Makoto tossed on the rock-hard futon like a pancake on a griddle—zero shut-eye.
Outside, the Land of Water's night wind howled, salty sea air smackin' different from Kumo's crisp mountain vibes.
Pillow? Trash. Rough, flat, useless. Nothing like Samui's plush, warm, ergonomic double-D "headrest."
Missed that milky scent, the sink-in softness, the kinda pillow that knocks you out till noon.
Samui: blonde bombshell, emerald eyes, ice-queen face, inferno curves.
Mabui: long black hair, toasty care, handled his every need like a pro.
Both eye-candy, beasts at their jobs, and real good at… extra credit.
"Sigh…"
Empty room echoed his lonely-ass exhale. Blanket burrito couldn't fight the chill.
First night outta Kumo and he's already homesick for the double-serve cuddle life.
But nah—short-term nut vs. long-term strut? He knew the play.
Power first, then permanent paradise. Plus, Kirigakure's got some prime prospects…
Snow started fallin' again—silent, fat flakes blanketin' the brutal ninja world like nature's "shhh."
Moon barely cuttin' through clouds, throwin' weak shadows on the white.
Meanwhile, Kumo outskirts—two craters from Eight-Tails bombs still smokin', chakra stink thick.
Gluttonous Killer B ate his own nuke. Half-dead, no meds yet.
No rap. Face pale, slumped against busted rock, dead serious.
To the elite squad that just rolled up: "Mobilize every ninja. Flip Kumo inside out. Drag those three brats back—now."
"That Uchiha punk with Flying Thunder God? Redirected a Beast Bomb—chakra's dry. Can't have gone far."
"Last shot. He juices up again? Game over."
Coughed blood, wiped it like a G. Minor scratch for a jinchūriki. Eyes sharpened.
"Fastest squad—max priority—haul ass to the Daimyo's pad. Drag my brother back. Yesterday."
Voice raspy, but the urgency? Never heard from B.
Perfect Eight-Tails host, Raikage's ride-or-die, AB Combo legend—dude's word was law.
Kumo exploded into motion.
WAAAAA—
Sirens ripped the valley.
Elite squads poured outta forts like hornets from a kicked nest—organized chaos.
Torches, ninja lamps—ocean of fire. Searchlights stabbed the dark.
Roofs, streets, training yards, backwoods—carpet search. Boots, shouts, ninja dogs barking mad.
Sensor jutsu nets blanketed the village, even Cloud-Lightning Gorge.
Whole damn Kumo boiled over Makoto.
All for nothing.
Two of their top targets—Shisui & Itachi? Already chillin' in Fire Country, strollin' toward Konoha like tourists.
Main prize—Makoto? Dipped across the ocean to locked-down Kiri.
Currently cocooned in a blanket, roastin' the pillow, dozin' off.
Punchin' at air—ultimate troll.
Back in the luxury villa "built" for Makoto:
Bedroom still toasty, faint perfume lingerin'. Shisui's genjutsu faded fast post-exit.
Samui & Mabui snapped awake same second—lashes flutterin', eyes poppin'.
Samui—tank build—brain online first. Flashback to those red triple-tomoe eyes.
Emerald pupils pinpricked. Legs launched—bare feet hittin' cold floor. Ice queen? Panic mode.
Searched the mansion like a bloodhound, voice shakin: "Makoto? Makoto?"
Silence.
Mabui? Stayed put. Sprawled on the warm, scented bed, starin' at the chandelier—eyes unreadable.
Hand on her toned abs—visible lines. Fingertips traced skin.
There: succubus tattoo, perfect overlap with Makoto's Flying Thunder God seal.
Curved along her V-cut, glowin' faint in the dim.
Soft sigh—resigned, but… relieved?
"Guess he really bounced…"
Samui burst back in, face gutted, eyes dim.
Spotted a folded note on the floor—slipped from her arm when she yeeted outta bed.
Snatched it, fingers tremblin'. Unfolded.
Read Makoto's signature scrawl—face froze.
Annoyed, speechless, relieved… and a tiny, buried sting she wouldn't admit.
Mabui propped up, leanin' in—
"Oop—"
Door creaked.
Tall, stacked kunoichi glided in—silent as a cat, queen energy.
Long mocha braid swayin' to her waist. Amber eyes—cat's-eye gems—sharp, confident.
Rack? Nearly Samui-tier, straining fabric. Legs for days under pants, skin flawless.
Yugito Nii—Two-Tails jinchūriki. The cat-eared MILF Makoto had been simping for.
Prideful yet soft. Samui's ice + Mabui's warmth = unique flavor.
Sealed young, isolated—mature shell, secretly a needy kid inside.
That gap moe? Lethal.