Hayami walked into the Academy the next morning like she was stepping onto a battlefield wearing nothing but bruises and borrowed confidence.
Every step sent fresh stings radiating across her ass. The handprints Mizuki had left were already darkening into deep purples and blues beneath her skirt—impossible to hide completely if anyone looked too closely. She'd spent the night alternating between icing the welts with a damp cloth and staring at the stolen scroll hidden under the floorboard, trying to decode its seal without opening it yet. It felt like a live grenade in her possession.
She kept her head down through morning theory class, avoiding eye contact with Mizuki at the front. He didn't call on her. Didn't even glance her way. Just smirked every time he turned to the board, like he knew exactly how sore she was sitting.
Taijutsu practice came after lunch. Standard drills—sparring, kata review, chakra flow exercises. Hayami moved carefully, every kick and block sending jolts of pain through her lower body. She paired with a random second-year boy who kept apologizing when she winced. She waved it off. Better he think she was just clumsy than guess the truth.
When the session ended, the kunoichi were herded into the girls' locker room for "cool-down and hygiene protocol." Code for: strip, shower, and endure the inevitable post-training inspection and gossip.
The room was steamy already, filled with the chatter of half a dozen final-year girls peeling off sweat-soaked uniforms. Ino Yamanaka stood at the center like she owned the place—blonde hair damp and clinging to her shoulders, sports bra already off, proudly displaying a set of faint red welts across her upper thighs and a hickey the size of a coin just above her left breast.
"Gods, look at these," Ino said, turning to show Sakura and a couple others. "Kiba got carried away during our paired drill yesterday. Said he wanted to 'leave his mark' so I'd remember who I belonged to for the mission sim. Idiot. But kinda hot, right?"
Sakura flushed bright red but didn't look away. "You're insane, Ino. I still can't believe you let him do that."
"Let him?" Ino laughed, stepping out of her shorts. "I told him to do it harder. If I'm gonna end up on noble rotation next month, I need to get used to being marked up. They pay extra for visible proof you can take it rough."
Hayami froze halfway through unbuttoning her blouse.
Noble rotation. Brothel preview. Group practicals.
The words kept circling in her head like vultures.
She turned toward her locker, hoping to change quickly and slip out, but Ino's sharp eyes caught her.
"Hayami-chan! There you are. We were wondering if you survived your big birthday night."
The room quieted. Several heads turned.
Hayami forced a small, sheepish smile—the one Hayami's memories said worked on people who wanted to feel superior.
"It… was intense," she managed.
Ino sauntered over, completely naked now, hips swaying like she was on a runway. She circled Hayami slowly, eyes flicking down.
"Lift the skirt, birthday girl. Let's see what Mizuki-sensei gave you as a present."
Hayami's stomach dropped.
She hesitated.
Ino arched a brow. "Come on. We all show. It's tradition. Helps us compare notes. You don't want to be the weird one who hides, do you?"
The other girls murmured agreement. Sakura looked uncomfortable but didn't protest. Hinata, in the corner, was already blushing furiously while folding her clothes with meticulous care.
Hayami exhaled through her nose.
Fine. Play along. Gather intel.
She turned her back to the group, lifted the hem of her skirt slowly, and bent forward just enough.
A collective inhale.
"Damn," Ino whistled. "He really went to town. Those are textbook punishment spanks—deep color, even spacing. You must've taken it like a champ."
Hayami felt fingers ghost over one of the welts—Ino's, light and curious.
"Still hot to the touch. How many did he give you?"
"Twenty-five," Hayami said flatly. "Maybe more. I lost count near the end."
Ino laughed delightedly. "Classic Mizuki. He loves making us count. Builds character—or something."
Sakura stepped closer, peering. "Does it hurt a lot?"
"Like sitting on coals," Hayami admitted. "But… it fades."
Ino clapped her hands. "See? She's already adapting. Good girl, Hayami. You're gonna fit right in with the rest of us sluts-in-training."
The word landed like a slap, but Ino said it with casual affection, like calling someone "bestie."
Hayami straightened, letting the skirt fall. "What about you guys? Any… group stuff yet?"
"Oh yeah," Ino said, leaning against a locker. "Last week was sensitivity pairing. I got paired with Tenten. She's surprisingly good with her tongue—must be all that weapons practice giving her dexterity. Sakura here cried the first time she had to finger someone, but she's getting better."
Sakura squeaked. "Ino!"
"What? It's true! You're at least up to two fingers now without hyperventilating."
The blonde turned back to Hayami. "You haven't done paired sensitivity yet, right? They usually save virgins for solo first, then move to girls. But since you're officially not a virgin anymore…"
She trailed off meaningfully.
Hayami swallowed. "I guess not."
Ino grinned. "Perfect timing then. Instructor's coming in five minutes for today's session. We're doing light touch and response training. Kissing, breast play, clit teasing—nothing penetration unless someone asks for extra credit."
She winked.
Hayami's pulse hammered.
Yuri. Right here. Right now.
She'd fantasized about Naruto girls in her old life—late-night scrolls through fanart—but this was real. Sweaty. Clinical. Mandatory.
The door opened. One of the female chunin instructors—someone Hayami didn't recognize from canon—stepped in, clipboard in hand.
"Final-year kunoichi, line up. Today's practical: partnered sensitivity and response calibration. Goal is to elicit maximum physiological reaction with minimal force. No tools, no pain play—save that for mixed sessions. Pair off."
Girls shuffled. Ino grabbed Sakura's wrist immediately. Hinata ended up alone for a second—eyes down, fingers twisting—until the instructor pointed.
"Tanaka. Hyuga. You two. Corner mat."
Hayami's mouth went dry.
Hinata looked up, cheeks flaming, but nodded once—small, obedient.
They knelt facing each other on the thin training mat in the corner. The rest of the room filled with soft sounds: lips meeting, quiet gasps, the wet slide of fingers.
Hinata's voice was barely a whisper. "I-I'm sorry if I'm… not good at this."
Hayami forced gentleness into her tone—the fangirl part of her screaming internally at how cute Hinata still was, even here.
"It's okay. We just… follow the drill."
They started slow. Hands on shoulders. Then necks. Then cheeks.
Hinata leaned in first—hesitant, trembling lips brushing Hayami's.
Soft.
Warm.
Nothing like Mizuki's rough claiming.
Hayami kissed back—tentative, testing. Hinata sighed into it, small and needy. Their tongues met—shy at first, then deeper as muscle memory took over.
Hinata's hands slid down to Hayami's breasts, cupping through the thin bra, thumbs circling nipples that hardened instantly despite everything.
Hayami gasped—real this time.
Hinata pulled back, eyes wide. "D-did I hurt you?"
"No," Hayami breathed. "It's… good."
Encouraged, Hinata ducked her head, kissing down Hayami's throat, then lower—lips closing around one nipple through fabric, sucking gently.
Hayami's back arched. Heat pooled low in her belly—different from last night. Softer. Sweeter. Less violent.
She threaded fingers into Hinata's dark hair, guiding without forcing.
Hinata's hand slipped between Hayami's thighs—slow, asking permission with her eyes.
Hayami nodded once.
Fingers found her clit—already slick from earlier memories and unwilling arousal—and circled with surprising skill. Gentle pressure. Steady rhythm.
Hayami bit her lip to stifle a moan.
Around them, other girls were louder—Ino openly groaning as Sakura fingered her, Tenten whispering filthy praise to her partner.
Hayami came first—quiet, shuddering, thighs clamping around Hinata's hand. Hinata followed seconds later when Hayami returned the favor—two fingers curling inside while thumb worked her clit.
They collapsed against each other, breathing hard.
Hinata whispered against her ear, "Y-you're really warm… inside."
Hayami almost laughed—hysterical, fond.
Before she could respond, the instructor's voice cut through the room.
"Time. Clean up and gather."
Girls disentangled, wiping hands, fixing clothes.
The instructor scanned her clipboard.
"Excellent progress overall. Tomorrow we escalate. First mixed-gender practical: team endurance exercise. Four-to-five person teams. Goal—sustain penetration and stimulation from multiple partners simultaneously without orgasmic shutdown or mission failure. MMF configurations primary, with possible MFF add-ons. Rotation assignments posted at dawn."
She smiled thinly.
"Get plenty of rest tonight. You'll need your stamina."
Hayami stared at the floor, pulse roaring in her ears.
Tomorrow.
Naruto.
Sasuke.
Possibly Kiba or Shikamaru.
All of them.
In one room.
Doing that.
She glanced at Hinata—still flushed, still avoiding eye contact.
Then at Ino, who caught her gaze and winked like this was the most exciting thing in the world.
Hayami clenched her fists.
Tomorrow I either break…
…or I start rewriting this fucked-up script.
End of Chapter 3