Raidou cleared his throat. In the sea of returning emotions—of which there were many—shame and embarrassment clawed for an equal lead, just edging out bone-hurting relief. Very carefully, he touched two shaking fingertips to the dropped angle of Katsuko’s right shoulder: dislocated, or broken again. “I would have guessed this,” he said. And, much quieter, “Sorry.”

Katsuko’s good hand fisted in the collar of his black turtleneck and dragged him down to face-level. Behind the mask, her eyes were narrow as a blade edge. “When this is over,” she said. “You are buying me food for a month.”

Then she let go and threw her left arm around his shoulders in a fierce, tight hug.

A hot ache closed Raidou’s throat. He held completely still for a moment, bloody hands hovering gingerly in the air at Katsuko’s back, unwilling to touch for fear that something else might crack under her skin. But her weight was straightforward and solid, pressing chakra-heat against his ocean-soaked skin, and she didn’t let go.

Very, very carefully, he gathered his arms around her, and let himself believe she was alive.

Judging by the way her grip tightened hard, he wasn’t the only one trying to get grounded. Katsuko’s hug evolved into something more like an exhausted lean, which radiated little spikes of pain up through Raidou’s ribs, but he figured he’d kind of earned that. He let her stay and glanced up, remembering, suddenly, that he’d never gotten confirmation on Masaaki’s death—

That looked pretty confirmed.

Two adult bodies lay crumpled in their nightclothes, and a smaller body between them. Mission completed.

There was no satisfaction in it, just a drained, sick hollowness.

Raidou’s situational awareness slunk reluctantly back and gave him a nudge. He glanced around, taking more in, and realized several things: the thumping noise in his skull wasn’t just a gathering migraine, someone was furiously ringing a bell. In the close distance, the sky was glowing rich orange and pouring black smoke, presumably as Masaaki’s compound burned itself to cinders. Much closer, and more worryingly, a growing crowd of horrified, armed civilians were watching Katsuko and Raidou with the nervous anger that just needed a single thrown stone to spark a riot.

Also, a fair chunk of the harbour seemed to be… broken.

Katsuko felt him stiffen. “Taichou?”

“We should leave,” Raidou murmured, barely moving his lips.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Good idea.”

Roof-running seemed like a painful option. Raidou didn’t really want to smash through that crowd, either. He’d killed enough people today.

He glanced just once more at Aoisuke’s body, remembering the sharp green eyes in what had once been a face, then forcibly made himself stop. “Got everything?” he asked Katsuko.

She grunted confirmation. He could see the hilts of both of her swords, and feel the weight of his. Anything else was replaceable. He set his hands together behind her shoulderblades—the crowd scrambled backwards—and worked two fast jutsu. The first tore the ground up in front of Masaaki and his family, unzipping a spiralling trench into the shape of Konoha’s leaf symbol: proof of execution. The second peeled open the skin of the universe and shoved them through it, into the teeth of Raidou’s hasty translocation.

The remains of Tsurugahama Port vanished, left to its flames and corpses.