“What a tough bastard…” Kenshin muttered, standing in front of the mirror after washing his face with cold water.
The pain had subsided overnight, and his mind was clearer.
“Where the hell does a half-baked genin get that kind of strength?!
He obviously wasn’t using chakra for his movements and punches!
So his strength and speed should be like an ordinary person’s, right?” the young man argued with himself mentally.
“Either the thug has a natural predisposition to physical strength and speed, or something’s off, and this world is different in yet another aspect from what I saw on the screen!” the young man noted, and immediately recalled the numerous inconsistencies in the speed and strength of characters in different situations.
“In the battle with Orochimaru, Hiruzen’s strikes — one of the strongest shinobi — weren’t much stronger than that bastard Koga’s!
But in other situations, weaker shinobi easily smashed big rocks with their punches!
Either Kishimoto got it all wrong here too, or this is a completely different world…” Kenshin mused as he got ready to leave.
It was seven in the morning, and he hoped to slip out of the city quietly, counting on the fact that the gang of yesterday’s thugs was sleeping like the dead after another drinking binge.
Without eating anything, Kenshin slipped out unnoticed through the back entrance and quickly walked toward the city exit.
Only after half an hour of walking did he breathe a sigh of relief, not noticing anyone tailing him.
Returning to the hideout, the young man picked up his backpack and headed toward the house where his beloved girl was waiting for him.
* * *
Kenshin returned home when the sun was at its zenith, blazing down.
It was two in the afternoon, and the young man, after hugging the girl who squealed at his appearance, went to the bathroom and took a cold shower.
Throwing on a robe, he somehow made it to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, pulling Aya to him, burying his face in her tender neck, inhaling her floral scent.
It was hard for Kenshin to lie on his side, and even harder on his stomach, so he turned over onto his back, and his robe fell open a little, revealing to the girl’s eyes a large blue bruise covering half his stomach.
“Ah!
My God, Kenshin, what is that?!
Oh God…” the girl exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand, shocked by what she saw.
“Nothing, it’ll go away in a few days,” Kenshin replied calmly, not wanting to dwell on it and cause worry for his pregnant girl.
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?!
God, hold on, honey, I’ll be right back!” Aya said, and dashed out of the bedroom.
She returned fifteen minutes later with a small jar in her hands and a long strip of white cloth.
“Grandma taught me how to gather medicinal herbs and make ointment from them,” she said, and fully opened the young man’s robe, starting to apply a thick, greenish ointment all over his stomach.
Then she bandaged the injured area and kissed him on the lips.
“There, all done.
Now rest, you need more sleep.
I’ll wake you before dinner,” Aya said tenderly, stroked the young man’s cheek, and left the bedroom, letting the exhausted Kenshin fall into a deep sleep.
* * *
In the remaining few days before Aya’s delivery, Kenshin recovered and only did light work.
He managed to set up the “aging formation” with difficulty, spending about eight hours on it.
Now five bottles of the purchased wine aged a year in one day.
The young man decided not to take risks and aged the wine by ten years, afraid of arousing suspicion with more expensive, higher-quality wine.
A ten-year-aged bottle of the “Samurai Blade” brand cost 500 ryo, ten times the original price.
A twenty-year-aged bottle cost a hundred times the original price, and connoisseurs snapped it up like hotcakes for 5,000–7,000 ryo a bottle.
Kenshin knew that producing ten-year-aged wine was the limit of what wouldn’t bring trouble, while five bottles of twenty-year-aged wine would put him in the grave.
Aya’s belly had become very large, and she struggled with household chores, spending most of her time resting, expecting the baby’s arrival any day now.
Thirteen days had passed since conception, and Kenshin was on pins and needles, having prepared towels, sheets, and several blood-clotting pills that Aya had brought from home.
These pills were quite expensive and were made primarily for shinobi.
The price of a “blood-clotting” pill was about 200 ryo each, and most peasants kept one tablet in a hidden place.
The pill wasn’t all-powerful; it only accelerated blood clotting without side effects for the body, but it stopped bleeding from a damaged vein rather weakly and could only reduce blood loss, allowing the patient to survive on the way to the hospital.
Stopping arterial bleeding was out of the question.
Only an iryonin could stop such a complex hemorrhage.
“Ah, God, Kenshin!
Kenshin!” Aya screamed.
Kenshin, who had been training in the gym, ran into the living room like he was scalded and saw the frightened expression on the girl’s face.
“What happened?
Is it time?!” he asked.
“Y-yes, I think my water broke…” Aya answered in a frightened voice.
Then the young man noticed a wet spot on the girl’s sundress, as well as a small puddle on the floor.
Kenshin froze in shock for a second, then snapped out of it and commanded: “Okay, do everything we agreed on,” the young man declared, and carefully led Aya to the bedroom, helping her onto the bed.
Aya lay down and showed no signs of contractions.
Five minutes passed, and the girl calmed down, talking with the young man, when suddenly her smile froze and her eyes widened.
“Ow, God, Kenshin…
Uuuf, I think it’s starting!” Aya groaned, and began breathing rhythmically, just as the young man had explained to her.
“Shh, calm down, just breathe.
Don’t be nervous,” Kenshin comforted her, stroking her head.
“Uuuuf, okay…” Aya exhaled, and tried to calm down.