Twisted

Rescue

The thick ropes binding Sarada's ankles finally loosed from under the cover of her velvet dress. The gag on her mouth was tight, her hands bound to the bed. But she hadn't given up hope.

Once Cho-Cho finished untying her, she could quietly send her off to warn Boruto not to come. And after that... She'd have to remove her eyes. It was the only way to stop these men from threatening her with people's death if she didn't look at them.

Just as Cho-Cho started on her wrists, something was tossed into the window. When the object hit the ground, it was in two pieces, and Sarada had to blink to confirm Sasuke's blade was indeed drawn, the dark metal gleaming in the moonlight.

The item wasn't Boruto's, and yet she felt it couldn't be anyone other than him who had come to save her. She was too late.

Fighting against the gag that pulled her stinging lips tight against her teeth and her sore and tired lungs, she tried to yank herself away from the leg of her bed that her arms were still tied to. She yelled her loudest to warn him. You can't. Don't come up here. Don't try to save me. You'll only die.

But the scraping of leather boots against the stone wall climbed higher.

Muffled protests tore the back of her throat, dizzy with a need for air. But he still didn't stop. It was useless. It was all over. She wouldn't be able to save him.

Momoshiki grinned wickedly, his pale eyes glued to the tuft of bright hair that emerged from the darkness.

But Sasuke didn't slash. He stood still.

"What are you doing? Put an end to him," Momoshiki growled.

"Uzumaki Boruto is the one you requested I kill," Sasuke replied. "This is not Uzumaki Boruto."

Sarada's eyes opened wider in realization for a mere moment before she squeezed them shut again. She couldn't look if it wasn't Boruto. She wouldn't look at anyone ever again.

"Well then," said a familiar voice, his tone rather sly despite its uncanny calmness. "I suppose it's a good thing I showed up instead of him."

Momoshiki shuffled and unsheathed a sword from his back.

"I suppose I should thank you." A strange metallic grating sound pulled tight with a snap. "You also saved me the trouble of having to take my gloves off."

"Hm. I suppose you came here to die."

"No," said another voice, climbing through the window. "But I did."

Sarada's nose twitched. Her throat tightened. Her eyes remained closed, but the backs of her eyelids stung, hot and uncomfortable. He was here after all. And now they were all going to kill him.

At the sound of metal against metal, Sarada's heart jolted. Her eyes lifted from the floorboards, her gasp stifled by the fabric invading her mouth.

But when she looked at him, all of her worries and fears slowly melted in the face of awe. The stern and angry Boruto that dropped in from her windowsill looked nothing like the impish boy that wandered through three days prior.

His very presence demanded respect, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies and filling his allies with an overabounding hope to win any battle that presented itself before them. His blue eyes swirled with cold-blooded rage, broad back straight, an ornate vest trimmed with gold to match his hair. His gloved fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a curved blade, blocking the blow her father attempted to deal him to the side as though it was child's play.

This. Was Boruto as King.

"Uncle Sasuke." Even his voice was deep and commanding, firm and clear. "I didn't think you were cowardly enough to attempt a sneak attack."