Inside was another testament to tradition. Fragrant tatami mats arranged in a square, a raised platform displaying tea-making equipment. Flat cushions, graceful blossom arrangements in fine vases framing a hanging calligraphy scroll. There was no source for interior light; diffused sunlight spilled gently through paper screens.

Benihime knelt on the far cushion, laying her stick down at her side.

After a brief hesitation, Raidou lowered himself down one one of the remaining cushions, feeling long-limbed and bulky in the intimate space. Kurenai slid the door closed, dimming the outside light, and took her place on the final cushion.

Benhime wasted no time on pleasantries. “Shibata-san has assured me that you are worth my time. My granddaughter, on the other hand, believes you could not endure a genjutsu she conquered before she was eight. Which is it to be, Namiashi Raidou?”

Raidou took a moment to compose his answer.

“A piece of both,” he said at last. “I know your time is valuable. I don’t intend to waste it, but I can’t promise what results you’ll get out of me. I’ll try, but— I’ve been trying for a long time.” He glanced at Kurenai, who regarded him expressionlessly. “I don’t know what Yuuhi-san endured at eight, either, but I don’t underestimate shinobi, even young ones. I’d trust her counsel on genjutsu over mine.”

“Hmm. Less foolhardy than expected, for ANBU.” Benihime’s crimson gaze skimmed over him like a razor. “Extend your chakra.”

It was common shinobi practice to keep your chakra furled beneath your skin for the business of day-to-day living. Especially in a village Konoha’s size, where the busy, uncontrolled energy of civilians could scrape raw on your senses. Some people took it further, turning themselves almost sideways to the world. Kakashi barely glimmered in his sleep. Others, like Katsuko, could only dim themselves with extreme effort.

Raidou had never really had to bother. His chakra liked to hold close to his bones, building density until he siphoned it off for jutsu. It actually took a little effort to crack it open purely for the sake of being open. In a genjutsu-master’s presence, it felt rather like offering his throat to sharp teeth.

Benihime said, “Fill the room.”

He was reminded of sensitivity drills they’d practiced a lifetime ago in the academy. Stretch your senses. Further. How many people do you feel? Civilian or shinobi? That was when they’d first starting weeding out the few who could specialize as sensors, capable of detecting a spark more than a mile away.

Raidou had very definitely not been one of them, but he could expand himself to the corners of this small space. He breathed out through his nose and opened his hands, releasing energy outwards in a steadily increasing radius. The trick was to keep enough chakra inside the bubble, or you’d just end up with a skin that could only detect what its exterior touched.

Against that inner sense, Kurenai glowed like soft fire. Her shape was undefined and smudgy, but that was more likely Raidou’s issue than hers. She put him in mind of a lantern, heat trapped under glass. The harder he focused, the more she slipped away.

By contrast, Benihime was a beacon. Blazing, brilliant, and entirely controlled. Corralled in that tiny frame was the immovable strength of a mountain range. Raidou’s breath caught.

Behime gazed thoughtfully at a corner of the room, as if she could actually see the ebb and flow of his chakra. She nodded to Kurenai, who rose and walked a slow circuit around the platform, inside the margins of Raidou’s chakra. He watched her curiously. Her chakra rippled, like a tickle on the inside of his ribs. He thought, maybe, he could feel where his own energy bent and moved to accommodate her, but like all things chakra sense-related, the feeling was vague.

He was almost relaxed when Kurenai paused, tilted her head, and flared her chakra like an oil lamp exploding.

That did not tickle.