Tsunade's gaze returned to the yakiniku restaurant.
The shop was in complete disarray. The customers had already slipped away quietly, and even the owner was hiding behind the counter, not daring to make a sound.
Tsunade sat there alone, staring blankly at the table covered with empty bottles and the charcoal that had already gone cold.
The chill wind stirred up when Shinichi left had long since dissipated, leaving behind only deeper silence and the lingering scent of alcohol in the air.
The conflict just now—especially the boy's final words, spoken with resounding force—was like a massive stone thrown into the lake of her heart, violently stirring up the muddy memories she had buried deep within.
In her daze, it felt as though she had returned to her childhood, playing beneath her grand-uncle's broad palm, listening to her grand-uncle's stern yet subtly caring admonitions…
Back then, the title of Hokage was the family's supreme honor. To protect was a responsibility taken for granted. Konohagakure was the warmest home beneath the sun.
Her younger brother Nawaki had once shouted with a radiant smile that he wanted to become a great Hokage like their grand-uncle. Dan had spoken gently yet firmly of his dream to protect his comrades…
Those beliefs and faces that had once supported her and defined her now, under the erosion of alcohol and years of accumulated pain, had grown blurred and piercing.
Just as she was sinking into the vortex of memories, almost about to be swallowed by that heavy suffocation, a small voice carrying worry and a hint of irritation sounded from the doorway: "Tsunade-sama!"
Tsunade turned her head somewhat sluggishly. At the entrance stood Shizune's small figure, wrapped in a thick scarf. Her face was reddened by the cold wind, lips pressed together as she looked at Tsunade with both anger and helplessness.
That kid… After leaving, did he go to find Shizune?
The thought flickered through Tsunade's muddled mind.
"Honestly! You ran out by yourself to drink this much again!" Shizune hurried over, skillfully checking the number of empty bottles on the table. Her brows knit even tighter.
Though she complained, her movements were brisk as she supported Tsunade's slightly swaying arm. "You reek of alcohol, and look at this mess… We're going home."
Supported by Shizune—who was not strong, yet unusually firm—Tsunade did not resist.
Leaning against the girl's slender shoulder, feeling that small strength with which she was doing her best to support her, and the concern that couldn't be hidden in her words, a sudden warm current quietly welled up in Tsunade's chest, washing away a bit of the frozen sting and despondency.
She didn't say anything, letting Shizune half-support, half-drag her along as they trudged unevenly down the streets where the snow had yet to melt.
Shizune was still murmuring at her side, softly scolding her with things like "not taking care of your health," "throwing another tantrum," and "making people worry," the words buzzing in her ears.
Strangely, those nagging remarks that would usually have made her even more irritated now, as she listened, only made that warmth grow clearer.
The cold night wind against her face instead made her foggy head clear a little.
She didn't know how long they walked before the familiar courtyard gate appeared in front of them.
"We're here." Shizune took a breath, laboriously fished out the key and opened the door, then helped Tsunade inside the warm room.
Just like that… she was home.
Tsunade leaned against the entryway, watching Shizune rush around lighting the lamp and putting water on to boil, that small figure bustling under the lamplight.
Outside was the frigid winter night; inside were the dim yellow light and faint sounds.
The traces of the quarrel had not yet been completely erased, and the worry had not dissipated, but this space called "home," and the girl in front of her who complained while still taking care of her, unquestionably existed.
Watching that little girl—clearly still sulking, yet still tending to her with such careful thoughtfulness—Tsunade suddenly let out a long, soundless breath of turbid air she had held in for far too long.
Tsunade had thought that, for a while, she probably wouldn't have another chance, nor any desire, to see that sharp-tongued, clear-eyed black-haired boy again.
He was like a mirror that was far too bright, reflecting the sorry state she didn't want to face.
However, only a few days later, on a wind-and-snow-lashed afternoon, urgent knocking broke the small courtyard's quiet.
Outside the door stood an ANBU wearing an animal mask, his posture straight, his presence steady and contained.
Tsunade recognized him—one of the direct elite who had followed the Old Man for years.
No small talk, not even any extra courtesy. The moment Tsunade opened the door, the ANBU explained his purpose in the briefest, fastest terms:
Shinichi had suffered a severe accident during training. His injuries were extremely difficult, and after consultations, Konoha Hospital's current medical-nin team was at a loss. The situation was critical.
The Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had personally issued the order, urgently dispatching him here to earnestly request that Tsunade-sama go to the hospital at once.
Injured during training?
What kind of injury could be so serious that the entire hospital team could not reach a decision—and even require the old man to dispatch ANBU personally to request her?
Tsunade's brows knitted instantly. After a brief hesitation, she followed the ANBU and stepped into the vast wind and snow, rushing toward Konoha Hospital.
Their footprints were quickly covered by fresh snow, leaving behind only a rapidly fading trail.
…
Time turned back to that morning.
Konoha's Fourth Training Ground was blanketed in thick snow. The sky was gray and overcast, and fine snow swirled down in the north wind, casting a layer of cold silence over the entire field.
At the center of the ground, Shinichi breathed slightly, holding in his hand a steadily rotating sphere of deep-blue chakra—the Rasengan.
At the edge of the field, the tall and burly Monkey King Enma stood with his arms crossed over his chest, like a rock carving amid the wind and snow, golden pupils fixed intently on Shinichi's movements.
"Hah!"
Shinichi let out a low shout. The Rasengan in his hand suddenly emitted a deep hum, its size expanding at a visible rate. At the same time, a thread of blazing crimson, like thick ink dropped into clear water, rapidly spread outward from the sphere's core.
Whoosh!
The originally non-attribute chakra vortex transformed in an instant into a raging firestorm filled with explosive fire-attribute chakra.
The crimson Rasengan pulsed in Shinichi's palm, as if molten lava were compressed within. The high temperature it emitted instantly vaporized the falling snow around it into white mist, producing sharp hissing sounds and forming a distorted, steaming zone of heat amid the wind and snow.
Enma stared closely at the steadily burning crimson sphere. After several seconds, he finally nodded slowly and said in a deep voice, "The infusion of chakra nature transformation is stable, and the form is perfectly maintained… Kid, you've succeeded."
"Have you decided on the name of this technique?"
Fine beads of sweat seeped from Shinichi's temples, yet his eyes remained calm as he said: "I plan to call it—Fire Release: Great Flame Rasengan."
The name was simple and direct, clearly indicating its Release attribute and its origin from the Rasengan, while also conveying a fierce momentum.
"Not a bad name," Enma commented, his gaze turning more serious. "Then the final step—and the most important one. Release it safely and test its true power and controllability. Remember! Creating and stabilizing it is only the beginning. Being able to master it—that's what makes it your technique."
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