Naruto: When ninjas become puppets and are controlled, Daisy is more beautiful, and Terumi Tsunade becomes ugly

Naruto: When ninjas become puppets and are controlled, Daisy is more beautiful, and Terumi Tsunade becomes ugly

2024/06/10

ADVERTISEMENT

In Naruto, the second generation of the wind shadow Salmon developed the puppet art not only on the sand hidden village has a great impact, the impact on the ninja world is not small. However, I don't know what the second generation of the wind shadow Salmon will think if he knows that the puppet art he developed has actually developed to the point of using people as puppets. Let's talk about what happens when ninjas become puppets and are controlled!

ADVERTISEMENT

Shiraito

White, a descendant of the Yuki-no-clan, has been living as a tool of Momochi Zabuza-san, and he is very happy with this life in his heart. Being the tool of Mr. Zabuza proves that he is needed in this world! For Shiraito, he was willing to become Mr. Zabuza's tool, and his life was not a puppet of Mr.

ADVERTISEMENT

Zabuza, was it? Of course, deep down, Zabuzaan doesn't see Shiranui as just a tool, Shiranui is also Zabuzaan's bond!

Tsunade

Tsunade, the fifth Naruto, not only has a great face and body, but also has the appearance of eternal youth. However, after Tsunade was made into a human puppet by Akasago no Scorpion, not only did her appearance become much uglier, but her strength also became much weaker! After all, Tsunade is good at medical jutsu and strange power jutsu, both of which require very fine chakra control, and controlling them through human puppets will make it difficult for Tsunade to achieve the level of control she needs.

The article is not finished. Click on the next page to continue.

ADVERTISEMENT

I gave my newborn daughter up for adoption through prison glass while my husband smiled beside my sister and said, “She deserves a mother who isn’t a criminal.” Twenty-two years later, they dragged me onto a gala stage to humiliate me again. But when the screen behind them lit up with their secret crimes, a young surgeon stepped forward and whispered, “Mom… let me save you now.”

I was gasping for air, my chest caving in as I collapsed across the defense table. The courtroom froze. Victor smiled, crushed my only inhaler beneath his Italian shoe, and shoved my face into the polished wood. “Take your last breath, Evelyn,” he growled. “I bought the judge—and I own you.” With trembling fingers, I reached into my coat, pulled out the recordings, and smiled as the FBI stormed in.

I was still bleeding from my emergency C-section, cradling my newborn with shaking arms, when my husband slammed me into the nursery wall. “Give me the baby, you useless cow,” his mistress sneered. “He’s moving me in today.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply handed over the baby monitor—still livestreaming everything to the police dispatcher I had called ten minutes earlier. Then the sirens began.

Blood soaked through the bandages wrapped around my shattered legs as Victoria’s red Louboutin heel crushed my fresh stitches. “Sign over the trust to my son, Clara,” she hissed, pressing a blood-smeared pen into my shaking hand, “or I’ll finish what that truck didn’t.” I looked terrified as I signed. But the ink wasn’t ordinary—and neither was the document. By morning, Victoria would learn she had just confessed.

The night Victor broke my ribs, he still went to his board dinner. “Try not to embarrass me,” he said, while I lay gasping on the floor. My son’s little hands shook as he dialed my father. “Grandpa, please hurry,” he whispered. By midnight, Victor was raising a toast to “family” under crystal chandeliers. What he didn’t know was that the police were already outside the ballroom doors.

When Mateo slapped my mother in front of two hundred guests, everyone waited for me to scream, cry, or beg. I did none of those things. His sister Inés whispered, “Look at her. Still obedient.” Mateo leaned close and said, “Everything you own is already mine.” I smiled for the first time that night, because inside my bag were the deeds, the accounts, and the sentence that would bury them all.

They thought I was just a grieving widow with shaky hands and nowhere to go. Celeste leaned close and hissed, “This house is ours now. Cry quietly, Eleanor.” But while she smiled for the neighbors, I was reading every forged signature, every expired stamp, every stupid mistake she had made. She had come to steal my home. She didn’t know she had just stepped into my trap.

Victor called me weak while my blood stained our marble floor. His mother smiled, his sister filmed, and he hissed, “Tomorrow, I own everything—including your silence.” But he had forgotten one thing: silence is not surrender. Sometimes it is evidence gathering. When my father entered with a federal receiver and a signed board vote, Victor finally understood he had been beating the wrong woman.

They thought silence meant I was weak. My sister stole my fiancé in front of a ballroom full of millionaires, and Adrian only said, “You weren’t supposed to see that.” I smiled, took off his ring, and left him one red-marked page from our prenup. By morning, I was gone. But I didn’t leave empty-handed. I left with his secrets, his heirs, and the power to destroy him.

The whole room expected me to break when my mother-in-law introduced my husband’s lover as “part of the family.” Daniel squeezed my arm and hissed, “Don’t embarrass us.” I smiled so calmly that even his mistress looked confused. They thought silence meant surrender. They had no idea I was a forensic auditor—and by sunrise, every stolen dollar, every secret account, and every lie would have a name.

The One Question That Changed How an ER Doctor Practiced Medicine

The Family Who Said Goodbye — and Then Had to Say Hello Again

What a Nurse Wrote on Her Hand Before Every Shift

She Coded Twice and Woke Up Asking About Her Dog

The Man Who Came In Asking for Nothing

"My dad always said being in the military was a waste of time. Today, at the wedding, 200 men proved him wrong."

My Perfect Wedding Became My Worst Nightmare. My Own Father Called the Cops to Have Me Arrested.

My Boss Humiliated Me for Feeding a Quiet Little Girl. I Never Imagined Who Her Father Was.

“When I Called My Son from My Kitchen Floor, His Wife Laughed. What I Did Next Left Them with Nothing.”

I Arrived 40 Minutes Late to a Meeting with the Most Dangerous Man in the City… and He Noticed My Ankle.