Ryusei knew that only the two northern fronts were truly open now, one against Iwa and one against Kumo.

The southern wars against Kiri and Suna hadn’t flared yet, not fully.

And here in the Land of Hot Water, the fighting was brutal.

Kumo was a stronger village than Iwa.

Even without the Third Raikage’s direct involvement so far, his two sons had already carved bloody swaths through Konoha’s divisions.

Squads collapsed, companies broke.

Orochimaru was technically the commander here, but he rarely revealed his fangs directly, and the handful of Elite Jōnin scattered across the front were nowhere near enough to balance the scales.

Konoha’s presence was stretched thin, its defense passive, casualties heaviest, and its momentum constantly beaten down since they came here.

That was why Orochimaru had requested reinforcements in the form of Tsunade’s newly organized mobile medical unit.

However, even if it was supposed to be mobile, for now, at least temporarily, they stayed mostly on this front only due to its difficulties.

The rumors were flying everywhere, the Legendary Kunoichi, mid-thirties now, appearing on this front.

She didn’t fight battles anymore, but wherever she set up, squads that should’ve been wiped out staggered back alive.

Ryusei had never seen her, of course, even if he was heavily injured himself multiple times already.

She hadn’t set foot in his division once, and even if she had, there was no chance his name would ever reach her ears thanks to the higher-ups, due to obvious reasons.

So, he was too far down the ladder, too deliberately erased from Konoha’s “official channels.”, to meet her “accidentally”.

Mostly, the jōnin Orochimaru valued directly, from his central “Den”, used in special ops kind of missions against Kumo elites, also mostly jonin, were brought to her care first.

But it wasn’t as if the other Konoha divisions along the Land of Hot Water front were faring much better.

That was why she had also been dispatched, or perhaps she volunteered herself, to move between divisions as needed.

Recently, she went to the second division horizontally adjacent to Ryusei’s to tend the wounded.

There were only four divisions total on this front, which meant her presence was impossible to ignore for someone like him.

Ryusei knew this not through rumors alone, but because when he focused his senses in that horizontal-line-like direction, he could feel the entire expanse of the front, from Konoha’s side, with frightening clarity.

Among the sea of signatures, hers was unmistakable.

Strong, vital, overflowing, the weight of her chakra presence was like a beacon.

And more than that, it felt familiar.

Senju blood resonated with Senju blood.

It was that resonance that gave Ryusei confidence.

Even without words, even without direct contact, if he sent deliberate pulses of chakra in her direction, she would feel them.

She would recognize them.

The resonance between their chakra signatures, born of the same bloodline, made her presence almost comforting.

It was proof he had a destination worth gambling his life on, if he got attacked a few days later, he thought at that time.

However, even if she had been stationed in another division two sectors away, for example, or still holed up near Orochimaru’s central den, as before, Ryusei would have still chosen this path.

Running toward her was the only option left.

Not surrendering to Kumo, not hiding in the forests, not crawling back to certain execution.

And Orochimaru… even he couldn’t have blanketed all four divisions with sensory suppression just for Ryusei.

At most, it was only among the one Ryusei was originally in.

Cracks Ryusei could squeeze through, coming from the Northern direction diagonally.

What mattered most was that Tsunade was a sensory master in her own right, purely due to the nature of her bloodline.

A Senju like him, her chakra burned too brightly to ignore, and she would feel his when he focused it.

It wouldn’t be telepathy.

Not across half the Land of Hot Water.

But sensory specialists didn’t need words.

With enough precision, a single chakra pulse could carry meaning.

And Ryusei was already shaping his into something even she couldn’t mistake.

A flare that screamed only one thing: Help.

The question wasn’t whether she’d notice. She would.

The question was if he could reach her before Root closed the trap, or if he got caught by the enemy, and whether the woman he was gambling everything on… would decide to answer, and fast enough to be able to meet him halfway.

Ryusei could have already attempted some sort of sensory mutual contact with her days ago if he had really wanted to.

Remember, even if he sensed her, there was no way she could sense him over automatically if she didn’t have sensory mode on, so it was on him to increase the signal if he wanted for that to happen.

His sensory reach had been more than enough. But what could he have relayed at that point? A vague flare of chakra with no context?

If she had responded then, then perhaps asking around or sending others to investigate, she might have unintentionally exposed his intentions straight into the hands of the higher-ups.

That would have doomed him even faster.

Besides, sensing communication wasn’t speech.

Also, the wider the range, the more of the intent was lost.

He couldn’t deliver explanations or persuasion.

He could only send impressions, blunt signals.

And for that to work, the situation itself needed to tell the story.

That was why he had waited.

Why now was the first time he pulsed a deliberate flare toward her, his chakra screaming the most universal message of all: help.

Not a polite request, not a careful hint.

Just raw survival instinct.

A desperate plea, combined with the visible reality of him running, sprinting full-force across enemy territory, with shadows clearly chasing him in the distance, if she looked closer.

That image was the story, and it was a story Tsunade could believe.

It could also make the other follow-up plans and goals regarding him getting into her life easier as well.

Only something like that could make her leave what she was doing in another division and come to meet him halfway, cutting across the Land of Hot Water’s Kumo-infested ground.

Ryusei also knew there was no way Danzo or Orochimaru could have foreseen this angle. They weren’t omnipotent gods.

Who could have guessed his sensory range had grown to the point where he could sweep the entire front like it was his backyard?

Who could have predicted he would not only survive Yoji Aburame’s invisible poison bugs, a technique designed to kill even elite jōnin before they realized they were under attack, but then immediately gamble everything on a wild sprint through enemy territory?

Who could have imagined that, in the middle of all this, he would find Tsunade’s chakra signature, flare it, and trust she would respond?

‘The timing of this attack was also interesting…’ Ryusei thought as he ran, lungs burning.

Tsunade had only recently left Orochimaru’s central den, where she had been stationed for weeks, to travel between divisions, probably on her own volition, guided by her ethics, healing where the need was greatest.

Of course, they would expect that sooner or later, she would also visit his division eventually.

At that point, some incidental sensory exchange between him and her might become unavoidable.

So they struck now, hoping to erase the risk before it grew.

But to think they might have kept Tsunade away from this front entirely, simply to prevent his contact with her?

Ryusei doubted even Hiruzen and Danzo would gamble that much.

Was he really worth destabilizing the northeast front, the most strained battlefield against Kumo? Would Orochimaru himself sign off on weakening his command just for the sake of eliminating a single boy? That seemed unlikely.

No, they had done the more logical thing, deploying Root to kill him faster.

That much was clear.

But they had underestimated his growth again.

Underestimated his sensory level.

Underestimated his sheer tenacity, his madness, his audacity to fling himself straight at Tsunade Senju of all people, banking everything on a desperate link with a stranger who might despise him.

After all, the higher-ups surely remembered that Tsunade and the so-called Senju revivalists hadn’t parted on friendly terms.

If anything, their history should have made her the least reliable savior he could seek.

Yet what Root and the Hokage faction didn’t know was how well Ryusei understood Tsunade’s true personality.

To him, she wasn’t some unknown variable, but practically a character from a book he’d already read cover to cover.

For a transmigrator, she was no stranger at all.

He knew her flaws, her habits, her past and future, her soft spots.

He could plan countless angles to slip into her world, gradually, carefully, until he had her protection, her training, maybe even… Why not?

His father’s notes painted Tsunade as aloof, even hostile, toward the revivalists.

But Ryusei had learned long ago to read between the lines.

With a bit of modern insight, he pieced together the possibility that his father and Tsunade might once have had… something.

Some knot, some tension, maybe even a spark.

The old man never managed to use it, but Ryusei would.

He’d ‘seduce’ her in his father’s place, collect whatever regret was left behind, and turn it into leverage. Why waste such a gift?

“If he left behind regrets and knots,” Ryusei thought dryly, “then I’ll collect them and resolve them for him, so he could rest better, as his ‘son’. One way or another.”

Because Tsunade wasn’t just a famous kunoichi.

She was one of the biggest pieces on the board.

She was protection, training, political weight, and, of course, the biggest, plumpest piece of ‘meat’ in the entire Naruto verse.

There was no universe where Ryusei, as a qualified transmigrator, was going to leave that untouched.

There was no way that anyone with a little bit of ability would let that chance pass.

Revivalists had tried before and failed miserably.

He would succeed, even if that meant ‘blackening’ her step by step, tugging on old scars, until she stood on his side.

That didn’t mean he was about to charge in blind.

Ryusei prided himself on being slightly more intelligent than the average idiot, and unlike most shinobi, he had the dubious advantage of having read countless romance novels in his past life, novels written by women, for women.

It wasn’t glorious. He knew that. But it gave him an education few could match.

So he would watch her carefully. Test the waters.

He wouldn’t overextend until he was sure of the feedback.

Depending on how this plumpness personified responded, he had several routes ready: subordinate, ally, student, lover.

But all of that depended on survival.

And on whether Tsunade, at this point in her life, was truly still soft-hearted enough toward her clan to bother saving him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep