Chương 211: 211
Daichi's eyes fluttered open slightly, his vision fading, his breath shallow. Blood bubbled at his lips as he forced a weak smile. "Haruto… Shisui… Sakumo… I'm sorry…" His voice was barely audible, his strength waning with each word.
Haruto's hands hovered over Daichi's chest, glowing with the green light of the Mystical Palm Technique. His heart pounded in his chest, every muscle in his body tense as he assessed the injury. The shuriken lodged in Daichi's chest had missed the heart, but only by a fraction. It had nicked it, causing internal bleeding that was already draining Daichi's life. Blood was spilling out too fast. There was so much damage, and every second that passed was one second closer to death.
"Don't talk. Just stay with me, Daichi," Haruto muttered, his voice tight.
Shisui stood nearby, his newly awakened three-tomoe Sharingan spinning as he watched, fear and helplessness gripping him. Sakumo, calm as ever, kept his eyes on the surroundings, vigilant. But Haruto's mind wasn't on any of them.
It was locked on Daichi. His friend.
His real friend.
Not some character in a story. Not some piece in a larger narrative. Daichi wasn't in the anime. Daichi wasn't supposed to exist. And yet, here he was, bleeding out in Haruto's arms.
A cold realization hit Haruto. Daichi isn't part of the plot. He wasn't in the original story. Maybe… maybe this was always meant to happen. Maybe this is how he was supposed to die.
The thought sent a chill through him. Maybe this moment was set. Maybe Daichi wasn't meant to survive this battle. Maybe saving him would change everything—disrupt the delicate balance of the world's events, throw everything into chaos. If Daichi was supposed to die here, wouldn't saving him unravel everything? What if Daichi's death was critical to the future?
But then, another thought slammed into Haruto, sharper, angrier.
Damn the anime. Damn the plot. Even if it changes everything, I'm not going to let my friend die here.
Daichi's life was slipping through his fingers. This wasn't just some scripted event in a story he once knew. This was real. Daichi was real. And right now, he was dying in front of him. Haruto had the power to save him, and he wasn't about to let some fear of changing the "plot" stop him. If Daichi's survival changed the course of the world, so be it.
Haruto felt a surge of resolve as he glanced down at Daichi's pale face. No matter what the consequences were, no matter what the future held, he was going to save his friend.
But to do that, he needed to focus—completely. His usual method of operating, splitting his mind in two to stay alert to his surroundings while healing, wouldn't be enough here. Not for something this critical. He needed to be faster, more precise. He needed everything focused on Daichi.
His heart raced, but his decision was clear. Haruto merged his two minds into one. It wasn't about losing time—it was about dedicating all of his focus to saving Daichi.
With a deep breath, Haruto closed his eyes for just a moment, feeling the split in his mind, the constant duality that allowed him to track the world while working. But right now, he didn't need the world. He didn't need awareness of anything but the life in front of him.
I need all of me. If this changes everything, so be it.
In a surge of clarity, Haruto merged his two minds into one. The world around him—the rustling of the trees, the feel of the earth, even the distant chakra signatures of his teammates—disappeared. His entire focus funneled into one point: Daichi's injury.
When Haruto's eyes snapped open again, they were sharper than before. His entire being was consumed by the task of saving his friend. His hands moved with absolute precision, guided by the clarity of his merged mind. His chakra flowed steadily, entering Daichi's body, sealing torn veins and arteries, mending the nick in Daichi's heart. Every movement was precise, focused—no hesitation, no second-guessing.
"Stay with me, Daichi," Haruto muttered, his voice steady. His chakra pulsed brighter, stronger. He wasn't thinking about the consequences anymore. He wasn't thinking about how this might change the future, or what butterfly effect might ripple from this moment. All that mattered was that his friend was alive, and Haruto wasn't going to let that life slip away.
He could feel the damage inside Daichi's body—the nick in the heart, the internal bleeding, the torn tissues—and his chakra worked to repair it, weaving through the injury like delicate threads pulling the body back together. It was critical work, and his complete focus allowed him to move faster, to make fewer mistakes. He was in a state of total concentration.
Sweat dripped down Haruto's face, but he didn't stop. His hands trembled slightly from the sheer exertion of channeling so much chakra, but he pushed through it, knowing that if he faltered for even a second, Daichi would slip away. His friend's pulse was weak—too weak—but Haruto kept working, his chakra surging into Daichi's chest, stabilizing his heartbeat, repairing the damage to his veins.
Time seemed to stretch. Haruto's body screamed at him from the strain, but his mind, now unified and focused, pressed forward. The world outside was gone to him. He wasn't aware of anything but Daichi. Even if another threat appeared, Haruto wouldn't know. He couldn't afford to care. His mind was locked on one thing, and one thing only: saving his friend.
Shisui and Sakumo stood back, watching in silence. Shisui, his Sharingan still spinning, felt his throat tighten as he saw the look of pure determination on Haruto's face. He could see how Haruto's hands moved with more precision than he had ever seen before, how his chakra pulsed with greater intensity. Shisui's heart pounded. He had failed to protect Daichi. And now, it was all on Haruto's shoulders.
Sakumo's face was grim. He knew the severity of Daichi's condition. He knew how thin the line was between life and death right now. But even he could see the level of Haruto's concentration, how his friend's entire being was poured into healing Daichi.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blood stopped flowing. Haruto's chakra, steady and precise, had sealed the torn vessels, mended the nicked heart, and stabilized Daichi's pulse. His breathing, though shallow, had become more regular. The worst was over.
Sakumo stepped forward and said quietly, "You did it. He's stable."
Haruto's breath hitched. He let out a long, shaky breath, his hands trembling as they fell away from Daichi's body. He'd done it. Daichi was stable—barely.
"Barely," Haruto muttered under his breath, his voice strained from exhaustion. His eyes were bloodshot, his chakra nearly depleted. He looked up at Sakumo and Shisui, his expression still tight with concern. "He needs treatment. ASAP. We have to get him to a real hospital. He…"
Haruto's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his exhaustion finally overtaking him. "Damn it!" he cursed, slamming his fist into the dirt, frustration boiling inside him. He had saved Daichi, but the fight wasn't over. If they didn't get him proper care soon, all of his efforts would have been in vain.
Shisui, standing nearby, stepped forward with urgency. "We'll carry him to the hospital!" Shisui said quickly, his voice determined. "We can get him there."
But Sakumo shook his head slowly, his expression dark and grave. "No…" he said quietly, his tone filled with an understanding that made Shisui stop in his tracks. "Even I can't get him there fast enough."
There was a heavy silence as those words sank in. Haruto remained on his knees, his fists clenched in the dirt. Hopelessness threatened to close in on them. Without immediate treatment, Daichi wouldn't make it.
Then, a calm voice, filled with quiet authority, cut through the despair.
"I'll get him there."
Haruto's breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, his vision clearing to see the figure standing before them, surrounded by an aura of power that was unmistakable. A flash of yellow caught the light as the figure stepped forward, his presence commanding and swift.
It was none other than the man they would one day come to call the Yellow Flash.
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