"He kicked me in the shoulder, actually." Natsumi's lips thinned at the memory. She slipped off her cushion and wiggled ungracefully sideways, within his reach. "My arm went numb, but I could use it again within half an hour. Just not very well. I can raise it above the shoulder; it just hurts." She demonstrated, hissing softly as the bruises flared, and dropped her hand back hastily to her lap.

"The choke-hold was after the kick--he pinned me against a wall. Grabbed my wrist when I went for a kunai." How much did she have to explain? Ibiki had the story--as much as she could tell--and had immediately leapt to the worst conclusions. Shiranui would understand, he'd said. Which implied far more than Natsumi wanted to think about.

She loosened the tight wrap of the kimono-style shirt and slipped her collar down, baring the purple-mottled blade of her shoulder. The black strap of her bra wasn't much darker than the bruises. "This is the worst of it. If you could ease it, just a little, I can deal with the rest."