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The morning after.

Yuriko cracked one eye open, groaning as reality smacked her in the face. Sunlight streamed through the window, too bright, too judgmental, like it knew exactly what she had done last night.

Oh, right. Last night.

Her brain helpfully played a highlight reel—her begging, her moaning, her legs wrapped around him like she had no shame whatsoever. Which, apparently, she didn't.

She tried to move. Mistake.

"Ugh… shit."

Her hips? Wrecked. Her waist? Sore. Her thighs? Don't even talk about it.

She sat up—another mistake. A sharp ache shot through her entire lower body, making her flop back onto the pillows with a wince.

Okay, cool. Walking is cancelled.

After a few deep breaths (and mentally cursing a certain snake bastard for his enthusiasm), she managed to slide out of bed. Well, more like wobble out of bed. Her legs felt like jelly. Drunk, overworked jelly.

She spotted her dress on the floor, along with—oh. Oh.

Her underwear? Completely ruined. Just a shredded, pitiful excuse for fabric. She held it up between two fingers and sighed.

"Guess I won't be recycling this outfit."

She tugged her dress on, wincing as she moved, and slowly—painfully—straightened up.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the rest of her things and limped toward the door.

Yuriko stepped outside, wobbling slightly—okay, a lot—and instantly regretted it. Every muscle in her lower half was protesting, and she was very aware of the fact that walking normally just wasn't happening today.

Unfortunately, she wasn't alone.

Saya stood a few feet away, stiff as a board, her face bright red.

Yuriko froze.

Saya avoided eye contact like her life depended on it. "…Morning."

Oh no. Oh no.

Yuriko cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. "Uh. Morning."

An unbearable silence stretched between them.

Saya fidgeted, still not looking at her. "Slept well?"

Yuriko really wished she hadn't asked that. She was so not answering that.

But Saya just kept standing there, practically vibrating with secondhand embarrassment.

And then, in a small, mortified voice—

"…You do know the walls aren't soundproof, right?"

Yuriko's soul left her body.

Saya made a strangled noise, throwing up her hands. "I DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW, OKAY? I tried not to know! But—but you were so loud—"

Yuriko covered her face. "Oh God."

"—and I couldn't just leave because then it'd be obvious I heard, and then I started panicking, and it just—WHY—"

They both stood there, absolutely dying of embarrassment.

Saya, still violently red, turned on her heel. "You know what? I'm going to forget this ever happened. And you—" She pointed accusingly at her mother. "—should never mention this again."

Yuriko nodded so fast.

Saya marched off, muttering about bleach for her brain.

Yuriko groaned into her hands.

She was never, ever, ever living this down.

But these two weren't the only ones suffering.

Saeko stared at the clone, gripping her sword a little too tightly. She should be focusing. She wanted to be focusing.

But all she could hear in her head was last night.

More specifically—Yuriko's voice.

Moaning.

Begging.

Loudly.

Her grip on the hilt tightened. Damn it.

"You're not focused."

She flinched. The clone was watching her, unimpressed.

"I—I am." She totally wasn't, but she wanted to be.

The clone tilted its head. "Did you hear last night?"

Saeko went rigid.

Her face erupted in red.

Oh no. Oh no, no no no.

She swallowed, her voice coming out barely louder than a mosquito's whisper. "…Yes."

The clone just nodded, completely unfazed. "Thought so."

Saeko wanted to die.

Before she could even think of an escape, a sudden brightness flooded the sky, blinding for a split second.

Both of them turned instinctively.

Orochimaru didn't need long to figure it out. His lips curled slightly, eyes narrowing.

"HANE," he muttered.

Saeko frowned. "Hane?"

"High-altitude nuclear explosion," he clarified. "The EMP will fry every electronic device in the region."

No more working vehicles. No more radios. No more tech.

"Let's go inside," the clone burst in clouds.

Saeko lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where the explosion had lit up the sky.

Her fingers twitched on her sword hilt.

Was he too good?

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome—but impossible to ignore.

For just a second, she imagined herself in Yuriko's place last night. The sensation of being wanted.

Immediately, she scoffed at herself, a mocking smile curving her lips.

As if.

She wasn't the kind of woman people wanted that way. She'd always been the blade, not the prize.

But then she thought of Orochimaru.

He didn't judge her. Didn't care about her flaws, her darkness.

Didn't care at all.

And maybe—just maybe—that made him the only one who ever truly saw her.

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