“Forget it. I’d be upset if you died anyway. Consider it mercy… I’ll buy you grilled meat.” Kakashi said, then, noticing the lingering burnt smell in the room, quickly amended himself, “No, forget the grilled meat… sushi, eat as much as you want.”

  Ibiki released his grip. Kita fell to the floor, powerless to dodge, powerless to touch her wounds. There were simply too many injuries on her body to reach them all, so she stayed still.

  Just as she thought she could take a breath, a sharp pain struck her abdomen—another kick, heavier than the st. At least a ruptured spleen. Silent coughing, blood flowing. Yura had never seen a captain like this before. This meaningless physical torment had turned interrogation into a primal release, stripping it of all purpose. Torture, whether physical or mental, should have one goal: information. But…

  “Te… Team Leader—”

  A whisper, but Ibiki was near madness, unable to hear anything. For the first time, he was frenzied and unstable.

  “Forget it, Yura. She’s driving me insane, and you’re the captain! Sasaki, call Ishihara. If she dies, it’ll be a disaster.”

  “Yes!” Sasaki responded quickly, spinning on his heels to leave. Kakashi pressed the bestseller Icha Icha against his face. He had assisted in interrogations before, but this time was extreme. Both prisoner and interrogator have limits—either the interrogator drives the prisoner mad into submission, or the prisoner drives the interrogator mad. Ibiki was near his breaking point.

  The beating couldn’t be measured in minutes. As Ibiki began to pant, Kakashi knew it was nearly over. Indeed, Ibiki’s frenzied strikes drained far more energy than a fierce, exhirating battle.

  “You… who are you?! Which Wood Release ninja fought you?! Tell me!!!”

  Still alive. The interrogation team’s medic, Ishihara, noted inwardly that despite spleen bleeding, kidney rupture, and broken ribs, she would survive. He had treated worse cases repeatedly.

  “Captain, she cannot endure musculoskeletal torture now. She’d die.”

  “Out!” Ibiki roared. Ishihara trembled and retreated. In this entire unit, the captain was a nightmare to everyone.

  Kita could move now. After treatment, pain was insignificant. When suffering is prolonged and extreme, nerves build immunity—eventually, it stops hurting as much. She had recently concluded this.

  She sat up with difficulty. Bones were fractured but crudely aligned. Without strenuous movement, they would heal.

  Naked, cross-legged, blood-stained white hair hiding its original color. Her body, scarred and battered, revealed nothing of its former smooth, pale skin.

  Ugly. Revolting.

  Kita’s lips curled. Hands crossed, she trembled as she signed a sequence of messages. Kakashi observed, sighing softly, eyes closing.

  “Kakashi… what did she say?”

  Ibiki’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise.

  “Nothing.”

  Kita’s smile widened. Tilting her head to Ibiki, her sapphire eyes bzed like sunlight—bright, radiant.

  A punch sent blood spraying across the floor.

  “Kakashi!!! Tell me!!!”

  “She said nothing—only about food. Nothing to do with intel.”

  Blood-stained fingertips were abundant. She used the blood to write. Kita wanted her characters elegant, strong—but shaking, ugly, and weak, they still conveyed her message clearly.

  ——You lost.

  Kita wanted to ugh aloud. She couldn’t, so she widened her smile as if savoring one of life’s rare joys. Bent over ughing, lungs straining, blood spattered over the crimson letters, blurring win and loss, blurring you and me.

  Extreme joy, turning to sorrow.

  “Yura.” Ibiki’s face darkened, a volcano ready to erupt.

  “Y-Yes?”

  “□□ him.”

  “What, what?!” Habitual address collided with disbelief. Ibiki spun, grabbing Yura’s colr, shouting, “□□ her! Sexual insult! Or any term! Do you understand?!”

  “Yes! Yes!” Trembling, terrified, Yura’s loud compliance earned him release. Kakashi looked up from his book, noting the disgust in Yura and the contempt in Kita.

  Pants undone, Yura pale as paper. Sasaki minimized himself, cornered, scared to even breathe.

  Yura’s face burned. He imagined the prisoner as a voluptuous pleasure house woman…

  “Ugh—”

  Dry heave. The command forced the eighteen-year-old to retch.

  “Sorry, Captain… I can’t… please deduct my pay… too disgusting… sob—”

  Tears streaming, belt undone, he fled the room. Even gone, Kakashi could hear his whimpers.

  Kita squinted, smiling. Kakashi noticed a new kind of satisfaction in that smile—not the triumphant expression seen during three months of interrogation. It mocked Yura and Sasaki, and the entire world.

  “Trash.”

  Ibiki muttered, dark-faced, continuing his actions out of pce in the room.

  Kakashi sighed. His peers sometimes truly overexert themselves.

  “No need to push yourself this far. And for her, it probably doesn’t even matter,” Kakashi said calmly. Ibiki stopped.

  Indeed. Disgusting.

  “Calm down, Ibiki. She’s provoking you. The match isn’t decided yet. Sexual insults… even naked in a cell, no one would lust. Even if her face is somewhat attractive.”

  Ibiki fastened his belt and pants. Kakashi rexed. He had no interest in this sexual dispy—it was stomach-churning.

  “Alright, tonight, let’s drink,” Kakashi offered. He saw Kita smile again. From beneath the mask came a wistful sigh. The prisoner now held the initiative. She’s truly strong.

  “You’re ughing? What’s so funny?!”

  A harsh voice. Ibiki shed Kita with the thickest whip. Pain forced her to the ground, body fttened by force. Face buried in blood, hidden, twisted in agony.

  Konan… this is the body you wanted.

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