Chapter 379: Notes, Research, and Other Very Important Scientific Pursuits
Malik had always prided himself on taking good notes. Some people might say he was nosy, or maybe a little too observant for his own good, but Malik liked to think of himself as a man of science, a rare but true and honest man of a scholar, really and especially when it came to the women he loved, and their teachers, and anyone else who happened to wander into his line of sight while he was in one of his "research moods."
At that very moment, he had planted himself on a stack of pillows under a tree at the edge of the training field, notebook open across his lap and pen twirling between his fingers. The spring sun was gentle, the air was soft, and the sounds of Sakura and Tsunade's sparring drifted through the clearing like music.
Malik was, in his own humble opinion, exactly where he was meant to be: close enough to observe, far enough not to get hit by flying debris, and with a perfect line of sight for what he liked to think of as "data collection."
He started with the basics.
Sakura's footwork was, of course, very quick, sharp, and getting better every week.
But Malik's eyes were drawn to the older woman, throwing Sakura around, and for his notes, Tsunade's posture was immovable, all confidence and muscle, the kind of stance that said, "Try me if you dare." Malik scribbled down a few lines about chakra control, the timing of strikes, the way Tsunade's eyes never left Sakura's shoulders.
Still, Malik found his mind drifting, and not just because he was easily distracted, though he would admit that too, if pressed. If he was being honest (and Malik was always honest in his notes, even if he'd deny it aloud), he hadn't really looked at Tsunade that way in a long time. Not since it was clear to both of them that they'd never be anything but good friends . . . . .
. . . . .good friends with a healthy respect, a little bit of fear, and an understanding that Malik had his own fiancées to dote on and perv over. Once that was established, Tsunade became a fixture in his life, but her… assets… faded into the background. Most days, he spent his attention on Sakura, or Neji, or Tenten, or whoever else was in his orbit.
But today, Malik had time to actually look, to observe with the same level of detail he gave to everything else in his "research."
He watched the way Tsunade stood like a mountain, shoulders squared, legs rooted, arms crossed or flexed, the picture of "I dare you to move me." But and Malik grinned at this as he wrote this in his very important notebook; there was one thing, well, two things, that definitely moved.
Tsunade's bosom was the exception to her otherwise unshakeable stance. It was almost a separate entity, bouncing and jiggling with every block, every sidestep, every time she threw Sakura or braced for a hit.
Malik scribbled a note: "It's no secret Tsunade is blessed up top. If this was a contest, she'd have won it decades ago."
But that was just it, that very real fact that everyone respected and, yes, feared Tsunade enough that most people got distracted from her chest pretty quick. Her reputation did most of the work. Malik was honest enough to admit he wasn't immune, but he also wasn't trying to get punched into next week.
Still, now that he was taking a closer look, he couldn't help but appreciate the sheer spectacle. His pen lingered in the margin: "Physics-defying. Strong enough to be scary, soft enough to be distracting. Is this a bloodline-limited talent or just stubbornness made flesh?"
And as much as Malik loved Sakura, and he really did, to the point of stupidity, he knew if he said any of this out loud, Sakura would cheerfully break his nose. Not that it stopped him from thinking about it. Sakura, for her part, had a very nice, firm, perky set herself. Much, Much Smaller, yes, but loved all the more for it, and Malik made sure she knew that often. He was a butt man, anyway, and he found himself glancing back at Sakura just in time to catch her turning, her sparing pants hugging her in all the right ways.
Malik scribbled again: "Sakura's got the best butt in the whole damn village. Tsunade could try, but I know where my heart (and hands) are happiest."
He watched Tsunade's bosom bounce and move, almost hypnotic, then shifted his gaze to his fiancée, now enjoying the view of Sakura's very big, bouncy, fat butt as she ducked, spun, and launched herself into another attack.
Malik shook his head, grinning stupidly to himself. He was supposed to be taking notes for training, but half his "research" was just an excuse to admire the people he loved. He forced his attention back to his page, jotting down a quick summary: "Tsunade: mountain stance, unstoppable, but even mountains have landslides. Sakura: footwork, hips, and that ass . . . . . . . . .10/10, would observe again."
Then he got back to the more technical details, telling himself that research came first. Even if the view was a little distracting.
These were the "good notes," the ones he'd happily share with Sakura later if she asked, maybe even with Tsunade if she looked like she was in a forgiving mood. Malik was nothing if not supportive of his fiancée's training.
Of course, then there were the other notes.
The ones he probably wouldn't share unless Sakura specifically demanded to see every page, or unless Tsunade caught him staring and decided to check his "research" for academic rigor. Malik couldn't help it; he was a man of many interests, and some of those interests were shaped like Sakura's calves, the curve of her waist when she spun, the way sweat made the muscles in her arms stand out when she was really working. Tsunade, for her part, was equally fascinating, a real living legend whose tank top did absolutely nothing to hide the kind of body that made Malik wonder how much of her strength was genetic and how much came from sheer spite.
He wrote that down, too. For science.
The thing about Malik's note-taking was he never stopped at just the surface. He wrote about Sakura's stubbornness, the way she gritted her teeth and pushed through every mistake instead of sulking or giving up.
He wrote about Tsunade's patience, which was a rare and beautiful thing, visible only if you watched her as closely as Malik did. He wrote about the way the two of them circled each other, teacher and student, pushing and pulling, pride and affection tangled together in every exchange of blows and every barked correction.
And, if his pen lingered a little too long describing the way Sakura's hips shifted when she ducked under one of Tsunade's punches, or how Tsunade's chest seemed to defy gravity whenever she squared up for a real hit, well, in truth, who could blame him? Malik considered himself a thorough observer. Honest, even. He made a special note in the margin: "Must inquire later if this is a family trait or simply the result of training so hard your body decides to rebel and develop in attractive ways."
He kept writing, switching back and forth between technical observations and the kind of commentary that would probably get him hit if either woman ever saw the whole notebook. Malik didn't care. This was his role, after all: lover, fiancé, cheerleader, and, most importantly, lifelong student of the people he cared about. If he happened to enjoy the view while he was at it, well, he'd call that a bonus. Research had to be fun, or what was the point?
He glanced up just in time to see Sakura land a heavy blow against Tsunade's arm, the impact echoing across the field. Tsunade grinned in approval, and Malik caught himself smiling, too. He wrote down: "Progress. Also: please ask Sakura how she feels about new workout shorts."
Satisfied, Malik settled deeper into his pillows, pen moving quickly. He had hours ahead of him and plenty of research to do. For science. For posterity. And, if he was honest, for himself, because there were some things in life that deserved to be appreciated from every angle, and Malik was determined to be the man who noticed them all.
--A good amount of time later--
Malik had been watching for about another solid three hours now, still taking notes and sipping on some ice-cold sweet tea as he watched the women dance and spar a good amount of space in front of him.
There were worse ways to pass the time than with a notebook, a drink, and a front-row seat to something that was equal parts training montage and private performance.
His attention wandered sometimes, but it always came back to the same two subjects.
His magic, always humming quietly in the background, was linked to love and lust and all the other complicated, messy things in his world.
That wasn't new. What was new were the little surprises his power kept throwing at him as he got stronger. Most of the time, it was nothing special; most of the time it was just a new trick, a new sense, something he could file away and pull out when he needed it.
But sometimes he'd get caught off guard, even by himself.
Take, for example, one of his oldest and strongest abilities: Lucky Pervert. He'd had it forever, or at least it felt like he had. Along with increased luck, it came with a side effect: the more skilled he got, the more "lucky" accidents he experienced. The higher his skill, the better the accidents.
Him getting lucky and seeing all sorts of things was normal. But today, as he watched Sakura and Tsunade move, he got the sense that his Incubus magic was picking up on something brewing.
Feeling love and lust coming off Sakura was no surprise; she loved him, he loved her, that was their normal. But this was different. The longer he watched, the more he felt her lust growing, hot and sharp, like a slow-burning ember catching a breeze.
That was new. Malik could turn up the temperature for someone's desire in a dozen different ways, but he'd never gotten someone hot and bothered just by looking at them from a distance.
Now, he could see it on Sakura's face.
That wasn't just sweat and exertion. There was a flush to her cheeks that had less to do with training and more to do with thinking about what she'd do to him after this was over and they were very, very alone.
Sakura did a good job pretending she wasn't paying attention to him when she was focused, but Malik could feel her attention drifting. It was no longer all on Tsunade and the next punch or counter. Part of her was thinking about him, about what was going to happen after training, before her hospital rounds.
Malik didn't know whether to feel proud or slightly alarmed, so he just kept writing, eyes flicking between Sakura and Tsunade.
But that wasn't even the strangest part. Because soon his magic started picking up something from Tsunade too. She was actually sweating now, no joke, but not because of Sakura pushing her to the limit.
Malik found that very interesting.
He wasn't doing this on purpose, and he wasn't the type to mess with people if it wasn't wanted. Both of those women would happily stomp him into the dirt if they thought he was up to something. But nope, he could feel both their feelings, and none of them were saying "Malik's being a creep." Sakura's thoughts were much more about what she was going to do to him later, and Tsunade… well, Malik always knew she was a woman of appetites, but today felt different.
He turned his attention back and fully to Tsunade's massive, fat, heavy, bouncing bosom, because as much as he loved Sakura, he was only human (well, that was a lie; he wasn't human anymore) and a man of science.
Tsunade was just wearing her usual getup: that grass-green haori with the big "gamble" kanji on the back, open just enough to make a statement, and underneath, a grey, sleeveless blouse cut low, held closed by a wide sash that matched her pants. Her blouse never stayed shut all the way, and it never had, never would, and she was very much not wearing a bra.
Malik was one of the few people who'd spent enough time around her to know she hated them. Too tight, too confining, made her feel restricted, and, in her words, "If people are distracted, that's their problem, not mine." She'd said it made her feel like she couldn't breathe right, that nothing actually fit her, and besides, if you were going to be that strong, why pretend to be delicate?
And as he kept his eyes on her, magic buzzing with luck, maybe fate, maybe just being in the right place at the right time, it happened. Tsunade turned a little too quickly, maybe a bit too much force, maybe the universe having a laugh. Her giant, heavy, fat bosom bounced once, twice and then, with absolutely no warning, one of her breasts slipped right out of her top. It was out in the open, heavy and glorious and absolutely impossible to pretend hadn't happened.
Malik saw it in all its mature, weighty, utterly unapologetic glory.
And while he'd seen Tsunade naked more than a few times before with spa nights, healing sessions, living under the same roof, all of it with zero romance and nothing more than the easy camaraderie of two healers who'd long since stopped being shy, but this was new.
Because as his eyes flicked over the exposed breast, taking in the pale, freckled skin, the deep curve and the fullness that seemed to challenge every law of gravity, Malik's gaze caught on something that actually made him blink.
Her nipple. Inverted. That was new.
Deeply, noticeably inverted, the kind of thing that made even Malik's note-taking brain trip over itself. He paused, pen hovering above the page, replaying half a dozen memories just to check if he was imagining things.
Had it always been that way? He was pretty sure that, back during those late-night spa sessions or the accidental flashes around the house, Tsunade's nipples had been… well, not inverted. He distinctly remembered them being as bold and bossy as the rest of her.
But here it was, as plain as day and as surprising as a slap.
Malik's mind immediately went clinical, flipping through things he'd read, things he'd heard, things he'd learned as both a healer and a man who'd seen a lot of life. Nipple inversion could be normal with natural things like aging, hormonal changes, significant weight loss or gain, sometimes just a quirk of biology or the body changing over time. He made a mental note, one he'd never, ever voice to Tsunade herself, but maybe ask Shizune or Sakura about it later, in the spirit of scientific inquiry and not because he was nosy. (He was nosy, but there were limits.)
The whole thing threw him back into a memory, vivid as day. One time he could never forget it, he, Tsunade, and Shizune had ended up at a late-night bar in the village.
Malik was there because he wanted time with Shizune, and Shizune was there to make sure her Lady Tsunade didn't end up climbing onto the bar, fighting the owner, or adopting a stray animal.
Of course, on that particular night, both of Tsunade's big, fat, mature orbs had popped out for the world to see, not just a single breast but both, and Malik absolutely remembered there had been nothing inverted about them then. Shizune had scrambled to help her Lady back into her top before the drunks at the next table got a free show; Tsunade hadn't helped at all, too drunk to care, and Malik had just covered his eyes and tried not to laugh.
And that wasn't even the only time. From his fiancée Shizune, to his wife Shisui, and even Sakura herself, everyone had commented at some point about Tsunade's complete refusal to wear a bra or some type of undergarment.
Not that Malik blamed her, given the size and weight of her assets, but it was a running joke at this point, less teasing, more resigned acceptance, and sometimes a suggestion that maybe, just maybe, it would be more responsible if Tsunade didn't pop out every so often.
Tsunade, predictably, always claimed bras were for people who didn't have real problems, that they made her feel like she couldn't breathe, that nothing actually fit her, and that if the world wanted her to hide her chest, it could try stopping her itself.
Malik had heard her complain they left marks, that the straps made her shoulders ache, and that if people couldn't handle the reality of a powerful, busty woman going about her day, that once again was their problem, not hers.
So, yes, Malik was surprised.
He made another quick note, this one with a question mark and a little frown. Nipple inversion. Could be age, hormones, weight change, or just Tsunade being Tsunade. He'd never say it to her face, but maybe he'd quietly ask Shizune or Sakura what they thought, just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind or his observational edge.
But right now, he just watched, fascinated, as Tsunade stuffed herself back in her top with the same grumbling authority she brought to everything.
Both women stopped sparring at the exact same time.
Tsunade swore under her breath and adjusted her shirt, stuffing herself back in with practiced annoyance. Sakura's face was somewhere between scandalized and impressed, but she looked over her shoulder at Malik, who just shrugged and sipped his tea, blowing her a kiss like he hadn't seen a thing. Tsunade looked up at the sun, shook her head, and huffed, "I think that's enough sparring for today."
The conversation that followed was exactly what you'd expect from two women who regularly knocked each other through trees for fun.
Tsunade grumbled about clothing designers who never made anything for "real women" and how bras were a conspiracy, Sakura pointed out that technically gravity was the real enemy, and both of them agreed that Malik was the luckiest man in the entire village and should probably sleep with one eye open just in case.
Tsunade gave Sakura a pat on the back, reminded her to stretch and drink water, and then stomped off toward the village, muttering about paperwork and "damn kids."
Sakura didn't go right away.
She waited until Tsunade was out of sight, then marched over to Malik, who had set his notebook aside and was already reaching for her with that look that meant he was about to get a lecture and a reward all at once.
She didn't even sit down at first, just planted her hands on her hips, glared at him, and said, "If you ever, ever use magic to make me that distracted again during training, you're not getting any for a week." Malik held up his hands, swearing he hadn't done anything, but she didn't buy it for a second.
Still, the smile she gave him was pure trouble. "You're lucky I love you," she said, leaning in so close he could smell the sweat on her skin and the faintest hint of her shampoo. "Now, make yourself useful."
Malik obliged, using his magic to clean the sweat from her arms, her face, her neck, his hands gentle and a little reverent.
He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, slow and soft and full of promises, and Sakura let herself melt against him, just for a moment, before she remembered she had rounds to do and a reputation to maintain.
But before she could pull away, Sakura pressed herself closer, giving him a look that warned him to behave and promised mischief if he didn't. Without a word, she slid her hand over his eyes, palm hot and slightly callused from training, and told him to keep them closed. Malik grinned, and she leaned in, her other hand moving with bold efficiency.
He felt the lightest brush of her fingers at her hip, the faint sound of fabric sliding down, the quick snap as she freed herself from her panties, damp from sweat and heat and the hours of sparring.
"Keep them closed," Sakura said again, her voice a low whisper against his ear. She pressed her panties into his hand, the fabric still warm and unmistakably hers. Before he could say anything, she kissed him, deep and open and hungry, the kind of kiss that left no doubt about what she wanted later. Then she bit his lower lip, just a little, and whispered, "Find me later."
She let go of his face and slipped away, quick and sure, her hips swaying as she walked back toward the village. Malik opened his eyes, dazed, the damp, hot fabric in his hand proof it hadn't been a fever dream. Sakura glanced over her shoulder just once, a wicked little smile on her lips. "Don't lose those," she called, and then she was gone.
For a minute, Malik just sat there, still holding her panties, brain short-circuited, wondering if this was what true happiness or true doom felt like.
The fabric was hot and damp in his hand, and when he finally blinked his way back to reality, he looked down and took it all in. Sakura's panties weren't anything fancy at first glance.
Practical cut, deep pink, almost red, with a tiny bow at the waistband and a slim edge of lace that showed she liked to feel a little pretty even when she was set on destroying everyone at the training ground. They were soft, thin, and after hours of sparring, absolutely soaked with sweat, still clinging to the shape of her body, warm from her skin, heavy with her scent.
He brought them closer and breathed in, slow and deep. They smelled like Sakura, a deep, hot sweat, yes, but also something sharper, bright and clean, with a wild, floral edge from her favorite lotion and that particular note of her that he could never really describe, only crave.
It was the kind of scent that went straight to his head, had him grinning like a fool, and made him want to drag her off right then and there. He brushed his thumb over the little bow, smiling to himself, not even bothering to feel guilty.
He looked up just in time to catch the last, lingering view of Sakura's ass as she walked away, big, fat, bouncy, rolling with every step, perfectly outlined by her training pants, the kind of sight that had him writing mental poetry and dirty haiku all at once.
He memorized every sway, burned the image into his mind, knowing he'd be replaying it all day.
Unable to help himself, he flew after her, catching up quickly, not surprised at the fact she let him find her.
Malik let his hand drift up before she moved too far, a quick, greedy squeeze over her top, palm cupping one small, perky breast. Sakura's body tensed at the touch, but she only shot him a look that was half warning, half challenge.
Then, just as she was about to pull away, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him in for another kiss, wet, hot, deep, her mouth moving against his with a hunger that made his knees weak and his thoughts vanish. She broke the kiss only when she absolutely had to, breathing hard, lips red and swollen, and pushed him away with a laugh, "If you keep this up, I'll be late for rounds and you'll be in even more trouble."
Malik watched her go, clutching her panties in one hand, the ghost of her breast in the other, heart pounding out of his chest. He started thinking about all the things he could do before he went to find her, send her a mental image or two, show up at the hospital just to see if she'd blush in front of her coworkers, or just keep her panties in his pocket and let the anticipation simmer until they were alone again.
He decided whatever happened, he was both the luckiest and the most doomed man in Konoha, and that was research worth repeating.