Sukebe Goroshi

A Naruto... or maybe a Boruto oneshot

By

EvilFuzzy9

Rating: T

Genre: Humor

Characters/Pairings: Sarada U., Konohamaru S., Boruto U., Sasuke U.; [BoruSara teasing]

Summary: Wherein Sarada learns the Sexy Jutsu and becomes more terrifying than anyone could have imagined.

"Konohamaru-sensei... I want to learn a new jutsu."

Konohamaru Sarutobi looked down at one of his genin charges: Sarada Uchiha, the daughter of his mentor's former teammates. The girl was peering up at him with a steely, determined gaze that reminded him of both her mother and her father.

"A new jutsu?" he said. "Sure. But what kind?"

Some jounin sensei believed it was important to encourage their students to learn their own techniques and their own styles, and would refrain from teaching their personal jutsu to the kids. In a way this made sense, as Konoha was a village populated by many prominent ninja clans with their own distinct hiden or kekkei genkai. Most ninja came from ninja families, and most ninja families had their own styles of fighting, their own stores of jutsu to pass down to the next generation.

Konohamaru understood this, and he was willing to let his students learn at their own pace. On the other hand, though, he enjoyed passing along his own knowledge, and he wanted his students to view him as a good sensei. Besides, most of his jutsu weren't clan-specific. The Sarutobi were good generalists, like the Senju, and lacking any particular bloodline limit or secret tradition, they had instead long focused on just getting good at a little bit of everything. So there were many of his jutsu that could potentially be learned by his students, and it wouldn't be too hard to find something that could be incorporated into their various unique fighting styles.

Not that fighting was the only thing ninja should learn, of course, but nearly any mission a shinobi might undertake could potentially involve combat of some description. And they were still ultimately soldiers. Any one of them might have to fight in defense of the village, or of the Shinobi Union, at any time. So fighting ability was important, if far from the only quality of value.

Sarada continued to look up at Konohamaru, her gaze intent. She nodded slowly, as if in response to some inner dialogue. Finally, she spoke up.

"A jutsu that can beat the rasengan," she said. "I want to learn something like that."

Konohamaru cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh. That's tricky," he admitted. "What kind of rasengan? There are jutsu that might counter one variety but only strengthen another, especially if we're talking about rasengan with elemental charges. But it's a rare jutsu. Only me and Lord Seventh really use it. I think the Sixth also technically knows it? But it's not something you should ever have to fight, not unless..."

Understanding hit him then, as he spoke. Looking down at Sarada, seeing the hint of sheepish impatience in her expression, Konohamaru perceived what she really wanted.

A jutsu that could beat the rasengan.

He chuckled.

"Well, I don't know about beating the rasengan..." he continued. "But I think I do know a jutsu that could beat Boruto."

Sarada adjusted her glasses, looking a little pink.

"Oh? Well, I didn't say I wanted to beat him..." she mumbled. "Just, you know... the rasengan. But... if you have a jutsu that could beat Boruto, then I suppose I wouldn't mind learning it. You know, if there's nothing better."

"How tsundere of you," Konohamaru said absently. He scratched his chin. "But that could work to your advantage..."

"Pardon?" Sarada gave him a bemused look.

"Nothing, nothing," Konohamaru said, waving a hand. "You wanna know a jutsu that could beat Boruto, right? Well, I think I've got just the thing. Here! Let me show you."

He raised his hands and joined them into a single seal. A burst of white smoke enveloped his body, and Sarada curiously watched. Her sharingan activated unconsciously, reading the flow of his chakra and committing it to memory.

When the smoke cleared, the image of a voluptuous brunette, naked save for lingering wisps that conspicuously concealed her most private regions, was burned into Sarada's eyes.

She recoiled.

"Wha—?! Sensei!" she exclaimed, appalled. "Wha-wha-what kind of good-for-nothing jutsu is that? You pervert!"

Another burst of smoke, and the buxom, beautiful woman was replaced by a frowning Konohamaru.

"Hey... There's no need for name calling, Sarada," he said. "This is Lord Seventh's own original jutsu, see? He invented it himself, and it was the first jutsu he ever taught me."

"D-Don't lie," Sarada said, giving her jounin instructor a distrustful look. "Like the Lord Seventh could ever create a jutsu that... that... repugnant! He's the paragon of shinobi, the hero of the Fourth Great War, and the leader of our village. As if he would ever make a perverted jutsu like that."

"Ehhh...?" said Konohamaru, cocking an eye. "But Naruto-niichan was the one who invented this jutsu. I even remember the first time I ever saw it. He used this technique to floor my grandpa in shot! And that was the Sandaime, you know. He also used this jutsu to beat a jounin when he was just a genin, and he even got Kaguya with it."

"Kaguya?" said Sarada, interrupting with a puzzled look. She dimly remembered this name from history class. "Do you mean, like, the old ninja clan?"

"No, not them. The monster goddess," said Konohamaru. "The one who ate Madara... or something like that."

Sarada was still skeptical.

"Her? But there's almost no proof Kaguya ever even existed," she said. "Their fight—if it happened at all—would have taken place when everybody was trapped in that big illusion. Infinite Tsukuyomi, I think? But there were no witnesses, and there was no body left behind."

"Sounds right," said Konohamaru. "But even if there's no documentation, there is the word of the Sixth and Seventh Lords Hokage to go off of: and the testimony of your own parents, too. Even if there's no proof, I can't see a reason for all four of them to lie."

"Maybe..." Sarada conceded. She was a well-read girl, and she knew that many serious historians treated the account of Kaguya with considerable skepticism. On the other hand, she greatly revered the hokage, particularly Lord Seventh, and she couldn't wholly disbelieve her parents either. She shook her head. "This still doesn't convince me that Lord Hokage would have actually made a perverted jutsu like that, though."

But she was thoughtful as she said these words, and her eyes narrowed. Despite herself, a part of Sarada was already attempting to reconcile Konohamaru's words with her image of the hokage. She considered what Konohamaru had shown her. Now that she thought about it, he'd used that jutsu a couple other times, right? At least, she could remember him using it as a diversion so they could get away from some irate villages, that one time he sent a rasengan flying into a random house.

So it was passable distraction, at least. Still, it went against her grain to accept this. There had to be many far better, more dignified ways to divert attention. What could ever make a perverted technique like that useful? She doubted its efficacy, but more still did she dislike it for the simple reason that it struck her as somehow offensive. It irked her. She vaguely recalled what her mom had muttered about sexist objectification one time they'd walked past a girl in a bikini handing out fliers.

She didn't really understand the term, but she felt like it might be somehow applicable.

But then Sarada envisioned herself using the technique. Despite herself, the processes of her thought inevitably went in this direction. She saw herself transforming into a naked, attractive woman...

A woman.

An adult.

Sarada blinked, and she looked down at her body. Specifically she held up her hands, and she considered the length of her arms and legs. She clenched a fist, considering the great physical force she could exert with her punches, and how much of her present fighting style relied on hand-to-hand combat.

"How old were you when you learned that jutsu?" she asked tentatively, curious.

"A couple years younger than you," Konohamaru said. "Lord Seventh taught it to me when he was twelve. I'm not sure when he actually invented it."

Sarada processed this, and again she considered the reach of her limbs, and the stature of the woman into which Konohamaru had transformed: smaller than him as an adult, but... probably a lot taller than he had been as a kid.

"Would I become the same as you, if I used that jutsu?" she asked.

"Uh...?" Konohamaru gave her a perplexed look. "Could you be more specific?"

"The transformation," she said. "Would I adopt the same body as you did?"

"Well, you could," Konohamaru said. "But when Naruto-niichan—Lord Seventh, that is—when he taught me this jutsu, he didn't just give me the hand seals and tell me to copy him. The important thing is to understand what works on people, and how a body naturally looks, and what qualities make a person sexy. The sexy jutsus require a lot of study for you to make them really effective, you see."

Sarada considered this. Her mind turned over his words, and she imagined the Seventh Hokage as a genin. She'd seen the team picture her mom kept with the other photographs. The Seventh had been the shortest member of his squad, and probably one of the smallest out of his graduating class, if Sarada could tell anything from a photograph.

Again, she envisioned herself using the jutsu—but this time, she imagined the end result of her as an adult, or an idealized version of how her adult self might look. She saw herself as a grown woman standing opposite a bewildered Boruto. She clenched her fist, and she imagined trading blows with her teammate while in the body of a grown woman, taller and possessing a greater reach: a crucial advantage.

Her sharingan glowed, and she looked up at Konohamaru with a determined expression.

"Teach me," she finally said, convinced of this jutsu's worth.

Konohamaru beamed, pleased with himself.

A week later, Boruto and Sarada squared off across from each other in the training grounds, each adopting a standard pre-combat stance. Their bodies were held low, leaning forward like sprinters about to burst into motion, and before their faces they held erect the index and middle finger of one hand each with the other digits curled in toward the palm: the seal of confrontation.

A little ways to the side, in the shade of great and verdant trees, stood Konohamaru their instructor and Mitsuki their teammate. Konohamaru was smiling, proud to see his subordinates ready to test themselves. Mitsuki was also smiling, though his expression was at once blander and more vaguely disconcerting. The gleam of their eyes pierced both Sarada Uchiha and Boruto Uzumaki.

"Hehe... Are you ready to go, Sarada?" Boruto said, grinning at his opponent.

"I am," said Sarada, her expression coolly confident. "Today will be my win, Boruto."

"We'll see about that," Boruto said. "But a super cool ninja won't lose in a plain old spar."

"Neither will the future hokage," replied Sarada.

They both smiled.

"Begin," Konohamaru said, interjecting.

At once, the two adolescents moved into action. Boruto swung up his hands and prepared to weave a familiar cross seal. Sarada was a little quicker, though, and she formed her own seal before he could complete his jutsu.

Bamf!

An eruption of white smoke enveloped the girl, and Boruto faltered for just an instant. Usually Sarada would begin by drawing kunai or shuriken, or activating her sharingan, either waiting for him to make the first move so she could counter or launching herself at him with intent to end the fight in a single blow. She rarely started off with a jutsu, as such.

But despite his momentary bemusement, Boruto still completed his own seal, and he was about to summon forth his shadow clones when the smoke cleared. Then he got a good, direct view of what Sarada had done.

The blood flooded into his face, and he froze. All thoughts of kneading chakra and executing jutsu were forgotten.

Boruto stared at a naked, beautiful, twenty-something woman with uncanny resemblance to Sarada. Indeed, she looked like nothing less than his teammate aged up, and if that was the case then adulthood would be very, very kind to Sarada. The view was... unobstructed, to say the least. It was clear.

He saw every inch, and goodness but what inches they were. He felt like he could have counted every dimple, like he could have closed his eyes and perfectly recited every detail a hundred years hence. It was burned into his retina in the most wonderful of ways.

Sarada darted forward, a confident look on her face. That expression alone was nearly enough to make Boruto swoon. Then she raised a fist and prepared to thrust it forth, now within striking range.

Her eyes were dark, Boruto observed, like windows looking out into a deep and starless night, mysterious and unfathomable. It was intoxicating. He could make out every detail of her face, framed as it was by her glasses and by her tresses of short, raven hair. He beheld her in her entirety, the sight like a divine revelation.

Boruto wondered why his heart was beating so frantically. He wondered why he felt so incredibly warm.

He wondered why everything was spinning.

Boruto fell backwards, propelled by a not-insignificant spurt of blood from his nostrils. He collapsed with Sarada's knuckles an inch from his face, and his blood painted that fist a red darker than her blazing sharingan.

He swooned in a dead faint. He hit the ground, and he did not make any effort to get back up.

He was, as it seemed, unconscious.

"Eh?" Sarada looked down at Boruto, perplexed. "Did I hit him? It didn't feel like it."

"Oh, you hit him, alright," said Mitsuki dryly. "I don't think he'll ever forget that... punch."

He raised a hand to his mouth and sniggered, amber eyes twinkling.

Konohamaru frowned, though.

"You changed the jutsu from how we practiced it," he said. "Why?"

Sarada stood straight. Her form was slender: lithe and limber, lean and smoothly muscled. It was an attractive form, but it was not within the norm of Ninja Centerfold. Her bust was modest, and her figure compact.

"The version you taught me was impractical," she said blithely. "It would have been a nuisance trying to fight with those huge boobs getting in the way. Also, the waist was too thin. It felt weird trying to practice with such a flimsy core."

Konohamaru shook his head ruefully.

"Well, it worked on Boruto," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "But we'll need to go back to the drawing board. Also..." He paused, coloring a little before averting his gaze. "...where's the censor smoke?"

"Eh? Oh, those wisps," Sarada said. "Well, they'd be blown away any time I tried to move or attack, anyways, so I just got rid of them."

"Ah. Fair enough," Konohamaru said. "Just don't use the jutsu in the middle of the village, I guess. But I'm surprised you decided to go with a body so much like your own..."

He blushed a little more and pointedly kept his eyes facing away from Sarada. It might be that he had just belatedly realized the potential impropriety of teaching this sort of jutsu to his squad's sole female member. And a minor, at that.

"Well, it was easier," Sarada said. "More comfortable to move around in."

"So, as much I enjoy looking at your naked body, Sarada," Mitsuki interjected. "Maybe you want to dispel that jutsu, now? If Boruto wakes up to see you standing over him in that state, it might actually kill him."

Sarada gave Mitsuki a confused look, but she shrugged and dispelled the transformation.

Konohamaru let out a sigh of relief.

The chuunin-turned-bandit had their client cornered in spite of Team Konohamaru's best efforts. His cohorts had drawn them away with diversionary tactics, while he himself had crept around out of sight. Now he was raising a tachi, making to cut down the person they were supposed to be protecting.

Konohamaru saw this, and he made to intercept, but three more bandits sprang in front of him, seeming to have no regard for their own lives. Boruto and Mitsuki were too far away to make it in time.

Sarada knew she had only one chance.

"Hey, you!"

Despite himself, instinct caused the man to turn his head a fraction of a degree to find the one who had called out to him. In that instant, Sarada executed her trump card.

Sexy Sarada Jutsu!

The man's cohorts stared in a moment of disbelief. The ex-chuunin gaped and reddened, his sword nearly forgotten. Even Team Konohamaru's client gawked in amazement.

Sarada sprang forward and thrust a fist wrapped in lightning chakra at her target's midsection.

The results weren't pretty.

He didn't even try to block.

"I'll get you this time, Sarada!" said Boruto. "I've been studying so your jutsu wouldn't work on me."

Mitsuki snorted, a look of amusement dancing across his face.

Konohamaru swung down his hand and told them to begin.

Sarada performed her jutsu, transforming into her by-now familiar Sexy Sarada Jutsu (or SSJ) form, and she lunged for Boruto. This time he ducked aside and did not faint, though his face was still very red. He evaded her punch, and he darted inward heedless of her arms, raising a fist of his own to bury in her stomach.

She easily swept him aside, combining superior strength and greater reach to dominate. Boruto was not deterred, however, and quickly recovering he darted around to try and come at her from behind.

Behind.

Boruto stopped and stared, frozen by the suddenness of this new view like the first shock of a winter wind cutting into a warm house. Only for a moment was he nonplussed by the sight of that posterior, but this moment was more than long enough for Sarada to spin around and send him flying with a devastating roundhouse kick.

Konohamaru winced sympathetically.

Inevitably, Sarada came to get a certain reputation. Some called her the Sharingan Flasher. Others named her the Hadaka Heroine. But most dubbed her Sukebe Goroshi.

The Pervert-Killer.

No man was safe from her terror. Or her beauty.

But mostly her terror.

Eventually, though, news reached the ear of someone more easily dismayed than Sakura, who, though initially disapproving, had come to appreciate the cunning of her daughter's style once she got to see it in action. Actually, Sakura felt to be somehow ironically fitting, and she was very much proud of her daughter.

Sasuke was less able to view this in a positive light.

"Naruto, you son of a bitch."

"Hmm?" The Seventh Hokage looked up from typing on his laptop to see his old rival and good friend glaring at him from across the desk. "Oh. Hey, Sasuke. What brings you around?"

Sasuke reached over the desk and grabbed the Seventh Hokage by the collar. If Naruto's ANBU guards had thought they could do anything more than die gruesomely and get their corpses underfoot should Sasuke actually intend to assassinate Naruto, they might have moved to intervene. One or two of the braver ones were still about to attack when Naruto raised a hand for them to wait.

Naruto looked unperturbedly at Sasuke. Finally, the one-armed man found the coherence to continue speaking.

"You son of a bitch," he repeated. "What the hell is my daughter doing using that—that damned—idiotic—perverted—piece of garbage you call a jutsu?!"

Naruto smiled blandly.

"It works, doesn't it?" he said. "It's not like it's illegal."

"Well... Maybe it should be illegal," Sasuke hissed.

"Maybe for a minor," Naruto mildly conceded. "I'm not the one who makes those decisions, though."

Sasuke's eye twitched.

"You're the hokage."

"Look, I'm not the one who taught her the jutsu," Naruto said, waving a hand. "But if she wants to use it, and it works for her, then I'm not going to tell her to stop."

Sasuke stared for a beat.

"You find it amusing, don't you?"

"A bit, yeah." Naruto grinned. "It is pretty funny."

Sasuke did not share this opinion, judging by his death glare.

SSJ Sarada grinned and flashed a peace sign, or a V for victory. She flashed many other things as well, standing unashamedly with a foot planted on the backside of a metaphorically flattened challenger. She stood in the training grounds, and all around her were dotted the groaning forms of prior opponents.

Boruto watched with a rapt and vaguely guilty expression, but he couldn't hide the redness in his cheeks or the slight glaze in his eyes. He enjoyed watching his teammate fight, in a way he didn't yet completely want to understand. Konohamaru looked resigned and a little rueful, and he clearly tried to avoid looking directly at Sarada. Mitsuki smiled blandly, completely unfazed by the sight of Sarada's PK-mode.

It should be noted that most of Sarada's opponents were male. Not all of them, but most. They ranged a fair bit in age, too, going from newly graduated genin to well-seasoned career chuunin. Most of the fallen had bloody noses, and some also wore suspiciously blissful looks.

Almost none of them had actually been punched in the face.

But Sarada stood in the middle of the clearing and stretched, still in SSJ form. Her sharingan was active, and her body glistened with sweat, but there wasn't a single scratch on her. Obviously. If she had been hit, her SSJ would have been dispelled.

"That was a good warm up," Sarada said cheerfully, finishing her stretches and turning to look at her teammates. "I think I'm ready to try pushing it to the next level. Who wants to tackle SSJ2?"

Boruto went beet red. Konohamaru turned away and pretended not to hear.

Mitsuki gave Boruto a pat on the shoulder and pushed him forward.

"I think Boruto wants to try," he offered.

The blonde gave his friend a look of mixed betrayal and gratitude. Mostly betrayal.

Mitsuki simply smiled.

"Okay!" Sarada said, her sharingan flashing. She wiped a bit more sweat from her brow. "Thanks, Boruto. This is really good for increasing stamina. You're a great pal."

Boruto blushed and mumbled a distractedly noncommittal response.

"Mm, well... y'know, it's not really that... but sure, okay. Whatever."

He adopted a sparring stance, gulping nervously.

Sarada flexed. Her body swelled with building chakra, energy pumping into her transformed figure. Certain parts of her swelled very much, indeed, and Boruto watched with a rosy face and a trickle of blood from his nose.

Sarada was enveloped by smoke. When it cleared, a more conventional Sexy Jutsu form became visible: it was at once thinner and curvier, more buxom and more hippy and more slender at the waist. It was an unrealistic but phenomenonally sexualized hourglass figure, a transformation on top of a transformation, and despite the near impossibility of that figure it looked incredibly solid.

Sparks of electricity danced around her body, also, and tongues of flame licked her skin like a battle aura, a shroud of aggressively natured chakra.

Sarada moved, taking a quick and decisive step forward. There was much jiggling involved.

Blood spewed from Boruto's nostrils, and he fainted dead away.

Sarada stopped and pouted.

"Eh? What's that, now?" She crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks flushing. "Boruto, you perv... why are you getting a nosebleed?"

Boruto twitched weakly, but he did not answer.

Sasuke ducked behind a tree a little ways away, his face pinker than his wife's hair.

God, it's even worse than I thought, he realized. I'm going to kill Naruto. Seriously, I'm going to kill him.

He raised a hand to his nose and felt a warm wetness. Blood seeped through his fingers.

...as soon as I've visited a psychiatrist.

Yodo of Sunagakure was a stylish and attractive lass. She was bold in her manner of dress, though some might say it was inappropriate for a girl her age. But she liked to show some skin, and she wasn't particularly worked up to think someone might get a glimpse of something more private when she got to really moving around.

Still, Yodo did have some sense of modesty. There was a limit to what she would consider sane or sensible for a girl to show off to the world.

Sarada smashed through that limit without a second thought.

Yodo's teammates stared in amazement and no little rapture at the form of Sarada as she leaped down into the midst of the bandit camp, her naked and voluptuous body wreathed in a current of lightning and blazing fire. The boys were gobsmacked.

A part of Yodo felt momentarily jealous that Sarada had so quickly and firmly drawn the focus of her teammates. But the rest of her was preoccupied with wonder and amazement, a mixture of incredulous disbelief and grudging respect for the insanity—and apparent effectiveness—of Sarada Uchiha's signature jutsu.

The bandits were completely taken aback by the sight of a beautiful, naked woman landing in their midst. It probably didn't help that this woman was blazing with chakra, wreathed in an aura of fire and lightning, and leering around at them with sharingan alight. They were obviously torn between any number of possible responses, and for a long moment they just stood there, dumbstruck.

Sarada's teammates watched. The pretty one was blandly smiling. The Hokage's kid was blushing.

"It's funny how many bandits there are," Mitsuki said conversationally, watching as the fight (read: one-sided bloodbath) began. "Have you ever noticed that? It seems like every other mission has us hunting down bandits, or clearing out bandit camps, or protecting clients from bandits. We kill so many bandits that I can't even imagine how there are still any out there. Maybe it's a conspiracy? Or maybe it's just lazy writing."

Yodo gave him a bewildered look, and she glanced to Boruto for clarification. He shrugged helplessly, though it was clearly hard for him to look away from SSJ2 Sarada.

"Don't mind Mitsuki," Boruto said. "He's just being... Mitsuki."

"It's what I do best," Mitsuki supplied.

"Riiight..." Yodo muttered. "So, uh... I know it looks like Sarada's doing well, but shouldn't we go down there and help? Teamwork is important to you Leaf ninja, right?"

"If you want to risk getting in her way, feel free," said Konohamaru. "But I'm not going in there until she's dropped the transformation. She has a way of catching you off guard with it, even when you've seen it a hundred times before. And I don't think she distinguishes much between friend and foe once she's really gotten going."

"It could be entertaining to watch you get beaten up by Sarada, though," Mitsuki remarked. "I think there are probably people who would pay a lot of money to see that happen. Go ahead. I'll try to step in before she kills you, but I can't make any promises~"

The comment was offputting, and perhaps a little too close to the truth for comfort.

Yodo cringed.

"Okay, yeah, no thanks," she conceded.

Mitsuki laughed.

"Really? That's too bad," he said. "I was hoping to film it on my phone and sell the footage. I would have shared any profits with your surviving relatives, too. Are you sure you don't want to head down there?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Yodo said more firmly, quite blatantly creeped out. "Definitely."

"A pity." Mitsuki didn't seem too torn up about this, despite his words, and quite cheerfully he changed the subject, not missing a single beat. "Do you want to learn Sarada's jutsu, though? I'm sure Konohamaru-sensei could teach it to you."

Yodo actually considered this for a moment. On the one hand it went against her grain. She was more aware of certain things than Sarada was, probably, and she was more conscious of how and why it might be considered weird or improper. Moreover, she felt more self-conscious about the idea of exposing herself to random opponents—even if she did it in a transformed body and not her real one.

On the other hand, she could see the effectiveness of Sarada's jutsu for herself. She didn't know if she'd be able to pull off half of the crazier shit Sarada was doing, but she could see how the most basic attributes of the technique might lend her a useful advantage. It could be a possible trump card, maybe.

"Well..." she said slowly, thoughtfully.

"NO!" said Konohamaru, interrupting a bit loudly. If the bandits weren't mostly out of commission or distracted, this might have revealed their position. He blushed, then, and cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry. But no. Just one of these monsters running around is bad enough."

He looked down to where Sarada was systematically pulverizing the last of the bandits, combining surgical precision and monstrous strength with a healthy dose of hereditary insanity from both sides of the family.

Yodo had to admit that she could understand his point.

"So... tell me, when did you first start to have these feelings about your daughter?"

"It's not about my daughter, Suigetsu," Sasuke said, glowering at his one-time comrade. "It's just her jutsu. And what the hell are you doing, trying to pass yourself off as a therapist? I came here looking for a professional."

"I am a professional, man. I have a license to practice psychiatry in four of the great nations and surrounding territories," said Suigetsu. "As well as a bachelor's degree in psychology and related fields. I decided to get formal qualifications so I could officially diagnose Karin as a batshit insane stalker. Unfortunately, it turns out that this isn't actually a recognized classification. Still, it was fun getting to rub it in her face..."

"The fact that you're qualified to diagnose her mental and emotional state?"

"Huh?" Suigetsu blinked, torn from a smug reverie. "Oh, sure. That too."

Sasuke decided not to seek further details.

"Well, as I was saying," he said, "I'm not attracted to my daughter. I'm not sick. It's just that her jutsu... well, Naruto's jutsu... I've told you about his stupid Ninja Centerfold, right?"

Suigetsu gave his patient and former leader a deadpan look.

"Sasuke, you have never volunteered information about yourself or your past that wasn't immediately relevant to wanting to kill Itachi—or, later, to wanting to destroy Konoha." A beat. "I do know about the Seventh Hokage's sexy jutsu, though. He used it to beat Kaguya, right? That must've been pretty hot."

Sasuke wondered, briefly, whether it would be worth it to correct Suigetsu, and also whether he wanted to know what exactly the man was thinking. He decided that he did not, on either account.

"Right. Well, it's not my daughter who's making me..." Sasuke said. "...um, bleed."

"Bleed. Yeah, I know what you mean," said Suigetsu dryly. "It isn't your daughter, but it is her jutsu. Does she turn into a different woman? But I don't think you're such a high-strung guy that you'd get this freaked out if it was that simple. I'm also sure that her sexy jutsu doesn't just involve making her clothes vanish, or we would be having a very different conversation."

"Yes," said Sasuke darkly. "If it did, I would have followed through on my old vow, and Naruto and Konoha would have vanished from the map."

Suigetsu nodded and jotted something down in his notepad. Sasuke lay on the couch before him, while he sat in his chair. It was the classical set up, and Suigetsu was even dressed in the dully professional sort of clothes you might expect to see a therapist wearing while on the clock. They were in an office not far from one of Orochimaru's hideouts.

"Well, can you describe what your daughter looks like when she wears—I mean, when she uses that sexy jutsu?" Suigetsu asked, once he'd finished note-taking.

Sasuke's face reddened. "I will not."

"Don't take it the wrong way," said Suigetsu placatingly. "I just wanna understand why this is bothering you."

"Hn..." Sasuke grunted. After a quiet, uncomfortable moment he said, "Well, she looks... like herself. But older. More... adult, I suppose. Like her mother in the first form, except where she resembles me or... well, my own mother, in some ways."

He said this only reluctantly, and his face was pink. It was clear that he was entrusting a lot to Suigetsu's confidence. Therefore, with all the tact and professionalism available to him, Suigetsu softly and comfortingly responded.

"So you want to bang your mom, then."

Sasuke gave him a death glare. Considering that a glare from Sasuke literally COULD kill a man, it was much more potent than most others that might be described.

"Don't make me hurt you," the man said a little too coolly for it to be safe.

"I won't, I won't," Suigetsu said. "But you say she looks like a mix of you, your wife, and... well."

"It's just the easiest comparison," Sasuke said. "Obviously there will be a certain strong resemblance."

"Right, of course. If she bases it on herself, I suppose there'll naturally be a bit of familial resemblance." Suigetsu scribbled something else onto his notepad. "But—first form, you say?"

"Well... there's a second level," Sasuke said, his face reddening more deeply. "That's the one that really got me. In the first stage she basically looks like a normal, real woman."

"And she doesn't look real in the second form?"

"She looks real," Sasuke said. "But also... well, you know the airbrushed, photoshopped supermodels they show on magazine covers?"

"I'm familiar," Suigetsu said dryly.

"Well, she looks like that after she transforms a second time. Except curvier, and with fewer blemishes."

Suigetsu silently arched an eyebrow.

"I see. Anything else?"

"Well, she also gets surrounded by an aura of fire and lightning chakra," Sasuke added. "But I don't think that's relevant."

"Probably not," Suigetsu said, not sounding convinced. "But she still looks like your daughter?"

"Essentially," Sasuke said, looking distinctly uncomfortable—and not just because the couch had terrible lumbar support. "Enough like her that I feel... well, you know."

"Aroused?"

"No!" Sasuke glared daggers.

"Okay, okay, just checking," said Suigetsu. He made another note. "Have to be sure. But she looks enough like herself to make you feel guilty about reacting positively to the transformation, and to make you wonder if you have some kind of problem. Is that accurate?"

"Basically," Sasuke muttered. He was still a bit churlish over the last remark.

"Alright," Suigetsu said. "Just one more question, then. How often were you around when your daughter was growing up?"

There was a long silence.

A very long silence.

Too long, some might say.

Sasuke shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"I'm not asking you to diagnose her," he finally said. "Maybe I should have been around more, and maybe if she'd had a clear and present father figure she wouldn't have turned to jutsu like that, but I was on a mission for the Gokage. I can't afford to stay in the village. They need me to do the jobs nobody else can handle. It's all to ensure that Sarada can grow up in a safe and peaceful world."

"You sound defensive."

"I am not."

"Sure. But I wasn't asking to check about her." Suigetsu gave Sasuke a serious look. "Have you ever heard of reverse sexual imprinting?"

"What?" Sasuke blinked.

"I see," Suigetsu said. "I think I have some papers you might find instructive, then."

He produced a monograph titled The Westermarck Effect and subtitled: Preventing the Deleterious Effects of Inbreeding on a Population by Inhibiting Attraction in Close Relatives—further subtitled: And Why it is Therefore Potentially Important for Immediate Biological Relatives to Have Close Contact During Early Stages of Childhood Development.

Sasuke stared. He had a feeling he knew what Suigetsu was getting at, now.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah," Suigetsu replied. "On the bright side, she might potentially reciprocate."

Sasuke laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Lightning chakra cancels out your flesh-turning-into-water thing, right?" he said in imitation of a conversational tone.

"Eheh... J-Just trying to lighten the mood, man," Suigetsu said nervously, raising his hands. "No need for thinly veiled death threats, yeah?"

A beat.

Sasuke cast amaterasu on the far wall.

"You'd better clean out your office before it burns to the ground."

And then he left, Suigetsu hurling a string of fiery invective at his back.

"Oh, shit. It's the Pervert Killer. Run!"

Sarada wondered when people had started to treat her differently. That is, differently from how they used to treat her. She'd always been treated a little differently from most of her peers, of course. It was complicated, and yet perfectly natural.

Her dad was both a legendary hero and war criminal, and her mom was the best medical ninja in the world. She herself was the heiress of one of the most ancient ninja clans in existence, the bearer of a bloodline descended from gods, and a natural genius with ambitions to become the next hokage. She'd never been treated quite the same as other people, unless it was by her own family and close friends thereof.

But still, she was definitely being treated differently these days.

A group of girls and young woman squealed at the sight of Sarada, and they huddled together, excitedly whispering. An old man peered hopefully at her, while his middle aged daughter looked askance. Several boys around genin age froze up when they saw her. A few of the younger boys looked excited. The older ones seemed afraid.

She passed a yellowing poster photo-copied from her page in the Bingo Book, listing a series of bounties placed by a number of persons and organizations. The highest of those bounties was well over a hundred million ryo. Also, it listed her various aliases and epithets (which took up half the page) as well as a short, cluttered summary of her background and affiliation.

At the very bottom, it listed her age as "under thirteen" and classified her an S-rank ninja. If the entry had been compiled by enemies, it might well have included the phrase "flee on sight" without the slightest hint of irony.

Sarada looked up at the sky, and she wondered why Boruto seemed to have gotten so hopelessly awkward lately. For this, at least, she had some guess. It didn't displease her to think how awkward he was with her, even if she also didn't yet care to analyze this feeling too closely.

Absentmindedly, she smiled.

She wasn't really thinking about these things too hard. If she did, she'd probably arrive pretty quickly at the correct conclusion. After all, she was a bright kid. She could do basic math. It wasn't hard to remember when she first learned the Sexy Jutsu, or when she started using it on missions and in fights. Nor was she ignorant to the various titles she'd been given.

If she were to be honest with herself, really, Sarada already knew the answer. But she liked to pretend that she was oblivious. Being called a bare skin berserker, or the embodiment of female wrath, or the bane of all perverts, was flattering.

But this stuff was also fun in its own regard. It was...

Liberating. Exhilarating. Empowering.

Some people, exposing themselves, would feel only fear—whether of judgement, ridicule, or worse. Not so for Sarada.

For her, nudity had become a weapon.

After all, she was twenty years old now, and next in line to become hokage. Going SSJ these days basically just meant blinking her clothes out of existence.

And SSJ2 was just what she used in the bedroom.

She was Sarada "Sexy Sarada Jutsu" Uchiha. She was the Sharingan Flasher, the Hadaka Heroine. She was Sukebe Goroshi, the Pervert Killer.

Her signature technique was oiroke no jutsu, and she was still considered the strongest shinobi alive, kunoichi or otherwise.

That was how badly she humiliated the competition.

So what did it matter if she was also an exhibitionist?

It was just a coincidence, she would assure you.

A/N: The Sexy Jutsu and its variants are some of my favorite Naruto jutsu.

Sarada is one of my favorite next gen characters.

Naturally I was randomly inspired to combine those two things in this stupid, self-indulgent piece of garbage. In a way, also, the concept and something of its execution were inspired, at least in spirit, by The Great Landscaping Crisis by MogtheGnome, which is one of my old favorites as far as Naruto fic. Although this is also heavily informed by my own perverted sense of humor.

But it's been too long since I've written a purely comedic piece like this. It's a nice return to form, in some ways. Refreshing.

But who knows what you guys think? ;D

Updated: 3-7-17

TTFN and R&R!

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