"Say it again."
"Y-yes—"
SLAP!
"Say it again."
"Y-yes—"
SLAP!
"Say it again."
"Y-yes, y-your subordinate—"
SLAP!
"Say it again!"
"Y-yes, y-your subordinate—"
The slaps were raised but lingered midair, suspended.
"Understood."
Only when Kita finished speaking did the crisp slap finally stop. Konan's eyes were red and raw, like she was about to cry—but no tears fell. Slowly, Kita's hand landed on her reddened face, wiping away the traces of blood left by the previous strikes.
Whether to send her home or make her eat, Kita chose the first. One part was following Konan's instruction; another part came from Kita's own heart.
In public, Kita valued appearances and hierarchy more than Konan's well-being. She would rather let Konan's recklessness hurt her body than shatter even a shred of meaningless decorum in front of others.
This nonhuman Kita always approached things from her own perspective, worrying about things that ultimately held no real value.
Seven years of separation… why had it even happened? Konan realized she didn't need to overthink it to find the answer. The truth was exhausting: this imprisonment, this distance, this suffering—it wasn't forced by anyone. It was entirely Kita's choice.
Yes. All her own. No one else. Not Konan, not anyone.
She left for seven years, and returned seven slaps.
"Take me home, Kita,"
Konan said weakly. Those four slaps had drained all her strength.
The consequence of pushing herself too far was almost collapsing from pain on the way home. Kita carried her back, while a shadow clone rushed to fetch medical aid.
After a quick examination, the result was simple:
"Too much junk food."
Kita really regretted not throwing out all those instant noodles earlier.
"She's had a stomach perforation before. Even healed, her stomach is still weak. Give her something soft and easy to digest. It'll take a few days to recover. Make it yourself."
The healer was patient, unfazed that Kita was using him as her makeshift physician. His main concern wasn't Konan—it was Kita's half-swollen face.
"Hit you again?"
"Mm."
"Don't take it personally. Konan's temper hasn't improved over these years."
While saying that, he tidied up a simple medical kit, hung a glucose IV for Konan, and assured her that once the infusion finished, she'd wake. The medical ninjutsu also helped her stomach; the fainted state was mostly from hunger.
Kita nodded, signaling she had no intention of taking advantage of Konan's anger.
"By the way, I checked the medicine. The dose is too high. Can you take less?"
Kita said nothing, just watched.
"Understood. Orochimaru's team sent data; in a few days I'll switch you to a new formula."
Kita nodded, sealed the medical kit in a scroll, and warned,
"Know your own body. Don't push yourself to death."
But there was nothing left for Kita to "push herself" for. She left, watching Konan asleep on the bed, brows tightly furrowed, face twisted in pain. She touched Konan's cheek lightly, sighing softly.
The pain I brought into your life… I thought disappearing would give you peace. Yet even now… Konan, what am I to do with you?
When Konan finally woke, it was already evening. She hadn't expected to faint from hunger or pain. Her stomach no longer throbbed intensely, and a small patch of medical tape covered the back of her hand—evidence of an IV drip.
Though her body still ached from hunger, a faint aroma filled the room. Konan realized her suffering was finally ending. Kita, that stubborn blockhead, had finally understood what she wanted to eat.
She struggled to sit up and shuffled to the living room, leaning against the wall. The pot on the stove steamed, filled with porridge—Konan recognized the scent of pumpkin. She watched Kita busy in the kitchen, a scene she had longed for over seven years.
The maddening part? On Kita's first day back, he hadn't cooked for her—he'd fed Uchiha Obito, the squad, and that inexplicably extra little student first!
"I'm hungry."
Konan spoke—the same words she had said many years ago, countless afternoons upon waking, standing in her usual spot.
"Eat."
Kita answered—the same words he had said those many years ago, standing in that same spot.
The difference was that back then he had mimed the motion; now he spoke it aloud.
Steaming pumpkin porridge was placed on the long table. A full bowl, and Konan felt she could eat ten.
The porridge was hot. After blowing on it, it tasted slightly sweet, carrying the subtle fragrance of pumpkin mixed with the aroma of rice. Kita had added honey; the sweetness of honey and pumpkin blended perfectly. One spoonful warmed even her stomach.
"My stomach… injured… need… a few days of soft food,"
Kita stammered. Konan nodded calmly.
"You don't need to be so stubborn. You'll hurt yourself."
Who forced me to eat a week of instant noodles? Konan thought.
"I lost four pounds… my chest shrank. What should I do?"
"Recover it."
Kita's face flushed.
"How?"
"Eat."
"Will my chest come back?"
"Yes."
"No way! Chest is restored by rubbing! "
Kita didn't know what to say—Konan's remark left him speechless.
"Are you… embarrassed?"
"No."
"Have you ever dated before?"
"No."
Bull. Then who was I to you?
"Too bad. I've dated… ten people."
Lies. Two, max.
"Have you… been with anyone?"
"…Eat."
"I'm eating. Have you?"
"No."
If this porridge hadn't been cooked by Kita, Konan might have thrown it at his face.
A small portion of porridge remained—just enough for Kita. Konan pushed the bowl toward him.
"Eat it. Don't waste food."