Shimizu raised his head.
He caught the hidden meaning in Mikoto's words.
Was there really something worth discussing that required him to change locations?
A smile crept onto Shimizu's lips—a smile that felt like a warm spring breeze to others. To anyone else, or even to the Mikoto of the past, this smile would have seemed gentle, radiating a comforting warmth.
But once she truly came to know Shimizu, she realized that what she understood was merely the tip of the iceberg.
Shimizu was an unrepentant devil, one whose sins could hardly be absolved even by falling into the depths of hell.
Mikoto hesitated for a moment before giving a slight nod.
This was for Fugaku. For the future of the Uchiha.
She repeated this to herself over and over in her mind.
She was merely sacrificing herself to appease a demon.
"Then let's begin."
Shimizu set down the silver spoon adorned with intricate patterns, placing it gently atop the delicate saucer.
He clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them, looking thoroughly intrigued.
"Begin?"
Mikoto shot Shimizu a glare.
It felt like he was always saying one thing and doing another, completely defying common sense.
"Oh, you're right."
Shimizu seemed to have a sudden epiphany. Then, he shifted his position and, to Mikoto's stunned expression, sat down beside her.
The dessert shop's chairs were plush leather sofas, their high backs creating a secluded little area.
"Right here will do. Don't worry, no one will see."
"No way!"
Mikoto rejected him outright, her voice loud enough to draw curious glances from the other patrons.
"Is this how Mikoto-nee intends to make amends? So half-hearted?"
Shimizu shook his head, feigning disappointment as if he were about to stand and leave.
"Wait."
Mikoto grabbed Shimizu's hand, her face visibly torn with conflict. Her elegant brows were practically knotted together.
Her pearly teeth bit down on her vivid red lips, which seemed almost ripe enough to drip.
Then, she lowered her hands, her fingertips grasping the hem of her black robe.
Ancient, conservative, heavy.
Anyone who saw this black robe would describe it as such.
As Mikoto slowly lifted the hem—from her calves to her knees, then up to her thighs—her long, shapely legs came into view, their exquisite lines revealed. Under the light, faint muscle contours could be seen—not the kind forged by training, but a natural, healthy elegance.
It was clear that even though Mikoto had retired years ago, the vibrant colors of her kunoichi spirit had yet to fully fade.
At the same time, as the hem rose higher, Mikoto's head dipped lower.
When it reached halfway up her thighs, a pleasant voice suddenly rang out.
"Shimizu, what are you doing here?"
A figure with striking red hair stepped inside.
She glanced back and noticed another woman, exclaiming in surprise, "Oh, Mikoto's here too?"
"Kushina, Fugaku asked me to talk to Shimizu about something," Mikoto said, nearly gasping in shock. She quickly placed her hands on the table, too flustered to bother smoothing out her slightly disheveled skirt.
"I see."
Kushina nodded, noticing some leftover desserts on the table. With her usual familiarity, she plopped down across from them.
"I was just thinking of grabbing some sweets myself. Didn't expect to run into Mikoto here. Are you two still eating? If not, I'll take them."
"Of course you can. Mikoto-nee treated me to these, so I think I have a say in it, right?"
Shimizu turned to look at Mikoto, acting as if nothing had happened moments ago.
But Mikoto's face grew paler, her eyes pleading.
Shimizu was a man with an obsession for order.
He couldn't stand seeing a woman's skirt wrinkled and messy, so he kindly began straightening Mikoto's hem for her.
His hands smoothed out the black stockings as well, lingering slowly, savoring the tactile language of the fabric.
"Kushina, go ahead and eat."
Mikoto pinched the back of Shimizu's hand, trying to get him to stop.
But Shimizu didn't budge, and she didn't dare make any big movements, lest Kushina notice something odd from across the table.
A few minutes later, beads of sweat dotted Mikoto's forehead.
Kushina came and went like a whirlwind.
After finishing the desserts, she dashed off with her usual boisterous energy, saying Minato Namikaze was looking for her.
"Enough already."
Mikoto slapped Shimizu's hand away, a mix of exhaustion and anger flashing in her eyes.
From now on, she wouldn't let Shimizu "massage" her anymore.
He'd crossed the line.
He'd touched her thigh—didn't he fear she'd snap and report him regardless of the consequences?
Mikoto felt Shimizu was nothing short of a madman.
"Enough."
Shimizu's hand still held a trace of lingering warmth. He paused for a moment before saying, "Then I'll forgive you."
Seeing her goal achieved, Mikoto took a deep breath. At least her efforts hadn't been in vain.
And after today, she wouldn't have to do this sort of thing anymore.
With that thought, her shoulders relaxed, and she felt a weight lift off her.
But Shimizu's next words plunged her straight back into hell.
"So, how should I forgive Lord Fugaku?"
Mikoto froze.
Her hands, mid-motion to adjust her skirt, stopped.
What did he mean? Hadn't everything she'd just done been to earn Shimizu's forgiveness for Fugaku?
"What happened just now was only enough for me to forgive your rudeness from yesterday, Mikoto-nee. After all, you share some responsibility for helping Lord Fugaku exploit me."
Seeing Mikoto's expression grow darker, Shimizu quickly added, "Of course, I'll join the Anbu. But how much effort I put in from now on depends on how sincere Mikoto-nee's apologies are."
…
Creak…
Mikoto pushed the door open in a daze.
She didn't know how she'd managed to leave in the end.
All she felt was a deep, helpless exhaustion toward Shimizu.
If his talents weren't so exceptional, Fugaku wouldn't value him so highly, and she'd never have had to deal with him at all.
"You're back?"
Fugaku, who was reading the newspaper, glanced over at her.
"Things didn't go well?"
Fugaku frowned. Mikoto looked visibly upset—had she been rejected?
"Shimizu agreed to join the Anbu."
Mikoto's tone betrayed no emotion.
"That's great."
A rare smile broke across Fugaku's stern, square face. Mikoto had handled it well.
With Shimizu agreeing to join the Anbu while continuing his research, they'd have a stronger edge against the future threats posed by the Mangekyo Sharingan.
"Mm."
Seeing the joy in Fugaku's eyes, Mikoto suddenly felt tears welling up.
Would Fugaku understand what she'd gone through?
Soon after, the sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, a steady rush of noise.
Fugaku went back to his newspaper, planning to talk to Mikoto once she came out.
Perhaps in the future, he could have Mikoto interact with Shimizu more often.
His own strict demeanor wasn't ideal, but a gentle woman like Mikoto might be better suited for communication.
Thud…
In his excitement, Fugaku's hand slipped while drinking tea, spilling it onto the newspaper.
He shook the paper, flicking off most of the liquid.
Then he spread it out under the sunlight, carefully examining the blurred text beneath the stain.
The pristine white paper now bore a dark smudge where the tea had soaked in, obscuring the black ink into something ambiguous.
After her bath, Mikoto balled up her stockings and tossed them into the trash.
She happened to catch Fugaku studying the stained section of the newspaper intently
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