I smiled, all practiced charm, teeth flashing just enough to make it look effortless. A middle-aged woman clinging to her attitude like it was the last thing keeping her young.
She was so easy to read.
"Miss," I said, smooth as poured sake, leaning into the word just enough to underline it. "Are you alright?"
Mebuki's sharp green eyes locked onto mine, unreadable for a heartbeat—then she scoffed, hand slapping onto her hip like she was scolding a misbehaving genin.
"Obviously. It wasn't me sprawled out in the dirt like some common gutter rat." She tilted her chin up, posture stiff, like she was daring me to challenge her composure.
Her fingers tapped against the side of her purse — an idle motion, but one that betrayed lingering irritation and panic.
"And you?" Her gaze trailed over again, slower this time, eyes lingering in places that weren't exactly polite. "That little stunt of yours—what are you, some wandering do-gooder? Or do you just enjoy sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"
I studied her, amused. Was she actually shaken by the robbery, or was this just how she dealt with gratitude — turning it into skepticism?
My smile was now a bit forced. "No, not so often as I would've liked, I'm afraid," I said, layering my voice with subtle weight.
Devil's Whisper.
It slithered into the air, soft. A touch of persuasion, a hint of suggestion. Not a command, never that — just a whisper against the skin, a nudge at the edges of thought.
"But when I saw such a pretty young lady," I let the words roll off my tongue, emphasizing young lady just enough to press the idea into her mind, "I couldn't help but intervene."
Mebuki's lips parted, a sharp retort forming — only to catch, momentary and slight. Her posture remained stiff, but something in her stance wavered, a flicker of hesitation. The crease in her brow smoothed just a little, and her fingers, which had been tapping against her purse in irritation, stilled.
Her green eyes narrowed, but not in the usual scornful way. She tilted her head slightly, as if listening for something she hadn't noticed before.
"Pretty young lady?" Her tone dripped skepticism, but beneath it, something else stirred —amusement and curiosity. A flicker of vanity entertained. She scoffed softly, a quiet breath through her nose. "You must need your eyes checked, boy."
Yet she didn't pull away. Didn't scoff and turn on her heel. If anything, she held my gaze just a second longer, fingers drifting absently to the fabric of her dress, near the half-undone zipper.
A pause. Then, grudgingly: "Hmph. Still. I suppose I should thank you for your... intervention."
It worked but It not as well as expected. That was surprising. Civilians were easy. Even Kushina, a battle-hardened kunoichi, had faltered.
This one wouldn't be easy.
Before I could respond, the sharp slap of sandals against dirt cut through.
"Mebuki! Mebuki, are you alright?"
A man bustled toward us, his wide grin utterly at odds with his frantic pace. He was painfully average — height, build, presence — so forgettable that if I blinked too long, I might lose track of him entirely. Sakura's dad. The only thing remotely notable was how his enthusiasm verged on ridiculous. And perhaps his hair. His shopkeeper's apron hung askew, a stray thread dangling from the edge.
"Oh, thank the heavens! I was so worried!" His voice came breathless, but the beam on his face ruined any sincerity. "I turned around for one second, and—"
"And you left me to fend for myself like an idiot." Mebuki's words cut through his babbling like a kunai through paper. She turned sharply, arms folding beneath her chest, irritation wiping away any trace of the amusement I'd managed to stir in her moments ago. "Honestly, Kizashi, do you ever think before you act?"
The man — Kizashi Haruno — deflated on impact. His smile faltered but never quite vanished, as if he lacked the self-awareness to take a real insult to heart.
Or used to being stepped on to take real offense.
"I—I was just—"
"Just wasting my time, as usual." Mebuki rolled her eyes before flicking her gaze back to me, dismissing him like a minor inconvenience rather than a husband.
Interesting.
"Oh, but come on, dear," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head in an awkward display. "The important thing is you're safe! And look, this fine young man helped you! Isn't that great?"
Mebuki exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed. She didn't even look at him as she spoke. "Yes, Kizashi. He helped me. Not you." Her tone was dripping with disdain, her words slow, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child.
"Ahaha! Well, I was just about to step in, you know! But hey, it's nice to see there are still strong young men willing to help a lady in distress!"
One need not the sharp and analytical mind of a shinobi to see the cracks.
Mebuki Haruno was proud, vain, and carried herself like she was better than most. And Kizashi was either too dense or too spineless to push back.
I could work with that.
Mebuki sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, before muttering something under her breath. Then, with a sharp inhale, she lifted her gaze back to mine.
This time, I smiled. Really smiled. It seems, I'll have Sakura's mom way before the girl herself, huh.
"Oh, you don't have to thank me." I smiled, letting my voice dip just enough to sound effortlessly confident. "As a jōnin, it's my duty to come to the aid of those in need. And as a man, well… it's my pleasure to help such pretty ladies."
I focused entirely on Mebuki as I said it, directing the full weight of my Devil's Whisper toward her. It wouldn't work on both of them, so I didn't bother with Kizashi. No, this was for her alone.
Kizashi laughed. A boisterous, clueless chuckle, like a man who had never once considered his wife as something another man might desire. "Ahaha! A jōnin, huh? That's impressive! You must be one of the Hokage's elites!" He clapped his hands together, beaming at me like I'd just praised him instead of flirting with his wife. "Wow! I bet you have some crazy stories, huh?"
I barely acknowledged him, keeping my attention on Mebuki.
Her change in demeanor was immediate and a…. tad surprising.
Her sharp green eyes, which had been filled with irritation mere moments ago, flicked up to meet mine once more. The sneer, the scorn, the barely restrained impatience she'd worn so openly before faded.
She licked her lips absently, almost an unconscious movement, before speaking.
"A jōnin?" Her voice had softened, just slightly, the words slipping past her lips in a tone almost... intrigued. Her posture adjusted without thought—chin tilting, shoulders easing, her previous hostility melting away.
She blinked once, then let out a breathy chuckle, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. A completely unnecessary motion for how short her hair was and the way she styled it.
"Well," she mused, her tone thoughtful, almost amused. "I suppose it makes sense. A man of your caliber wouldn't waste his time chasing after petty thieves, now would he?"
Kizashi, not fighting his spinless and oblivious character allegations, grinned as he scratched his head. "Oh yeah! jōnin are super busy, right? You must be drowning in missions! Say, Mebuki, ain't it nice knowing Konoha's got guys like him looking out for us?"
"Yes," Mebuki agreed, though she wasn't speaking to her husband anymore. Her gaze remained fixed on mine, an unreadable glint behind her green eyes. The way she regarded me now was entirely different — less dismissive, more... appraising. "It is nice, isn't it?"
What was that? She just had hundred eighty degree attitude turn. It wasn't just the flirtation, nor theWhisper. I already tested both and the effect were subpar.
Oh, I see…..
I tried not to frown. It was the word she fixated on on — jōnin. A high-ranking shinobi. Influence. Status. Power.
Mebuki caught herself staring — just a second too long, just a little too obviously. She blinked, straightened, then cleared her throat in a hasty attempt to mask her slip. A flicker of embarrassed passed across her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, smoothed over by forced poise.
"Ah—pardon me, I didn't properly introduce myself."
Then, in an exaggerated show of politeness, she bowed — not too deeply, just enough to appear refined, though not as graceful as she might've intended. Before her husband could react, she snapped a hand to his sleeve and yanked him down beside her.
"Kizashi, bow."
"Oh! Uh—right!" Kizashi wobbled for a second before hastily following suit, his movements awkward and rushed, more confused than reverent. He popped back up a moment later, still grinning. Mebuki lingered just a little longer, as if wanting to make a point of her respect—or rather, the respect she thought she should be giving.
"You don't have to—" I tried to say but she cut me off.
"I truly must thank you," she said, her tone now an eager, almost sycophantic purr. "Not just for handling that little vermin—but for taking the time out of your surely very busy schedule to help a humble civilian like me. It really speaks volumes about your character. A Jounin like yourself, well, you must have far more important things to do than meddle in such petty affairs!"
The flattery was laid on so heavily it felt insincere. It was clear she was trying to sound sophisticated, but the raw eagerness in her voice gave her away.
"Oh, but where are my manners?" She tittered, reaching up to smooth her already-perfectly-arranged hair. "I'm Mebuki Haruno. My husband here—" she gestured dismissively to Kizashi, who was still beaming like a fool— "runs a shop. Nothing too grand, of course, just a little business to keep him occupied. You know how men are—give them something simple to do, and they feel accomplished." She let out a small, haughty laugh.
Kizashi, oblivious as ever, chuckled along with her. "Ahaha! Yeah, that's me, simple ol' Kizashi! But hey, at least I keep things lively, right, dear?"
Mebuki barely acknowledged him before shifting her attention back to me, her expression bright with thinly-veiled interest.
"Haruno?" I asked, feigning mild curiosity. "Do you perhaps know Sakura Haruno?"
Mebuki's expression brightened for a split second at the recognition of her family name, her green eyes glinting with curiosity. But then, at the mention of Sakura, her lips pursed ever so slightly—just a brief flicker of discontent before she forced a more pleasant expression back into place.
"Know her?" She let out a light, airy laugh, waving a hand. "Yes, yes, of course, I know her, I'm her mother."
She said it with the tone of someone expecting admiration, but there was a thin edge of irritation beneath it.
"Honestly," she sighed, rolling her eyes, "I don't know what that girl is thinking, running around playing ninja instead of focusing on something useful."
Kizashi chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Aw, come on, dear. She's doing her best, you know—"
"Is she?" Mebuki cut in sharply, her eyes flashing. "You wouldn't believe the things I hear about her from the other mothers. Always getting into trouble, always embarrassing herself. I tell her constantly that there are better ways to secure her future. But does she listen?" She huffed. "No. Instead, she wastes her time on that."
Oh, family drama.
I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. "Now, now, don't be too hard on her," I said smoothly, tilting my voice into something warm, understanding—charming. "She just graduated a year ago, didn't she? It's natural for young shinobi to struggle at first. Give her time. She'll learn, mature... find her way."
Doubtful. There was no Tsunade to munch of off in the village.
Before Mebuki could respond, Kizashi suddenly perked up, his eyes widening in realization. "Oh! The shop!" he blurted out, smacking his forehead with exaggerated panic. "I need to get back before the boss chews me out!"
Mebuki barely spared him a glance till he addressed her. He, fidgeted, hesitating before clearing his throat. "Uh, dear? Your groceries... should I bring them over, or—?"
"You left them there?" she hissed, turning toward him with a look of pure irritation.
Kizashi flinched but managed a weak smile. "W-Well, I had to come check on you first! But, uh... if the boss sees them just sitting there, he's gonna think I was slacking off again..."
"Tch." Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "Honestly, Kizashi, are you completely useless?"
Kizashi gave a nervous laugh. "W-Well, I mean, I could take a few with me, later, but—"
"And leave me with the rest? Oh, brilliant idea." Mebuki crossed her arms, her nails tapping against her sleeves in irritation. She exhaled sharply through her nose before muttering, "Fine. Go. I'll handle it myself, as always."
Kizashi hesitated for a moment, looking between her and you, before shrugging. "Alright, alright! I'll see you at home, then!"
With that, he spun on his heel and jogged off, disappearing back into the market crowd.
And I stood there, still, and blinking, trying to pierce together this…..
Did this guy just….. did he just left his clearly unfulfilled wife alone with me and offer me with the opportunity to escort her home and fuck her?