Chapter Seven: Concussion
Thunder woke her. She threw off her blanket and stumbled to the window, peering out. Lightning, but no rain: a dry thunderstorm, common in the fall. Yui took a deep breath as another air-splitting rumble wracked the house.
Storms like these, in the dry, dead seasons, caused fires. Most of the buildings in Chiyuku were made of wood. She clutched her hands tightly as the heat choked the breath out of her lungs, filling the air with the stench of ashes and acrid smoke, and all she could do was pick up the pieces again.
Yui breathed out and tried to think of anything else. Marigold helped with rashes, ringworm, and muscle pain. Feverfew prevented headaches. Chamomile cured indigestion, colic, and skin inflammation. She listed them once. She listed them twice. Lightning flashed in the distance, and Yui sighed. She wouldn't be able to sleep, now, but some lavender tea could help. With jumbled thoughts of lightning rods and wildfires, she walked to the main room of her home. Yui filled the kettle and lit the fire. Eiji and Sen were sleeping in the other room, but being teenage boys, nothing would wake them.
Thunder rumbled. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Hashirama was in front of her, kneeling by the fire.
"Hashi…" her voice caught.
Blood covered him. It coated his hands, dried in brown flakes, and dark stains speckled his red armor and boots. He was still. There was no fidgeting, no sheepish explanation, no pained gasps—just pale stillness and silence. Was Hashirama going into shock? Yui pushed away all her emotions, grabbing bandages and hot water before rushing to his side. When she reached out to feel his pulse, he spoke.
"It's not mine," he murmured.
"Where does it hurt—"
"The blood isn't mine, Yui-san. I'm not injured," he said, and he closed his eyes.
She stopped. Yui didn't want to know. Still, she asked. "What happened?"
"I killed him." Careful, level, slow, each word enunciated. His face didn't change when he said it, still blank and pale. She'd been partially right. Hashirama was in shock, but not the medical kind caused by blood loss.
"Hashirama," Yui said, applying the firm, understanding voice she used with patients, "you need to clean up, okay?" She wet the towel in hot water and gave it to him. His eyes fluttered open, and he took it and stared at the brown, coarse cloth.
"It won't help," he said, quiet. Regardless, Hashirama began to clean his hands, methodically scrubbing at the dried blood stuck underneath his fingernails. The towel was dyed red before he even finished. Yui brought him another one and went to check on the tea. She added some chamomile, another sprig of lavender, and a spoon of black tea leaves.
Once his hands were clean, Hashirama rubbed his face with the towel, dipping it in water before starting with his neck. After hesitating, he unbuckled his stained armor and set it aside. Yui brought him a cup of tea and a thick blanket. A merchant from the Land of Snow had given it to her; a pattern of tiny trees were embroidered into the quilt, which was softer and warmer than anything she had. Yui wrapped it around Hashirama. He murmured his thanks and looked down.
"I don't even know why I'm here," he said. "I'm sorry."
"What happened?" she asked again.
Steam rose from their cups. Yui drank her tea as she waited. His head was bowed, and he didn't respond until the tea had gone cold.
"I was escorting a prominent noble, a long-time ally of our clan. Some say that he'll become daimyo." His sentences were clipped, like he was giving a report. "We were attacked. I reacted, killing the assailants, and…" Hashirama set his cup down. "It was a child. A young boy. The kid was the age my youngest brother had been before he died." His laugh sounded like something breaking. "They're calling me the God of Shinobi, Yui. I can raise forests and tear apart armies but I can't undo what has already been done."
The fire crackled.
"I'm no god. I'm just a shinobi, another murderer for hire." He sighed, bitter. "People call us monsters. I don't think they're wrong."
Yui never thought too hard about her patients, about what they did or who they were. She just… treated them, the same as anyone else, and called what they did none of her business.
That didn't change the fact that shinobi were killers. They did horrible things, intentionally, sometimes beyond forgiveness. They were dogs of war, and they did it all… for what? People kept killing, and people kept dying, and Yui patched up the ones who didn't and sent them off to fight again.
And yet—she looked at Hashirama's pale face.
"You're not a monster," she said finally. "You're not a god, either. You're just... Hashirama. You're human. Same as anyone else."
"But—"
"What you do is wrong, yes." Her acknowledgement drew a line between them, and Hashirama withdrew into himself, curling in on the blanket. She continued, quiet, "But you know it's wrong. That's what's different about you. You don't accept it. As long as you don't, there's still hope. Are you still trying to change it?"
"Well, yes—"
"Good," she said, and she wouldn't let him argue otherwise. "That's all we can do in this world. Try."
It was the one precept she lived by, the one thing that kept her going through all those sleepless nights when she remembered every failure.
"But I don't know if I really can." Barely audible, he added, "I don't know if I should."
"That's not for me to decide, Hashirama. I don't live the life you do."
His next words came unwillingly. "What if… what if I make it worse?" He closed his eyes. The warm, red light from the fire flickered against his skin, throwing his face into sharp relief.
"There's always a chance of that. We all make mistakes. With our jobs, it can mean death." Yui hadn't saved everyone. She could still see each face and name and cause of death, reminders of what she did wrong and everything beyond her reach. "But how can you live with yourself if you do nothing?"
He mulled over her words, his hands clasped around the cup, eyes still closed. "My father is dying."
The non sequitur made her pause. "I'm sorry."
Hashirama sighed again, long and heavy. "I've expected it for so long. A shinobi walks with death. It can take us at anytime, and I've always been prepared for that. In some ways, I'll miss him, but..." He looked at her, straightening slightly, and his voice wavered. "He's suffering so much. Everyone expected him to die on the battlefield, in a blaze of will and glory, not… not like this. It'd be more merciful to let him go. It'll happen any day, now. " Hashirama cleared his throat. "If… when he dies, I'll become the leader of the Senju clan."
She waited as Hashirama composed himself. He drank the cold tea, draining it halfway, and spoke.
"I'll be in a position to bring change. Real, lasting change. Madara's already the leader of the Uchiha, and I know he's shared these ideals before. We're so close to to peace. I can feel it." As he went on, his words became faster, louder. "We've done it on a smaller scale with your clinic. People doubted that the Senju and Uchiha could agree on anything, and we've proved them wrong. I've had so many people doubt that it was possible. I never did."
He took a deep breath, and the bravado faded just as fast. "At least, I never did, not when it was just a dream. Yet, now that I'm in sight of it, when I'm within a hair's breadth of fulfilling it, I'm…" Hashirama trailed into silence and started again. "The clan is already treating me as the defacto head. My brother is… they all want me to be my father. A true shinobi."
Thunder rattled the frames of the house, and Yui added more kindling. Lightning struck again, further off, and she counted the seconds before the distant rumble reached them. Hashirama didn't even react. The smoldering charcoal caught, and the fire returned. Yui forced herself to watch the flames twist, trying to think of nothing but now.
"I can't." He straightened as if a weight had fallen from his shoulders. "I can't be the shinobi they want me to be. No. I don't want to."
"Then don't."
Hashirama's smile was tenuous. "You make it sound so simple."
She looked up from the fire. "The choice is simple, Hashirama. It's everything after that's complicated. Change isn't easy. It's never easy."
"Is it worth it?"
"We won't know."
She had saved lives, and that would always be her legacy, but to leave a lasting impact—she couldn't decide that. Her knowledge could die with her, and her hopes could die before her. Her efforts could be reversed and lost to time or ignored and ridiculed. Yui would never know. Neither would he. They both sat in silence, lost in their own dreams, until the fire died for a second time.
"Thank you, Yui-san." He stood, and one by one, buckled each piece of armor. She watched each practiced movement, the fluid ease reminding her of just how different their lives were. He hesitated before buckling the last piece of armor. "I'm… I'm sorry for how I acted before. I mean, when we last met. I shouldn't have let my frustration get the better of me. And, uh, I always seem to be interrupting everything. I'm sorry for telling you before—"
"Hashirama, it's fine," she said, amused despite herself. "You don't have to apologize. We're friends, right?"
"Of course!" He blinked as if the question was a surprise. "But that's exactly why I need to apologize! This is the last one, I promise." Hashirama ducked his head. "Sorry for barging in without knocking."
Yui chuckled. "You're the only ninja who bothers."
His parting smile was shaky, soft, but real. Hashirama closed the door behind him. Thunder rumbled again, and she sat drinking tea long into the night.
The leaves faded from green to yellow as fall overtook summer. Yui was eating lunch in her garden full of dying branches and last blooms when a giant dog walked up to her, tail wagging. It was the size of a wolf and… rather familiar looking, on second glance.
"Hey there, healer," drawled a husky voice. "Hope you don't mind me interrupting."
A boy about fourteen or so grinned at her. Two red, triangular markings were on his cheeks, and his shaggy brown hair reached his shoulders. Yui suddenly remembered why he and his dog looked so familiar; the boy was one of the ninja that accompanied Toshihiro, the book merchant. His name was Kyou or Kin or something like that. He had no visible injuries, and he shifted from one foot to another with casual ease.
She smiled back, setting aside the bowl of rice. "It's fine. Did you come for healing, or is Toshihiro here—"
He laughed. "Nah, nah. I came here 'cause of the doctor. Dr. Makoto, I mean." He pointed to himself with his thumb. "I'm Kon, by the way. And my partner here is Tora." The dog let out a happy bark and ducked his head.
"Nice to meet you." Yui nodded. The dog let out a whuff, and Yui glanced at him, amused. "Both of you. You mentioned that Dr. Makoto sent you?" That was surprising. Usually, the doctor had his letters delivered by other caravans or merchants heading to the village.
"Yeah. We bonded on the trip to Chiyuku, and he thought the job was important enough to give to a gal like me," said Kon, giving a languid shrug.
Yui blinked and adjusted her assumption of Kon's gender to female and her age to sixteen or so.
"Is it a message?" asked Yui.
Kon unslung the bag on her back. "Well, yeah, but more. Weird stuff, smells kinda funny, but the doctor said it was important." She handed it to Yui and fished around in a cloth pouch on her hip, finally pulling out a surprisingly uncrumpled paper "Here's the letter. He said to read it first."
Yui took it. "Thanks." She smiled at the teen. "Want some food—"
"Nah." Kon scratched her head. "I mean, I appreciate it, but I gotta pee. Holler my name if you need me." With a jaunty wave, she jogged away. After barking once, the dog followed her.
Shaking her head, Yui smiled and opened the letter. She skimmed the beginning, consisting of enthusiastic, positive updates on the progress of the book, but slowed down once Dr. Makoto began to mention chakra.
I have become quite the talk of the medical community with my use of chakra, he wrote. Some decry it as a peasant's remedy or parlor trick, but most have been won over with my demonstration of it. Many of my colleagues are willing to part with recipes or techniques that, just a month ago, they would have never dared to trade. This is agreeable on all sides, I hope; knowledge of chakra is spread responsibly, and we gain some new techniques as well.
Perhaps the most valuable and useful knowledge I have gained is access to asalic. (Here, Yui paused and reread the sentence. She didn't understand everything the doctor wrote, but she could usually puzzle out strange words with context clues. This term, though, was completely unfamiliar.) You likely do not know it, but asalic is a powerful painkiller and fever suppressant. It is a more powerful form of the medicine found in willow bark.
It hit her like a thunderbolt. "Aspirin?" she said aloud, stunned.
I have sent you a package of the synthesized form as well as directions on how to make it. Admittedly, without pure chemicals or proper equipment, it will be difficult to synthesize, especially considering the instability of its base components. (I myself purchase the product from my chemist colleague.) If you wish, I can continue to send you a delivery of asalic with my letters.
She finished reading the rest of the letter, barely paying attention to the rest, before rushing inside to respond. Yui normally relied on Eiji's help to proofread or write—his handwriting was better than hers—but he was checking Hiroshi's eye. She was too excited to wait. Yui wrote as much as she could about the uses of aspirin before backtracking and thanking him profusely, assuring him that she'd greatly appreciate him sending 'asalic' or other medicine with his letters.
Pressing her brush to the paper, Yui hesitated. Had Dr. Makoto not traded with his colleague, then she would have never gotten honest-to-god, actual aspirin. She thought of Hashirama and what he'd said, of the rounin who'd ransacked her place and the samurai with their faster-than-sight movement. It would be naive to insist that spreading knowledge of chakra would have no downsides. This way, maybe… this way, other healers would be able to use chakra while preventing widespread abuse.
Yet, it rankled her. The idea that this knowledge, which could do so much good, would be held among the elite, hoarded away by chosen court doctors. Yes, chakra could burn down houses, but chakra could raise walls of stone and bring floods—which could also build houses and water fields. Chakra could heal instantaneously. It was miraculous, and miracles deserved to be shared. But not yet, she decided.
Yui dipped her pen in ink, and she wrote that it would be better to trade information of chakra-healing with other doctors instead of putting it in the book.
First, she'd get all the knowledge she could from those court doctors. Once her techniques of chakra and medicine lost their value as bargain chips... perhaps then. She'd consider it then. Mind made up, Yui rolled up the letter and tied it with a piece of string.
Being a healer meant slow, pleasant days with no patients to tend to—and days where everything fell apart. Today was the latter. She was woken up just before sunrise by banging on her door; the cobbler's wife was going into labor a month early. Yui had just gathered her apprentices and supplies when another farmer rushed in, frantic about his brother's accident with an axe. And on her way to the fields, she found out that Hiroshi's eye was likely infected.
"Sen, go with Akio and help with the delivery. I'll join you after. Eiji, check on Hiroshi again. Take some asalic and check for fever." They both nodded, heading in opposite directions while she followed the farmer to his fields.
The second she saw his brother, Yui knew that it was bad. The axe had severed his popliteal artery, and though he'd had the presence of mind to tie a tourniquet, it was too late. His heart rate was less than sixty beats per minute, his respiration was barely better, and he'd lost consciousness. Yui's hands were coated with bright red arterial blood as she desperately tried to close the wound, but his limbs were cold, his skin was clammy. His breath slowed. Yui felt his pulse weaken, weaken, and finally, it stopped.
The farmer thanked her through his tears, resignation and despair choking his words. In comparison to this dull, undeserved gratitude, Yui almost preferred anger and accusation. It was what she deserved. His friends and family had come to the field, and they quietly ushered him away from the body as they moved it from the fields. Yui left shortly after. There wasn't anything she could do for the dead.
She had only one thought as she walked slowly to the village: if only.
If only Yui had everything she remembered from the other world, blood transfusions and antibiotics and advanced surgery, everything from those half-faded dreams and uncertain realities… if only she remembered more about how they were made and what to do. Yes, some patients would have died regardless. But not today, not with this patient. Life in this world, in this time, existed on a whim. It could be taken away at any time, no matter what she did.
"I have to keep trying," Yui said aloud. "I have to."
She'd done good. She'd saved lives, spread knowledge, even attempting to bring medicine that was still several decades away: the same antibiotics she needed.
(It was never enough.)
Yui trudged to the door and pushed it open. The day had just begun, but she was tired. She washed her hands in the bucket with soap, her hands cold and sticky. Yui closed her eyes and steeled herself. There was still a baby to deliver and a village to care for and medicine to make.
She could do this. She didn't want to.
Yui dumped the bloody needle and thread into a basket and looked around for fresh ones. There were none in the clinic, so she hurried to the shed. She opened the door and saw Sen sitting in the corner, head down.
"Sen?" She blinked. "I thought you were…" Yui stopped.
"They didn't make it. Not the mom, not the baby. It was a breech birth. The baby… the baby was stillborn, and the mom bled out." He looked up, his eyes red and face stained with tears. "Did yours?"
She shook her head. She sat down next to him and pulled him closer. He didn't protest or complain, instead curling against her, resting his head on her shoulder. Sen shook, and Yui realized that he was trying to hold back tears.
"It's okay to cry," she murmured, and he began to sob. Yui let him cry, gently stroking his hair as he tried to collect himself.
"You should've been there," he choked out, and his words were like a jolt of ice.
"What?"
He roughly wiped away the tears. "I'm not good enough. If you'd picked a better apprentice or if Eiji had gone there or if it wasn't me, then they would've survived."
"Sen—"
"I'm not like you or Eiji! I'm not smart and I don't get things as fast! Things… things don't make sense to me like they do to you! I can't be the best healer. I can't even be good." His sobbing grew louder. "I failed. I failed, and now they're dead! It's not fair. They didn't need to die!"
"Oh, Sen…" He'd been bottling this up for so long. How hadn't she noticed it? Yui hugged him tighter. "It's not your fault—"
"It feels like it, okay?"
She was quiet. "It always feels like it," Yui admitted. "No matter how much we know it's not. I feel it, too." She rested her head against the wall. "I feel the same way about every patient I couldn't save. I see their faces, sometimes, and I wish..."
"You? But you're so good!" he blurted out. "The only people you can't save are the impossible ones!"
She almost felt like laughing at that, but she was too tired to summon up amusement. If only he knew. "I've made mistakes, too. I always feel that if only I was better, I would've saved more." Yui brushed back his hair and sighed. "Sen, you might not get theory as easily as Eiji, but you work harder anyway. And you're better with the practical parts of it, and more importantly, you're good with people."
"Like that helps," he mumbled.
"It does. You're better with people than I am," she said frankly. "People like having you treat them. You know what to say to make them feel better, and that's one of the most important things." She looked down. "Sen, no matter how good we are, people will die. It's one of the hardest parts about being a healer. Don't be so hard on yourself, ok?"
"But—"
"Okay?"
"Okay." He was crying again. "Sis… does it get better?"
"It'll pass. There'll always be regret, but it'll pass."
"It hurts, though."
"I know." She closed her eyes. "I know."
All day and last night had been nonstop work. They'd spent all night with Hiroshi: his infection had gotten worse, and after careful monitoring, his fever had broken with the dawn. He hadn't been their only patient, though. There was another delivery after, a broken leg to set, a nasty cold that could develop into pneumonia, a chopped-off finger and something that looked like but hopefully wasn't chicken pox.
Eiji was helping her describe a new type of glassware she needed for her experiment when a knock came at the door. Sen snorted as he measured out doses of powdered aspirin to wrap in little pouches, and Yui exchanged an exasperated look with her apprentices. Every time they sat down to write, something interrupted them.
She stood up and opened the door. "Yes?"
Tobirama, Hashirama's brother, looked at her. With the bright red marks on his cheeks, matching red eyes, and a head of white hair, he was as imposing as she remembered. His armor was scuffed, and bandages covered his legs, but he looked otherwise fine—minus his uncomfortable, rigid posture.
"Healer," he said, tilting his head. "I am here on behalf of my brother. He is currently… occupied with the duties of a clan head and sent me in his stead."
"I see," she murmured. So it had finally happened. "I'm sorry about your dad."
"Thank you." His words were as stiff as his pasture, and he looked to the left instead of meeting her gaze.
"Come inside?"
He followed her in, looking more self-conscious by the moment. Eiji and Sen gawked at him, unabashed, eyes widening as they beheld the strange-colored ninja. She poured a cup of tea for herself and Tobirama; the boys had just eaten, so they refused. They sipped their tea quietly for a few moments while her apprentices whispered badly. Tobirama continued to look more and more uneasy by the moment.
"I hear you're getting married?" she asked to break the awkward silence.
"Yes." Tobirama shifted slightly, glancing at her apprentices and then the tea.
"Wow, he's so weird looking," whispered Sen. "Who'd want to marry him?"
"Almost as weird as those ninjas with the white eyes," agreed Eiji. "Is he an albino—"
"Boys!" She glared at them. "If you can't behave yourself in front of a guest, then leave! You could always organize the shed."
"We already did that!"
"Then do it again." She stared at them until they sighed and left. "Sorry about that, Tobirama-san."
"It's… fine." He took a sip from his cup. "They meant no harm."
"It was rude," she said firmly. "They'll get a talking to."
They were still teenagers, prone to dumb miscalculations, and it had been a long day for all of them. After a night with no sleep and nonstop work, a little loose talk was understandable. But if they expected to stay, they'd better keep their mouth shut regardless.
Tobirama glanced at her baggy eyes and unkempt hair. "I do not wish to inconvenience you." His eyes drifted to the stains on her sleeves before returning to peer at his cup.
She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Are you here for salves?"
"Yes." He hesitated. "And more." Tobirama pulled out a pouch of coins and two scrolls and put it on the table. "The coins are for payment, but the scrolls are a token of appreciation."
"For what?" she asked, puzzled.
He tapped the scroll, and there was a puff of smoke. As it cleared, on top of the scroll appeared a book. Yui stared, more confused, and looked back the paper. How in the world did he make the book appear like that?
"My brother wanted to give you this."
She picked up the book. It was small, roughly bound, faded. Despite its shabby appearance, her eyes widened at the title: Chakra and Medicine.
"My gods," whispered Yui.
She picked up the the cover, almost welling up with emotion, her exhaustion fading as she held it in her hands. Hashirama had given this to her… Hashirama had trusted her with this knowledge, his clan's knowledge. Written on the inside cover, in long, sprawling characters, was a note:
I know you said not to apologize, so I'll thank you instead.
Your friend,
Hashirama
"I also have a token to offer." He bowed, shallow, and straightened. "You have been a great help to my clan and my brother."
"You didn't need to do that," she said, flustered. "I should be thanking you. I'm just being a friend."
"Ninja do not have many of those. My brother..." Tobirama paused for a moment and continued in the same calm voice, gesturing to the two scrolls on the table. "These are known as sealing scrolls. If you channel chakra into them, then you can store objects inside."
The significance of his gifted objects caught up with her, and she gasped, wide-eyed. "You have pocket dimensions?" She said the last two words in English, causing Tobirama to frown. "I mean, you have a way of making the scroll a kind of… pocket to keep things in? And it doesn't get heavy?"
Tobirama looked pleased. "Yes, indeed. The scroll is a sort of doorway. Would you like to try using it?"
"Yes!"
"Try resealing the book."
After placing the book on top of the scroll, she channeled chakra into the scroll and gasped as the book disappeared into the paper. She picked it up; it was just as light as any other scroll.
"Incredible," she whispered. It was more than incredible; it could be life-changing. Technology like this would've revolutionized her old world, transforming international trade and shipping. It could do even more for this one. "What can I put in this? How much before it stops working?" she asked, feeling excitement build. "What about food? Or water?"
Tobirama raised a pale eyebrow, and he gave her something almost like a smile. "As long as it fits on the paper, it should fit in the scroll. Anything below this height," he gestured, raising his hand a foot above the table, "should be fine. If the object is too big, then it won't seal. Food won't spoil for as long as it remains in the seal. The seal will stop working if water causes the ink—"
"Food won't spoil?" Yui blurted out. Could the seal be like a pocket dimension that opened to a contained vacuum? And she'd thought that chakra couldn't surprise her anymore. Her head was spinning with all the potential applications. "If I put something hot in there, will it still be hot when I take it out?"
"Yes."
She sat down, stunned. "I… gods." Did the seal stop time? Or was it simply insulated?
"Don't put anything living inside the seal," Tobirama added belatedly. "It won't be living when you take it out."
Yui stared at the scroll. How had this technology not changed everything? "How d'you make this? Why don't more people—" She stopped and looked at him.
Tobirama stared back, gaze steady.
Of course. Of course, ninja wouldn't want to share anything that gave them an advantage, no matter how many people it would help. Still, she had to try. "Can you teach me how to make one?"
"I cannot." Low, clear, and resolute, it was the voice of someone who could not be moved.
Yui picked up the other scroll, her enthusiasm tempered by disappointment. She wondered how common these sealing scrolls were and what a 'seal' even was. Perhaps she could send a letter to Makoto about it or ask one of her merchant regulars. "Tobirama-san, how—"
He stood up, hand on his sword. Every inch of him screamed with tension, his face blank as the air crackled lightly with cold, sharp chakra. "Stand behind me."
"What—"
"Yui-san, stand behind me, now."
She stood up. The door opened.
"Hey, healer." Izuna smiled, teeth bared, eyes flickering red and black. She flinched back, and thick, noxious chakra clashed, suffocating, and she could see her clinic burning again and tasted ashes as her lungs seized up. "Think you could take a look at my burn?"
The two men stared at each other. Tobirama took one step and then another. He stopped in front of Izuna. "You're lucky I don't cut you down now," he said, low, almost a whisper.
The Uchiha laughed. "If it wasn't for the treaty, you'd be dead."
Tobirama gripped the hilt of his sword. The chakra grew in intensity, a thick storm of embers and static. Her nails dug into her palms as her head spun. Not again. No, it couldn't happen again. It couldn't. She wanted to shout or say something, anything. Her words caught in her throat and spots danced in front of her eyes, and all Yui could do was breathe.
With another slow step, hand on his sword, Tobirama stopped next to Izuna. One facing the door, the other her, the Uchiha and Senju stood side by side. The tension in the air weighed down. All that was needed was a spark for her clinic to burst into flames.
"Treat your injury, Uchiha."
Tobirama stepped past Izuna and walked through the doorway. The door closed, and Yui gasped, taking in a deep breath as she sunk back into her chair. The overpowering chakra faded, and Yui winced as she splayed out her fingers on the table; her palms were bleeding.
"Please don't fight," she murmured weakly.
Izuna laughed again, just as grim as before. "How dare you."
She stared, startled out of her relief. "What?"
"How dare you take the moral high ground and presume to command my clan?" The same fire-and-ember chakra rose again, making her flinch. His coal black eyes narrowed as he walked towards her. "You, a peasant naive enough to say stupid things like 'don't fight' without understanding? Don't fight? Rich, coming from a profiteer like you! It's bad enough that you treat the Senju, but you have the audacity to stick your nose in our war and make demands, even forcing treaties on us!"
Izuna pressed his hand on the table and leaned forward. "Listen, healer. If we were to end the war, that means everyone who ever died against a Senju has died for nothing! And here you go, talking about peace and forgiveness as if you know anything at all." His face twisted from a snarl into a sickeningly false smile. "But how could someone like you understand honor? You didn't even take revenge after the Senju burned your house down."
The shock that had kept her from speaking disappeared. "The Senju?" asked Yui, finding her voice. "It was just the Senju who burned down my home?"
Izuna paused, reluctant. Some of the heat faded from his voice as he added, "After we did, too."
"So you want me to take revenge?" Yui stared at him, bemused but most of all, angry. What in the world was this ninja thinking, coming into her clinic and saying this to her? "Do you want me to stop treating you and your clan?"
Izuna shook his head. "No, of course not!" His hair fell into his eyes, and he raised his other arm to brush it aside and winced. A burn, second-degree, judging by the blistering, stretched from his knuckles to his wrist. "It's better for us that you don't take revenge, but… any principled person would have done so. Don't you feel anything at all?"
How… how could he say that to her? Her hands shook with anger and exhaustion and old fear. She didn't feel anything? Those sleepless nights, those dreams of smoke, her instinct to flinch when she heard the crackle of fire—those were nothing? Her first cotton kosode and carved plates and silk scarves, memories she had of each traveler, everything she mourned and missed, it was nothing?
She tried to control her breathing but couldn't. It came out in shaky breaths as she grabbed bandages and salve from her shelves. "Just because I don't say anything," Yui cut a strip with more force than necessary, "doesn't mean I don't feel it." She didn't bother to hide her rage. "Let me treat your hand."
His self-righteous glare faded into dawning regret, but he set his mouth and held out his arm. "I'm only speaking the truth."
It was the last straw. Perhaps if he'd come another day, when she wasn't as exhausted, then maybe she would have kept her temper. Maybe she would have remembered that this man could slaughter her village without blinking.
"Shinobi," she sneered. Her face flushed red as anger rose, even as she cleaned his wound with cold water. He was decrying everything her life's work, the dream she devoted every waking day to. "You come here, ask for healing, and talk down me? You think I ain't—you think I don't notice it? How dare you?"
Yui had more to say. She had so much more to say, about how counterproductive this all was, how useless, how this wasted lives and resources and children, that the techniques that ninja hoarded away could change the world a dozen times over if they didn't insist on slaughtering each other… but she didn't know the words. She didn't know how to say it, so she asked a question instead. "Why are you fighting?"
Izuna gaped at her, mouth open and blinking, and it took him a few seconds before he responded with the same unceasing conviction. "Because they've killed my—"
"Why did your clans start fighting?" She applied salve to his wound and stared him in the eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes.
He was quiet for a moment. "We were hired on the opposing sides of wars—"
Yui let out a short, harsh laugh. "So it's not even your own fight, and you defend it so well!"
"Look, you don't understand—" he began, gritting his teeth.
"I don't. I don't, and you ninja keep dragging me into it!" she shouted. "It's not enough for me to treat you, is it? I have to pick sides? No. No, I won't, and don't ask me again!" She grabbed the jars of salve and slammed them on the table. "You don't gotta like me, and I don't gotta like you. I'm your healer. You're my patient. That's all that matters." She pointed to the container of chakra-infused mint and honey paste. "Put this on your burn and change the bandages. You've been hurt enough times to know what to do. D'you need anything else?"
Slowly, Izuna picked them up and put it in a cloth satchel. "Well, I…"
"Do you need anything else?" she repeated.
"No." He handed her the pouch of coins and hesitated.
"Take care of your wound." She ushered him out the door and slammed it shut behind him.
Chakra lingered in the air like smoke she couldn't air out. Yui ran her hand through her hair, untying the leather strap and letting the strands frame her face. She closed her eyes for a moment and then pulled her hair into a bun. Today had been miserable.
Yui glanced at the table. Two scrolls, one containing a book and the other empty, waiting to be filled, rested on top, waiting to be used.
Tomorrow, though, could change everything.
On a brisk fall day with wind cold enough to cut, Yui decided to test the effect of chakra on two strains of fungi.
The two most promising samples came from a moldy piece of bread from the blacksmith's pantry, and the other came from a rotting orange a child had found. Both exhibited a slight halo effect: a ring around the fungi where bacteria didn't grow.
Yui stared at the culture to imprint the image in her mind. Yellow and brown bacterial colonies surrounded but did not touch the white and blue fungal circles in the gelatin mold. She used a ruler—procured by Tsubaki—to measure the length of the ring: about a centimeter and a half.
She rubbed her hands together, taking deep breaths and clearing her mind. After a decade of practice, Yui could slip into the meditative state needed for chakra at will... usually. Today, her stomach churned, and several seconds passed before the chakra gathered in her palms, prickling and brought her hands closer to the fungi and let chakra fall in a thick, sparking stream.
"Come on," she murmured, soft enough to be a prayer. Yui let the light fade, blinking back the spots in her eyes, and held her breath.
She didn't see much of a difference. Shaking her head at her foolishness, Yui sighed. Chakra might be the closest thing to magic, but what did she expect to happen? For all the bacteria to magically disappear? Even if the chakra had killed the bacteria, it wasn't something she could tell by just looking at it, not without a microscope. Yui repeated the process with the other strain of fungi. Still no change, and the ruler confirmed it. But science was rarely dramatic shifts. Instead, it was gradual, repeated steps. With that in mind, Yui left two samples alone as control groups.
She repeated the process on the second day, and when when she measured the length of the halo, she noticed that the halo was now two centimeters long. The other chakra-stressed fungi was still a centimeter and a half, as were the control group. Perhaps it was a fluke.
On the fourth day, the difference was visible. The halos around the chakra-treated fungi were twice as large as the ones left alone. Yui had stressed the fungi. She had increased the production of penicillin in an unholy alliance of half-baked science and chakra. It had… she didn't know why, but for some reason, it reminded her of the first day she'd witnessed chakra, with old Anzu shattering her preconceptions with a dozen green sparks.
"Penicillin," she whispered, looking at the fungi, and this time, it really was a prayer. Yui laughed, and then cried, before finally washing her face and getting back to testing another batch.
She had all sorts of speculation about it, all of them centered around chakra's anti-infective properties. But her passion had never been research or theory. She'd never cared for labs and trials and textbooks, only taking the mantle of 'inventor' out of sheer necessity. Yet, she had done it.
Yes, there was more to do. Yui still had to find a way to extract it, to increase production to viable levels, to convince people that it could work… there were ways to go before she could use it to treat someone. But it was a start. Yui was one step closer to antibiotics and modern medicine, one step closer to dragging this world forward, and she could feel it, deep in her bones, giddy with the promise of a better future.
AN: Thank you so, so much for your support. All those lovely follows, favorites, and reviews blow me away and motivate me. As usual, there's a little bonus content on tumblr.
Special thanks to PyrothTenka, Iaso, GwendonlynStacy, and Enbi for beta-reading this chapter. These wonderful people are also talented writers; I recommend their work highly. Thanks again to all of you for your support.
