Later that evening, Ryusei and Tsunade crossed paths again, alone.

He didn’t bring up the meeting with Orochimaru; there was no need for her to know.

At this stage, their bond was still too fresh, and her history with him too complicated.

Tsunade had always been uneasy around Orochimaru, and she wasn’t wrong to be.

Her instincts and sensory affinity perhaps picked up on the constant shifts in his nature, and they unsettled her.

Ryusei tested that himself a while ago.

Add to that his strangely cold reaction to Nawaki’s death, his own student, and it was no wonder she carried unease where he was concerned.

Ryusei, however, suspected there was more to it.

Maybe Orochimaru’s coldness back then wasn’t absolute. Maybe even he had felt something at Nawaki’s loss, only burying it beneath that serpentine mask.

But for Tsunade, the memory was raw, and if Ryusei suddenly grew close to her while also openly approaching Orochimaru, it would reek of calculation.

He didn’t need her to feel manipulated.

Not now. So he chose silence.

As for the historical truths he had promised Orochimaru, those were already prepared.

He had written them long ago, hidden among his notes.

What he planned to tell him was straightforward enough: that both Senju and Uchiha descended from the Sage of Six Paths, through his two sons.

The Senju inherited the Sage’s Body, his vitality, while the Uchiha inherited Sage’s Eyes.

He would frame it as a natural conclusion, the ultimate union of those two bloodlines being the Rinnegan.

He would leave out the real core, the reincarnation cycle of Indra and Ashura, and say nothing of the Otsutsuki or the Sage’s true lineage.

Hamura’s side of the equation, for example?

Forget about giving that away at all; it was one of his own biggest leverages for the future.

Those details remained buried. Instead, he would give Orochimaru just enough to make it appear priceless.

Semi-believable, but still extraordinary.

And when Orochimaru tried to verify it, he would find no contradiction.

The scraps of evidence available in this era would push him toward the same initial conclusion. That was enough.

Ryusei sat quietly across from Tsunade, listening to her speak about her patients, nodding at her frustrations and triumphs.

Outwardly calm, inwardly already calculating how every piece he gave to Orochimaru would shift the man’s hunger and bind him tighter.

Tsunade suddenly grinned, that half-playful, half-challenging grin she always wore when testing someone.

“You’ve been buried in my theoretical notes all week,” she said in her usual blunt way. “That’s enough. Time to see if you can actually put them into practice.”

Without waiting, she directed him to try some of the motions from her notes.

Ryusei nodded calmly. Internally, though, he was already running through what he had read, most of it anatomical knowledge, theories of efficient chakra flow, and ways to align the body’s internal systems.

With his perfect memory and fine chakra control, it wouldn’t be difficult to produce some early success right away.

And he did. His first attempts weren’t perfect, but they weren’t sloppy either. Tsunade’s sharp eyes followed his every move, and for once, she let her usual mask slip.

Inside, she was astonished. He was absorbing everything at a monstrous rate. Each correction stuck immediately. Each mistake vanished the moment she pointed it out.

Externally, though, she stayed composed, proud but measured.

“Not bad,” she said coolly, stepping closer. “But your posture’s still off. Here—let me.”

The problem was… she had already finished her shift, and with no more patients to tend, she had stripped off her vest.

Only the sleeveless gray blouse beneath hung on her shoulders now. The blouse, loose and revealing, didn’t restrain her generous chest at all.

Ryusei only realized the danger when she closed the distance. Her scent drifted over him as she stepped to his side.

Then, without hesitation, her hands moved all over his torso and arms, guiding his posture, correcting the line of his chakra flow by touch.

She circled around him, brushing close, leaning in.

More than once, her blouse pressed against him, her chest grazing his side or shoulder.

He hadn’t anticipated this “assault.”

At first, he grit his teeth and tried to hold still, focusing on the chakra; he couldn’t even mutter any words now, as his brain was fully 100% overwhelmed with all that internal chakra flow, motions… and her.

But the heat in his body rose with each brush, each subtle touch, each wave of her scent.

He could feel his self-control slipping, like sand through his fingers, yet he didn’t even have the ‘strength’ to do or say anything to stop it.

His calm mask finally cracked.

For all his monk-like restraint, Tsunade was an S-rank calamity in female form, impossible for any man to withstand at this range.

Suddenly, his chakra finally slipped out of rhythm.

His stance faltered, and he staggered back, directly into her.

Tsunade was caught off guard, too close to react in time.

In a single motion, both of them fell, Ryusei crashing down on top of her, pressing her into the ground, almost too perfectly.

For the first time since his transmigration, Ryusei’s self-control shattered.

His face heated — genuinely heated — as he realized he was lying directly against her chest, the softness overwhelming, her blouse doing nothing to disguise the shape beneath. His cheek flushed crimson.

Tsunade’s own face turned scarlet, anger and shame twisting together.

Beneath him, she grit her teeth, every nerve screaming in confusion, and she couldn’t even utter anything for a while.

In that moment, she even swore that she had felt him touch her breasts directly, even if only by accident. Her mind spun.

‘Damn it… what am I doing?’

That smug, indifferent mask he always wore, especially just now, when he breezed through her principles effortlessly in front of her, like he was always in control, made something inside her itch.

The way he carried himself like some untouchable sage, stoic and self-contained, as if nothing could rattle him…

She had always wanted to break it. Just a little. To remind him, he was still a brat. Still human. Still vulnerable to something.

No better than her, really — a woman who indulged too much, gambled away too much, lazed whenever she could.

That was why she leaned in closer than necessary, why she let the teasing go further than it should have.

She wanted to chip away at that composure and discipline she observed daily, to prove he wasn’t above it all, for some reason.

But she never expected it to backfire to this extent.

She should have known better.

He was mature, yes — but still a boy just crossing into puberty.

She should have realized what could happen.

Now her cheeks were hot, her heart pounding, and the air between them thick and ambiguous.

She was staring straight into his face, closer than ever, usually sharp, but now it was strangely flushed, and those eyes, usually permanently narrow, were opened wide, wider than she had ever seen them, as if caught looking somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t.

Ryusei glanced down at her, at the increasingly furious yet striking face beneath him, and realized she could erupt at any moment.

So, he finally scrambled up, breaking the silent ‘deadlock’, before he also showed her some other ‘reactions’ she absolutely couldn’t see.

Forcing his breathing steady, he pushed himself upright, though the heat burning in his chest refused to fade.

He knew that he needed to break the awkward silence, too, but couldn’t admit what had really shaken him.

So he fell back on the same mask as always, twisting the moment with words.

“You’re the one at fault,” he said quickly, smirking faintly to cover the flush on his face. “You distracted me with your… flesh, and that’s why my chakra slipped, and I even got slightly injured, and it could’ve been even worse. So, if I fell, it’s because you pushed me too far.”

The words hit her harder than he realized.

Shame and frustration exploded inside her.

She knew it had been her mistake.

She had invited the situation, nudged it forward, and now she was just being blamed for it.

But to hear it phrased so directly, with that particular word choice…

Veins popped across her temple, her forehead twitching.

Her fist clenched on its own, comically sudden, as though her body had already decided what her pride demanded.

Her lips pulled back, her teeth clenched.

Without a word, she stood, her fist exploding.

“Ryusei… you little—!”

She swung.

Her fist crashed into his chest in a sweeping arc, carrying nearly every ounce of her strength.

“You think that’s an injury!? Then watch this—”

The impact hurled him like a ragdoll, smashing him through branches and slamming him into the trunks of a dozen trees before he finally stopped.

The ground split beneath him where he landed, the shock still rippling through his body.

He coughed, wincing, but even through the pain, a crooked grin stretched across his lips.

“Worth it,” he muttered under his breath.

Tsunade stood where she was, her face still crimson, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Anger, shame, confusion, and something else, tangled inside her, leaving her unable to speak.

The evening wind rustled the leaves around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.

Neither of them said another word.

“Still… she’s just a giant child, no matter how much her body screams otherwise…”

Ryusei grinned at her sheer unreasonableness, especially after a mess she had foolishly brought on herself, though, if he was honest, he had ‘played along’ a little at the end too.

But he didn’t have the guts to say it aloud. Instead, he just stood there, watching the spot where she had stormed off swiftly, before finally dragging himself up from the wreckage.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep