The next Day, pleasantly uneventful

The next morning dawned crisp and clear over Konoha, sunlight filtering through Naruto's curtains like a gentle reminder that the world kept spinning, no matter how wild the night before had been.

Sakura and Tenten stirred early, their enhanced bodies slipping from the tangled sheets with the disciplined grace of dedicated medical-nin. Naruto watched them dress, a selfish urge bubbling up to command them to stay—his new power whispering temptations of lazy mornings and endless indulgence.

But he bit it back; his love for the village, that unshakeable core that had defined him through every trial, outweighed these fresh desires. He wasn't about to turn into some tyrant, not when the Konoha meant everything.

"See you later, Naruto," Sakura murmured, leaning in for a lingering goodbye kiss, her plumped lips soft and warm against his. Tenten followed suit, her silkier hair brushing his cheek as she pressed close, her touch sending a residual spark through him. "Don't train too hard without us."

He grinned, masking the pang of ****. "You two save some lives out there. I'll hold down the fort." With that, they slipped out, leaving the apartment feeling a tad emptier. Naruto stretched, his ideal physique flexing effortlessly, and geared up for the day ahead.

He started with training, as always—a ritual that grounded him amid the chaos of his life. Kakashi had taught him the shadow clone trick ages ago, back when he was still scraping by on raw determination, showing how the clones could accelerate learning by dispersing and reforming with fresh knowledge. It was a game-changer he'd relied on for years, not some shiny new discovery.

Tempted as he was to wield his reality-bending gift and instantly crown himself the ultimate ninja—master of every jutsu, unbeatable in every arena—he resisted. Nah, that victory would taste hollow. He craved the sweat, the grind, the triumph earned through his own grit.

For two solid hours, he pushed his limits in a secluded clearing: warm-ups that loosened his taller, muscled frame, followed by channelling his wind-nature chakra into razor-sharp gusts that sliced through training dummies like butter. Rasengan variants whirled in his palms, the air humming with raw power. Satisfied and drenched in sweat, he headed back for a quick shower, the hot water sluicing away the grime as steam filled the small bathroom. Refreshed, he threw on fresh clothes and stepped out into the bustling streets, savouring his down-time after that gruelling recent mission.

As he wandered the village paths, dodging vendors hawking fresh produce and kids practicing basic training techniques, his mind drifted back to that eerie encounter—the one with Fūka, the seductive kunoichi who'd nearly drained him dry. And not in the fun way.

It had started in a labyrinth of stone pillars, her team of grave robbers on the run after swiping those Twelve Guardian Ninja corpses. She'd toyed with him like a cat with a mouse, offering kisses that hid a deadly secret: her Execution by Kiss, sucking out chakra and souls through lip-locked betrayal. She'd even let him pick—French or soft—before knocking him flat and trying to steal his essence. But the Nine-Tails' chakra had repelled her, burning like poison in her veins.

The rematch hit harder, days later, as her crew breached Konoha's defenses. Fūka switched bodies seamlessly, each one a vessel for different elemental jutsu—fireballs scorching the air, mudslides churning the earth, lightning crackling like furious storms. He'd pieced it together mid-fight: her obsession with her hair, how she guarded it more fiercely than her form. It was her soul's anchor, the core of her being, housing her consciousness while her bodies were mere shells stored in a scroll. Damage her hair, and she unravelled.

So he targeted it relentlessly, his clones distracting while he hacked away, destroying body after body until she was reduced to a floating mass of locks—a faceless soul with glowing eyes, stripped of her illusions.

In the end, his Rasengan had sealed it, slamming into her ethereal core with explosive ****. She'd vanished in a whirl of defeated energy, her talents wasted on Furido's or as Azuma-Sensei had called him Kazuma’s destructive schemes.

Naruto's steps slowed as he mulled it over, careful not to voice his thoughts aloud—last thing he needed was blurting something reckless in public. Such a powerhouse, he reflected inwardly, her ability to wield all five natures, absorb chakra, and body-swap like it was nothing. If she'd been loyal to Konoha, imagine the good she could've done—bolstering defences, teaching the next generation, turning her skills toward protection instead of plunder.

A waste, really.

But then, a spark ignited in his mind, his blue eyes lighting up with that familiar mischievous glint. His power... it could rewrite realities. What if...?

Without another word to himself, he pivoted on his heel and hustled back to his apartment, the idea taking root like a seed in fertile soil.