Chapter 3: What else can this do?
The first thing Naruto saw when he slid into his seat in Tsunade’s lecture hall was the large, red ‘100%’ scrawled across the top of his essay. He blinked, certain there was a mistake. He’d pulled an all-nighter, fueled by cheap instant ramen and panic, but a perfect score from the notorious Professor Senju was unheard of.
He flipped through the pages. His arguments on post-Fifth Hokage economic policy were underlined with approving slashes. In the margin, next to a particularly clumsy sentence, she’d written: Unnecessarily wordy, but your underlying logic is sound. See me.
His heart sank. See me. That was it. She was going to tear him apart in private. He kept flipping, his fingers sticking slightly to the paper. On the very last page, in the bottom right corner, written in such faint pencil it was almost invisible, were three words: When. Again. Soon?
He stared. The printing from the other side of the page faintly showed through, but the pencil strokes were deliberate, meant to be felt more than seen. A secret. Just for him. The hum from the Chakra Pulse on his wrist seemed to vibrate in sympathy.
As the class droned on, Tsunade a model of stern professionalism in a sharp pantsuit, Naruto discreetly pulled out his phone under the desk. He opened his messages to her unknown number. He typed, deleted, typed again.
Can’t today. Soon though. Promise.
He hit send. From the podium, Tsunade didn’t miss a beat in her lecture on chakra theory displacement, but her hand went to the phone on her lectern. A second later, a soft buzz against Naruto’s thigh. He glanced down.
Disappointing. But understood. Gather more data. Report.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, a strange cocktail of anxiety and excitement swirling in his gut. She saw him as a project. A phenomenon to study. It should have felt cold. Instead, it felt like a secret alliance.
After class, he wandered the sun-dappled paths of the university, the perfect score crumpled in his hand. What can I use this power for? Rin’s transformed face flashed in his mind—the desperation replaced by fierce, confident joy. He’d done that. Not just the sex, but the change in her. He’d unclenched something in her life. Was that a use? Helping people?
His next class, Introduction to Floral Chakrics, was in a newer building, all glass and sterile white walls. He was early. Pushing open the heavy door to the empty lecture theater, he heard the sound before he saw the source: a high, strained voice trying to sound brave and failing.
“Just give it back, please.”
Around a corner of tiered seating, hidden from the main entrance, a scene unfolded. A girl with long, blonde hair tied in a high ponytail was pressed against a bank of lockers. Her books were scattered on the floor. Surrounding her were five older girls, their expressions a mix of boredom and cruel amusement.
One, a tall brunette named Hana with sharp features, held a pink, flower-decorated notebook aloft. “Oh, I just love your notes, Ino-chan. So detailed. ‘The heart chakra’s resonance with lavender.’ So cute.” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness.
Another, Akane, with riotous red curls, snatched a smaller textbook from the floor. “Why are you even in this program? Your family runs a flower shop. This is a science.”
A third, Mei, solidly built with dark hair in a severe bob, stepped forward and shoved Ino’s shoulder, pinning her to the locker. “She’s right. You don’t belong here. You’re diluting the gene pool.”
Ino winced but held her ground. “My grades are better than all of yours combined.”
The fourth girl, Yumi, slender and smirking, flicked Ino’s ponytail. “Talentless hacks can memorize. Doesn’t mean you get it.”
The fifth, Suki, stood a few feet away, leaning against a desk and scanning the doorway. The lookout. “Hurry up,” Suki murmured, her eyes darting. “Professor could come early.”
Naruto froze, plastering himself against the wall just out of sight. His heart hammered against his ribs. High school flashbacks—lockers slamming, mean laughter, the crushing weight of being alone—threatened to drown him. He looked at his hands. The Chakra Pulse glinted dully under the fluorescent lights.
Sweet Touch.
The thought was ice-cold and clear. Not for pleasure. For this.
He moved silently, sneaking along the back row of seats, his old, worn sneakers making no sound on the linoleum. He came up behind the lookout, Suki. She was focused on the main door, arms crossed.
Naruto took a breath, the air tasting of chalk dust and fear. He reached out, his fingers brushing the bare skin of Suki’s neck, just below her hairline.
The effect was instantaneous.
Suki gasped, a short, sharp intake of air. Her posture—tense, alert—melted. Her crossed arms dropped to her sides. A low, trembling moan escaped her lips. She swayed on her feet, her eyes losing their focused glint, going soft and confused. “Wha…?”
“Hey, Suki, you okay?” Hana called, not looking away from Ino.
“I… I don’t…” Suki mumbled, her hands coming up to her own cheeks, which were flushed deep red. Naruto kept his finger there, a feather-light contact. He saw her knees buckle slightly.
He leaned closer, his voice a whisper only she could hear. “Tell them to stop. Tell them to give Ino her stuff back and apologize. Right now.”
Suki tried to shake her head, but the motion sent a fresh wave of sensation through her. Another, louder moan hummed in her throat. “I… can’t…”
Naruto increased the pressure, thinking of Tsunade’s words. No limits. Their capacity to receive is the only limit. He focused, imagining the hum in his wrist becoming a current, dialing it up.
Suki’s whole body stiffened. Her eyes rolled back slightly. A dark stain blossomed suddenly on the front of her light grey trousers, spreading quickly. She let out a choked cry, her legs giving out completely as she slumped to the floor in a heap, unconscious.
The other four girls spun around. “Suki!” Akane yelled.
Hana stared, the notebook forgotten in her hand. “What the hell?”
Naruto stepped out from behind the unconscious girl. All four of them looked at him, then at Suki’s prone, damp form, then back at him. Ino peered around Mei’s shoulder, her blue eyes wide with shock and a dawning hope.
“What did you do to her?” Mei demanded, taking a threatening step forward.
“Nothing she didn’t enjoy,” Naruto said, his voice quieter than he felt. He pointed at Ino. “Give her her things. Apologize. And promise to never go near her again. Or you’re next.”
Hana laughed, a brittle, nervous sound. “Who the fuck are you? Some first-year nerd? Touch me and I’ll have you expelled for assault.”
Naruto walked towards her. He didn’t run, didn’t hurry. He just walked, his eyes locked on hers. The confidence was foreign, a suit that didn’t quite fit, but he wore it anyway. It came from the hum at his wrist, from the memory of a professor kneeling naked at his feet, from a nurse crying in gratitude on his steps.
Hana’s bravado faltered. She took a step back, hitting the lockers.
“Last chance,” Naruto said, stopping an arm’s length away.
“Screw you,” she spat.
He moved fast. His hand clamped around her wrist, the one holding Ino’s notebook.
Hana’s defiance shattered. A full-body shudder wracked her frame. Her mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’ before a deep, guttural groan tore from her throat. Her knees knocked together. The notebook fell to the floor.
“Stop! Okay, stop!” Akane screamed, her face pale.
“We’re sorry!” Yumi yelped, backing away. “We’re so sorry, Ino! We won’t bother you again!”
Mei just stared, horrified, as Hana’s moans grew louder, more frantic, her free hand scrabbling at the locker for support. Her other hand, the one Naruto held, gripped his like a vice.
“Promise,” Naruto said, his voice calm amidst Hana’s wordless pleas.
“We promise!” all three remaining girls shouted in unison.
Naruto released Hana’s wrist. She crumpled beside Suki, gasping for air, trembling violently, a look of utter bewildered ecstasy on her face.
“Get your friends,” Naruto said, not looking at them. “Get out.”
They scrambled. Akane and Yumi hauled a semi-conscious Suki up by her armpits. Mei, with a last terrified glance at Naruto, helped a stumbling, dazed Hana to her feet. They scurried out the side door, leaving a wet patch on the floor and a profound silence in their wake.
Naruto turned. Ino was still pressed against the lockers, her books scattered around her feet. Her face was a masterpiece of shock, her lips slightly parted. A deep, rosy blush colored her cheeks and neck.
He knelt and started gathering her things. “Are you okay?”
She nodded mutely, then found her voice. It was softer than he expected. “Yes. I… thank you.” She slid down the locker to sit on the floor, her legs seeming unable to hold her. She helped him, their fingers brushing as he handed her the flowered notebook. A little spark, normal human contact, nothing more. Yet she flinched as if burned.
“I’m Naruto. Uzumaki.”
“Ino. Yamanaka.” She took the notebook, holding it to her chest like a shield. “How… what did you…”
“It’s complicated,” he said, offering a small, genuine smile. “Are you a Floral Chakrics major?”
“Yeah. Second year.” She looked up at him, her blush deepening. “You?”
“Undecided. First year.” He stood, offering her his hand.
She took it, letting him pull her up. Her hand was warm, her grip firm despite her obvious shock. When she was standing, she didn’t let go immediately. “You… you didn’t even hit them.”
“Didn’t need to,” he said simply.
Her heart did a strange, skipping stutter against her ribs. It was audible in the quiet room. She finally released his hand, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I owe you. A lot. Let me… let me make you dinner. At my place. Tonight. As a thank you.”
“You really don’t have to,” Naruto said, rubbing the back of his neck. The old reflex, the ‘uncool nerd’ rejection, surfaced automatically.
“I insist.” Her voice was firmer now, some of her usual spirit returning. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”
He looked at her—the earnest gratitude in her wide blue eyes, the defiant set of her jaw underneath the lingering fear. He thought of Tsunade’s directive: Gather more data. He nodded. “Okay. Yeah. That’d be nice.”
She beamed, the expression lighting up her whole face. She scribbled her address and number on a page from her notebook, tore it out, and pressed it into his hand. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. His mind replayed the scene in the lecture theater—Suki collapsing, Hana’s moans, the power of it, the sheer control. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. He was crossing the central courtyard, the address clutched in his hand, when a voice stopped him.
“Naruto Uzumaki?”
A woman in a severe, impeccably tailored grey suit stood before him. Her hair was long and white, styled in an elaborate, regal manner that seemed out of place in the modern campus. Her eyes were a pale, unsettling lavender. She held a tablet against her chest.
“Yes?”
“Dean Otsutsuki would like to see you in her office. Immediately.” The woman didn’t smile. She simply turned and walked, expecting him to follow.
A cold trickle of dread traced Naruto’s spine. Dean Otsutsuki. Everyone knew the name. Nobody knew her. She was a rumor given form, a specter in the administrative machinery. The saying went: no matter what side you’re on, you never want to end up in there.
The walk to the administration spire was silent. The woman, who he assumed was an assistant, led him through labyrinthine corridors of silent, polished stone into an elevator that required a keycard. They ascended to the top floor.
The doors opened onto a single, vast office. The wall was one enormous curved window overlooking the entire village, the distant flames from the industrial sector casting long, dancing shadows across an expansive, empty white rug. The room was sparsely furnished: a bone-white desk, two chairs, and a single, gnarled ancient bonsai tree in a black pot. It felt less like an office and more like a gallery, or a prison.
Behind the desk sat Kaguya Otsutsuki.
She was older than Tsunade, perhaps late thirties, but ageless in a way that seemed unnatural. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her hair the same pristine white as her assistant’s, flowing like a river down her back. She wore a simple, elegant black dress. Her lavender eyes held no warmth, only a deep, probing curiosity as she watched him approach.
“Leave us, Hamura,” she said, her voice smooth and low, like stone grinding against stone.
The assistant bowed and vanished back into the elevator. The doors closed, leaving Naruto alone with the Dean.
“Sit, Mr. Uzumaki.”
He sat in the offered chair. It was harder than it looked.
Kaguya steepled her fingers, her gaze never leaving him. “I monitor many things at this university. Security feeds. Grade anomalies. Faculty behavior.” She paused, letting the words hang. “Professor Senju gave you a perfect score on your mid-term essay. An unprecedented event.”
Naruto’s mouth went dry. “I… I worked hard.”
“I’m sure you did.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. It did not reach her eyes. “She has also, in the past forty-eight hours, accessed the bio-lab after hours, used a portable hematology analyzer, and filed a highly irregular—and highly classified—research proposal draft titled ‘Sweet Touch.’ A proposal which mentions, in vague but unmistakable terms, a unique male subject ‘U.’ Would you know anything about that?”
Naruto’s blood turned to ice. He said nothing.
Kaguya leaned forward slightly. “I also have a report from the custodial staff in the main lecture hall. Of a… biological residue. And a second report, from the Floral Chakrics wing, of a similar incident today involving several female upperclassmen, one of whom was found in a state of extreme physical distress and euphoria, requiring medical attention. She is currently refusing to speak about what happened.” The Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You were present for both.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Naruto managed to say, his voice rough.
“I know,” Kaguya said, tilting her head. “That is the fascinating part. You see, Tsunade Senju is the most disciplined, controlled, and frankly, misandrist person I have ever employed. The idea of her engaging in any form of physical intimacy with a student, let alone a male student, is statistically zero. And yet.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a small, wireless earpiece. She placed it on the desk between them. “The acoustics in the main lecture hall are excellent for recording. I heard everything. Her moans were… quite unequivocal.”
Naruto felt the world tilt. She’d been listening. The entire time.
“Something about you,” Kaguya continued, her voice dropping to a contemplative murmur, “made a woman who despises men beg for your touch. Made a group of vicious little bullies whimper and flee. You possess something. A talent. A power.”
A long, silent moment stretched between them, measured only by the slow rise and fall of Kaguya’s chest. Naruto’s mind scrambled, replaying the frantic heat of the lecture hall floor, the raw sounds Rin had made on his steps, the choked moans of the bullies. Each memory was a nail.
“Would you like to explain it to me?” Kaguya asked finally, her voice devoid of judgment, purely inquisitive.
Naruto opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. He shook his head, a tiny, frantic motion.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, leaning back, her expression softening into something almost maternal.
A shaky sigh of relief escaped Naruto’s lips. His shoulders slumped an inch.
“Until you consider the camera’s point of view,” Kaguya continued, the maternal pretense vanishing like smoke. Her lavender eyes hardened to amethyst ice. “From that perspective, you sexually assaulted two female students in the Floral Chakrics wing today. You engaged in a graphically illicit relationship with a professor, leveraging it for academic favor—that one hundred percent is fraud, by the way. You could go to prison for a very, very long time. Tsunade would lose her career, her reputation, everything she’s built. The sad part, Mr. Uzumaki, is that both of those interpretations are technically true.”
The air left the room. Naruto felt weightless, pinned to the chair by her gaze.
“But I don’t think they are,” she said, switching the tablet on. She spun it around to face him. On the screen was a scanned image of his middle school transcript. “I did some digging. A lot of digging. Your public school records are unremarkable. Bs and Cs. Notes about ‘disengagement’ and ‘social difficulties.’ The perfect camouflage.” She swiped. “But these are your standardized test answer sheets. Not the grades—the raw sheets.”
He saw them. Every multiple-choice question perfectly answered. Every essay section filled with cramped, hurried writing that dove three conceptual levels deeper than the prompt.
“You scored in the 99.9th percentile on every assessment you ever took,” Kaguya stated. “Yet your submitted grades were always meticulously average. You hid. Deliberately. You took the bullying because it sold the character. A lonely, uncool nerd no one would look at twice.” She swiped again, pulling up his Konoha University entrance exam. “You scored the highest in the district’s history. Our admissions AI flagged it as a probable cheat. A human proctor reviewed your testing footage. He saw you… bored. You finished the four-hour exam in forty minutes and spent the rest of the time doodling spirals on your scratch paper.”
She set the tablet down. “You are the smartest student in your class. Arguably in this school. You have the potential to be the most formidable academic mind this district has ever seen.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a intense whisper. “And you are wasting it, and risking it all, on this… hormonal sideshow.”
Naruto stared at his own test scores, the proof of a secret he’d kept even from himself. It felt more exposed than his naked body ever had.
“I don’t want to waste your potential,” Kaguya said, standing. She walked around the desk with a silent, graceful purpose. She stopped directly before him, looking down. Her scent was strange, like ozone and cold stone. “So here is what will happen. You will tell me, exactly, how you acquired this ability. You will explain its precise mechanism and function. You will detail any limits or conditions you are aware of.”
She then placed her hands on the arms of his chair, leaning down until her pale face was inches from his. Her expression was one of ravenous, clinical curiosity.
“And then, last but not least,” she breathed, her lips nearly brushing his, “you will use it on me.”