What is it like to open your eyes and find it's already noon?
Kita opened her eyes at almost twelve o'clock. What greeted her wasn't the familiar sofa she had recently grown accustomed to sleeping on—it was the bed she knew better than anything else. Recalling yesterday's reckless abandon, she had no energy left to process exactly what had happened. Though she hadn't been the passive party, it had been physically exhausting. She only vaguely remembered curling up with Konan out of fatigue afterward, then nothing—her memory erased like a blank page.
When she got up, Konan wasn't there. All she saw was a neatly folded yukata with a white base and black bamboo pattern by the bedside—a different one from yesterday, yet exactly like one from years ago. The familiarity of these habits made Kita wonder whether her technique had even worked. But recalling Konan's behavior when she had woken up, she suspected it had.
…Yesterday, though… what a mess.
One misstep could lead to a lifetime of regret!
How did I let myself lose control?! What happened to the self-discipline I was proud of?!
Kita groaned inwardly, her stomach twisting with regret.
After dressing, she went to the en-suite bathroom. Two towels, two toothbrushes, everything positioned exactly as it had been years ago. After a simple wash, she stepped out, assuming the living room was empty—but there was Konan, sitting on the sofa, reading to pass the time.
The scene was intensely awkward, especially with Kita's long hair still unbound and her blue silk scarf not yet properly tied.
Konan glanced at the clock: 11:57. Kita had fallen asleep before eleven yesterday, yet had slept over a full cycle. Not exactly normal.
Kita's face flushed, especially thinking of Konan's attire yesterday. The contrast between Konan's current red-and-black robe and yesterday's outfit was striking.
Konan, however, didn't seem embarrassed at all. She set aside her book and waved to Kita.
"Come, sit."
Kita, dumbfounded, obeyed, moving to the spot Konan indicated and sitting beside her.
Konan gently tapped her shoulder.
"Turn around."
Kita didn't know what to say, but her body complied. Her long hair fell into Konan's hands.
The wooden comb glided through the soft strands, the dark red hair tie wrapped neatly at her waist. Kita felt a pang in her chest—she should say something, whether thank you or sorry, she should.
"S-sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
There were too many apologies to speak them all, so Kita only mentioned the most recent.
"Y-yesterday—"
"You don't need to apologize for what we both agreed to," Konan interrupted, tying a perfect knot and adjusting Kita's shoulders, then carefully arranging the blue silk scarf around her.
"Good technique. I enjoyed it. Did you?"
Kita's face turned crimson. She had enjoyed it—perhaps too much—but the pain radiating from her chest and abdomen left her speechless. Her face paled instantly.
The sight of blood everywhere—dark brown stains, black clumps mixed in—shocked Konan.
"K-Kita!!! What's wrong?!"
"O-Orochimaru…"
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It had been a brutal ordeal. Nagato didn't want to remember, but Kita had informed him early on that she was already poisoned. Yet he had no real concept of how it manifested. He had imagined her face pale, writhing in agony, perhaps unconscious while fighting some undefeatable "enemy." But he had never imagined that reality would be far harsher.
She wasn't on a hospital bed—she was on a cold laboratory table. She wasn't unconscious but fully aware, enduring it all. Her body was bound with thick leather straps from wrists to shoulders, legs to feet, even her head.
Screams and wails.
The repeated cries were the same:
—Kill me, Orochimaru! Kill me!
Orochimaru didn't strike. He injected her with massive doses of pain-inducing, hallucinogenic drugs. The struggle continued, but without the sound.
Nagato didn't understand the data or the machine lights, but the worry was obvious on his face.
"One day less, again," Orochimaru muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Nagato could hear the fatigue, the helplessness—it was suffocating. The screen of the scanning machine displayed human organs regenerating: liver, heart, spleen, slowly decaying and then regrowing. It was unbelievable, yet undeniable.
"How long will this cycle continue?"
Nagato asked, keeping calm.
Orochimaru, holding a glass of red wine, answered, "There's no fixed number. Last time, the decay and regeneration happened four times. This time, it'll be more than four." He sipped his wine, then poured another, swirling the glass. "The new drug you prepared for Kita… at that dose, it's ineffective. Double it, maybe."
"Maybe?" Nagato's brow furrowed. "Is this how you treat her?"
Under the Rinnegan, Orochimaru shook his head.
"Her body has reached its limit. Treatment isn't possible. I'm merely buying time."
Nagato fell silent. Obito, standing silently nearby, watched Kita struggle again on the table, his expression heavy with despair.
"Does the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade, have a solution?"
Nagato clung to hope. Orochimaru scoffed.
"Six months ago, I sent her a blood sample. A month later, she said she couldn't analyze it."
That had been when Obito had told them about the Moon.
Nagato sank further. He realized Obito had revealed the truth because Kita's fate was essentially sealed.
Orochimaru refilled a syringe with hallucinogenic, pain-inducing drugs. He frowned slightly at the dosage: "Too much, she might die."
"For a normal person, yes. But Kita's tolerance is far beyond what you imagine."
—Kill me… Kill me, O-Orochimaru…
Her tear-filled eyes lost focus. She seemed both unconscious and fully aware.
Orochimaru didn't respond. He gently pulled back part of her scarf and injected the syringe precisely into a major artery.
"Oh, though I temporarily knocked Konan out, she's waking up around now," said Orochimaru, emerging from the lab. Nagato froze, recalling their encounter hours earlier: Obito had brought all three from Ame to Orochimaru's base. Orochimaru, without hesitation, quickly knocked Konan out before beginning the "treatment."
"Konan's here too?" Orochimaru appeared surprised. Obito nodded.
"Bad timing. Kita's attack happened while she was here," Obito explained. "She shouldn't see it."
"But it can't be hidden anymore. Luckily, her memory was taken," Orochimaru said.
"She's already recovered," Obito added. Nagato blinked, incredulous.
"Since when?"
"Not sure, but she has. She probably worried Kita would strike again, so it wasn't told. Now it's too late to hide it."
Nagato sighed silently, remembering the inexplicable slap from that day.
"I understand," he said, stepping out, exhausted.
After Nagato left, Orochimaru finally exhaled.
"I really don't know what to say anymore."
"Is this a good thing?" Obito asked quietly, emotionless.
Orochimaru said nothing. The lab fell silent, except for the beeping of machines and the muffled cries from the dust-free chamber.