Chapter Ten: Occlusion
Yui lifted her ear from the stethoscope and frowned. She could hear faint crackles in the servant's left lung, and all her symptoms pointed towards potential bronchitis.
"Your chest cold is getting worse," Yui murmured. "I have a honey and lemon tea for you. Drink it often and rest when you can. I'll also give you some powdered medicine for the pain." The powder being aspirin, of course. For acute bronchitis, there wasn't much else that could be done. "Boiling water and breathing in the steam may help. Come to me if you have any more problems."
"Thank you, ma'am." The servant, a girl named Aiko, ducked her head in a bow.
Yui gently took her hand and turned it palm-up. On Aiko's forearm were fading bruise marks in the shape of fingers. The servant said nothing. Yui felt a dull pang, but there wasn't much she could do. Even if the servant were to confide in her—which was unlikely, considering her outsider status and the chance that Aiko could lose her job—Yui had little authority in this strange place.
"I can numb the pain," Yui said finally. She placed her palm on the marks, and after a deep breath, started gathering chakra in her finger tips. After a moment, she slowly channeled them onto the girl's skin. When she lifted her palm, the marks were still there, but Aiko gasped regardless.
"It doesn't hurt!" she said, wide-eyed.
Yui let out a shallow breath. It had worked. In the last few months, she'd given up leisure time to spend hours endlessly studying, pouring over every scroll and book the ninja had given her. She'd done it before, on animals and herself, and she'd made sure to learn it perfectly before she used it on a patient—but directly using chakra to heal never ceased to amaze her.
"The bruise is still there even if the pain isn't. Be careful. I'll also give you some salve to help it heal."
"Thank you," said Aiko, bowing again. "Thank you kindly, healer." Yui expected her to make her excuses and leave quickly, as her informal patients in this estate usually did, but instead, she lingered.
"Anything else?" asked Yui, pausing.
"If... if you don't mind me saying," she began slowly, "you seem to have upset the young mistress. Lord Fukuyama's daughter, I mean."
Yui nodded, unsurprised to hear that the gossip had spread. She hadn't noticed any retaliation since yesterday when she'd shrugged off the noble lady. Of course, that didn't mean there wouldn't be any.
"Please..." Aiko hesitated. "Please be patient with her. She's having some trouble. It might be hard to believe, but she is... kind. In her own way."
Startled, Yui could only stare in response. Of all the descriptions, that wasn't one she expected.
"The young mistress notices our problems when she doesn't have to. She's been sending me home early to avoid—" The servant abruptly stopped, and the blood drained from her face.
"Healer," said a low, sharp voice. "I see you have continued your acts of charity, even so far from home."
Yui turned and saw, of all people, Izuna. The Uchiha stared back, posture rigid, arms crossed over red armor. She couldn't quite read the expression on his face; it was superficially neutral, but he seemed almost uncomfortable—a far cry from the anger she'd last seen. In response, Yui couldn't bring herself to feel anything besides a vague sense of annoyance.
"Izuna-san," she said, polite, dry.
The servant girl made a high-pitched squeak and practically sprinted away, leaving the tea and aspirin behind.
"You forgot... the medicine," Yui trailed off, frowning as Aiko turned the corner. She'd have to track the girl down later.
Izuna looked almost amused as he watched her go, but all traces of that disappeared when he looked back at her. Izuna gave her a slow nod. "I had heard that you were brought to Lord Fukuyama's residence."
She raised her eyebrows, feeling tired with this conversation already. "Clearly."
He grimaced. For a moment, Yui thought that would be all he'd say. Then, he finally spoke. "Would you accompany me to the courtyard?"
His speech struck her as a bit stilted, almost overly formal. She didn't respond for a second, wondering what in the world he wanted. Was he planning on yelling at her again? Yui didn't have patience for anything, let alone that tired old argument. Still, she nodded. With a small surge of chakra, she sealed away her stuff. Izuna eyed the scroll, but he didn't say anything. He even waited until she stood up before he started walking. How strange. How polite. She walked alongside him, noting that his armor shone with polish, so unlike the dull, bloody sheen she was used to.
Just as Yui, with a muted sense of relief, had accepted that the walk would be silent, Izuna cleared his throat. "My brother already spoke to you."
"He did," she said. Madara had given the apology that Izuna hadn't.
The muscles in his cheeks jumped as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "I said what I did out of anger. I should not have aimed it at you."
The subtext was clear. I should have aimed it at the Senju. I do not take back what I say. All at once, a surge of anger swept over her, powerful enough that Yui missed a step. She almost choked, uncertain where it came from. Yui closed her eyes and waited for it to pass, ignoring the prickling of what couldn't be tears. Her clinic had burned down before the clans had entertained neutrality for her village. What would it take for peace? What was the point when the architects of war kept the same sentiments as ? When she opened her eyes, Izuna was still standing there, looking at her with concern she didn't need.
"I know." She tried to keep the heat from her tone but didn't know if she'd succeeded. Yui started walking, setting a brisker pace that Izuna easily matched. He was still staring at her with that damned concern.
"I heard about your brother," said Izuna finally.
And just like that, everything drained away. The anger, the irritation, everything faded to a numb sense of cold. She raised her head and looked at him, saying nothing.
"I went to your village to pick up medicine and learned about it from your apprentice," he added, looking away.
"How is he?" she said slowly, trying to avoid the inevitable. "How is the village?"
"Both are doing well." Izuna's hand went to his side, though no sword was present, and he forced himself to let his arm hang loose. "While we would prefer your care, you have trained your apprentice well. He is managing."
They crossed the path of two lounging guards. Both stiffened, glancing from Izuna to Yui before sharing an uneasy look, almost cringing as Izuna's gaze passed over them. Just after that hallway, Yui and Izuna ran into a group of chatting servants—all of whom fell silent and backed away.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
There it was. Even he had said it. She closed her eyes again. That same phrase had rubbed her raw, repeated with enough frequency that the words itself made her want to break something. That kind of action, however, required too much energy. Yui glanced at him, dull. For all his faults, Izuna did seem sincere.
"Thank you."
The silence that fell was heavy, but Izuna soon broke it. "How are you enjoying your stay here?" His words were stiff, the subject change was obvious enough to be painful, and Yui wasn't sure how to react.
She blinked at him, wondering where in the world this sudden decency came from. Was this his way of apologizing? Was he trying to be sensitive? "It's different," she said, short.
He smiled, or at least tried to. "Indeed. Nobility live in a separate world."
"Yeah." It had been an awfully long walk, noted Yui. Were they going in circles? Or was Izuna taking the most roundabout way to the courtyard? A portly man with circular glasses and a pile of scrolls almost dropped everything when he noticed them. "Are they all scared of ninja, or are they scared of you specifically?" she asked instead.
While her fellow villagers weren't quite friendly with them, none of them blinked twice at their presence. Shinobi weren't frequent customers, but on the occasions that they stopped for supplies, their coin worked just as well as any other. Most of the travelers that visited Chiyuku rarely overreacted either, as merchants hired ninja for protection anyway.
"Both. I am the current heir to the Uchiha clan, and that tends to intimidate the majority of people with sense." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Regardless, most commoners aren't as familiar with ninja as you are." Izuna smiled, but it was the same one that she'd seen on his brother—and Hashirama. "Most people think we're monsters."
Monsters. It was always monsters. As if humans weren't bad enough.
"We're the reason you're here," he said suddenly, breaking her spiraling thoughts. "Lord Fukuyama is a frequent customer of ours, and when he asked us if we knew any competent healers, my brother mentioned your name."
Yui looked away. "I see." She'd expected as much, with the lord's vagaries.
They took a turn, and now they were finally at the courtyard. Several evergreen bushes were dusted in ice, glimmering in the overcast light. Dead trees loomed in the light layer of snow, and the colorful robes of the ladies looked like flowers against the white. Lady Fukuyama's was the brightest, a rose-red etched in gold.
The light chattering of the ladies faded as the lord's daughter noticed Yui. Her expression turned studiously neutral, her painted lips tugging ever-so-slightly downwards. Yui found herself feeling faintly surprised; none of the ladies seemed intimidated by the ninja. She looked to her left to see Izuna's reaction... and found that the ninja was missing. She glanced around to make sure and found that he was nowhere to be seen.
"You," said Lady Fukuyama, raising her painted eyebrow. "What brought you to the courtyard alone? Are you not caring for the child my dearest mother whelped?" (Both were sleeping, though that was none of her concern.)
"The blame is on me," drawled a familiar voice, and then came the reaction Yui had expected—screams and fluttering sleeves as the group pulled out fans and tittered with shock. Lady Fukuyama's reaction was more restrained; she merely flushed and drew her fan in front of her lips.
The guards, who had been posted around the edge of the garden, jumped into action, straightening their pikes and swords, ill at ease at the sight of Izuna.
"Shinobi," Lady Fukuyama greeted regardless, the aristocratic lilt out in full force. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence."
"My lady," he replied. "I asked the healer here to accompany me to the gardens." Slowly, telegraphing his moves, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a wrapped scroll. Izuna stepped forward and held it out to her. Still covering her face with the fan, the once-heiress plucked it from his fingers daintily.
"If you will excuse me," said Izuna, with a bow. He looked to Yui and nodded. "Healer."
Yui nodded back, and—instead of disappearing like she expected—Izuna turned and strode out of the garden, leaving her alone with the ladies.
"You are acquainted with that ninja?" Lady Fukuyama lowered her fan slightly.
"Yes," Yui said. "I frequently treat his clan."
At this, the lady turned pensive, and her companions murmured in high, soft voices. Yui couldn't help but glance down at her own clothing, simple and drab next to their elaborate outfits. (A small, petty part of her pointed out that she had silk clothing too, even if she never wore it.) She turned away from the gaggle, prepared to leave even if she wasn't dismissed.
"Healer, would you accompany me on a turn around the garden?"
Yui turned back around and stared. "I-I must go," she stammered finally. "The baby—"
"Just a short round, then." Lady Fukuyama cut through her protests, and with practiced ease, she pulled Yui alongside her and away from the other ladies. "Is it only the Uchiha clan you consort with?"
"I don't con—conspert… consort with anyone," she snapped, flushing at verbal stumble and the double entendre. Her lowborn accent couldn't be helped, but her vocabulary had grown thanks to all those books and visitors. Still, something about this place made her feel even more like a rube. (Arrogant prisses, Sen had scoffed at one merchant or another. I bet they'd faint if they saw a chicken.)
"You do not?" The lady's painted eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly. "It means to—"
"I know." Yui knew she was pushing it with the interruptions, but part of her was tired of being careful. Tired of holding her tongue and making careful plans that anyone could knock over. She was just… tired. Yui looked away, settling her gaze on a withered vine that wrapped around an oak tree. The decaying plant was a better sight than the mocking smile on Lady Fukuyama's face.
The lady snapped her fan shut. "Yet you are a contradiction indeed. A woman of low birth, educated, respected, with connections to a ninja clan. In this estate, you spend time treating servants. Why?"
Yui stiffened, failing to hide a shiver as a gust of wind buffeted her. "As you said, I am of low birth."
Lady Fukuyama's eyes bored into Yui's, a different kind of intensity from what she was used to, subtle and poised instead of overt. "Yes, but would you not want to distance yourself from your beginnings instead of reminding others? I've met social climbers before. They would rather choke than remind others of their beginning or consort," her painted lips twitched with amusement, "with others of their class."
Yui stared, petty in silence. Lady Fukuyama met her gaze evenly, hands tucked in her sleeves as snow drifted downwards, and it only took a few moments for Yui to relent. "I treat everyone," she said shortly.
"Do you?" It was a statement more than a question. The lady let her smile grow, as if sharing something sly and secret.
Yui had no patience for sly and secret. "Yes. Do you need something from me?"
Lady Fukuyama, for the first time since beginning this conversation, was startled. She adjusted her sleeves, and her red lips punched together in a mix of disapproval and amusement. "There are not many who would dare to imply that I required their services."
She blinked. "I... see?" Yui trailed off, genuinely uncertain how to respond. Did the lady need something or not? Was she expecting an apology?
After a moment, the lady did the last thing Yui expected: she laughed. Not controlled, genteel mockery, but a sharp single bark. "Very well." Lady Fukuyama shook her head, still smiling. "You may go, healer. I have kept you long enough." With that dismissal, she pivoted away, sleeves trailing as she joined the colorful women mingling in the center.
Yui wasn't at the lady's beck and call, but it was too damn cold to stay outside, too damn cold to deal with silly politics, baffling ladies, and this mess that had nothing to do with her. With one last glance at the garden, she hurried inside, back towards the warmth.
The baby gurgled as Kono rocked him back and forth. "Aren't you a darling?" She smiled, and the baby scrunched his face in response.
"He's growing well," murmured Yui. "Let me hold him?"
When she took the child from the wet nurse's arms, Yui was surprised by how heavy he'd become. He'd already gained two pounds in two weeks, which was on track for a full-term child. The baby was making up for his early birth, and though he had ways to go, Yui was optimistic that the worst had passed. She checked his breathing (stronger and now within regular range), his heartbeat (a little fast, but almost passable) and the soft bone plates in his head (all shaped correctly).
She handed him back to Kono, who quickly wrapped him back in the sling. By necessity, the two women had spent almost every day together; Yui had seen her more than Lady Hisayo, the baby's mother.
Kono absentmindedly stroked the downy hair on the baby's head as Yui resealed her stethoscope. The silence was comfortable, born of need but nurtured by quiet conversation. (It was the kind that made her heart ache, and she didn't know why—no, she knew, she knew why, and she suddenly couldn't breathe.)
"I miss him," said Kono, and Yui was so startled by hearing her not-thoughts repeated that she almost dropped the scroll.
"Who?" Yui asked, heart in her throat.
"My son," Kono said casually, so lightly that she could have been discussing the color of kimonos. "He died three months ago, just before he turned a week old. The fever was too much for him to bear." Her fingers stopped moving, resting just on the base of the baby's skull. "I haven't talked to my husband since then. I left to be Lady Hisayo's wet nurse, and I haven't had the chance." Her voice shook, and she wiped her eyes with her free hand. "Sometimes, I hold this little noble and think that he could have been my son. He could have been my Ryouji."
"It's hard." The words were thick, choked, half-cracked, splintering like a vase under pressure. Yui's eyes burned. Her vision blurred. Emotions rose like a monsoon river, and she barely kept her head above the water. She didn't know where this had come from, why this was happening now, and she took shaking breaths, nails digging into her palms, to center herself. Slowly, slowly, she pushed back the flood. When Yui blinked, no tears fell.
Kono looked up, and her eyes widened. She hesitated, biting at her lip. "Have..." she stopped. "Have you..."
"It's hard," she said again.
They sat together, mourning, two women bound by the universal experience of grief.
In the last week, Yui had mostly been left alone. She'd tracked down Aiko to give the medicine she'd left behind, treated the people who came to her room, and saw Hisayo twice. Yui saw glimpses of Lady Fukuyama, but the retaliation she'd expected never came. Was it the long game, some attempt to pull on her nerves? If so, it wasn't working. An early life of near-subsistence had conditioned her to focus on the immediate, and it took effort that Yui didn't have to break out of that thought pattern, here in the unfamiliar.
Lord Fukuyama was conspicuously absent, as was Izuna. She couldn't help but wonder why the lord didn't come to see his son. Was it a coping mechanism, to distance himself as long as the child's survival was uncertain? Did he find it pointless to visit when he was incapable of doing anything to help? Or did he simply not care? On the other hand, Izuna's absence was far less of a mystery. Yet, she couldn't help but feel something tangential to disappointment: he'd shown her sympathy, something he'd never bestowed upon her before.
Regardless, Yui settled into a new routine. Two and a half weeks had passed, and the baby was almost stable enough for her to indulge in thoughts of returning home. Her own garden, instead of the courtyard's perfect crypt. Brewing tea as she liked instead of waiting in awkward limbo for the servants. Even as she fantasized, a cloying fear undercut every daydream. Every time she replayed opening the door to her cottage, she saw only emptiness. She heard only silence. Yui wanted to return to her village, but she was afraid of going home and finding that it was no longer so.
It was noon, just after the baby's feeding, when the door to the room opened and in came the last two people that Yui expected: the lord's old doctor and a familiar face—Dr. Makoto.
"I must say, I found your theorizing on animalcules in the Primer to be quite informative. Did you know that some of my colleagues in Lightning share your same view? I even recommended your book to them," gushed the older man.
Dr. Makoto was nodding absently as the man continued. "I'm glad to hear that, Dr. Tanaka," he said in the tone of someone who wasn't hearing anything.
The lord's doctor cleared his throat and eyed Yui. "Though it is an undeniable pleasure to host you, I am so sorry you had to come all this way, especially through the winter snow. Unfortunately, it seems that the lord and lady have been particular to take the services of people not so distinguished as yourself."
"Well, I wouldn't discount anyone's wisdom just yet." Dr. Makoto checked his pocket watch—bright and new, just like his robes and pale-green doctor's coat—and gave a shallow smile, "'The lotus doesn't choose where it—'" He finally noticed her. "Yui-sensei?"
"Dr. Makoto," she greeted. Something like amusement, flickering softly, rose up at the stunned expression of both doctors. This rush of emotion was just as sudden but not as strong (and she hated it, hated how she had no control over what and how she felt), and she pushed it aside.
"You know her?" Dr. Tanaka looked wide-eyed between both of them, jowls quivering and he swung his head.
"I do!" Makoto's eyebrows rose as high as they could go. "I actually learned several techniques from her. She's one of the best healers I know." He smiled at her. "If she's here, then it's no wonder that my services aren't needed."
Dr. Tanaka began to splutter as Dr. Makoto brushed past him.
"I was wondering why my last letter didn't get a response," he remarked, standing in front of her. "Now it all makes sense. I've so much to share. I'd planned on visiting you in person for this, but meeting here is far more convenient."
"Yes," she murmured. "I suppose."
Before he could say anymore, the baby let out a mewling cry. "Excuse me." Kono ducked her head. "I must tend to the young master." She hurried out of the room, which Yui found unfair, considering that this was supposed to be the baby's room. That was the life of a servant, sadly, always making way for other people's convenience.
Dr. Makoto settled onto a floor pillow and gestured for her to sit. "Now," he said, "how have things been for you?"
She shook her head. "Please, you start."
With a bright grin, Dr. Makoto began to speak. "I thought of what you said. What you always say, about the need for medicine to be shared freely. I hoped to implement something similar to your methods on a smaller scale among our colleagues in the capital."
Dr. Tanaka made a sound at that. Yui's eyes flickered to him, noting the look of disapproval in his pinched eyebrows — accompanied by baffled curiosity — that came from hearing radical ideas. She'd seen it too often in her clinic.
"How did it work?" she asked her once-student. How did his established colleagues take it, especially considering that it came from a respected, male doctor? An ember of curiosity burned in her chest.
This was what she'd worked for. This was still her life goal, what made this existence worth living even through all the loss.
"Better than I could have hoped." He adjusted his glasses, feigning humbleness, but his eyes were bright and practically bursting with pride. "I approached doctors who were more disillusioned with the current system, and I offered one or two techniques with no strings attached. They, in most cases, insisted on a trade. After a few more trades like this, I pitched the idea of freely-shared information. It began with a friend, but it soon spread to include more than a dozen doctors. We're now a small society."
"That's incredible." The attentiveness that appeared on her face was real, painful, and deep felt. The Royal Society had began this way in England, as had the American Medical Association. This was progress, real progress towards changing the culture to one where science could flourish.
"It is," he agreed. Any bashfulness had long been buried by excitement. "I've learned a few techniques regarding chakra healing and several more regarding healing in general. Perhaps we could discuss them. I could even do a demonstration."
"I'd like that." And she meant it.
Dr. Tanaka broke his uncharacteristic silence, glancing between the two of them before settling his gaze on Makoto. "You give this village healer an inordinately high level of respect."
"I do, and none of it is undeserved."
The silence stretched as both men reevaluated the other. Dr. Tanaka's mouth twisted into a sagging frown, while Dr. Makoto returned his stare with self-confidence that Yui hadn't seen before. Finally, both men seemed to reach a consensus.
Makoto cleared his throat. "Dr. Tanaka, would you mind if we—"
"I certainly have other tasks I must get to," he interrupted. For once, the older man spoke dryly, and a spark of self-awareness glinted in his eyes. He gave them both a pointed look. "I will send for a maid to bring tea."
This time, it was Yui and Makoto's turn to exchange looks. Thoughts of impropriety hadn't crossed her mind, and judging by Makoto's sheepish smile, it hadn't crossed his either.
After the door closed behind the doctor, Makoto shook his head and continued. "Oh! You'll be glad to know that I've managed to secure spots in the University of Keishi for your two apprentices as you requested." His smile turned proud again. "If all goes well, they should be able to enroll in the spring."
She didn't close her eyes. Instead, she quietly steeled herself for delivering the revelation. "Just Eiji," said Yui, calm.
He frowned at her. "Just one? But I thought—"
"Sen died." She interrupted him because she couldn't keep it back, not anymore. The longer she kept silent, the more painful the truth.
The effect was like a physical blow. His face went white, and he opened his mouth for the condolences.
"Please. Don't," she said. "I've heard it enough."
Makoto still respected her. He kept silent, instead ducking his head in a half-apology, half-acknowledgement. He respected her, but his eyes flickered with worry as he took in her appearance under the light of her grief. She ignored it.
Yui was spared the burden of saying anything by the entrance of the maid—Aiko, who Yui had treated for the chest cold and bruises. She bowed as she entered, tray in hand. The silence continued as Aiko set the tray on the low table, folding her legs in seiza as she delicately poured the tea into the beautiful jade-colored cups. Neither Yui nor Makoto were high class enough to rate a tea ceremony by any of the ladies of the house, but Aiko served the tea with practiced grace.
"Thank you," said Yui.
Makoto blinked and echoed his appreciation.
With just the faintest surprise at the doctor's words—they'd gotten used to Yui's insistence on acknowledging they existed, but that didn't extend to others—the servant nodded. Once she finished, Aiko bowed and stepped backwards until her back was pressed against the walls, as silent as furniture.
Makoto lifted his cup, turned it around, and sipped it. Steam fogged his glasses, thwarting his obvious efforts to watch her over the rim of his cup. Yui copied his movements, but she used the tea as an excuse to not meet his gaze. The green tea was the perfect temperature, and its smooth flavor had rich, mellow undertones that she couldn't recognize. Yui had brewed tea of all kinds everyday for the last six years, and her personal collection had grown in the last several years, encompassing not just herbal teas but green and black and other colors. Yet, she could never brew tea like this.
(Sen didn't—hadn't minded tea. He treated it like water; a necessity to drink, but nothing to quibble about. Eiji, though, was particular. He'd like this tea. Maybe she could bring some back for him. Whether he'd accept it was another matter.)
Yui finished her tea and set her cup down. "Will you show me the techniques you mentioned?"
He hesitated. "Yui—" She knew that tone. Pity was the last thing she needed, the last thing that would help. Yui didn't need to be treated like anything had changed (even if she knew, buried under every shred of guilt and exhaustion, how close she was to breaking).
"Please. Show me the techniques."
Another moment of hesitation. His eyes drifted to the left, then the right, anywhere but her face. "Alright," said Makoto. "Alright. I owe you much more than this."
Yui expected the victory to be hollow, like all since then. Yet, it wasn't. She felt not the sheer weight of responsibility or routine, but instead... warmth. Purpose. A rekindling of something she had believed but hadn't felt. Not since then.
"Thank you." Her voice was soft and raw, and Yui picked up the empty cup back up to hide her shaking hands. "Thank you," she said again, filling those two words with as much sentiment as she could muster, dull as it may be from disuse.
Dr. Makoto smiled, brow was pinched with sadness. "You will never have to thank me," he said, just as soft. "You gave me something to strive for, all those years ago." He paused, removing his glasses and wiping them with a silk cloth, clearly wanting to say more. "You will never have to thank me," he repeated instead.
Yui lowered her head. "I want to anyway."
"I know." He tucked away the cloth and put on his glasses, straightening as he did, ducking his head lower with respect. "I never expected anything less."
The most valuable techniques that Makoto had learned was a method for diagnostics. He began with making a strange, twisting gesture with his hands that she'd seen ninja use before. He explained to her that it was to help focus chakra, and that there were several different 'seals' that could be used. The technique was like echolocation; a pulse of chakra was sent through the body, and the feedback could be used to diagnose maladies that couldn't be seen.
"That's incredible," Yui murmured. It could be like an MRI or even an X-ray, a technique she could use far before that technology would be available. (Or perhaps not: X-rays were a relatively early invention, and the scientific advancement of this world was haphazard.) "Can you show me how to do it again?" She offered her arm to him and concentrated, prepared to feel the minutiae of the technique.
Makoto did it again, this time slower, placing his left hand on top of his right fist. He took in a deep breath, and Yui could feel him gathering his rain-like chakra. Then, he sent it outwards in a light pulse that barely disturbed her senses—and then the pulse returned back to his arm.
"It takes some time to make sense of the feedback," he admitted. "At first, it felt like an incoherent jumble, but I soon learned how to translate it into proper information. The trick is to not focus on any particular echo of chakra but to let it all wash over you. Understanding it simply comes through practice. Though I confess that the chickens I purchased for my training were not too happy." Makoto coughed in that half-abashed way of his. "This technique is not exactly lethal, but it can be rather uncomfortable to the patient if performed incorrectly."
The thought of unhappy fowl made her smile despite herself, and she couldn't help but think that Sen would've found it funny. "I'll keep that in mind."
Yui glanced at her own hands, letting chakra build in the junctions between her fingers, taking comfort in the cold, crackling sensation. She let the energy dissipate instead of releasing it, and slowly, she folded her hands in an imitation of the seal he'd made. "Can you show me again?"
He sighed, soft, and there was resignation and sorrow in his smile. "As you wish."
She walked along the outside of the courtyard, shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her breath came out in short clouds as she made her fourth lap around the square. Yui needed some fresh air, she needed some exercise, and she couldn't exactly walk through the woods like she did in her village.
It would be so easy to neglect it all. To lie down and stay there, waiting for time to pass, waiting for her guilt to choke out all her thoughts until a haze of nothing remained. And, with the modicum of distance she'd gained, Yui could admit that she'd done just that—though without lying down. The routine had kept her together, and to neglect that was to neglect her patients. Sometimes, now, she was able to think of the future without the helpless rage-anguish-guilt that Sen wouldn't be here to see it with her. Sometimes. But… she wasn't ready to move beyond routine. Not yet.
To an outsider, her rounds looked strange—too purposeful to be an aimless stroll. One of the guards posted by the main hallway watched her, head tilted with what she assumed was confusion. Yui made her fifth lap and stopped, the cold air searing her lungs as she waited for her breath to settle. She should've brought a scarf, but hindsight wasn't useful for anything but regret.
Wincing at the dry cough that threatened to spill over, Yui drew her gaze back to the static garden. The branches of the wisteria hung low and bare, scraping over an evergreen bush, but nestled at its roots was a dash of color. For a moment, Yui thought someone had left a scrap of cloth, but a second glance revealed that it was a flower. Camellia, if she had to guess, but it was none that she'd seen before, with blush-pink petals and a thick, golden center. Her forest had wild camellia, but they all bloomed in the fall.
Heavy footsteps sounded, and another, nondescript guard came to a stop beside her. "Healer."
With reluctance, she tore her gaze from the flower and looked at him. Yui didn't remember treating him before, and the scar that underlined his eyes was distinctive. She would have remembered it. "Need something?" she asked. She glanced at the flower, wondering if it was a rare, snow-tolerant breed.
"Not quite." His voice was different—sharp, familiar, and she looked back up. A different man, with dark eyes, a scarless face, and the absence of a smile.
Yui flinched back, a yelp strangled in her throat. But it didn't die quickly enough to go unnoticed. The guard from before straightened and began walking towards her with his hand grasped tightly around the spear.
"I'm fine," she called out, clearing her scratchy throat. "Sorry. I was just startled."
This guard she knew; Yui had treated him a few days ago for contusions from training. He glanced at her and then at Izuna with narrowing eyes. Izuna exhaled, an almost sigh, and then met the guard's gaze with a glare.
"Is this ninja bothering you, healer?" He wet his lips, ill at ease, but seemed determined to defend her.
"No, but thanks." Yui held back her own exasperation as Izuna shifted his posture forward, deliberately aggressive. "I'm fine. Truly. He just wanted to talk to me," she said. She didn't feel very convincing, but it seemed to have worked. After another hesitant pause, the guard finally nodded, relieved, and went back to his post.
Now alone, Yui turned back to the ninja. "Izuna-san," she said slowly. "What do you want?"
"Healer." His greeting was pointed. Instead of answering, he formed a hand seal, one that she could now recognize thanks to Makoto's lessons. Bird, and something else, but it was too fast for her to comprehend.
Izuna's chakra washed over her like concentrated heat, and she jerked back again. "What was that?"
He gave her a look, eyebrows raised in a surprised yet condescending expression that reminded her of Madara. "I weaved an illusion to make observers hear a conversation about the weather." The aggression from his posture faded as he straightened and held his shoulders back. "I tend to forget that you can use chakra. Usually, it's only ninja and samurai—and the occasional priest, and you are certainly not a priest," he said, a hint of amusement.
Was that a joke? Was Izuna displaying a personality to her that was something other than angry? "There's more than just those three that use chakra," said Yui finally. It wasn't common to know how to do so, but her old teacher had learned, as had her teacher's teacher, and so on.
Izuna looked away. "Yes, there are sculptors who use chakra to shape stone, and healers like you. But it's… a complex situation. The more people know about it, the more likely someone will misuse it."
In other words, he meant that knowledge of chakra was deliberately suppressed. As if she hadn't figured it out herself—as if Hashirama's words hadn't clued her in. It was a little strange hearing his words parroted back by Izuna, hater of all Senju.
Izuna abruptly changed the subject. "Has Lord Fukuyama's household been treating you well?"
"Yes," she said, bemused.
"Let us know if they haven't," he added.
Yui nodded, uncertain of what to say to his declaration.
Izuna tilted his head, and then he examined her. He really examined her. Compared to the scrutiny she faced from the nobles, this was far more peturbing. Yui knew he'd see the scars of grief: her dull, circled eyes, wan skin and hunched shoulders. Her hair, once so carefully tended to, was thrown back in a careless braid. She wasn't ashamed of her grief. Yet, after bearing the brunt of his misplaced anger, his civility disconcerted her.
He was silent again, for so long that snow began to cover the petals of the camellia. "You remind me of Madara after our brothers died. He refused to grieve then. I don't think he ever has."
"I do grieve," she snapped, feeling her tenuous goodwill fade. "How can you say—" Yui stopped. How could he say that when she'd hardly done anything but grieve, when she'd only just begun climbing from a pit of ennui? "How could you say that?"
Izuna was already shaking his head. "I did not mean it like that," he said, just as sharp, before gritting his teeth and letting his irritation fade. "I meant that you are trying to bury yourself under responsibilities to avoid feeling it. You haven't let yourself rest."
"I can't." She looked at the flower to hide her surprise at his insistence—that he even bothered to tell her. "Not when so much is on my shoulders."
He paused. The smile he gave was familiar bitterness. "I hope you can bear it."
Yui set her shoulders and turned back to him, this time meeting his gaze. "I know I can," she said, repeating what she told herself everyday. This time, she almost meant it. "I have to."
AN: Seriously, thank you all so much. I know this chapter was a long time coming, and it really is thanks to your ongoing support that I finished this at all. Every favorite, follow, and especially every review kept me coming back through the rewrites and editing. The next chapter concludes the nobles arc, and it's mostly written. At the very least, I have more free time now to polish it. I appreciate your continued support.
A big shout out and thank you to my wonderful beta-readers: GwendolynStacy, masqvia, PyrothTenka, Iaso, fishebake, and orpheus_under_starlight. As always, I couldn't have done it without them.
I have a Discord server now, since I already spend too much time on that website. Feel free to join if you want to chat or bug me about updates. I never have any idea what I'm doing on websites, so I can't make any promises about the quality of the server. Here's the link: discord. gg/wNncyM4 (Also, bonus content's been updated on tumblr.)