monitored each testing zone around the clock.
Ryoma's Wood Clone had informed the proctors beforehand. Otherwise, appearing in the examination grounds masked and unannounced would have caused quite a scene—most likely treated as an intruder.
In addition, the medical response teams were exceptional.
Whenever a candidate's tracker detected life-threatening conditions, medics rushed directly to their location.
Ryoma nodded as he listened to Shikaku and Haichi's detailed report, feeling satisfied with the state of the examinations.
After exchanging a few more words, he headed off.
There was a meeting scheduled in the building today.
Pushing open the door to the conference room, the first thing he saw was Tsunade's beautiful face. Their eyes met for a split second—both recalling the intimacy from last night.
Tsunade instantly looked away, her expression stiff and flustered.
Sensing the strange atmosphere between Ryoma and Tsunade, the Third Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi—rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"…There's something going on here."
"Third-sama, what do you mean?" Hatake Sakumo asked, genuinely puzzled.
"You wouldn't understand."
Hiruzen's gaze drifted toward the pair, eyes narrowing with a knowing, almost mischievous glint.
By now, the vast conference hall was filled with leaders from every major region.
Because of the Chūnin Exams, representatives from multiple territories had gathered in Konoha, and Hiruzen planned to take this opportunity to hold a summit to review the current development of various lands.
Ryoma had no objections to this arrangement—but he also had no real interest in participating.
Matters like these were usually handled by Tsunade and Hiruzen.
His appearance here today was only partially to acknowledge the significance of this first multi-regional summit.
He had another purpose.
Under Ryoma's calm, unreadable gaze, the regional leaders one after another reported their development, resources, military conditions, and local issues.
For every speaker, Ryoma asked at least one clarifying question—simple but sharp enough to cut to the heart of their administration.
When the final delegate, a samurai representative from the Land of Iron, finished his report, Ryoma slowly rose to his feet.
Dozens of gazes snapped toward him.
"Just as I expected… we still have a traitor among us."
A wave of whispers rippled through the hall.
Half a month ago, Ryoma had uncovered the existence of a rebel faction.
Their plan had been bold: kidnap his family.
He had destroyed the entire operation before the Chūnin Exams began, but what they left behind in their weapons cache revealed a deeper problem.
Although the weapons had been altered and modified, Ryoma could still recognize their origin.
They were supplied by someone inside the Shadow Empire.
And one of the people in this room—one of these leaders—was the supplier.
Ryoma's method of identifying the traitor had been simple yet overwhelming.
In Sage Mode, using the new sensory ability he developed in Pole, he could detect the emotional signatures of others—anger, fear, malice, panic—each carried a unique resonance he could read with terrifying clarity.
Combined with his interrogation and his superhuman five senses, the culprit was obvious.
The supplier of the rebels…
…was Miyamoto, the samurai commander of the Land of Iron.
"Miyamoto," Ryoma said coldly, "do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Lord Ryoma, there must be a misunderstanding!"
Miyamoto's voice trembled as he bowed deeply, his armor clattering.
"I, Miyamoto, have always been loyal! I would never commit such treachery."
His face carried sincerity, his tone righteous and firm—convincing enough that, to an uninformed listener, it may have even sounded genuine.
But Miyamoto didn't know the truth.
His real emotions—panic, guilt, and murderous intent—were exposed to Ryoma as clearly as daylight.
(End of Chapter)
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