iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

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Philbert🐸 @philbertfrog.bsky.social · 02/07/2025

Manifestation

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 27/06/2025

Part 26: The Consequences of Tardiness

Shikamaru’s plan had been for Kawaki to arrive at the clinic to meet Sarada as soon as her exam was over to take up his fabricated escort duties. But who’d have expected that fucking girl to go to the hospital at eight-thirty in the goddamn morning, giving Kawaki the pleasure of waking up to Inojin’s whiny voice telling him to get his ass out of bed.
The pasty kid had been brought on as a sensory shinobi after his injury, probably a pity hire after Jura’s attack fucked him up so bad that he couldn’t stand for any useful length of time. At least that’s what Kawaki figured after having Inojin intrude into his head on occasion with orders from Shikamaru.
Ah, good old fashioned Konoha nepotism at its best.
He might resent it more if Inojin hadn’t been the only thing that stopped Himawari from becoming tree fertilizer for Jura. Kawaki would offer up all the arms and legs of every member of Team 10 if it meant keeping Lord Seventh’s daughter safe.

He fights to get into his clothes from the day before while getting briefed on her medical status.
So, Shikamaru did sent orders over to alter her recovery plan to include an escort, but it turns out that there’s still some optic neuritis visible upon examination—
What the fuck is that? Kawaki asks, pulling his shirt over his head in the still-dark room.
Do I sound like a medical professional? I think it’s swelling of her optic nerve, but I’m not entirely sure. They expected it to decrease by now with her not using her Sharingan. It’s a bad sign that it hasn’t.
Not using her Sharingan.
Right. Like she hadn’t used it the day she’d tailed him to the training session with Himawari. Like it hadn’t activated again when she’d stupidly gone to Boruto’s bedroom, getting herself worked up for no reason over some old pictures and a bed that he’d be too fucking tall to sleep in now.

Anyway, Inojin continues, Aunt Sakura was debating putting her on steroids, but there’s no good data on how they’ll affect a doujutsu user when the source of inflammation is chakra. When Sakura noticed the updates Lord Hokage had inserted into her medical record, suggesting Sarada have an escort to monitor her Sharingan use, she decided it was worth a try before embarking on an untested treatment. You’ll have to bring her back in two days for another exam to see how it’s progressing.
So, the fake excuse he had for following her around to protect her from Hidari had turned into an actual issue once a doctor had gotten a look at her? It’s too fucking much for him to digest when it’s this early and he’s turning his pants right side out, the tight pain in his hand reminding him of his knuckles, still battered and busted from the day before. Kawaki sighs. What do I actually have to do?

Showing up on time would have been a good start, but you’re late, and she’s pissed that she’s been ordered to wait for you. Apparently, there’s something Eida wanted to do today, and you being late is making her late.
She’d be pissed anyway.
Inojin gives him a thoughtful hum. You know, she didn’t argue as much as she might have, but you’ve definitely started off on the wrong foot now. Guess that’s what happens when you can’t get out of bed at a decent hour. You’re just lucky the tests took so long.
Nine-thirty in the morning isn’t a decent hour. That’s the whole problem. He shakes the wrinkles out of his coat before shrugging it on. Anything else I need to know?
That’s it. Just keep her away from Hidari, and stop her from using her Sharingan. If you have any problems, Lord Hokage wants to hear about them.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 16/05/2025

Part 13: A Token (1/3)

“Are you experiencing any pain?”
Seated on the exam table, Sarada follows Shizune’s finger while the older medic shines a penlight into her right eye.
“No.”
“Headaches? Eye pressure?” Shizune turns to the tray and picks up a magnifying instrument to get a closer look
“No,” Sarada says again. She doesn’t like lying, but it’s easy to justify at that moment. Is she feeling any pain now? No, a few aspirin tablets taken right before she left the house had cleared up the faint headache that had been bothering her. It’d been nothing like what she’d experienced yesterday, the pounding pain that had grown behind her eye as she watched Kawaki and Himawari spar. She hadn’t even seen anything that had happened after the third bout, blinded by how much it hurt. Eyes closed, drawing in slow, deep breaths, she had concentrated on telling herself over and over that the pain would pass, which it did after she passed out.

“Look up, to the right, to the left, now down.” Shizune frowns a little, taking a step back. “Your optic nerve is still inflamed, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Recovery takes time. You’re getting enough sleep?”
“As much as I can.” Again, it isn’t quite a lie. Sarada is sleeping as much as possible, even if that amounted to maybe an hour or two a night and a few brief naps during the day. The first night she’d been back in the house and unable to sleep, she thought she’d functioned well enough. Today, though, her body feels more jittery than tired, like she’d downed two liters of coffee and gotten all of the side effects and none of the energy.
“Well, I don’t see anything immediately concerning.” She picks up Sarada’s chart and pulls a pen out of her lab coat, scratching down a few notes. “If the inflammation isn’t improving by your next visit, I’ll have to consult with your mother on a different course of treatment, maybe some pharmacological intervention. We’re not there yet, though. You’re free to go, unless you want to wait for Sakura to get out of the staff meeting. I’m sure she’d love to have breakfast with you.”

Sarada slides off the table, picking up the jacket that had been lying by her side. “I have a meeting at Hokage Tower this morning, but tell her I said hello.”
“And you tell Shikamaru that he’s not supposed to work you too hard while you’re recovering, okay?”
It’s still early when Sarada leaves the clinic, swept into the flow of civilians walking to their weekday jobs. She’d decided that morning would be her refuge today, leaving before Eida and Daemon woke. Just as she’d suspected, Kawaki had decided that sleeping on the couch posed too much of a risk to do it a second time after his rude awakening at the hands of Daemon. With some okayu steaming away in the rice cooker, garnishes prepared to top the porridge, and the table set, she figured the other residents of the house could finish their own breakfasts from there.

After yesterday’s string of debacles, Sarada wanted to be as far from the house as possible. Away from Eida, who couldn’t stop probing Sarada about her love life. Away from Daemon and the mayhem that occurred whenever he walked into a room. Away from Kawaki’s constant and unexpected intrusions.
He was taking his little “oversee Sarada’s recovery” orders a little too seriously, getting into her space too often when both of them much preferred to avoid one another.
What had been the worst part of yesterday? Getting caught following him, and potentially arousing his suspicion that she was following him? Being ordered to wrap her arms around his neck and flown back like some useless invalid? Or had it been when he had the audacity to come to her room, invade her single sanctuary in the entire house, taunt her about trying to save Boruto, then order her to go to bed as though she was an insolent child?

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 14/05/2025

Part 12: Lies and Honesty (1/4)

Sarada storms off to her room the second they get back to the house, slamming the door as though it has the power to seal him out of her life forever.
Whatever.
Kawaki doesn’t expect gratitude, he doesn’t expect to be understood. A long, painful life had taught him that he needed to do what he thinks is right, everyone else be damned, which includes Sarada. If she hates him for it?
Good.
It’s better than Naruto, who had tried to convince him he was a kind human being. Better than Boruto, who still sees him like a brother. Better than Mitsuki who clings him like a hangnail, and a whole hell of a lot better than Eida, who only cares about him selfishly, wanting to make him out to be someone he’s not, someone capable of returning the kind of love she wants to fulfill a desire all her own.

In comparison to Eida, he finds something gratifying in Sarada’s loathing, the contempt that saturates their every interaction resonating with the same hate he feels for himself. She hates him, and he hates himself. It’s validating that one of the few people in the world now capable of seeing Kawaki for who he truly is agrees with his assessment that he’s little more than a piece of garbage, meant to be discarded after he serves his purpose.
But Sarada’s pigheaded inability to not follow doctors orders?
That pisses him off. It’s his business to make sure she heals fully, that her abilities not only recover but continue to grow. And it’s not just because Shikamaru put him in charge of her; it’s a matter of personal interest as well.
At least with Sarada in her room, he can lie to himself that she’s resting.

He eats cold noodles out of the fridge, his first real meal of the day, washed down by a can of iced coffee. Just when he’s about to go up to his own room to shut out the rest of the world for a few hours, he’s called in as backup for a Claw Grime sighting just outside the village. Hours of investigation later and nothing to show for it other than a bunch of freaky footprints, he reports his findings to Hokage Tower, and, in the process, gets pulled into a useless meeting about patrol formations that he hadn’t been asked to attend in the first place.
Back to the house by the late afternoon, he finds a shopping bag outside his bedroom door, indicating that Eida returned after blowing more of the stipend the village supplies her with on bullshit clothing he doesn’t care about. He kicks it into his room without bothering to look inside, takes off his coat, and flops face-first down into his mattress.

Later, he wakes with a start, body sweating, heart pounding and lungs starving for air. A Jigen dream. Been a few weeks since he’d had one of those, but the bastard is always lurking inside of him, a reminder that he will never be free, will never know peace, until every single Otsutsuki is dead.
Should have expected Jigen to check in after what happened with Himawari that morning. A quick shower washes away the sweat and the sense that his skin is crawling. He’s almost feeling good by the time he puts on pajama pants and a shirt, walking barefoot downstairs into the downstairs living area, the lights off and the room empty.
Good, because the last thing he needs is another late-night spat with Sarada when all he wants is a goddamned sandwich.
Now, Kawaki must hate himself more than he previously realized, because why else would he have bothered to glance down the girls’ hallway when passing by, noticing the thin line of light coming out from beneath the door to Sarada’s room?

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 13/05/2025

Part 11: Undesired Consequences (1/3)

Whatever Sarada’s advice had been, it’d worked.
The next time he attacks Himawari, she comes at him, fury aflame. Teeth gritted, eyes bright, claw-like nails extending from the tips of her fingers. Each strike of his staff is answered lightning fast, blows deflected by tails and hands and feet. What’s supposed to have been simply a training exercise for her turns into a workout for him, too.
Of course, he beats her. That time, and the next, and the one after that. But with each round, she’s able to maintain Kurama’s chakra longer, and each one takes a little more out of him. With his limiters again in place to facilitate his healing, Himawari has the upperhand in raw power. But she’s still untrained and untested. It’s not through sheer strength that he wins but through battle-won skill and instincts.

It’s Himawari who senses Sarada fall during their fifth round, her body slipping lifelessly off the branch where she’d been sitting, spying on him. When one chakra tail triples in size, shooting out toward the eastern boundary of the training ground, Kawaki assumes it’s a feint and acts accordingly, striking at Himawari unguarded side, expecting to be countered. Instead, the metal staff in his hands connects with her face, resulting in a sickening crack. Her head snaps to the side as she releases a pained shriek. Knocked off her feet, she rolls over and over until she finally comes to a stop on her back, staring up dazed at the sky. It’s only then that Kawaki notices the one remaining tail enveloping Sarada’s unconscious body, cradling it as she’s lowered gently to the ground.
“Hima!” Stomach churning, he runs to her side, chased by the memory of all the times Jigen had beaten him. It was supposed to be training, shinobi training like Naruto used to do for Boruto. He wasn’t supposed to hit her like that.

The connected chakra between Himawari and Sarada breaks, the tail itself dissolving to leave a warm healing glow surrounding each of them. She sits up, dusting the dirt and grass off the front of her yellow shirt. “Nice moves, big bro.”
The sight of her big, trusting blue eyes makes him even sicker, her unwavering belief that he’d never intentionally hurt her. He takes her chin, twisting it to the side to look at the concave dent in her face where his staff had landed. The speed of the Biju’s healing chakra repairs the damage while he watches, bone structure knitting back together, bruising fading almost as quickly as it had appeared. Just because she’s able to heal doesn’t mean it hadn’t happened in the first place. “We’re done for today,” he says, releasing her.
Hima tsks as though he was fretting a skinned knee. “Maybe you should worry about her instead.”

Sarada has managed to prop herself up on one arm, her free hand covering both her eyes. The dumb jacket she wears that doesn’t even fit has slipped completely off one shoulder. He looks back at Himawari who is standing, looking better by far than Sarada, before striding over to where she’d landed.
“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, staring down at her.
“None of your business,” she bites back.
“It is now.” He squats down to get a better look when she doesn’t turn her head towards him, pausing to yank the collar of her jacket up so it covers her bare shoulder. “How does a shinobi fall out of a stupid tree?”
“Maybe I fell asleep,” she mutters, dropping the hand that had been covering her eyes.
Plausible, if he hadn’t known she slept in a number of trees during missions. Even when Himawari’s fading chakra around her fades, Sarada is still left grimacing. “You don’t look hurt,” he says, brushing past her lameass excuse.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 11/05/2025

(4/5)

$Each word hits Sarada like a knife that hurts more than the pounding of her headache. Because how dare he. When he knows Naruto is alive, Hinata is alive. When he knows Boruto is innocent. If Himawari isn’t mad, Sarada is sure as hell happy to be mad for her. When she gets Kawaki alone again— The tails that had once pierced the sky blink as though weakening, the control Himawari has over them diminishing. The next time Kawaki strikes, his staff passes right through her hair. It’s only at the last second that he pulls the blow, stopping a fraction of a centimeter away from her cheekbone. “What went wrong that time?” Hima lets herself fall butt-first into the dirt, looking up at Kawaki with the same true-blue eyes she shares with Boruto. “That doesn’t make me mad.” “How can it not?” Kawaki pulls the staff back, planting one end in the dirt so he can lean on it. Himawari shakes her head. “Nope, I’m not having this conversation again with you.”$

“Boruto killed your—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Her usually mild demeanor breaks, and orange light flaring in her eyes when she shouts at him. “What makes me mad is that there is an enemy threatening the village right now, killing people, hurting you, hurting him, and I’m ordered to be stuck in stupid Konoha when I could be helping people. I could be helping you. I wanted to go with Team 10—”
“You are not allowed to leave the village,” he roars back at her, meeting her anger with his own as he bangs the end of his staff on the ground to punctuate each statement he makes. “You are going to stay here. In Konoha. Where you are safe. And you will always stay safe. That’s why you have to learn to defend yourself. To defend yourself, Himawari.”
“I’d rather learn to fight,” she bites back. “You understand, don’t you… Sarada?”
Busted.
The moment Himawari activated Kurama’s powers, Sarada had been found out. Kawaki turns around just in time to see her drop from the tree, glaring at Sarada as she walks towards them. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you,” Himawari says, as though it’s the most obvious observation in the world to make.
“I’m not,” Sarada says, her words colliding with the, “She’s not,” that comes out of Kawaki’s mouth.
A stupid grin spreads out on Himawari’s face, not helping the headache that was growing inside Sarada’s skull one bit. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two in the same place.”
Evasive social maneuvers are in order. “What are you doing?” she asks Himawari, ignoring Kawaki entirely. She’d known Kurama had been reborn in Himawari, but beyond her healing abilities, Sarada had yet to see it for herself.
“Training!” Hima stands up, dusting off the seat of her pants. “Big bro—”
“Don’t call me that,” Kawaki grumbles, almost like it’s an automatic response to hearing the name now, not really expecting her to obey.
Hima looks at Sarada and rolls her eyes as if to say catch a load of this sour puss. “He’s helping me train.”

“Weren’t you training with Team 10?” Kawaki sighs audibly in response to her question, broadcasting his annoyance both at being interrupted in general and being interrupted by Sarada specifically.
Himawari nods. “Yep, I was. But they’re out of the village for now—”
“—and you probably would accidentally kill them,” Kawaki adds under his breath.
Both girls seem to have come to a mutual agreement that Kawaki wasn’t a part of their conversation. “Except Inojin,” Sarada says, curious as to the arrangement that allowed him to stay in the village while the rest of his team was deployed.
The smile that had been on Himawari’s face flinches at his mention. “Yeah, except him. Aunt Ino recommended another Yamanaka clan member who would complement their team dynamics for the time being. But… he’ll get better.”

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 11/05/2025

Part 10: Discoveries (1/5)

Sarada hadn’t planned to spend the morning tailing Kawaki.
She’d fully expected that after cleaning up from breakfast and the unfortunate coffee incident, Eida would request companionship in some girly endeavor, which Sarada would have to go along with in the name of keeping up the ruse that she was affected by Omnipotence. Therefore, she was downright shocked when the blue-haired beauty insisted on going on a shopping trip alone (if alone included Daemon, that is). No Sarada allowed, full stop, accepting no arguments about how the Hokage preferred her to be under escort when she was in public, more for crowd control than Eida’s own safety.
“Shika-dear won’t mind,” was all she said, which suited Sarada just fine.

While both she and Sumire had learned a lot about fashion by simply being near Eida and had developed their own individual styles accordingly, she wouldn’t go so far as to say she enjoyed watching the older girl try on clothing for hours. To make it bearable, Sarada had to constantly remind herself she was on a mission, a very real and a very important one, just to feel as though she wasn’t wasting her life away.
The brief fancy that she could catch a catnap to make up for sleeping so little the previous night, then return to her reading, disappeared the moment she saw Kawaki shrug into his coat. Because she did have another mission (one actually suitable to a shinobi), and Eida had just given her the perfect opportunity to work on it, though that was easier said than done.

From the moment Kawaki realized he could fly,it became his preferred method of transportation, allowing him to see all below (and keeping him far from any and all undesired social interactions). Whereas the villagers of Konoha saw his presence high above their heads as a comfort—look, the strong Hokage’s son. How much he’s grown! Even with Lord Seventh gone, his child is still here to protect us—it annoyed Sarada to no end.
“Aren’t the bad guys the ones who usually float in the sky over the village?” she’d once asked Mitsuki back before she’d given up hope of getting through to him.
“How is it so different from running over the tops of buildings? Isn’t it just faster?” he’d asked her, effectively shutting down her argument and the entire conversation along with it.
With Boruto now flying too, she has to admit that it does seem to have its advantages and couldn’t solely be a skill attributed to bad guys…
What is a bad guy, though?

Sarada shakes her head as she runs, dismissing the memory of the first time she’d seen Boruto do it, back when Momoshiki had taken over his body during the fight with Boro. Yes, both Kawaki and Boruto could fly because they were Otsutsuki, but Boruto was still Boruto… Except those disastrous times when he wasn’t.
A little voice in the back of her head reminds her that she, too, can fly now, so maybe it’s not the best barometer to measure someone’s potential for evil. The real problem with Kawaki flying, or at least Sarada’s current problem, is that it’s hard to hide from someone who is so high up.

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tobitoo @sasalice7.bsky.social · 15/05/2025

I have finished it 💆‍♀️

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Helix906 @helix906.bsky.social · 16/05/2025

Today I learned that Ōtsutsuki is misspelled in the summary of cast out by @cluelessasalways.bsky.social on ao3

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Helix906 @helix906.bsky.social · 11/05/2025

@shearbolt.bsky.social I'm so sorry for fucking up your notifications but I firmly belive EVERYONE needs to read your work

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 10/05/2025

Part 9: The Worst Day Since Yesterday, Squared (1/3)

Last thing he remembered was watching an old movie featuring an ancient alien from outer space laying waste to a cardboard cityscape. The screams of women, the wailing of sirens, the crackle of flames, all playing at a low enough volume that Kawaki had drifted off to sleep around the time that the useless cast of politicians and military officers ordered an airstrike doomed to fail on the rampaging monster.
“What are you doin’, drooling on my favorite spot, you big ugly loser?” If the high-pitched screech hadn’t woken him, Daemon landing squarely on his back with the impact of a bomb dropping would have. The moment Kawaki opens his eyes, he begins choking. A ring of pressure tightens around his neck, squeezing harder as he sits up. Daemon is locked onto his back, his hands in Kawaki’s hair and legs around his shoulders, whooping like some western cowboy trying to stay on a bucking bronco.

Kawaki wheezes, a helpless “hrrk” coming from his throat when he tries to inhale. He grabs for the invisible force cutting off his air while rocking side to side, trying to dislodge the demon child on his back—
“You have to stop thinking of strangling him,” Eida says as she walks out of the bedroom beneath the stairs where she and Daemon sleep. Despite just having woken, as evidenced by the royal blue satin shorts and matching pajama top she’s still wearing, her loops of long, flowing hair are perfectly coiffed in a way that defies gravitational explanation.
Easier said than done.
With Daemon still on his back, the bottoms of his bunny footie pajamas in Kawaki’s face, he closes his eyes, pushing back the thought of wringing that little monster’s neck and searching for something to cool his murderous thoughts.

It comes in the form of chocolate taiyaki, golden brown and warm in his hand, the burst of nutty sweetness when its filling meets his tongue. The memory of Naruto buying him one for the first time follows, the street they were walking down the afternoon he first tried it. The image of a Sarada comes with it, a younger version of her, who’d chosen to tag along with them, chasing the shadow of Lord Seventh.
Kawaki sucks in a hungry lungful of air as his own phantom hands release him.
“You should know better by now, you big dummy!!!!” Daemon shouts, slapping the side of Kawaki’s head, and for a brief second, the choking sensation reappears before he can get it under control a second time.
“Daemon, stop antagonizing Kawaki. You know how he is in the morning.” Eida admonishes her little brother as she walks to the kitchen. “Come, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

With acrobatics similar to how he’d launched himself onto Kawaki in the first place, Daemon does a backflip off of him, landing right behind Eida as though he’d been following her all along.
Breakfast?
Before the mission to the Sand had taken Sarada and Mitsuki away, before Sumire got the shits of them all and left, breakfast had been the only time anyone bothered to cook in the house. The rest of their meals came from the plethora of takeout options available in Konoha, a parade of meals packaged in plastic containers, both delicious and soulless. Breakfast had been the exception to that, and on the rare mornings when Kawaki was forced to wake up with everyone else, he might have enjoyed it.
The food, to be specific, not sitting down with any of them.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 09/05/2025

Part 8: One Night Down (1/3)

Kawaki liked to sleep.
It was his only hobby, his preferred diversion, his primary indulgence.
Didn’t matter what time of day it was. Didn’t matter if he was tired or not, either. After waking, he often felt worse than he did before he laid down. Knowing this never stopped him, though. The rest was never the point.
For Kawaki, sleep felt like he was being transported through time, unconscious and unaware of the hours that passed. Each time he woke up, he was farther from his past and closer to never having to wake up again.
Not everyone would consider that a perk of a lazy afternoon nap, but to him, it was time well spent. Better than stupid video games or boring tv or reading books. Who the fuck read books for fun?

Days punctuated by random naps fucked his sleep schedule beyond belief. But he wasn’t complaining. Waking up at half past 12 meant that there was no competition to get in the shower. Sleeping through supper allowed him to avoid awkward dinner conversation, or any conversation, really. And because his housemates were fully aware that no matter the time of day, if he was in his room, he could plausibly be sleeping, meant that no one ever knocked on her door, lest they incur his wakened wrath.
Sleeping was the only thing that had made the past three years of living in a house with half a dozen residents remotely bearable. He even had his own bedroom upstairs, across the hall from the other one in which Mitsuki slept. Or didn’t sleep. Whatever that weirdo did at night to recuperate his energy.
Boys upstairs, girls downstairs. Those were the rooming orders that came from Shikamaru when someone in Hokage Tower realized that Lord Seven’s son shacking up with a trio of teenage girls was a shinobi scandal waiting to happen. Daemon was the sole exception, sleeping in the big room off the main living era with Eida, guarding her even in sleep.

Kawaki’s room had floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the ancient forest behind the house, blinds he kept perpetually closed to block out the light. The walk-in closet was filled with new clothes bought by Eida, most of which still had the tags on them. There was a reading lamp by his bed that he never used for reading, a chair he never sat in next to a table containing a pair of artistically lopsided vases that only got touched when the cleaning service came to do the dusting.
The only thing that interested him, the only thing he really cared about at all, was the wide bed lifted off the ground on a polished wooden frame. It had two soft pillows and a heavy, fluffed comforter. Not even in Naruto’s house did he ever come close to anything as welcoming or luxurious as that bed. Whenever he had nothing else to do, Kawaki could be found there, either trying to sleep, sleeping, or just having woken up.

Now, sometimes, those afternoon naps had a way of coming back to bite him, getting in the way of a full night of sleep, which was his favorite type because it was the longest.
That’s what happened tonight, waking up at some ungodly hour when everyone else was sleeping. First, he flips his pillows over to the cooler side and buries his face in them, hoping to fall back asleep.
No such luck.
He rolls himself up like a burrito in the comforter, and when that doesn’t work, he sticks his feet out of the end, hoping to modulate his body temperature.
Again, no luck.
It takes a little more tossing and turning for him to fully give up and wake up to the reality that there’s only so much sleeping a body can do until it reaches its limit, and his limit had been surpassed long ago.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 08/05/2025

Part 7: Three Little Words (1/3)

For two and a half weeks, Sarada had been free. It hadn’t really felt like it at the time—Sumire’s words haunting her, the battle with the Shinju, Yodo’s death, Boruto…
Even the thought of his name is like a spike driven into her heart, the memory of him at sunset when he’d returned to Konoha to speak with her that now felt like an eternity ago, then a hammer driving it deeper in when she remembers Momoshiki wearing her teammate’s sweet, soft face, twisting it into a horrible mask of ugliness and evil. The mission was followed by a week in the hospital, a week of needles and nightmares, tests and assessments, bright lights and beeping monitors disrupting her sleep.
None of that had felt like freedom until Sarada steps up to the front door of the big house on the hill, still inside the village of Konoha but located far from the bustling life of the growing city, that she feels the door to her jail cell sliding shut again.

For three years now, she and Sumire had lived with Kawaki, Mitsuki, Eida and Daemon. It was easier for the boys, Kawaki, who didn’t have two shits to give about himself or anyone else, and Mitsuki, who was affected by Omnipotence and, thus, both believed that his sun was still beside him, and was captured by Eida’s charm, blushing, stammering, and stuttering whenever she’d walk into a room. In other worse, he didn’t have to pretend.
The effect she had on Mitsuki was one that Sarada and Sumire had to emulate, constantly aware of their every response to her, cautious to never let Eida or Daemon know they were immune. Sarada had learned to live with it, or so she thought, right up until the moment she’s three feet from the front door and realizes she’s about to walk back into that world again, an imaginary bubble carried by lies, its thin exterior prepared to pop the moment it fails to float.
Sumire had always been better at maintaining the facade, monitoring both herself and Sarada for the smallest slip-ups, giving cover to them anytime Sarada’s speak-first, think-later mouth would outpace her mind.

“I can do this,” she whispers to herself, hoping speaking the words aloud meant that they’d be true. The statement is accompanied by a double-slap on both her cheeks, preparing to face the task ahead alone.
Before she can give it another thought, Sarada bolts up the two stairs leading to the house, grabs the handle and yanks the door open.
By the time she’d gone back to the hospital to pick up her effects, to her mom’s house for a change of clothes, a quick nap in her childhood bed (as Sakura always said, sleep makes for the best medicine), then a trip to the library to stock up on reading material to make the most of her restricted duty, it’s early afternoon.
“I’m home,” she says, softly closing the door. Not that she really expects a response. It’s the time of day when Eida is usually lounging in front of the TV with Daemon sprawled across her lap like a human cat, oblivious to the world as she watches soap operas with one eye, her Senrigan activated to watch the show’s production process with the other.

As expected, Eida is sitting on the couch with Daemon by her side, but the television screen is black. Instead, she’s facing the door that Sarada just walked through.
“We need to talk.”
Sarada freezes in place, her bag still on her shoulder, one foot in the genkan where she’d just taken off her shoes, the other on the little step into the house. “What?”
“I saw everything.” Eida’s Senrigan, which she’d apparently been using to monitor Sarada’s progress back to their house, fades from a galactic blue explosion to its usual ethereal aqua. “Everything that happened on your mission. What that girl Yodo said before she died. What you declared to Ryu before ending his short, little life. All those things you said about Boruto.”
Her first instinct is to deny it like she always does, not to herself this time, but to Eida.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 07/05/2025

Part 6: The Village is Counting on You (1/3)

A Hokage’s responsibility is to protect the village from threats, no matter the cost. This was something that Sarada implicitly understood the moment she first saw Lord Seventh put his own safety on the line to protect the lives of others. He did it instinctively and without question, as though he’d been prepared to sacrifice himself for the village since the moment of his birth.
At one time, when Sarada measured herself against Lord Seventh, daydreaming of her ambition to become Hokage, she used to ask herself if she had what it took to pay the ultimate cost when the time came, laying down her life so others could live. What she realized too late was that she should have been asking herself if she was ready to face the threats against the village, the power to confront them no matter the form they came in.

She learned that lesson the hard way, when Kawaki’s bladed arm was on a collision course with her face. Time and time again, she’d played that moment over in her head, asking herself what she could have done differently to counter him. Whether her abilities were on par with that of a karma-wielding Otsutsuki wasn’t at the center of these ruminations, however. The fact was that she stood still when she should have acted, leading to disaster.
The failure was hers to own; she had been unable to, or unwilling to, see him as an adversary. Even after learning it had been Kawaki, not Code, who killed Boruto, there was a part of her that couldn’t believe a comrade who’d fought side-by-side with Team 7, who’d trained with them, who’d sat next to her and broke down when Jigen had kidnapped Naruto, was truly a threat. She had believed in the power of words and the way that Naruto had wielded them, never realizing that his words only had weight because of the strength behind them.

Sarada lacked that strength, and the fear that she’d never be strong enough to wear the title of Hokage on her back. Naruto’s power had been omnipresent, as expansive and burning as his love for the village. What power Sarada did have was concentrated within her eyes, and her love was equally exclusive. The will to protect the village burned within her, but her heart was her own.
She’d purposefully looked away from the feelings that threatened to lead her astray, unaware that in doing so, she also was unable to see the path in front of her. Thus, she’d spent the past three years wandering aimlessly, declaring where she wanted to go without ever opening her eyes to see if she was going in the direction of her dreams.
There was one exception to her blindness, however, and that was Kawaki, the person she failed to face once before. She had promised herself that she’d never underestimate his potential again, both to murder Boruto yet again and to undermine Naruto’s vision of the village as a place where anyone could be welcomed and everyone treated as family.

Every time they’d clashed since, which always came in the form of verbal sparring in front of Shikamaru’s desk, Sarada had faced him head-on, forcing herself to see who stood directly in front of her for what he was: a threat.
He’d returned every refutation and retort she threw at him with the same regard as when he tried to kill her, treating her as though she was simply an obstacle in his way begging to be cut down. But she refused to let him have his way. Her very presence before him served as proof that his will could be denied. Even though he tried to kill her once, Sarada still remained, thanks to Boruto and his promise to protect her.
Just as she couldn’t look away from him during those fights, she can’t look away from him now, the chrysanthemums that she threw in the trash as soon as she could stand having placed a puzzle piece in front of her that she couldn’t figure out how to fit into the bigger picture of Kawaki. Sure, she could believe that Hima had told him to bring her flowers, but the bigger question bubbling beneath was why he’d felt the need to see her in the first place.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 06/05/2025

Part 5: Annoying Questions (1/2)

“I thought I told you to stop!”
It’s the second time she’s called out to him and the second time Kawaki has ignored her. As far as he’s concerned, his new role as captain doesn’t begin until they both get back to the house up on the hill, and he intends to take his sweet time getting there.
He’d wanted to take the slow way to the place where they’d been staying for three years now rather than flying, a house the girls accidentally slipped up and called home every so often. Knowing that the sensory ninjas had been active since the disaster in the Sand, monitoring Eida from afar in their absence, Kawaki had allowed himself to slack off even more since he returned to duty.
His plans for the day?

Grab a can of iced coffee for breakfast, drink it while watching the clouds go on top of Hokage Rock, stop in with Amado for a blood draw to check if the nanomachines in his body were still regenerating as expected, then show up sometime after lunch when Eida was usually absorbed in the afternoon lineup of melodramas, allowing him to slip into his room for an uninterrupted nap. Maybe after that, he’d grab some leftovers from the fridge and consider looking at Sarada’s recovery plan.
Unfortunately, the Hokage-wannabe seems determined to disrupt his agena, the click of her shoes against the stone floor in Hokage tower quickening, his own pace speeding up in hopes of getting to the stairwell at the end of the hallway before she catches up to him. Despite his best efforts, Sarada manages to overtake him, placing herself between him and the exit.
“I want to discuss this new arrangement.”

When he talks to other people, Kawaki usually slouches over, but with Sarada, he’s willing to leverage every inch of his six feet just to force her to look up at him. Though she’d suppressed it during their meeting with Shikamaru, her eyes have that feral cat look in them now, unflinching as she attempts to stare him down. From his perspective above her, his own face is a warped blob reflected in the headband tied over her short dark hair. He can’t remember a time she’d bothered to put it on in recent memory, and the fact that she’s wearing it now probably means she’s gotten some nonsense going on in her head that he doesn’t want to be a part of.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” A considerate person would let him end the conversation there, but when he tries to step past Sarada, she side-steps to block his movement.
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“Good, I’m glad we both agree.”
Rather than being satisfied with his response, Sarada narrows her eyes. “Were you even planning on following Shikamaru’s orders?”

The fact that he was isn’t something she has to know. “As long as you do what you’re supposed to for once, I won’t have to intervene.”
“For once?” Her offended response echoes down the hallway, probably disturbing some poor workers in the office next door.
Kawaki been hit enough that he’s always aware of where someone’s hands are when they raise their voices at him, but Sarada is twinning his stance, her hands in her pockets just the same as his.
“You have a habit of not doing what you’re told, and it gets you hurt.”
Once upon a time, Kawaki’s nightmares had been given to him by others, visions of his father’s hand, Jigen’s rod. But he’d added his own entries to the carousel of horrors that rotated through his dreams over time, the sight of Boruto’s face when he’d accepted the mortal blow from Kawaki, how his determined blue eye had gone dull, sight slipping out of awareness into the escape of death.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 05/05/2025

Part 4: The Worst Day Since Yesterday I LOVE WRITING KAWAKI. (1/4)

Any day when he has to wake up before noon is gonna be a bad one, not that Kawaki has had too many good days in recent memory.
Nothing had gone well since that pair of Shinju bastards strolled through the front gates of Konoha as though they owned the fucking village. Making matters worse, after killing almost a dozen shinobi and forcing Kawaki to eat shit on a water tower, the big, bald Shinju with his ski-slope nose—Jura is his name—had been allowed to come and go as he pleased as long as his plans involved trips to the bookstore and not chowing down on Himawari.
What a fucked up situation.

It’s not as though Lord Seventh would have ever allowed a walking, talking, psychopathic tree to roam freely through the village for little shopping excursions. He’d at least have tried to pummel him—probably would have gotten killed or eaten trying to do it, which is why he’s safer where Kawaki had sealed him. Regardless, Shikamaru’s order to leave the bastard alone left a sour taste in his mouth. It was as though he’d attached a giant neon sign right over the faces on Hokage Rock, flashing lights broadcasting the phrase, “We’re pussies now!” with a little arrow pointing directly at Konoha. He’d known shinobi couldn’t be trusted to do anything other than die, but it was grotesque how unequipped they were to protect Himawari, much less anyone else.
He’d been thirsting for the power Amado freed in him, the power to rip down the sign Shikamaru’s edict had placed over their heads and smear “Dare to come at me, motherfuckers” in blood where it once had been.

Seemed like he had a pretty good chance of doing exactly that when he flew to the Sand, racing to support Sarada and her team in their mission against the Shinju. They hadn’t been in great shape when he showed up, one of the Sand kids dead and Konohamaru having gotten himself fucked up in the most embarassing way possible (on a date with a girl-tree). Pissed him off that Boruto had gotten there first, sparring with Code while dodging targeted attacks from Jura.
The new power that had been awakened inside of him had Kawaki feeling cocky. All his targets, right there in one place. There was a chance that he could end them all at once, keep his promise to that old geezer Amado to revive his daughter, free Lord Seventh, and die before Thursday if all went well.
It would have been the best week he’d had as far back as he could remember.
Instead, he’d ended up back on a slab in the Scientific Ninja Tool lab, his human parts battered and his cyborg parts busted. There wasn’t a single victory he could celebrate.

Sure, Code was dead, but he hadn’t been the one to do it.
They’d gotten Ryu’s Thorn Bulb Soul, but Jura had escaped with Matsuri’s clutched in the hand that remained after he tangled with Kawaki. And, really, did they actually need to bring Shinki back into the world? As far as Kawaki was concerned, he’s just another Kage’s brat who didn’t even belong to their village.
As for Boruto? Well, he’d gotten away yet again, but not before losing control of Momoshiki and royally fucking things up for everyone.
Everyone includes Sarada, now standing beside him in the Hokage’s office, wearing that jacket he fucking hates. It’s like a thumb in his eye every time he looks at her. Sarada’s hands are clasped so tightly behind her back that it looks as though she’s liable to break a bone if she doesn’t chill out.

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ShearBolt @shearbolt.bsky.social · 05/05/2025

Part 3: The Hokage's Office (2/2)

He sure as hell isn’t making Sarada’s newly-found commitment to compliance particularly easy. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, modulating her response so it comes out in a measured, non-sarcastic way. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, a few things changed while you were gone—”
There’s a sharp rap on the door, followed by the voice of one of the shinobi guards who stands watch on the other side. “Lord Eighth?”
“Just one moment,” Shikamaru shouts back, taking the opportunity to snuff out the cigarette he’d been working on and pull out a new one. Filter clutched in his back teeth, hand cupped around the lighter, he glances up at Sarada. “I figured I’d fill in both of you on this mission at the same time.”

$Sarada’s heart drops and lifts at the exact same time, something akin to the feeling of an elevator car’s initial jerk reverberating through her stomach. She’d had a lot of time to think for the week she was in a hospital bed—too much time, in fact. Some thoughts were of nightmares brought to life, others matters of the heart. Most were too big for her to resolve while just lying there, any solution she came up with sending her in a circle that just returned her to the source of the problem in the first place. The only thing she’d come to any firm conclusions about was that she’d wronged Class Rep—No, Sumire—She’d wronged Sumire. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t because she wanted something for herself and was keeping it from another. Rather, she’d been lying to herself, and that lie had hurt someone else she cared about as well. She didn’t know how to repair what had been fractured in their last conversation, a conversation that ended in Sumire running away, leaving Sarada behind, shocked. But she knew acknowledging the hurt and explaining where she’d gone astray was going to be the start of fixing things.$