Chapitre 26: Sweet Dreams, My Brave Little Shinobi
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I know it is a bit slow, but please bear with me. It is about to get really good. I am proud with my plot, and I think you will like it too. We are almost there fellas!
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With a sigh of acceptance, Ryomaru leaned into Miori, his small body fitting perfectly against her. She lovingly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. His weight, light yet substantial, was a comfort that she held dear, a testament to their shared warmth and closeness.
Their bodies pressed together in a comforting embrace, the chill of the evening dispelled by their shared warmth. Miori could feel Ryomaru's rhythmic breathing against her, his chest rising and falling in a soothing pattern that sang the lullaby of an impending night's rest.
Gently, she tilted his head to rest against her bosom, the soft silkiness of his dark hair brushing against her skin. She delicately ran her fingers through his hair, feeling each strand against her fingertips, a soothing gesture that was as much for her as it was for him.
Miori couldn't help but lower her face into his hair, drawing a deep breath. The scent of him - a clean, pure scent mixed with the lingering traces of the outdoors from their day spent under the vast Kumo skies - filled her nostrils, stoking the embers of her maternal affection. It was a scent she cherished, one that was distinctly Ryomaru, her son, her world.
"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of their moment.
"Mmm," Ryomaru hummed his affirmation, his voice muffled against her body. His arms snaked around her, his little hands clutching at her robe, seeking more of her warmth.
The room was enveloped in a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crackling of the fire in the hearth and their soft, synchronized breathing. Each inhalation was a silent proclamation of their love, each exhalation a testament to their resilience and shared bond.
"Sweet dreams, my brave little shinobi," Miori murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering on his warm skin. His ice-blue eyes met hers one last time, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, mirroring her own.
"I love you, Mum," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of his sincere emotions, a declaration that seeped into Miori's heart.
"And I love you, Ryo, more than anything," Miori replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes glistening with the depth of her feelings.
The morning sun showered the quaint, wooden academy with a warm glow as Ryomaru entered. The lively chatter of young shinobi-in-training filled the air as he navigated through the maze of tables, towards his own. His arrival caused a stir amongst the girls in the class; their conversations broke off as their gazes instinctively trailed towards him.
Seated to his right was Karui, her vibrant red hair radiant in the sunlit room. She wore a wide grin as she beckoned him over, her eyes sparkling with youthful exuberance. Despite her affection for Ryomaru being evident in her frequent bouts of laughter and banter, she carried an air of casual camaraderie that eased his comfort around her.
"Morning, Ryo!" she greeted, patting the seat beside her. He flashed her a warm smile, appreciative of her vibrant energy that seemed to brighten up the room.
"Good morning, Karui," he responded, his voice mature beyond his years, yet laced with an undeniable charm.
On his left was Shimori, her wavy purple hair cascading down her shoulders, contrasting starkly against her pale skin. She offered him a timid smile, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink as he returned the gesture. Although her words were few, her expressive eyes spoke volumes. She adored Ryomaru from a distance, often lost in the depths of his ice-blue eyes and captivated by his respectful yet easy-going demeanor.
Beside Shimori, Tsubaki sat quietly, her studious brown eyes focused on the scroll in front of her. Her sleek black hair was neatly tied back, a mirror to her disciplined personality. Even though her interaction with Ryomaru was minimal, she couldn't help but admire his dedication and respect for their shared craft. She often found herself stealing glances at him, a silent confession of her growing fondness.
Karui's right was occupied by Omoi, whose playful banter with Sasuke added to the lively atmosphere. Their homeroom teacher, Aoba, arrived soon after, the tap of her wooden sandals against the floor silencing the room. Her stern face softened ever so slightly as she settled behind her desk, her silver hair catching the sunlight filtering through the windows.
"Good morning, class," she greeted them, her voice resonating authority. "I trust you've been keeping up with your lessons?"
"Yes, Aoba-sensei," the class echoed, their voices a chorus of commitment.
The moment Aoba began recounting the tale of the Third Raikage, the room fell into a hush. The usual rustling of papers, whispering of secrets, and the subtle giggles that echoed through the wooden structure, ceased as if swallowed by the hallowed reverence for the legendary shinobi.
With a clear, authoritative voice that held the rapt attention of her students, Aoba began. "There was a time, many years ago, when our village faced a dire threat," she said, her eyes taking on a distant, almost haunted look. "An army of ten thousand shinobi stood at our gates during the Third Shinobi World War. The future looked bleak."
The children held their breath, their eyes wide and fixated on their teacher. This wasn't the first time they'd heard of this legend. It was woven into the very fabric of their village, and every child of Kumo knew of it, yet the intensity with which Aoba delivered the story made it feel like a fresh experience.
"The Third Raikage," Aoba continued, her voice steady and powerful, "faced the ten thousand shinobi alone. He was our shield, our unyielding fortress."
Even though they were too young to fully understand the gravity of war, they could feel the significance of Aoba's words. The room seemed to echo with the whispers of battles past, and Ryomaru felt a chill running down his spine.
"A single man against ten thousand," Aoba said, her gaze landing on each student as she emphasized the staggering odds. "He did not back down, did not falter. He stood his ground, not for himself, but for his people."
She paused for a moment, letting the magnitude of her words sink in. "For three consecutive days and nights, he fought. He shed blood, but never shed his spirit, nor his will. He held them back, allowing his comrades to escape to safety."
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone