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*Chapter 37: Sawada Fūka*
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 02:02:05 +0000 UTCThe sun dipped westward.
Konoha, usually peaceful and quiet, was bathed in twilight.
Sparse crowds moved through the supermarket, picking up ingredients for dinner.
"Meat... meat..."
Might Guy, having worked all day, carried a large bag while doing squats in a secluded corner of the store—leg day never waited.
As he trained, his small eyes flicked toward the clock on the wall.
Ten minutes left.
Every Wednesday at 5:30 PM, the supermarket held a meat sale—20% off.
As a taijutsu specialist who needed constant nutrition but wasn’t exactly rolling in ryo, Might Guy had memorized every discount schedule in Konoha.
Without such skills, he wouldn’t have built such a formidable body.
Hikari eats a lot.
He’d need to stock up this time.
Gripping the empty bag tightly, he readied himself.
Why bring his own bag? Simple—supermarket bags cost extra.
Every ryo counts!
He had to pay Kakashi back first; that debt was smaller, at least.
Click-clack!
The sharp sound of high heels echoed beside him, followed by an overpowering whiff of rose perfume.
"Ah—Achoo!"
Allergic to pollen, Guy sneezed and turned.
Standing next to him was a voluptuous blonde woman, holding her own bag, eyes fixed on the same clock.
---
*"Might-sensei! What a coincidence!"*
Breaking her gaze, Sawada Fūka smiled brightly at the bowl-cut-wearing ninja beside her.
Guy blinked in surprise.
Who is this?
Why is she talking to me?
His chronic face-blindness left him scrambling. Rather than fake it, he went straight to the point:
*"You are...?"*
Fūka’s flirtatious smile faltered. Used to being fawned over by lecherous men, Guy’s utter lack of recognition was… refreshingly rare.
*"Sawada Fūka. I work in the Hokage’s office—I processed the adoption papers for you and Hikari-chan."*
*"Oh! Sawada-san!"*
The mention of adoption jogged his memory.
*"How’s life with Hikari? Just a heads-up, a ninja might drop by for a welfare check soon."*
*"W-Welfare check?!"*
Guy’s bushy eyebrows shot up.
Hadn’t the Third Hokage already assigned him to investigate Hikari?
Why send someone else? Would he have to split the mission pay?!
The thought of lost ryo made his face droop like a wilted cabbage.
Fūka’s smile vanished, her eyes sharpening dangerously:
*"Might-sensei, why so nervous? A grown man adopting a young girl—of course there’ll be checks. Unless… you’ve done something unpleasant?"*
*"ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!"*
Guy abandoned his squats, leaping upright.
Training could wait—his honor couldn’t.
*"Good. I’d hate to see you in a prison cell."*
Fūka giggled behind her hand, eyes crinkling like crescent moons.
Clearly, the "suspicion" was just payback for Guy not recognizing her.
Ding!
The store clock chimed.
Sale time!
The crowd stirred.
Shoppers whipped out bags, zeroing in on the freshly opened discount section.
*"Sawada-san, I’ve got to go! See you next time!"*
*"Mhm~ Take care, Might-sensei."*
Guy charged forward, his muscular frame effortlessly parting the sea of people.
Behind him—
Fūka’s smile melted away.
Her fox-like eyes glinted with something cold.
---
*"Buying so much again, Sawada-san?"*
*"Can you even finish all that alone?"*
*"The discounts are good today. Stocking up saves money."*
*"Really? I’ll go too!"*
Carrying a heavy bag of groceries, Fūka chatted amiably with neighborhood aunties at her doorstep.
*"Hurry, before they sell out! You should go inside—that bag looks heavy..."*
*"Right!"*
With a cheerful nod, Fūka unlocked her door and stepped in.
The aunties’ voices faded as the door—
Click.
—locked shut.
Soundproofing sealed away the outside world.
Fūka scanned the room.
The spotless living room showed no signs of intrusion.
She checked the strands of hair scattered near the entrance—untouched, exactly as placed.
Still safe.
Then—
"Mmmph! MMMPH!!"
A guttural moan echoed from the inner room, eerie in the silence.
Unfazed, Fūka removed her blazer.
Undid her top button.
Her ample chest strained against her black bra, pale skin peeking above the collar.
Holding the raw meat from the store, she strode toward the noise.
Click-clack.
Her heels tapped against the floor.
The moans grew louder—desperate, almost feral—interspersed with animalistic snarls.
She tore open the bag.
Dug her fingers into the cold, greasy flesh.
Pushed open the inner door.
Darkness.
Only a sliver of light spilled inside.
Before she even entered—
Rot.
Mold. Sweat. Blood. Excrement.
The stench hit like a sewage-soaked rag shoved down her throat.
Fūka wrinkled her nose, covering her face, and flicked the light switch.
Flicker.
A dim bulb buzzed to life.
The room’s horrors came into view.
No windows. No escape.
Three bloodstained walls. Rusted tools hanging from hooks.
And in the center, beneath the flickering light—
A bloodied old man, slumped in a metal chair.
Nails through his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the armrests.
Chains coiled around his limbs.
"MMPH!!"
He jerked his head up at the sound.
His face—crusted in dried blood.
A filthy rag stuffed in his mouth.
And his eyes—
Gone.
Only hollow, weeping sockets remained.
*"Quiet. It’s just me."*
Fūka dropped the meat on the filthy floor.
Skitter-skitter.
Dozens of rats swarmed from the shadows, devouring the offering in a writhing black mass.
As the old man sagged in defeat, Fūka plucked a pair of rusted pliers from the wall.
Flies buzzed around the dried blood on its jaws.
The same pliers she’d used to rip out his eyes.
Nerves still clung to the metal, rotting.
She clamped the tool onto the rag in his mouth—
YANK.
"GAAHH—!"
The cloth tore free, taking rotten teeth with it.
Clink.
The teeth landed in a puddle of filth.
"Ptui!"
A bloody wad of spit hit Fūka’s white shirt.
She stared at the stain.
Her pretty face hardened into ice.
*"Old bastard."*
The pliers swung—
CRACK.
"ARGH—!"
More teeth shattered. Blood sprayed the walls.
"Cloud scum… cough… If I were twenty years younger—"
*"Three years in this hole, and you’re still dreaming?"*
Fūka eyed his emaciated, broken body.
*"I’m tired of playing. You guarded Konoha’s gates for decades. You know how to bypass the sensory barrier."*
*"Talk. Or this gets worse."*
The old man wheezed a laugh.
"Heh… Three years… and you’re the one still dreaming…"
*"Fine."*
The pliers vanished.
In her hand now—a blood-crusted whip.
CRACK.
The lash split his chest open.
The rats, obedient, abandoned the meat.
Swarmed his feet.
Biting.
Tearing.
"AAAAAGH—!!"
The whip fell again.
And again.
Screams.
Questions.
Agony.
The cycle repeated in the dark.
---
