Chapter 121: Rasenshuriken

Sasuke had only gone a short distance from the compound with Itachi when the absence of the familiar weight at his hip registered. He stopped mid-step.

"I left my kunai pouch," he said. "Go ahead. I’ll catch up."

Itachi gave a small nod and continued toward the training grounds without comment. Sasuke turned back alone.

The house was quiet when he slipped through the front gate. Too quiet. Then the sounds reached him—soft at first, almost like someone in pain, then clearer, wetter, impossible to mistake.

A woman’s moan, broken and high.

His mother’s voice.

Sasuke’s body went cold. He moved down the hall on instinct, footsteps silent the way he had been trained since childhood. The noises grew louder as he neared his own bedroom door, left slightly ajar. Another moan—longer, helpless, the kind of sound he had never imagined could come from the woman who packed his lunch and scolded him for training too hard.

He looked.

The scene burned itself into his eyes in a single glance. Naruto was behind his mother on the bed, one hand gripping her hair, the other leaving sharp red marks across her raised ass with every open-palmed slap. Mikoto’s face was turned to the side on the mattress, mouth open, dark eyes glassy and conflicted. She was not fully surrendered—there was still hesitation in the way her fingers clutched the sheets, still a tremor of resistance in her voice even as the moans kept spilling out of her.

"Ahh... nngh... Naruto... we shouldn’t... uh... ah—!"

Naruto answered by leaning down and kissing her hard, swallowing the rest of the protest while his hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm. The wet, heavy slap of skin on skin filled the room. Then he shifted, still buried inside her, and pulled the front of her dress down enough to close his mouth over one breast, sucking openly while he fucked her. Mikoto’s back arched. A sharper cry tore from her throat.

"Haa—ah—not so hard... nngh... please..."

Sasuke stood frozen in the shadowed hallway, heart slamming against his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to throw the door open, to drag Naruto off her, to end whatever this was. His mother was not fully willing—he could see it in the lingering doubt on her face, in the way she still tried to form words of resistance even while her body rocked under the force of each thrust. Helping her should have been simple.

But the moment he imagined stepping inside, another image followed: the look on her face when she realized her son had seen her like this. The irreparable fracture that would open between them. The way Itachi and their father would look at him, at her, at everything that had once been whole. If he walked in now, nothing in this house would ever be the same.

So he stayed hidden and listened.

The wet sounds continued. His mother’s moans rose and fell—soft, broken, sometimes almost pleading, sometimes pure helpless heat. He heard Naruto’s low voice, too soft to make out the words, and then the unmistakable rhythm of a man finishing deep inside a woman. Mikoto’s final cry was muffled, almost relieved and horrified at the same time.

Sasuke’s vision blurred. He turned away before he had to see any more of her face, pressed his back to the hallway wall, and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Tears ran silently down his cheeks. He did not make a sound. Somewhere in the room the wet noise of separation reached him, then the soft creak of the window latch. By the time he forced himself to look again, Naruto was gone—only the open window and the sight of his mother still lying on the bed, dress bunched around her waist, the evidence of what had just been done to her glistening between her thighs and on the sheets.

Footsteps and voices approached from the front of the house. Itachi and their father. Sasuke wiped his face with the heel of his hand, forced his expression blank, and slipped out a side door before anyone could find him standing there like a ghost. He did not go to the training grounds. He simply walked, the sounds of his mother’s moans still echoing in his skull, the image of Naruto’s hands on her body refusing to leave.

---

Kael dropped lightly to the ground outside the Uchiha compound and moved through the side streets until the familiar walls were behind him. Only when he was several blocks away did he let the system window open fully.

[Quest 14/100 : Fuck Aunt Mikoto ✓]

[Bonus condition met: Completed within 3 days]

[Reward: Wind Style — Rasenshuriken]

The description unrolled beneath the name. A high-density, wind-natured variant of the Rasengan that formed a spinning shuriken of chakra capable of cellular-level destruction. One of the most powerful techniques the original Naruto had ever created. Kael stared at the glowing text for a long moment, a sharp, genuine satisfaction cutting through the lingering heat of the afternoon. This was the kind of power that would matter when the real threats arrived. Two years no longer felt quite as short.

He closed the window and headed home.

The sun had already started to drop by the time he slid open the door of his apartment. Sarada sat at the low table alone, back straight, dark eyes fixed on him the moment he entered. The resemblance to both her parents was sharper when she was angry.

"Close the door," she said.

Kael closed it. "Something wrong?"

"What did you do to Sumire?"

The question landed without preamble. Kael kept his expression neutral. "You’ll have to be more specific."

Sarada’s jaw tightened. "She was in this apartment until midnight. When she came back to our room her legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand. I know what that looks like."

He set his keys down on the counter. "She came here on her own. Nothing happened that she didn’t want."

"You could really mess up the timelines." Sarada’s voice stayed low and controlled, but the edge underneath it was unmistakable. "You can’t do this kind of thing with Sumire. You know that. And what about Hima—"

She stopped herself so abruptly the unfinished name hung in the air like a dropped kunai.

Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What about Himawari? How is she involved in any of this?"

Sarada looked away, clearly fighting the urge to say something she could not take back. The knowledge that the man in front of her was her father in every timeline that mattered sat behind her teeth, unspoken and heavy. She changed direction instead.

"I didn’t know you used to be a playboy." The words came out colder. "In the future I grew up hearing about the Seventh Hokage. I respected you. I didn’t expect... this."

Kael felt the last of his patience thin out. The afternoon had already been long. The escape from the Uchiha compound still sat in his muscles. The new skill waited to be tested. He had no interest in a lecture from a young woman who had arrived in this timeline with her own secrets and her own unfinished business.

He walked back to the door and slid it open.

"It’s my life," he said flatly. "I’ll do whatever I want. If you have a problem with that, leave."

Sarada stared at him for a long second, the same stubborn fire he had once seen in Sakura flickering behind her eyes. Then she stood, crossed the room without another word, and walked out. The door slid shut behind her harder than necessary.

Kael locked it, leaned his back against the wood, and let out a slow breath. Annoying. The same sharp-edged persistence her mother had worn before he finally made her submit. He pushed the comparison away, opened the system window again, and stared at the Rasenshuriken description until the remaining irritation settled into something colder and more useful.

---

Give me power