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Haruto stood over the fallen Sand jonin, his breathing shallow and ragged as he took in the sight of the corpse sprawled in the sand. The realization settled in slowly—he had won. Against all odds, he'd defeated a seasoned jonin. He sealed the body in a scroll, knowing the kill would bring significant merits back at the village. If they uncovered any intelligence on the body, it might mean an additional bonus, and in this line of work, every advantage mattered.
Extending his Tier 2 chakra sensitivity, Haruto cast out his senses, scanning the area for any incoming chakra signatures. The landscape around him was silent and still. There were no immediate threats; for the moment, he was safe.
But not unscathed. Blood seeped from his shoulder and leg, the throbbing pain punctuating every heartbeat. He quickly checked himself over, assessing the damage. Thankfully, no major arteries had been hit. Focusing his chakra, he applied basic medical ninjutsu to staunch the bleeding, though he knew it would only hold until he reached more extensive care.
His hands and forearms bore the brunt of the battle—covered in second-degree burns with patches of charred skin where third-degree burns had seared deeper. Without his high lightning affinity, he knew his body wouldn't have withstood the fierce use of Lightning Arc. The victory had been as much luck and opportunity as skill. The jonin had been exhausted, drained from his own techniques, and Haruto had seized the chance. In any other scenario, he likely wouldn't have emerged alive. Yet, he took some comfort knowing that if it hadn't come to victory, he wouldn't have been caught, either.
Haruto began the long, arduous journey back toward the Land of Fire outpost, the scenery shifting subtly as he moved eastward. The desert sand gave way to a rugged mixture of terrain—patches of sparse grass interrupted the sand, and scattered clusters of hardy shrubs poked up here and there, survivors of the harsh environment. Low, weathered rocks jutted from the ground, marking the edge of the Land of Wind's barren dunes and the Land of Fire's more forgiving lands. Each step sent jolts of pain through his injured leg, but he pressed on, gritting his teeth and focusing on each breath as he navigated the desolate, rocky terrain.
After a grueling few hours, he finally spotted the outpost on the horizon. Tucked into the foothills, it was a small, weathered structure, blending seamlessly with the rugged landscape. The mix of desert and sparse greenery surrounding it was a stark reminder of the tenuous border between these two lands.
The jonin commander at the outpost greeted him with a sharp, assessing gaze, his attention lingering on Haruto's bloodied injuries. Despite his fatigue, Haruto stood tall, pulling the scroll from his pouch and delivering his report. Thanks to his photographic memory, he was able to provide detailed descriptions of enemy outposts, supply routes, and hidden patrol paths—a complete and precise map of the enemy's defenses. The jonin commander's eyebrows rose as Haruto spoke, clearly impressed by the level of detail. Few shinobi could recall so much, let alone after such a brutal mission.
A day later, Takeshi stumbled into the outpost. His face was pale, his robes torn, and dried blood caked his clothes. A shuriken was embedded in his back, and his steps wavered as he made his way inside. Haruto was surprised he'd made it back at all.
The on-site medical-nin, an older chunin with graying hair and a methodical demeanor, worked steadily, tending to Haruto and then Takeshi. The medic's touch was efficient but somewhat lacking in technique, prompting Haruto to offer pointers on applying chakra more precisely to accelerate healing. At first, the medic seemed skeptical, but as Haruto's advice took effect, he grew visibly grateful, even asking Haruto questions about certain methods and chakra control.
Three days later Back in Konoha, Haruto found himself at the hospital, his hands bandaged and throbbing. Though the burns had been stabilized at the outpost, the medical staff in Konoha quickly Haruto knew the damage was severe enough to warrant specialized treatment. Tsunade took one look at his charred hands and ordered, "You're staying overnight." Her voice held the weight of absolute authority, silencing his objections before he could even voice them.
Reluctantly, Haruto agreed, letting himself settle in for the night. His thoughts kept drifting to unfinished projects and plans, so he summoned two shadow clones to work at home while he was confined to bed. His physical state might demand rest, but his mind remained as sharp and active as ever.
Haruto settled into the hospital bed, the exhaustion in his body tugging him toward rest despite his mind racing with plans. He summoned two shadow clones to handle unfinished work back at his apartment—being sidelined wasn't an option, after all. Tsunade had ordered him to stay overnight for observation, and as much as he chafed at the confinement, he knew his hands wouldn't heal on their own.
A gentle knock sounded, and Shizune slipped into the room, her usual warm, professional presence comforting. She checked his bandages, her fingers light and practiced as she moved, sending calm, focused chakra into his wounds to ease the pain. "You'll heal fine," she assured him with a soft smile, "but you need to give your hands a break."
Just then, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Katsume and Daichi walked in, laughter fading as they noticed Shizune. Shizune acknowledged Daichi with a warm nod, but when her gaze met Katsume's, there was a brief, cool acknowledgment. Katsume's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in them, and Shizune's smile remained polite but stony.
What was that about? Haruto wondered, caught off guard by the subtle tension hanging between them. Both of them acted as if nothing had happened, but he could sense the weight beneath their civil greetings. Once Shizune departed, the air immediately lightened, and Daichi and Katsume pulled up chairs, filling the room with easy laughter as they caught him up on all he'd missed. Haruto chuckled along, letting the conversation pull him away from recent battles.
A few hours after Katsume and Daichi left, the door opened again, and Shisui walked in, carrying a bag from one of the better barbecue joints in town. The familiar scent of grilled meat and spices filled the room, a welcome change from the sterile hospital air.
"Figured you'd need something more substantial than whatever they're feeding you in here," Shisui said, setting the bag down with a grin.
Haruto smirked. "About time someone came through with real food."
They set to unpacking the containers, each grabbing a plate as they settled in. Between bites, they talked—recent missions, the growing tensions around the borders, and the absurd rumors that always seemed to circulate around the village. Shisui leaned back, one arm draped casually over his chair as he listened, a sharp eye catching every detail Haruto shared.
"So," Shisui began, halfway through his second skewer, "I heard you ran into some trouble out near the Land of Wind. Tough fight?"
"Yeah," Haruto replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Sand jonin. Not exactly your average target. It wasn't pretty, but I got the job done."
Shisui raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you enjoyed it."
Haruto shrugged. "What can I say? Some fights are worth the scars."
They didn't have to say much beyond that. Haruto didn't fight for anyone's approval; he fought because it was in his blood, a thrill and a test he couldn't pass up. But he valued those who understood the life they led and stood alongside him as comrades. And Shisui, with his steady confidence and unspoken respect, got that.
When it was time to go, Shisui clapped Haruto on the shoulder, his nod short but meaningful. "Take care, and maybe don't end up back here too soon, yeah?"
Haruto smirked. "No promises. But I'll see you around."
Shisui chuckled as he left. Haruto watched him go, a sense of satisfaction settling over him—not because he needed the company, but because a few people, like Shisui, made the life he chose that much sharper, that much more worth fighting for.
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