Baby meets Hinata

The gates of Konoha loomed ahead, their weathered wood and iron bands a silent testament to the village’s resilience, yet Baby saw only a threshold ripe for violation. He guided Kurenai’s lithe form through the entrance, her crimson eyes glinting beneath the shadow of a borrowed cloak, Naomi at his side with Mirai nestled against her chest. The guards nodded in recognition—Kurenai’s face a trusted emblem of the Leaf—and Baby suppressed a smirk, the ease of their entry a delicious irony. The bustling streets unfurled before them, alive with energy: merchants hawking wares, children darting through alleys, the air thick with the scents of grilled fish, fresh ink, and the faint musk of sweat. Naomi’s steps matched his, her devotion a quiet pulse beside him, and he let Kurenai’s hands brush the folds of her cloak, savoring the texture against her stolen skin as his mind churned with plans.

He wove through the throng, Kurenai’s graceful stride drawing fleeting glances—admiration, respect, none suspecting the predator within. Above, ninjas leapt from rooftop to rooftop, their silhouettes cutting sharp against the midday sun, cloaks billowing like dark wings. A young shinobi landed with feline grace before vanishing into the crowd, and Baby’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, Kurenai’s face a mask of quiet menace. Soon, those lithe forms, that disciplined power, would bend to his will, their chakra a feast to fuel his dominion. “Look at them, Naomi,” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper lost in the din, “leaping so proudly, so blindly. They’ll kneel to me soon.” Naomi giggled, a dark ripple of sound, and shifted Mirai in her arms. “Master, they’ll worship you as I do,” she breathed, her eyes gleaming with fervor.

The Hokage’s tower loomed in the distance, a spiral of stone piercing the skyline, and Baby paused near a silk stall, letting the bustle wash over him—jasmine mingling with dust kicked up by passing feet. Tapping into Kurenai’s memories, he sifted through the rich loam of her mind with the precision of a predator stalking prey. Faces flickered past—comrades, rivals, lovers—until two names snagged his attention: Temari and Shikamaru. Temari, the fierce wind-wielder from Suna, her blonde hair whipping like a storm, her teal eyes cutting through nonsense with a warrior’s clarity; Shikamaru, the shadow-weaver, lazy yet brilliant, his mind a labyrinth of strategy Kurenai had grudgingly admired. Together, they were a potent pair, deeply ingrained in Konoha’s inner circles—taking them would secure his influence at the highest levels without raising suspicion. Perfect.

The market’s rhythm pulsed around him, a cacophony of haggling voices and clattering wares, as he wove his plans for Temari and Shikamaru like threads through a loom. But then—“Kurenai-sensei?” His focus snapped back, and he turned, Kurenai’s head tilting with practiced grace, to find Hinata Hyuga standing there, her pale lavender eyes filled with warmth beneath the fringe of her dark hair, a basket of herbs clutched in her hands. Her gaze flickered to Naomi, who stood obediently at his side, Mirai still cradled in her arms, and she asked softly, “Who’s this?”

Baby reacted instantly, dipping into Kurenai’s mannerisms and memories. He tilted his head ever so slightly, letting her lips part into a soft, familiar smile, and spoke in Kurenai’s voice, smooth and warm with a hint of her quiet authority: “Hinata, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Then, with practiced ease, he wove a lie: “This is Naomi, a distant cousin from a village near the border. She’s been displaced, and I offered to help her settle here with her child.” He gestured to Naomi with a subtle flick of Kurenai’s hand, her fingers brushing the air with casual elegance, and Naomi dipped her head, her expression meek yet adoring under his silent command.

Hinata’s eyes softened, a flicker of empathy crossing her face as she nodded slowly. “That’s kind of you, Kurenai-sensei. If you need anything…” Her words trailed off, an offer left hanging, though a faint hesitation lingered in her gaze—too perceptive, too close to Naruto. Baby considered infecting her then and there, but no—not yet. He’d take her eventually, but the timing wasn’t right. “You’re sweet to worry,” he purred, Kurenai’s voice dipping into that velvet cadence she used to soothe, “but we’ll manage. Take care, Hinata—I’ll see you soon.” He let Kurenai’s hand rest briefly on her shoulder, a light, familiar touch, then withdrew it with a nod, mimicking her habit of quiet farewells. Hinata smiled, reassured, and turned back into the crowd, her figure swallowed by the sea of villagers. Baby watched her go, Kurenai’s lips curling into a knowing smirk once her back was turned, for a single moment imagining what he will do to her when she is his.