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Chapter 16 - Mebuki Haruno
🕑 Added 2025-04-08 13:05:17 +0000 UTCOf course, as the ever-dutiful and kind gentleman, I offered to help carry her groceries home.
Mebuki was almost comical in her predictability.Putting on a theatrical little show of reluctance first before eagerly accepting, her laughter suddenly too loud, too pleased, as if my simple offer affirmed some long-held fantasy about being worth a jōnin’s time.
And if I’d already bedded the mother of the future Hokage, why stop there?
"Such a gentleman," she practically purred, clasping her hands together in front of her chest as we walked after I introduced myself. "You’re far too kind. So strong, so well-mannered — honestly, it’s so rare to meet a shinobi with such class!”
"Really, it’s so refreshing to see a young man like yourself with proper upbringing. You must have been raised well, Eishin-san." She sighed dramatically. "Ah, if only more people carried themselves with such grace! Konoha would be a far better place."
Her voice was full of honey, but beneath the surface, her excitement was obvious. She liked this. She liked the attention, the presence of someone who was both powerful and polished. And more than anything, she liked what this moment looked like—her, escorted by a high-ranking Jounin, the envy of the marketplace.
"Honestly, I feel so lucky to have met you today." She laughed again, adjusting her posture, subtly angling herself toward me as she spoke. "I can’t imagine what I would have done without you!"
I just kept smiling. I know her kind. Normally, I avoided these types like rotten fruit — social climbers, hollow women who inflated themselves on borrowed status. But Mebuki was Sakura’s mother. She warrant an exception.
"Oh, but I'm the lucky one," I said smoothly, letting my gaze linger just a moment too long. "I always wondered where Sakura gets her gorgeous eyes, and to finally meet you—"
I let the words hang, unfinished, open-ended. Let her mind fill in the blanks with whatever flattery she wanted to hear.
Her cheeks took on the faintest flush, and she straightened, shoulders pulling back just slightly, as if preening under the attention. Hah. Too easy.
Mebuki lifted a manicured hand to her cheek, she shifted her stance slightly, subtly preening under the attention. "Oh, you flatter me too much! I’m just an old woman trying her best."
Trying her best to stay relevant, more like.
She was practically drinking in my words, the praise, the attention—grasping at it like a woman desperate to prove she still mattered. And I was more than happy to keep pouring.
"Really, you’re far too charming. I imagine you must have so many admirers." A playful lilt crept into her tone, her gaze studying me just a bit too long now, mirroring the lingering look I had given her moments before. "But I suppose that’s only natural for someone of your stature."
"I wish that were true." A rueful chuckle, expertly calibrated to project humility while revealing just enough to stroke her ego. "unfortunately, I'm often either off on a mission or stuck at the Academy teaching the next generation. Girls tend to find that kind of life rather dull."
Mebuki’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest, like a merchant catching sight of an easy mark.
"Oh, of course!" she gushed, clasping her hands together as if she had just uncovered the most delightful revelation. "A jounin and an instructor? My, my, how dedicated! Konoha is so lucky to have someone of your caliber shaping the next generation! Sakura could learn so much from someone like you."
Uh?
"She’s always been such a bright girl, so diligent with her studies—" a brief pause, just long enough to for hesitation, "—though she’s never quite had the natural instincts for the field, you know? A little too soft, I think. But that’s only because she focuses so much on books instead of real experience."
Ah. So she's one of those mothers.
"But she’s such a hard worker! Always trying her best." Mebuki nodded to herself, then exhaled sharply. "Even if she does struggle with… oh, what do they call it? The basics?" A thin, brittle laugh. "And honestly, don’t even get me started on housework! The girl could barely boil rice without burning it."
She sighed, shaking her head as if recalling some grand tragedy. "Of course, that’s just because she was always so focused on being a kunoichi, rather than, you know… other important things."
She was so awful at this. The worst salesman I’d ever seen—cutting down her own daughter with one hand while lifting her up with the other, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted me impressed or pitying the girl.
You don’t need the sales pitch, woman. I was already long set on fucking your daughter.
But not before you.
I let out a thoughtful hum, tilting my head just so, as if considering her words with genuine interest.
"Sakura does have an impressive intellect," I said, my voice lightly laced with admiration. "That level of dedication, that drive—it’s rare to see in someone so young. She must have inherited that from you."
Mebuki preened at the compliment, her lips parting in a pleased little smile, but she was far too invested to linger on it. No, she had a mission now.
"Oh, well, she certainly tries," she said, waving off the praise, though I caught the way her chest puffed slightly. Then, with all the grace of a merchant trying to gauge a buyer’s price range, she tilted her head, adopting a casual air that fooled absolutely no one.
"And you, dear? What is it that you look for in a woman?" She let out a light, tinkling laugh. "I imagine a man of your standing must have very particular tastes."
Ah. So that’s where we were now.
“Well,” I mused, “I suppose I like a woman who’s confident… but not arrogant. Intelligent, but not cold. Someone who knows how to challenge me, but also when to—” I let my smile sharpen, just barely, “—let herself be led,” I paused and used Whisper.”Someone like you,”
The older woman’s breath hitched. Just for a second. A flicker of hesitation in the rigid way she held herself—then, a slow, almost involuntary swallow.
Her lips parted, but no words came at first. She blinked, as if trying to reset her thoughts, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. Then, color bloomed high on her cheeks, the faintest, embarrassed little laugh slipping from her lips.
There it was. Finally.
She had let her guard down, and in that moment, the Devil’s Whisper slithered in, wrapping around her thoughts, lowering the last of her inhibitions.
"Oh—" She exhaled, then forced a laugh — too light, too breathy. Her fingers twitched where they clutched the handle of her purse, as if she needed something to hold onto. "Well, aren’t you sweet. I—" She wet her lips, eyes flicking down, then up again. "You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?"
"I wasn't trying to be," I looked at her in the eyes as we stopped in the corner. "I merely told you what I think, Mebuki."
No honorific. No polite distance. Just Mebuki. Intimate. Bold. Testing her.
Mebuki stiffened—just for a second.
Then, her lips parted slightly, her breath catching at the deliberate use of her name.
"Oh," she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet mine, searching. Her fingers twitched at the fabric of her dress before she quickly smoothed it down. "Well... that’s quite direct of you." Then a nervous laugh, a forced attempt at regaining control. But her posture betrayed her—shoulders drawn back, chin lifted, yet her gaze lingered just a little too long.
"Well," I murmured, my voice dipping lower as I leaned in just slightly—just enough to remind her of the space she hadn’t yet backed away from. "I was taught early on that if you see something you want, you have to be bold and direct to get it."
Mebuki inhaled sharply, her fingers once again drifting to the hem of her dress—this time, a slow, absent-minded tug. The fabric clung where it shouldn’t, outlining curves she still had but no longer trusted. She shifted her weight, subtly angling herself, as if trying to present the best version of what time had yet to take.
"Is that so?" she murmured, her voice softer now, uncertain—yet intrigued. The forced confidence wavered, sharpened edges dulled by the weight of attention she hadn’t expected, hadn’t prepared for. A laugh slipped past her lips, airy, just a little too quick. "Well, I suppose that kind of attitude is what makes a great shinobi, isn’t it?"
"I'm great in other things too, you know," I said smoothly, raising a brow, letting my smile curve just enough to leave no room for misinterpretation.
Mebuki’s lashes fluttered. Her throat worked around a swallow, and that dress, that high-collared, modest thing she’d chosen to drape herself in, suddenly seemed stifling. She lifted a hand as if to adjust it, but stopped, catching herself, fingers curling instead against her palm. A hesitation. A tell.
She was listening now. Truly listening.
"I…. don’t doubt that," Mebuki murmured absentmindedly, her voice distant, as if the words had slipped out before she could catch them. A beat. Then, she blinked rapidly, straightened, and cleared her throat. "Well! We really must get these home before they spoil."
Her gaze lingered — too long, far too long for a respectable married woman — before she finally turned away, resuming their walk with a stiff step and heavy silence.
This wasn’t how a dignified wife, a mother, should have reacted. A proper woman would have scoffed, rolled her eyes, dismissed such immoral suggestion with sharp words or chiding remarks or even a slap or two. Instead, she had let herself look. Had let the words settle. And worse — she had answered.
I said nothing, merely walking beside her, giving her the silence she needed. Allowing her thoughts to fester.
Women like her — vain, dissatisfied, clinging to the last scraps of their youth — they were best left alone with their own thoughts. Given room, given time, their minds would do half the work. Filling the quiet with imaginings, rationalizations, excuses wrapped in justifications.
And soon, they’d convince themselves the desire was theirs alone.
Besides, I could use the silence too. Damn, the woman could talk. And everything out of her mouth was either criticism or empty flattery, both equally exhausting.
With a mother like this and a spineless father, no wonder Sakura turned out the way she did.
In this world, she was perhaps the closest to her original counterpart. Still obsessed with Sasuke. Still treating Naruto like shit. Still — well, still Sakura.
Naruto, too, hadn't strayed far from the boy I remembered. He wasn't as lonely, nor was he hated, but he had the weight of being the Hokage’s son on his shoulders, an expectation he struggled beneath.
While Sasuke, had no desperate thirst for revenge — his clan still stood, and with them, their arrogance. In the original, his pride had been fueled by vengeance. Here, it was simply inherited.
And all of them — all of them — were weaker than they should have been at this age.
That was… a horrifying thing.
Not wanting to dwell on the uncertainty of the future, I took a step to the side—just enough to give myself a better view.
Mebuki wasn’t a kunoichi. She didn’t have the sculpted leanness of a trained body, nor the taut sharpness of a warrior’s physique. No, she had the softness of a civilian woman who had lived comfortably, the kind who relied on posture and good fashion choices to feign youth rather than the rigid discipline of shinobi conditioning.
Her white dress, high-collared and modest, clung just enough to hint at the shape beneath. A deliberate choice. It swayed lightly with each step, ghosting over the curve of her hips, the hem teasingly lifting with the movement.
But it was the pink leggings that truly stole my attention.
They fit snugly over her long legs, stretched firm against her thighs, molding over the subtle weight of a woman who had aged well but was no longer untouched by time. And her hips… they moved with an unconscious sway, not the deliberate stride of a younger woman, but the natural roll of someone who still carried remnants of past allure.
I watched, indulging, letting my gaze map the slow, restrained shift of her body.
Oh yes, I had her.
She just didn’t know it yet….. or perhaps she did?
