At the same time, the five Root operatives were finally registering who stood before them.

Their faces twisted, indignation mixed with something they weren’t supposed to feel.

After all, the difference in strength was undeniable.

The gulf between them and Tsunade was like a pond against the ocean.

And worse, she didn’t look anything like the rumors.

The whispered stories of her losing her aura seemed like mockery now.

Here she stood, chakra boiling, her presence pressing down on them like a mountain.

Tatsuma gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

He pieced it together immediately, even through the shock.

The boy.

Somehow, the brat must have used some advanced sensing beyond his years, no, beyond even the common sense, to send a signal, directly to Tsunade, who then rushed.

He had bet his life on reaching her on time, not even knowing her personally.

Insanity. And yet… it had worked.

It was obvious now.

If they pressed the mission, they wouldn’t kill Ryusei.

They’d die here instead.

That killing intent pouring from Tsunade wasn’t a bluff.

It was pure, unrestrained, and it promised that the first step they took toward the boy would be their last.

And what then? They’d die without even carrying back the report.

Danzo would be left blind, with no knowledge of Tsunade’s involvement.

Worse, if they all vanished here, Konoha’s higher-ups might never connect her with the boy at all.

Then Ryusei would have free space to grow even closer to her under the cover of the war.

That was far more dangerous in the long term.

Tatsuma’s eyes narrowed.

No, it was better this way.

Her intent wasn’t to slaughter them, for some reason, not yet, not immediately at least.

It was a threat, heavy and deliberate: leave, or be crushed.

She was staking her claim over the boy in front of them.

He clicked his tongue, frustration boiling, but deep down, he understood this was the best outcome Root could get.

They had failed to kill him, but at least now Danzo and the elders would know.

They could factor this into their next move, prepare countermeasures, and shape another plan that accounted for Tsunade the next time, even if they all might be punished heavily.

“Fall back,” he ordered coldly, voice cutting through the tension.

The four others hesitated, their eyes flicking between him and Tsunade’s blazing form.

Then, wordlessly, they turned and retreated into the trees, their movements sharp and silent.

Tatsuma lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Ryusei.

For the first time, his hatred showed openly in his eyes.

Then he turned, cloak snapping behind him, and vanished into the shadows.

Meanwhile, Ryusei, who had seen the Root retreat with his own eyes, felt a pang of regret.

The best outcome would have been if Tsunade had killed them outright and buried the truth.

That would have ended the threat cleanly. But she hadn’t.

She was still holding back, still indecisive. In the end, she wasn’t ready to stand openly against the village elders for his sake.

Not yet. There was still a wall between them.

He didn’t despair, though.

He had accounted for this from the start.

Tsunade was a stepping stone, a springboard for the next stage of his plans.

And with time, he would reshape her, piece by piece, until she was useful to him in full.

But for that, her old self, her current worldview, would need to be broken down completely.

What had just happened wasn’t enough.

‘Nawaki’s piece… and the hints my father left,’ he thought grimly. Those were the keys.

Still, he knew the danger of moving too fast.

If he tried to break her down now, before their relationship warmed further or before he gathered the missing direct proofs he sought, alongside those words, it would only backfire.

Timing mattered more than force.

So, for now, he would play the role carefully, the desperate boy, one who didn’t even respect or like her, who resented her for abandoning the clan.

A boy who had no choice but to seek her help anyway.

‘It’s quite interesting…’ Ryusei thought.

He almost smirked at himself.

From the moment he arrived in this world, he had been forced to act, to wear masks, to pretend. And the truth was, he was good at it, born for it, even.

It wasn’t that hard for him.

He had complete clarity of his own inner mindscape, after all.

Before he ever captured this body, he had spent so much time there, dissecting every layer of thought and memory.

His understanding of how soul and body were intertwined was advanced, far beyond the norm. He had even written a book on the subject once, for someone else, not long ago.

It was way easier to act and pretend from a soul level than from a brain level after all.

This is why it was only the best sensor in the village, Kushina, that managed to catch him once; however, at that time, his own sensing was quite lacking, and it has gotten better.

Meanwhile, after the Root operatives vanished into the trees, silence settled over the clearing.

Tsunade and Ryusei just stood there, looking at each other.

She had stepped closer without thinking until the distance between them felt uncomfortably small.

Ryusei, on the surface, looked like someone relieved to have finally survived, but that relief also carried something else with it now, after the threat passed away, as if in realization: a trace of shame, a tinge of a conflicted look, as if relying on her help wounded his pride.

Tsunade’s eyes lingered on him, quietly observing.

Ryusei also let himself steal the smallest glance at her up close, his first real look at her features this near.

And what he saw nearly betrayed and ‘horrified’ him.

‘Truly a prime cow of the Senju stock…’ he mocked in his head to cover it up, still acting outwardly as though he wasn’t interested, even slightly ‘resentful’ of her, so that nothing seemed strange.

He kept up the mask, acting aloof, even a little cold, as if he disliked her and resented ever needing help ‘from someone like her’. 

But even in that stolen glance, something hit him like a punch to the gut.

His soul-control was the only thing that saved him.

Without it, his face would have betrayed everything.

Back in his old life, she had been pixels, ink, imagination, the most attractive beauty of this entire universe.

But now, standing in front of him in the flesh, she was real, one of the greatest female forms ever drawn.

And no healthy man with blood in his veins, no matter how stoic or monk-like, could be immune to that, especially when she stood this close carelessly. Not him. Not anyone.

Even at roughly thirty-five years old, she still carried the freshness of someone in their twenties.

As she didn’t physically age after a certain point, the smooth lines of her face, the golden hair framing it, the faint violet-colored rhombus mark resting on her forehead, and that flawless body, all of it was exactly as remembered from the original story, except now it stood before him in living flesh

The only change was her attire. This was war, after all, and the long robe with the kanji for “gambling” had no place here.

Instead, she still wore her signature sleeveless kimono-style blouse, held shut by a broad dark bluish-grey obi that matched her pants.

The blouse dipped low, her cleavage revealed freely, the green necklace at her neck nearly sinking into it.

Black strapped high-heeled sandals completed the look.

Over everything, she wore a sleeveless vest, green in tone and cut like a sleeker, better-fitted version of Konoha’s official flak jacket.

It hugged her frame without drowning it, somehow making her look even sharper in this battlefield setting.

And yet, no matter how much fabric she layered, there was no hiding it.

Those monumental curves in the front defied all restraint, stretching every piece of fabric that dared cover them.

They remained her most impossible feature, larger than life, impossible to ignore.

Tsunade finally broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

Ryusei’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

For a long second, he looked like he wouldn’t answer at all.

Then, flatly, he said, “Ryusei.”

No clan name. No embellishment.

Just the one word, clipped and cold.

Tsunade’s chest tightened.

Even that small detail carried weight.

And now here was a boy carrying the bloodline, standing right in front of her, refusing to even claim the name.

She remembered her clan’s elders, their silence, the way everything about the Senju had been buried.

“Ryusei,” she repeated softly, almost testing it on her tongue.

“You shouldn’t even be alive after what chased you,” she said finally.

Ryusei gave a strained smile.

“Believe me, I didn’t plan on crawling to you. But I ran out of options.”

The bitterness in his tone made her fists curl tight.

He wasn’t thanking her.

He wasn’t even grateful.

And somehow, that cut deeper than gratitude ever could.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You… shouldn’t have had to.”

Ryusei didn’t answer, only turned his gaze away, letting silence hang between them.

Internally, he even smirked. ‘Perfect. Keep blaming yourself. That’s how I’ll keep you close.’

Tsunade’s eyes stayed on him, her voice softer than he had ever imagined it could be.

“Do you even know why they chased you like that?” she asked.

Her tone faltered, strangely hesitant, as though she was groping in the dark.

After a pause, she added, almost defensively, “Look, I… I know you probably have some preconceptions about me. But whatever you tell me, no one else will ever hear it. Not a word will leave me. Just answer a few questions. Consider that a repayment for saving you. You can do that, right? On Senju honor?”

Her voice dipped low at the end, carrying none of the ruthless edge from moments ago.

She sounded almost like she was “pleading”, instead of “questioning” like she initially planned, though she herself didn’t notice.

Ryusei smirked faintly on the inside. ‘Perfect. Exactly where I wanted her.’

On the surface, though, he let his gaze remain distant, indifferent, even with a trace of mockery in it.

He answered flatly, “I’d already be dead if not for you, Lady Tsunade. You know that. And you also know… I was the one who sought you out from dozens of kilometers away. So, I’m not that shameless to ignore your request.”

He let that hang, then lowered his voice, adding just enough sadness to make it sting. “It’s good you finally ‘woke up’. Because I didn’t expect you to. Honestly, I was ready to die. That’s the impression I was left with… from the notes my father left me with. But, it was far too late now to be honest.”

At that word, Tsunade’s breath hitched.

Notes.

Her mind jumped, unbidden, to a name.

‘His father… Could it really be…?’

But Ryusei pressed on, voice growing heavier, cracking here and there as if just speaking broke him again.

“Back when Tobirama pushed for the Senju to dissolve, most elders went along. But not all. Some fought it, tried to preserve a Senju identity, to make a comeback. You know that much already. They even reached out to you, didn’t they? Tried to bring you into it. And you…”

He let the word linger, eyes glinting with faint accusation. “…rejected them every time.”

Tsunade froze.

Memories she had buried years ago clawed their way back.

Faces of elders, letters, and invitations.

She had laughed them off, scorned them as relics, as fools clinging to a dead past.

Ryusei’s tone tightened, every word like a blade.

“My father was one of the leaders of that faction at one point, my grandfather the Great Elder. My mother, daughter of another elder from that faction. That was the blood I was born to. But all of them… massacred. Not by Iwa. Not by Kumo. By Konoha. So you can imagine why this happened to me just now as well.”

Tsunade’s stomach turned.

“They staged it all. Killed in action. Unlucky missions. Casualties that were never accidents. Purged before, during, and after the Second War. Smothered piece by piece. That’s why you never saw them again.”

Silence stretched. His breathing grew ragged, his pitch rising as though he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

He looked almost broken, eyes wavering like he was ready for her to snap, to strike him down then and there for blaspheming her teacher, her Hokage, the system she had served.

Ryusei let his shoulders sag, as if resigned to that fate.

“This is my gratitude. To tell you the truth, even if it kills me. If you don’t believe me, I can’t do anything about it.”

He stood there like a boy laying down his life, waiting for the blow.

Tsunade’s hands shook.

Her throat tightened until it hurt.

The killing intent she had unleashed earlier now felt hollow in her chest, replaced by something jagged, raw.

Each word he spoke had struck where she was weakest, not because of him, but because the cracks were already there.

Because deep down, she should’ve known.

Perhaps, she had always known, but smothered it under drink, dice, and grief.

Looking at him now, ashamed, wounded, bracing for her wrath, something inside her splintered again.

“He… he’s not lying,” she admitted silently, to herself if not aloud.

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

The silence between them grew unbearably heavy, and in her chest, fury and sorrow churned together until her face twisted.

“…Damn it all,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep