Oops, I’m Kimimaro? Guess I’ll Be the Final Villain!

Kimimaro finished his meeting with Saya and moved deeper into the hideout, boots echoing softly through the stone corridors.

The cult's pulse faded behind him, chants, discipline, fear, all of it running smoothly without his presence for once.

That alone narrowed down who he would run into next.

He wasn't surprised.

Out of everyone, Akane was the least busy. And the most bored.

Emi was buried neck-deep in Hashirama cell research and her newest evolutions, the kind of work that swallowed days without mercy.

Saya was constantly managing the cult, breaking bodies and egos alike under the excuse of "training," refining formations, drilling curses, and enforcing order through blood and terror.

Reika was either carving seals, refining fūinjutsu, or learning something new entirely, always quiet, always productive.

Akane had none of that.

Her power had already peaked, at least for now.

That was simply the reality of Mangekyō users.

Their strength wasn't born from repetition or clever training loops.

It came from blood, trauma, and emotional thresholds.

Once awakened, the growth curve flattened brutally fast.

Itachi. Obito. Both had reached their functional peaks within the first year, barely thirteen when the real ceiling revealed itself.

Akane was no different.

Internally, Kimimaro smirked at the thought of her finding out that Emi and Saya, once the weakest of the Blessed, had already surpassed her. That realization would sting. Deeply.

Better she didn't know.

Boredom, then, was inevitable.

And boredom always made Akane wander.

So it wasn't an accident when she "happened" to step into his path just as he was heading toward Reika's fuinjutsu chambers.

She leaned casually against the stone wall, sleeveless dark attire hugging her frame, mesh visible beneath, high belt cinched tight at the waist.

Dark hair fell loose down her back, immaculate despite the damp air.

Confident posture. Chin slightly raised.

Sharingan inactive, but the challenge was still there, smoldering under the surface.

Her lips curved when she saw him.

"Well," Akane said lightly, eyes tracing him without shame, "look at that. I was wondering if you still existed or if you'd locked yourself in some room again."

Kimimaro stopped, gaze flicking over her once, slow and deliberate.

"You came looking for me," he said.

She shrugged. "Maybe I was bored."

"That's never the full reason."

Her smile sharpened. "Maybe I like provoking you."

He studied her more carefully then.

Not her stance, not her chakra, those were unchanged. It was her expression.

Something restless. Something impatient.

Not the usual challenge of combat.

Interesting.

Kimimaro tilted his head slightly. "What kind of provocation?"

Akane stepped closer, just inside his personal space, eyes lifting to meet his. "Who said it had to be a fight?"

Ah.

So that was it.

Kimimaro let out a quiet breath, amused despite himself. "Not yet."

Her brow twitched. "That's it? 'Not yet'?"

Kimimaro's mouth curved, just slightly. "Unlike you, I still have work," he said. "And I intend to keep my discipline intact."

That landed.

Akane clicked her tongue, half scoffing, half flustered, cheeks coloring despite herself. "You say that like it's some kind of virtue."

"It is," he replied calmly.

She looked away for a heartbeat, annoyed at herself more than him, then shot him a sideways glance. "You're really serious about that, aren't you?"

"I don't pretend otherwise."

Both of them knew exactly what she'd been hinting at from the start, pride or not.

And Kimimaro knew something else, too.

This wasn't only boredom.

Akane had always been like this.

Sharp, proud, and undeniably charming in a way that leaned toward provocation rather than submission. Seduction as a challenge. A test.

Different from Saya's raw, violent hunger. Different from Emi's warmth and playfulness. Akane liked tension. Control pushing back against control.

Seeing her like this, faintly disappointed but not angry, he understood she already sensed the truth.

It wasn't that he didn't desire her.

It was that he refused to drown in it.

She studied him, then asked quietly, almost teasing, almost sincere, "So what, you just… don't feel it?"

Kimimaro met her eyes. "Desire exists," he said evenly. "It always has. Pretending otherwise is just another lie weak people tell themselves."

Her expression stilled, listening now.

"But chasing it blindly," he continued, "is self-destruction. A starving dog snapping at shadows until its teeth break and its body collapses. No plan. No restraint. Just noise, hunger, and an early grave."

He leaned a fraction closer, voice lowering. "You're attractive. You know that. And yes, you're charming in exactly the way you intend to be."

Akane's lips parted, smugness flickering back in spite of herself.

"But I'm strong enough not to let that command me."

For a moment, she just stared at him.

Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."

"Accurate," he corrected.

She stepped back, hands lifting in mock surrender. "Fine. I'll stop. For now." Her eyes gleamed. "But don't think that means I'm giving up."

"I wouldn't insult you like that."

As he said that, his thoughts briefly settled into their familiar clarity.

It was not only about this moment, but any desires a man could have in general.

The Kaguya clan had lived enslaved to impulse.

They burned themselves out in screaming charges, mistaking fury for strength.

That path ended in extinction.

He was what came after.

Calm. Fluid. Always in control.

Real power was quieter.

You acknowledged the hunger, named it, measured it, then refused to kneel to it.

You let it coil tight instead of spilling everywhere like wasted blood.

Restraint was not weakness. It was compression.

He had learned to sit still. To breathe. To meditate, not to erase desire, but to leash it, to keep it silent until the exact moment it was useful. Until it could be spent with interest.

Desire was fuel, not a master.

"The Kaguya raged and called it power," he thought, faintly amused. "I will flow like water and strike like stone. Frenzy dulls the blade. Patience sharpens it."

Even desire was a cage if you let it command you.

He didn't serve his desires. He used them.

She scoffed lightly, then waved it off as if none of it had mattered.

"Relax," Akane said, that familiar smirk sliding back into place like armor. "I was just testing you."

That was the excuse. The pride-saving version.

But her almond-shaped eyes lingered on him a little longer than necessary, thirstier if anything, before she smoothly changed direction.

She tilted her head, voice shifting into something casual and pointed at the same time.

"So," she said, "how long are you planning to let me rot like this?"

Kimimaro's gaze didn't move, but he felt her step closer anyway. Too close.

Close enough that her presence pressed into his awareness, close enough that her scent reached him, faint and warm, deliberate.

She was watching him now, not for words, but for cracks.

For those tiny flickers he crushed down before they could surface.

She enjoyed that part. Watching him not react.

She respected this kind of man most, even if she'd never say it out loud.

"Once the Hashirama cells are fully mastered," Kimimaro said evenly, "everything changes for you."

She crossed her arms, unimpressed on the surface. "Explain."

"You'll stabilize faster. Recover better. Your stamina ceiling will jump immediately," he replied. "Maintaining your Susanoo's final form will stop being a suicidal gamble. And your Mangekyō abilities," his eyes flicked briefly toward hers, precise and knowing, "both of them, will last longer, hit harder, and rot things more thoroughly before your body starts protesting."

Akane clicked her tongue. "…And you're telling me to wait."

"I'm telling you it's worth waiting," Kimimaro said. "Rushing now only shortens how long you'll matter later."

She didn't step back. If anything, she leaned in just a fraction more, clearly enjoying the way he kept himself locked down despite it.

He continued, voice smooth, almost casual. "Besides, you won't be bored for long."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why."

"We're moving on Kirigakure soon."

That did it.

Her posture straightened instantly, boredom burning away into sharp interest. "You're serious."

"Completely."

A slow grin spread across her face, predatory and pleased. "So what," she said, voice warming, "you finally plan to let me loose?"

Kimimaro nodded once. "After we take it, I'll need someone to keep them in line. Someone whose gaze alone reminds them what happens when they forget who owns them."

Her Sharingan flickered reflexively, crimson flashing for half a second before she reined it in.

"…You want me to scare a hidden village into obedience."

"I want you to command it," he corrected. "Fear will come naturally."

She laughed softly, sharp and satisfied. "You really know how to motivate a girl."

Kimimaro turned and resumed walking. "Be patient, Akane."

She fell into step beside him, smirk back in place, eyes bright now instead of restless.

"…Fine," she said. "But when that happens, you're not allowed to complain if I enjoy it too much."

He glanced at her once, green eyes calm, unreadable.

"I would be disappointed if you didn't."

They traded a few more idle words after that, nothing with weight, just enough to let the tension thin and pretend the moment had passed.

Then Kimimaro turned and continued down the corridor toward Reika's fūinjutsu chamber, exactly as he'd intended from the start.

Akane watched him go.

She thought it was over.

His footsteps were steady, unhurried, that familiar sense of finality clinging to his back, the kind that made it impossible to tell whether he'd dismissed the exchange entirely or filed it away for later.

She let out a shallow breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Her heart was still beating a little too fast for how casual she wanted to be.

Then he stopped.

She didn't even have time to straighten before he turned back.

And suddenly, he was already behind her.

Very close.

Then he pressed into her from behind, close enough to pin, but not fully trap.

Just enough that she felt the full lines of his body settle against her, hips brushing hips.

His chest aligned with her back, his body flush against the soft curve of hers through that one-piece shinobi dress she always wore, tight, thin, leaving little between them but fabric and tension.

And he felt everything.

But his own restraint was surgical.

Which only made it worse for her. Better for him.

She froze.

His breath slid past her ear as he leaned in, slow, unhurried.

The damp stone scent of the hideout mixed with the clean, dark fragrance of her hair as he inhaled once, deliberately, like it was something he was taking for himself.

Akane's breath hitched.

His breath brushed her neck and ear.

His chin hovered on her bare shoulder.

His fingers skimmed her waist.

Her eyes widened.

"H-hey, what are you—" she started, the words tangling and collapsing before they became anything real.

Her body betrayed her anyway. A sharp inhale.

A faint tremor running through her legs.

"Wh-what… the hell are you—" The sentence fell apart halfway through.

She didn't finish it.

She didn't move.

She just stood there, caught between shock, heat, and something she had very clearly started without thinking about how far it could go.

Kimimaro noticed everything.

Internally, he was amused.

'Silly girl. You want to play those games with me...'

Nearly a decade of stillness and meditation made this nothing to him.

For her, one such 'contact' was enough to crack the mask wide open.

He let it last one more heartbeat.

Then he leaned in, voice low at her ear, meant for her alone.

"You really like pretending you know what you're doing," he said quietly, almost fond.

"But you're not ready for this. Not even close."

She shivered.

"Careful," he added, tone light, almost teasing.

"You play the seductress well enough, but you have no idea where that path actually ends."

A faint smile touched his lips. "For you," he murmured calmly, "one little press, and you're already shaking, for example."

Then he stepped back.

Just like that.

The pressure vanished.

The warmth disappeared.

The corridor felt colder instantly.

Kimimaro turned and walked away for real this time, footsteps fading as he continued toward without another glance back.

Akane remained where she was.

Cheeks burning. Fingers curling at her sides.

Half furious, half flustered, half something else she refused to give a name to.

"…Bastard," she muttered under her breath, too quiet to sound convincing.

She watched his back until it disappeared around the bend.

And when he was gone, despite herself, her lips slowly curved into a sharp, dangerous smile.