Shy Venom

The heavy, oppressive air of the preliminary hall gave way to the bright, open sky of Konoha, a transition that felt like surfacing from a deep, dark body of water. Team 8 stood together on the steps of the academy, the low afternoon sun casting long shadows behind them. The adrenaline of the fights had faded, leaving a strange, quiet camaraderie in its wake, the shared experience of a trial by fire.

Kurenai looked at the three genin before her, and a wave of profound, almost overwhelming pride washed through her. They were not the same children she had taken on a few short months ago. The forest, the battles, the sheer, unrelenting pressure had been a forge, and it had tempered them into something hard, sharp, and undeniable.

"Kiba," she began, her voice soft but firm. He looked up, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a subdued, thoughtful scowl, still smarting from his loss. "You fought with courage and instinct. You lost, not because you were weak, but because your opponent was clever. There is no shame in that. Learn from it. Get stronger."

Kiba met her gaze, a flicker of his old fire returning to his eyes. He gave a sharp, single nod. "I will."

She turned to Shino, who stood as still and silent as ever. "Shino, your tactical acumen and control were flawless. You won your match before your opponent even knew he was in a fight. It was a perfect demonstration of the Aburame way. I am proud of you."

Shino's only reply was a slight inclination of his head, but the kikaichu bugs at his collar buzzed with what could only be described as smug satisfaction.

Finally, her gaze settled on Hinata. On the tall, powerful, beautiful enigma that her quietest student had become. She had watched her dismantle a prodigy of her own clan, not with brute force, but with a grace and mercy that was more terrifying than any rage. "Hinata," Kurenai said, and her voice was thick with an emotion she couldn't quite conceal. "I… have no words. Your performance was… a masterpiece. You have surpassed all my expectations."

A faint, beautiful blush touched Hinata's cheeks. "Thank you, Kurenai-sensei," she replied, her own resonant voice a quiet, steady thing.

Kurenai took a deep breath, her professional demeanor reasserting itself. "The Hokage has given you all one month to prepare. But first, he has given you one day to rest. And that is an order. Go home. See your families. Eat a meal that wasn't killed by a teammate. Do not think about training. Do not think about fighting. Just… be. We'll begin preparing for the finals the day after tomorrow. Dismissed."

With final, weary nods, the team dispersed. Kiba, with a quiet word to Akamaru, headed for his own clan's compound, his mind already dissecting his loss. Shino melted into the afternoon crowds, a silent specter on his way to his own quiet contemplations. Hinata, with a polite bow to her sensei, turned and began the long, familiar walk home.

The journey through the Hyuuga compound was different this time. The branch family members who passed her no longer looked at her with pity or faint disdain. Their gazes were now filled with a new, complex mixture of awe, respect, and a healthy dose of fear. The whispers that followed her were not of her failures, but of her impossible, brutal victory over the prodigy Neji. She was no longer 'the weak heiress.' She was a monster in their midst, a beautiful, terrifying power that had brought honor to their name in the most public and undeniable way possible.

Her report to her father was a stark, clinical affair, delivered in the cold, intimidating silence of his study. She detailed her matches, her observations, her victory. She spoke of her opponent for the finals—Gaara of the Desert—and the immense, chaotic power she had sensed within him. Hiashi listened without expression, his face an unreadable mask of stone. When she finished, he was silent for a long time, his steepled fingers hiding his mouth. He did not offer praise. He did not offer comfort. He simply gave a single, sharp nod of approval. It was the approval of a clan leader acknowledging the successful deployment of a powerful asset. For him, her victory was not a personal triumph; it was a strategic gain for the Hyuuga clan. It was the coldest and most validating moment of her entire life.

Her duty done, Hinata retreated to the one place in the entire compound that felt truly hers: her room. The simple, sparse space was a sanctuary, a quiet haven from the judging eyes of her clan and the crushing weight of her new reputation. She slid the shoji door shut, the soft click sealing her away from the world. For a long moment, she simply stood in the center of the room, breathing.

The exertion of the preliminaries, the constant, low-level drain of maintaining her composure, and the sheer, overwhelming emotional weight of the day settled upon her like a heavy shroud. But beneath the weariness, something else was stirring. A deep, insistent, and familiar hum. It was the feeling of her own body, of her own biology, working on a level she couldn't control. The vast quantities of biomass she had consumed in the forest, the raw energy she had absorbed, the very stress of her battles—it had all been fuel, raw material for the next stage of her partner's relentless, perfect-seeking work. She had felt it subtly during her fights—a new density in her muscles, a strange, heightened sensitivity in her skin—but she had pushed it aside, compartmentalizing it in the heat of battle. Now, in the quiet solitude of her room, she could no longer ignore it.

With a sense of grim, clinical necessity that was becoming second nature, she walked to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. It had become both her greatest antagonist and her most honest confidant. She needed to see. She needed to take inventory. She needed to understand the new landscape of the body she inhabited.

Her hands went to the zipper of her lavender jacket. The motion was slow, deliberate. She shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. Then came the form-fitting black combat top. She pulled it over her head, her movements sure and steady. Finally, she unfastened her shinobi pants, letting them slide down her powerful legs to pool around her ankles. She stood before the mirror, clad only in her simple, practical undergarments, a stark figure in the dim, afternoon light.

And then, with a final, deep breath that was both a steadying gesture and a silent prayer, she unhooked the clasp of her bra, letting it fall away. She peeled off her last remaining garment, and stood, completely bare, before her own reflection. She looked at the woman in the mirror, a stranger sculpted from her own flesh, and prepared to take stock of the latest, most intimate series of upgrades. She raised her hands, her fingers tracing the air just before her own skin, and began her silent, meticulous, and terrifying self-assessment.

The reflection that stared back at her was a stranger sculpted from hopes and horrors she was only just beginning to comprehend. The dim afternoon light filtering through her shoji screen was unforgiving, tracing the stark, undeniable topography of her new form. It was a body built for war, sculpted by a god of brutal, biological efficiency, and it was hers.

Her eyes drifted upwards first. She stood on her toes, craning her neck to see the pencil mark on the doorframe behind her reflection. The top of her head was now a solid two inches above the mark she'd made before the Wave mission. She was still growing, a slow, inexorable climb towards a height that felt both powerful and alien.

…A superior vantage point enhances tactical awareness, Venom commented, its voice a low, clinical hum in the back of her mind. …Continued structural elongation is optimal.

Her hands, hesitant at first, then with a new, firm curiosity, rose to her own chest. The weight of her breasts in her palms was a new and startling reality. They were heavy, full, and impossibly soft, yet with an underlying density that felt like coiled strength. They were no longer the budding promise of a young girl. They were the full, magnificent declaration of a woman, a fact brought into sharp, mortifying focus by the memory that slammed into her with the heavy force.

Naruto's face.

The image was excruciatingly vivid: the spiky blond hair, the surprised squeak, the feeling of his warm, panicked breath muffled against her skin as she held him, suffocating him in a hug of pure, unadulterated relief. Her face erupted in a blush so intense it was a physical heat, a wave of fire that started at her chest and spread up her neck, to her ears, to the very roots of her hair. She snatched her hands away from her own body as if she had been burned.

…The maneuver was a tactical success, Venom purred, completely misinterpreting, or perhaps simply ignoring, her mortification. …It resulted in the temporary incapacitation and sensory overload of the target male. We should endeavor to repeat it. At length. With more… pressure.

"Sh-shut up…" she whispered, but the protest was weak, a flimsy shield against the secret, thrilling heat that curled in her lower belly at the thought. The sound of her own whisper made her freeze. It was a low, resonant murmur, the doubled harmony of her voice and her partner's a permanent feature of her own vocal cords now. Even at its quietest, her voice had a weight, an authority, that was no longer entirely her own.

Her blush deepened, and as she looked at her skin in the mirror, she noticed it. The sheer, unbroken perfection of it. She ran a hand down her arm, over the flat, hard plane of her stomach, along the powerful curve of her thigh. Smooth. Utterly, impossibly smooth. There was no hair. Not a single, fine, downy hair anywhere on her body, save for the thick, lustrous mane on her head and her perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her eyes are framed by a fan of long, thick, dark lashes that make her every glance seem deliberate and profound

…Follicular structures on the limbs and torso were deemed inefficient, Venom explained, its tone that of an engineer discussing a redundant part. …The energy required for their maintenance has been repurposed for subdermal reinforcement. A far more logical allocation of resources.

"Subdermal… reinforcement?" she breathed, her new voice a mesmerizing, husky thing.

She leaned closer to the mirror, her eyes scanning her own skin. And then she saw it. At first, it was just a faint shimmer, a trick of the light. But as her eyes adjusted, she could discern a pattern. Faint, silvery-white lines, no thicker than a thread, lay just beneath the surface of her skin. They were not random. They flowed in intricate, geometric patterns, like ethereal tattoos woven into her very being. They traced the lines of her muscles, coiled around her arms and legs, spread like a complex, tribal web across her back and shoulders, and formed a breathtaking pattern that radiated from her navel across her toned stomach.

…A secondary defensive layer, Venom stated, a note of immense pride in its psychic voice. …A flexible, bio-reactive armor integrated directly into your dermal and subdermal layers. It is soft now, pliable as your own skin. But on impact, it will harden instantly to a consistency far greater than steel, dissipating kinetic energy across your entire frame.

Hinata's breath hitched. She raised a hand, her fingers tracing the faint, glowing pattern on her opposite shoulder. A built-in, invisible suit of armor. She activated her Byakugan, and the room dissolved into its familiar monochrome view. The patterns on her skin flared to life, glowing with a brilliant, internal silver light, a circuit board of divine, alien biology. And the veins around her own eyes, the tell-tale sign of her dōjutsu, pulsed with the same soft, silvery light.

…In time, as our bond deepens and you channel more power, the patterns will become more pronounced, Venom continued. …A visual indicator of our readiness. A warning to our enemies. A work of art for our allies to admire.

She was a living weapon, beautiful and terrifying, her very skin a testament to the strange, wonderful horror she had become. The shock of the discovery sent a fresh wave of dizziness through her. She leaned closer to the mirror, her face inches from the glass, trying to center herself. With a morbid curiosity she couldn't resist, she opened her mouth.

Her tongue uncoiled. It was longer. Unmistakably, unnervingly longer than it had been even in the Land of Waves. It extended with a slow, prehensile grace, the tip flickering in the air, a deep, healthy pink serpent in the dim light of her room. She ran it over her lips, the sheer detail her new senses provided, the texture of her own skin, almost overwhelming.

…Enhancements to the primary gustatory and tactile organ are now complete, Venom purred, its satisfaction a palpable, vibrating presence in her skull. …Optimal length and dexterity have been achieved. For… data acquisition.

The unspoken implication hung in the air, heavy and thrilling. She pulled her tongue back in, a fresh blush warring with the awe on her face. Her gaze drifted upwards, to her hair. It fell just past her ears now, the sharp lines of her hime cut softened by a new length. When was the last time I had it cut? she wondered vaguely, her mind unable to grasp the passage of time, unable to reconcile the girl who had entered the forest with the goddess of war who had come out.

She stared at her reflection for a long, silent moment. The towering height. The powerful, womanly physique. The glowing, alien patterns hidden beneath her skin. The resonant voice. The serpentine tongue. This was her. This was Hinata Hyuuga. She was a masterpiece. She was a monster. And she was, more than anything else, in desperate need of a very, very long bath. She needed the simple, human ritual of hot water and steam to try and process the beautiful, terrifying truth of what she had become. With a final, lingering look at the stranger in the mirror, she turned and walked towards the washroom, her bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor.

The simple, human ritual of a long, hot bath was a lie, and she knew it. The steam that filled the small washroom, the water beading on it as if on oiled silk. It was an act of remembering who she had been, a quiet, futile rebellion against the glorious, terrifying creature she was becoming.

Stepping back out into the bright, bustling streets of Konoha was a jarring transition. The world felt too loud, too bright, too… fragile. The cheerful chatter of villagers, the smell of grilling fish from a nearby stall, the sight of academy children chasing each other with wooden kunai—it was a world she had just fought tooth and nail to protect, and yet she felt strangely, profoundly disconnected from it, an apex predator walking through a field of blissfully unaware sheep.

And she was starving.

The gnawing emptiness was back, a familiar ghost haunting the cavern of her stomach. The mountain of boar meat had been a down payment on an immense biological debt, and the interest was coming due. But this time, the hunger was different. It was not the raw, desperate need for biomass. It was a craving. A sharp, specific, and demanding desire for something her body had not tasted in what felt like an eternity. Sugar.

Her feet, guided by a primal, sweet-toothed instinct that was a perfect fusion of her own desires and Venom's more… specific requirements, led her to a small, charming shop near the center of the village. A cheerful, hand-painted sign read "Amai Okashi," and the air around it was a heavenly cloud of caramelized sugar, toasted almonds, and rich, dark cocoa. The window display was a work of art, a colorful landscape of glistening dango skewers, plump mochi filled with sweet bean paste, delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, and, in the place of honor, a small mountain of hand-dipped, premium dark chocolates.

Hinata stood before the window, her mouth watering, a string of drool narrowly avoided by a quick, subtle swallow. She wanted it all.

…The red bean paste is a viable source of complex carbohydrates, Venom's voice was a low, analytical hum in her mind, its own hunger a palpable, vibrating presence. …The rice flour in the mochi is an efficient, if uninspired, glucose delivery system. The pastries are aesthetically pleasing but contain an suboptimal ratio of lipids to sucrose. The symbiote's internal monologue paused, its focus narrowing with the intensity of a sniper sighting its target. …But the chocolate… ah, the chocolate. Theobromine. Phenylethylamine. The perfect compounds for enhancing neurotransmitter production and facilitating synaptic growth. That is not a mere confection. That is an upgrade kit. We will require all of it.

"I should buy the whole tray," she whispered to herself, her doubled voice a low, resonant murmur of pure, unadulterated craving.

"Hinata!"

The voice was loud, cheerful, and so close it made her jump. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat, a faint blush already blooming on her cheeks. Naruto stood there, not five feet away, a wide, sunny, and impossibly nervous grin plastered across his face. He was fidgeting, his hands stuffed in his pockets, then pulled out to rub the back of his neck, his gaze darting to a nearby potted plant, then to a crack in the pavement—anywhere but directly at her.

"Hey! I, uh, saw you standing here," he began, his voice a little too loud, a little too fast. "Just… you know… looking at sweets! Which is cool! I like sweets! Sometimes! Ramen is better, obviously, but sweets are… sweet! So that's… that's a thing!"

…The male is displaying signs of extreme social anxiety, Venom observed with clinical amusement. …His heart rate is elevated, his pupils are dilated, and his speech patterns are erratic. The memory of our dominance display in the grove remains potent. Excellent.

"Hello, Naruto-kun," she replied, her own voice a soft, resonant melody that seemed to make him flinch, his blush deepening.

"So! The exams, right?!" he burst out, latching onto a new topic with the desperation of a drowning man. "They were crazy! First the written test, which was totally bogus, by the way! And then the forest! And the snake-freak! But you were so cool! You just went BAM! And then Neji! I mean, what a jerk, right? But you were even cooler! You were like, WHOOSH! And he was just… down! And Gaara… I mean, Gaara's a total creep, but you're gonna fight him, and you're gonna win, because you're… you're…" He sputtered to a halt, his brain finally catching up to his mouth, realizing he was rambling like an idiot. He took a deep breath. "You're really strong, Hinata," he finished, the words finally coming out quiet, sincere, and full of a profound, humbling awe.

The simple, honest praise warmed her more than any pastry. "Thank you, Naruto-kun. You were very brave as well."

Her resonant voice seemed to short-circuit his brain again. "Y-yeah! Well! Of course!" he stammered. It was then that her senses, always on, always cataloging, picked up a new variable. A discordant note in the symphony of the street.

Her gaze shifted slightly, her Byakugan not active but her peripheral vision, enhanced and absolute, catching the movement. Fifty meters down the street, partially obscured by a lamppost far too narrow to conceal his immense frame, was a tall man with a wild mane of spiky white hair. He was pretending to read a book, but he was holding it upside down, his gaze fixed squarely on them over the top of the pages. He was a mountain of a man trying, and failing spectacularly, to be a shadow.

…Another one, Venom's thought was a low, suspicious growl. …This one's chakra is immense. Vast and deep. And… strange. He smells of toad oil, cheap sake, and… loneliness. He watches the orange one with the predatory focus of a hawk… or a grandsire. He is powerful. He is a threat. Or… an opportunity.

Hinata filed the information away, her expression not changing as she turned her attention back to the blushing, fidgeting boy in front of her. Naruto, oblivious to their observer, finally seemed to gather his courage, his face set in a mask of fierce, clumsy determination.

A few hours earlier, the world had tasted of victory, exhaustion, and the stale, recycled air of the Chuunin Exam tower. For Naruto, leaving its sterile confines was a jarring return to reality. The "Super-Awesome Konoha Mega-Squad," as he had mentally dubbed them, had dissolved as quickly as it had formed. The first to go was Karin. The moment they stepped out into the main atrium, they were met by the Third Hokage himself, flanked by two stone-faced ANBU operatives. The old man's gaze was kind but firm as he explained that Karin, as an unregistered foreign shinobi found under such… unusual circumstances, would need to be formally questioned. She didn't want to return to the Grass Village, she had insisted, and Naruto, with his usual boundless optimism, had promised her they'd figure something out. But as the ANBU whisked her away, a silent phantom vanishing into the depths of the tower, he felt a familiar, helpless pang. He was strong, but he wasn't strong enough to bend the rules of the world. Not yet.

The second departure was sharper, colder. Sasuke, his curse mark now sealed by Kakashi under a complex array of ink and warding tags, had barely acknowledged them. He had simply grunted something about needing to "regain his strength" and stalked off into the streets, a solitary shadow already consumed by the new, burning shame of having been saved, and the furious need to surpass not only Naruto, but the ghost of the girl who had fought a god for him.

Kakashi had been next, his single visible eye curving into a smile that didn't quite hide the exhaustion beneath. "Naruto, your match against Sasuke will be the highlight of the finals," he'd said, a strange, thoughtful look on his face. "Training you both to fight each other… that's going to be tricky. I'll need some time to figure something out." And with that cryptic promise, he'd vanished in a swirl of leaves, leaving Naruto with the fresh, stinging realization that his own sensei might not be the one to prepare him for the most important fight of his life. Sakura had been the last, giving him a weary but genuine smile before heading home to her parents, leaving Naruto standing alone on the bustling Konoha street, the victory of the forest already feeling like a distant, fading dream. The familiar ache of solitude settled over him, heavier than ever. He had tasted teamwork, true camaraderie born of blood and fear, and now it was gone. He was alone again, with a new rival, a new goal, and a terrifyingly blank space where a training plan should be.

Fueled by a frustration too big for his apartment, he had stormed through the village, a thundercloud of unfocused energy, until he saw him. The old man with the wild white hair and the weird wooden sandals, the same creep he'd seen snooping around the women's bathhouse a few weeks back. The pervy hermit was at it again, scribbling furiously in a little notebook as he peeped through a crack in a fence, a lecherous, idiotic giggle escaping his lips. Naruto, his own problems momentarily forgotten in a wave of righteous indignation, had done what he did best: he had yelled.

The ensuing confrontation had been a chaotic blur. The women Jiraiya had been spying on, a group of rather formidable housewives armed with laundry baskets and righteous fury, had stormed out and, seeing the pervert and the loud orange boy, had assumed they were partners in crime. Naruto had found himself dodging flying radishes and hurled insults alongside the Pervy Sage, who handled the assault with a bored, comical grace that was infuriating. The old man had simply laughed, weaving through the chaos, before biting his thumb, summoning a small, fast, and incredibly grumpy-looking toad that had spat a stream of viscous oil all over the street, sending the housewives slipping and sliding. In the confusion, the old man had simply vanished.

But Naruto had seen it. He had seen the hand signs, the impossible speed, the sheer, effortless power wielded by the ridiculous old perv. And his mind, a simple and direct instrument of pure ambition, had made a connection. Strong old guy. Probably a strong shinobi. I need a strong teacher. I will make him my teacher.

And so, the nagging began. For two solid hours, he had become the man's shadow, a relentless, orange-clad nuisance. He followed him from the tea shop to the bookstore, from the dango stand to the park bench, a constant, whining, pleading barrage of "Train me, Pervy Sage! C'mon, you're super strong! You gotta teach me! I need to beat Sasuke! Please, please, please!"

Finally, under the relentless assault of Naruto's indomitable spirit, the old man had cracked. "ALRIGHT! FINE, YOU ANNOYING LITTLE BRAT, I'LL TRAIN YOU!" he had roared, his voice a surprising boom of authority. "Gods, you're more persistent than a debt collector! But first," he'd added, a sly, lecherous grin returning to his face as his eyes had drifted down the street, "I have some… important research… to finish."

"Research?" Naruto's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Of course! What is it? Learning super-secret jutsu? Infiltrating an enemy fortress? We're gonna go on a cool spy mission?!"

Jiraiya let out a booming laugh, clapping Naruto on the back with enough force to make him stumble. "Something like that, kid. Something like that. My research is… the pursuit of realism. The very heart of the human condition!" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his breath smelling of sake and adventure. "Tell me, kid. In your vast, worldly experience… is there a girl you like?"

Naruto froze. The question, so unexpected and so direct, slammed into him like a physical blow. His mind, which had been filled with images of awesome new jutsus and epic training montages, went completely blank. A single image flashed behind his eyes: a tall, beautiful figure with glowing lilac eyes, a resonant, purring voice, and a body that had felt both impossibly soft and terrifyingly strong when he'd been pressed against it.

"I—wha—no!" he sputtered, his face instantly erupting in a blush so fiery it felt like it was generating its own heat. "Of course not! I'm a shinobi! I don't have time for… for girly stuff! I gotta train! And become Hokage! Believe it!"

Jiraiya's grin widened into a thing of pure, triumphant wisdom. "Aha! So there is!" he declared, pointing an accusatory finger. "Your face is redder than a boiled octopus, brat! You can't lie to a master of human nature like me!" He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. It adds a whole new dimension to my work!"

"There's no girl!" Naruto insisted weakly, his voice cracking.

"Alright, here's the deal," Jiraiya said, completely ignoring him. "I will train you. I will teach you a jutsu so powerful it'll make that Uchiha brat's fancy fireballs look like birthday candles. But first… you have to complete one final, critical test of your guts. A trial of pure, manly courage."

"Yeah? What is it? I'll do anything!" Naruto declared, his excitement overriding his embarrassment.

Jiraiya leaned in again, his expression deadly serious. "You're going to find this girl… and you are going to hug her."

Naruto's brain stuttered. "…What?"

"A hug!" Jiraiya boomed. "An embrace! A proper, two-armed, full-body hug! You think you can become Hokage if you don't even have the guts to show a little affection? A man who can't hug the girl he likes is a man with no nerve! And a shinobi with no nerve is as useless as a screen door on a submarine! So that's your mission. You find her, you hug her, and you report back to me. Do that, and your training begins. Now get to it! My research waits for no man!"

And with that, the legendary Sannin had vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Naruto standing alone in the street, his mind reeling, his face a permanent shade of crimson. A hug? That was his mission? It was the most ridiculous, most embarrassing, and most terrifying A-Rank mission he had ever been given.

He had spent the next hour wandering the streets of Konoha in a daze, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. It was a dumb mission. It was a pervy mission. But the old man was strong. And he had promised him a powerful jutsu. His desire to beat Sasuke, his deep, burning need to get stronger, warred with a new, profound, and deeply unfamiliar social terror. And at the heart of that terror was the memory of the hug she had given him.

The memory was still branded onto his senses. The feeling of her arms, strong and possessive, wrapping around him. The sudden, shocking softness of her chest enveloping his face. The scent of her, that strange, intoxicating mix of soap, chocolate and forest and something else, something sweet and dark and uniquely Hinata. He remembered the sound of her heart hammering against his ear, a powerful, steady rhythm, and the deep, rumbling purr that had vibrated through her and into his very bones. The memory made his own heart pound, his palms sweat, and a strange, thrilling heat curl in his stomach. The thought of experiencing that again… it was terrifying. It was embarrassing.

And he wanted it more than he wanted his next bowl of ramen.

It was in the midst of this internal turmoil, as he wrestled with the impossible task of walking up to a girl—that girl—and hugging her, that he saw her. It was like the universe itself was mocking him, presenting him with his greatest challenge when he was at his most vulnerable. She was standing in front of the sweet shop, a vision in lavender and black, looking so tall, so beautiful, so impossibly powerful that his courage shriveled up and died. But his feet, with a will of their own, had started moving. And now, here he was, sputtering like an idiot about sweets while his brain screamed at him to run away.

He took a deep breath, forcing the panicked, rambling words to a halt. His inner monologue was a screaming, incoherent mess, but he managed to wrestle it into a single, coherent thought: Guts. A shinobi needs guts.

He finally, finally, met her gaze. Her lilac eyes, now tinged with that strange, beautiful silver light that made his stomach do a backflip, widened slightly as he opened his mouth to speak, to try and form a sentence that wasn't complete and utter nonsense.

The air between them was a thick, charged thing, a pocket dimension of pure, unadulterated awkwardness. Naruto stood fidgeting, his brain a chaotic mess of Jiraiya's insane demand and the overwhelming, terrifyingly beautiful presence of the girl in front of him. He had to say something. Anything. Guts. A shinobi needs guts.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to stand still, to stop rubbing the back of his neck like a nervous academy student. He met her glowing lilac eyes, and the sincerity he felt finally managed to fight its way past the social terror.

"Seriously, Hinata…" he began, his voice quieter now, more focused. "About the forest… I never really got to say it, but… thank you. You saved us. All of us. Sakura, Sasuke… me. You fought that… that snake-freak… and you won. You were… you were incredible."

The genuine, heartfelt praise was a warm, soothing balm on her own frayed nerves. The last vestiges of her blush subsided, replaced by a quiet, steady warmth. "You would have done the same for me, Naruto-kun. We are comrades."

"Yeah, but…" he shuffled his feet, his gaze dropping to the ground for a second before snapping back up, his face set in a mask of fierce determination. "And… uh… that thing you did… afterwards?" he stammered, his courage beginning to falter again. "In the cave… when you… you know…" His face started to turn a familiar shade of bright pink. "…hugged me?"

Hinata froze, her heart stopping in her chest for a single, terrifying beat.

"I… uh…" Naruto continued, his voice cracking slightly as he plunged forward into the abyss of his own embarrassment. "I kinda… I kinda liked it. A lot." He looked at her, his blue eyes wide and pleading, his face now a brilliant, hopeless crimson. "So… I was wondering… if maybe… could I… hug you now?"

The request hung in the air, a fragile, impossible, and utterly wonderful question. Hinata's mind went blank. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He… liked it? He wanted to do it again? A supernova of pure, unrestrained joy erupted in her soul, so powerful it was a physical sensation, a dizzying, light-headed bliss.

…The male is offering a display of submission! Venom's voice was a roar of triumphant validation in her mind. …He seeks to re-establish the physical bond, to re-affirm his place within our protection! This is a sign of his loyalty to the pack! Grant his request, partner! It is the logical and dominant course of action!

The symbiote's aggressive approval was the final push she needed. Her own shy terror was utterly obliterated by the tidal wave of her happiness and her partner's predatory pride. A slow, beautiful smile bloomed on her lips. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. With a grace that was both regal and deeply inviting, she simply raised her arms, spreading them wide in a gesture of absolute, unquestioning welcome. An invitation.

Naruto stared, his jaw slack, his eyes wide with disbelief. She… she had said yes. Without a word. That simple, elegant gesture was more overwhelming than any verbal answer. A fresh wave of panic and exhilaration shot through him. He had to follow through. This was his mission.

With a hesitant, jerky step, he closed the distance between them. He raised his own arms, wrapping them around her strong, solid back. And then, he leaned in.

The world dissolved again into a paradise of sensory overload. He was enveloped, his face pressed gently into the same warm, soft, impossibly deep valley between her breasts. The scent of her—soap and forest and that intoxicating hint of chocolate—filled his senses. Her arms wrapped around him, not with the ferocious, possessive force from the cave, but with a gentle, encircling strength that felt like the safest place in the entire world. He could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of her heart against his cheek, and the low, deep, resonant purr that vibrated from her chest, a sound of pure, absolute contentment that seemed to sink into his very bones. It was a hug of profound, quiet, and deeply intimate possession.

Hinata closed her eyes, a soft sigh of pure bliss escaping her lips. She held him, feeling the warmth of his body, the frantic beat of his own heart, the way he seemed to fit so perfectly against her.

<…Good,> the doubled voice purred, a soft, intimate whisper meant only for him, a vibration he felt more than heard. He smells of loyalty. And untapped potential. He is ours to mold. Ours to protect.

The moment was a perfect, timeless eternity that lasted for maybe ten seconds. It was Naruto who finally, reluctantly, pulled away. He stumbled back, his face a disaster area of crimson blush and dazed happiness. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't form a coherent thought. He had to escape.

"THANKS!" he yelped, his voice cracking. He spun around, pointing vaguely down the street. "GOTTA… GOTTA TRAIN! FOR THE FINALS! GOTTA BEAT SASUKE! YEAH! SO… BYE!"

And with that, he took off, a blur of orange and flustered panic, sprinting down the street as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels.

Hinata stood, dazed and smiling, the phantom warmth of his body still clinging to her. She watched him go, her heart soaring. Her senses, still on high alert, followed his retreating form. She heard him skid to a halt about fifty meters down the road, and she heard the voice of the tall, white-haired man who had been watching them.

"Excellent work, boy!" Jiraiya's voice boomed, full of misplaced scientific pride. "The data is priceless! Look at the raw emotional honesty! The courage! You see? The path of a true shinobi is paved with such gutsy interactions! I'm getting some great material for my next chapter!" He was scribbling furiously in his little notebook.

"SHUT UP, PERVY SAGE!" Naruto's furious, embarrassed shriek echoed back down the street. "IT WASN'T LIKE THAT! IT WAS… TACTICAL! YEAH! TACTICAL HUGGING!"

A giggle escaped Hinata's lips. So that was it. A training exercise. The thought should have been disappointing, but somehow, it wasn't. It was just… Naruto. A bubble of pure, private joy enveloped her, and she stood there, smiling foolishly at nothing.

It was the sound of a throat being politely cleared that shattered her reverie. She blinked, her focus returning to her immediate surroundings. The dango maker from the next stall over was staring at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Two housewives who had been passing by had stopped and were whispering to each other behind their hands, their gazes flicking from her to the spot where Naruto had been.

She was in public. In the middle of the street. And they had seen everything.

The mortification was a immediate, a wave of heat so intense it made her vision swim. "Eep!" A tiny, pathetic squeak, a ghost of the girl she used to be, escaped her lips. Without another thought, she spun on her heel, dove into the sweet shop, and slammed a fistful of ryo onto the counter.

"All the chocolates! Please!" she requested, her doubled voice a frantic, resonant whisper.

The bewildered shopkeeper quickly swept the entire tray of premium dark chocolates into a large paper bag. Hinata snatched it from his hands, gave a quick, jerky bow, and then fled the shop, a crimson-faced, lavender-clad blur disappearing into the crowded streets of Konoha, her heart hammering with a new, terrifying, and utterly wonderful kind of panic.