The living room was bright and open. Konan preferred a minimalist style, and the décor reflected that preference. Against the wall stood a gray multi-seat sofa, with the television directly opposite it. To the left was an open-plan kitchen. In one corner of the kitchen sat a large multi-door refrigerator—fresh storage on top, freezer below. Its capacity was generous: the upper section was always packed with fruits and vegetables, with no shortage of snacks, while the lower section was stuffed full of frozen and ready-to-eat foods.
Kita remembered it all too clearly. The order in which the knives were arranged in the kitchen, the direction of the bedroom, even the basement—where a whole row of shelves was stacked with kunai and shuriken. She remembered how explosive tags, soldier pills, steel wire, and other auxiliary tools were stored together. She remembered the plastic boxes holding them, the upper-left corners cracked and worn. Every detail was vivid.
No matter how many years passed, she still knew exactly where to find the trash bags. No matter how much time went by, she still remembered that the low cabinet beside the washing machine held spare shampoo, soap, toothbrushes, and toothpaste…
And now—
Should she go in?
The wooden door slid open. Konan stood there in a yukata, pale lavender as its base color, adorned with faint white birds in flight—perfectly matched to her loose blue-violet hair cascading down her back.
The yukata was a little old. Counting carefully, it had been seven years.
"You wasted so much time," Konan said harshly. "If I'd really waited for my guard to protect me, I'd already be dead."
Kita lowered her head and bowed deeply, shame written all over her face.
"I—I'm sorry."
"Come in and mop the floor."
"Huh?"
"Can't understand human language? Mop the floor. Do you even know how?"
"G-guard du-duty does n-not in—"
"I'm ordering you to mop. Do you have a problem with that?"
Kita fell silent. Those two slaps still stung.
Konan sat back down on the sofa. The television was still on, playing a cooking tutorial. On the coffee table sat freshly brewed tea and neatly washed fruit. Konan picked up the fruit plate, watching TV while eating grapes.
Nothing had changed at all. The arrangement of the knives in the kitchen, the small crystal ball ornament on top of the television, the decorative painting hanging on the wall behind the sofa—everything was exactly as it was in Kita's memories.
"Wh-where is the m-mop?"
Kita spoke while avoiding eye contact. This was her home. She had lived here for too many years. Every corner, every detail was painfully familiar—yet now she had to pretend she knew nothing and ask.
Konan glanced at her, then turned her attention back to the television without saying a word.
A long silence followed. Aside from the cooking tutorial playing on TV, there was no sound.
Kita crossed the living room, slid open the floor-to-ceiling window, and found the mop—slightly old, just as she remembered.
So you still like keeping it here.
Konan always said mops should get more sunlight, yet she never considered the weather of Amegakure. As a result, the mop was damp year-round, and replacements were frequent. There were three in total. The one tied with a red cloth strip was for the living room. The one tied with a white strip was for the bedroom. The one without any strip was for the second pass.
Compared to the others, the red-striped mop was dirtier and more worn. Kita picked up that one.
She washed it in the washroom and mopped every corner of the living room. Not a single word was exchanged. On the TV, the housewife finished her lesson; Konan switched channels and continued watching another cooking show.
After cleaning the unmarked mop, wringing it dry, and hanging it on the balcony, Kita glanced at the sky. It had rained all day. Judging by the clouds, tomorrow would likely be sunny.
"I—I'm done."
Kita said quietly. Konan nodded, offering no comment. Then she looked at Kita and said,
"I'm hungry."
And so the problem returned.
From lunch to dinner, Kita now faced the greatest challenge of all—
What exactly did Konan want to eat?
"Wh-what do y-you want to eat?"
"Whatever."
Those two words were the last thing Kita wanted to hear.
"C-curry r-rice… i-is that okay?"
"Sure."
Kita nodded and turned to leave. As the door closed, Konan collapsed laughing on the sofa. The tension she'd been holding finally eased, her smile blooming from the depths of her eyes. No matter how many times she saw it, Kita's clumsy behavior could make her laugh at any moment.
Lying on her side, Konan watched the cooking show, genuinely starving. She'd eaten only three packs of instant noodles for lunch. Tomato beef stew sounded amazing—but judging by Kita's idiocy, Konan worried she might starve to death before getting a proper meal.
Konan, Konan, she thought mockingly. You're really something—torturing Kita while torturing yourself along with her. Kita, let's see how long you can keep pretending.
Since Konan liked fish, curry fish should have been the obvious choice. But Konan had once said that fish with curry tasted strange. So Kita chose curry chicken instead.
The restaurant had been open for decades—so long that it had existed even during Hanzo of the Salamander's rule. Its taste and quality ranked among the best in the village, and its prices reflected that.
Somehow, within just two days, word had spread that Kita was serving as Konan's guard. Buying takeout curry at this hour made it easy for the elderly owner to guess where it was going. He spared no effort, cooking with such skill that even Kita—who had long avoided spicy food—felt her appetite stirred.
Fifteen minutes later, Kita knocked on the door of what had once been her home, and was now Konan's.
It wasn't locked. One push was enough.
Konan smelled the curry immediately and recognized the restaurant's logo on the bag.
Curry rice… she really hadn't eaten it in a long time. But—business first.
"I don't want it anymore."
Konan stuffed the last slightly spoiled grape from the fruit plate into her mouth. Three packs of instant noodles had been her limit—she couldn't eat more noodles today. A ninja's stomach really was a bottomless pit.
"Th-then wh-what do y-you w-want to eat?"
Kita asked with great difficulty.
Konan tried peeling an orange, got her hands sticky with juice, and tossed it to Kita.
"Peel it."
It was sinful. Over the past two days, she'd wasted so much food—half a serving of eel rice Kita hadn't finished, a whole pork cutlet bowl, a seaweed rice ball, and now curry.
Kita could only set the curry aside and start peeling the orange.
"Can you eat curry?" Konan tilted her head and asked.
Kita didn't look up. She shook her head while peeling.
This time, Konan didn't scold her for answering with a gesture. Instead, she asked,
"Why?"
"C-can't d-digest it."
Spicy food would only make her already fragile digestive system worse. Orochimaru had considered replacing her artificial organs to slow cellular degeneration, but the experience of having her spleen replaced once had left Kita traumatized for life.
In the end, the curry was still wasted.
Konan didn't plan on giving it to Nagato. One slap wasn't nearly enough to settle his deception.
The off-season orange was a bit sour, but it was enough to fill her stomach. Konan ate while watching another cooking show—this time hosted by a man. Watching food programs on an empty stomach was pure self-torture.
She pulled a travel magazine from beneath the coffee table and tossed it to Kita.
"Read."
"C-can I g-go h-home? K-Karin is s-still w-waiting for me."
"Your student?"
"K-kind of."
"How did you meet her? Karin used to be a genin from Kusagakure—how did she become your student?"
"B-battlefield… d-deserter… c-captured by t-traffickers… m-met by c-chance."
"When was this?"
"S-six y-years ago."
"Six years ago? Weren't you on the moon?" Konan added casually.
Kita stiffened, then quickly explained,
"S-sometimes I c-came d-down to d-deal with K-Kaguya r-ruins."
"Is that so? Then the Water, Fire, and Earth temples two years ago—you destroyed those too, didn't you?"
Kita nodded.
"How did you know all of Akatsuki's weaknesses back then?" Konan asked seriously, fixing her gaze on Kita's eyes, unwilling to miss even the slightest reaction.
Kita looked away.
"H-heard t-things… A-Akatsuki is s-strong."
It was a terrible excuse.
Konan decided not to pursue it further. Turning back to the TV, she said,
"Eat a jujube."
Kita didn't take one of the washed fruits. Instead, she repeated her earlier question.
"C-can I g-go h-home?"
"No. Sofa or bedroom—pick one."
Kita was utterly confused.
Konan thought for a moment, then explained,
"Pein found out I slapped you. He told me to be nicer to you. So, to show my sincerity, I upgraded your guard status to close guard¹. You're a ninja—sleeping on a sofa beats sleeping outside. Or you can sleep with me. I don't mind."
The logic was flawless. And yet, everything about it felt wrong.
"Besides," Konan continued, counting on her fingers, "I don't work very long hours. That doesn't leave me enough time to torment you. Now I can torment you anytime I want."
Then she added, turning to Kita,
"If you don't like it, go tell Pein I'm bullying you. I'm curious whether he'll take your side or mine. Or you can defect again—betrayal is something you're already good at. Or you could kill me. Akatsuki couldn't seriously hurt you anyway. Killing me would be easy, wouldn't it?"
The words were sharp and barbed.
Kita said nothing and quietly ate the jujube.