Chapter Eleven: Effusion
There wasn't much more that Yui could do. The baby was gaining weight, and he latched steadily. His breathing was strong, as evidenced by his crying, which grew louder everyday. She'd been most concerned about him developing chronic lung disease, which was common with premature babies, but he seemed to be in the clear.
"So he is healthy?" said Lady Hisayo, the lord's young wife. She wavered back and forth between obsessive hovering and easy confidence depending on the day, and today seemed the latter.
"Yeah, he isn't in danger anymore. You—the baby's nurse should keep him close in the same way until he's four months old. But I don't think I've got to stay for that. Not anymore."
Both Lady Hisayo and the nursemaid let out a slow shuddering breath. "I'm glad," said the lady, and Kono clutched the baby to her tighter.
"I would recommend that you..." Yui trailed off at the sharp sounds of footsteps and the light thumping she now recognized as a spear hitting against the floor.
"Lady Fukuyama," announced the guard, pulling open the rice paper door. The lady strolled in with easy familiarity as she stepped into a room that she had never entered before.
Lady Hisayo was the mirror image of her supposed stepdaughter. Her face was wan, and her eyes darted from her child to his half-sister. Kono seemed to curl in on herself, falling back into the time-honored tradition of becoming invisible in the presence of nobility.
"Mother." Lady Fukuyama smile cut with false sincerity, second only in sharpness to the faux-affection that saturated the single world. "How is my dear little brother doing?"
Yui moved in front of the two women. "If you're going to bother my patients, you can't stay." She'd never expected to deal with noble politics, but there was no way in hell that she'd let them interfere with her treatment.
Lady Fukuyama's expression contorted with such deep amusement that Yui expected her to burst into back-breaking laughter. "Bother? Why, I would never do such a thing."
"I got to ask you to—"
"She can stay," said Hisayo quietly. The younger woman was shaking, but her lips were pressed tightly and set.
"Are you sure?" Yui hadn't seen Hisayo put her foot down since the first initial day she'd foisted her child on Kono. Since then, she'd wavered back and forth, agreeing to whatever Yui suggested. Of all things, this was what Hisayo decided to grow a spine about?
"Yes. She can stay."
"Of course I can," Lady Fukuyama drawled, stepping closer to the baby with an arm pressed to her chest and the other spread, letting her sleeves flutter with practiced theatricality. "Dearest mother has all she ever wanted. A healthy son to secure her place."
"You believe I wanted this?" The volume of Hisayo's voice startled everyone. Her fingers were interlocked, and her knuckles were white. "I was fine with marriage. Children. I knew my duty." She took in a deep, controlled breath, exhaling anger with every word. "I had a betrothal before the arrangement with your father. I did not want this, but I will do what I must."
Fukuyama's lined eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and her hands shifted the ever-present fan from one hand to the other. "My father does have the greater share of blame," she admitted. Yet, the lady didn't sound the slightest apologetic. She settled onto the bed, a casual gesture that clashed with the formality of her tone and posture. "Being an incompetent lord, he is the one to blame for getting himself trapped in this situation to begin with."
Kono and Hisayo reacted to that—Kono by edging further away and Hisayo by gasping, sharp and affronted. "How dare you speak about your father—"
"Oh, you know it's true," she said, smiling at her stepmother. Lady Fukuyama pressed a finger to her lips. "If it weren't for his dismal failure in jockeying over Lord Motonari for that stupid feud, he wouldn't have been strong armed into marrying you, dearest mother. You'd be off with a vapid young lord to match you in personality."
People in power always assumed that their personal problems were of interest to those under them, and Fukuyama had worked herself into a fury of self-indignation. Yui glanced at Kono, who looked more uncomfortable by the minute. Witnessing the spat between the two ladies of the house was not a good position for any servant, even less when they were badmouthing the lord.
"But because he did," continued Fukuyama, "I am stuck in this rut. He's a wonderful father, true, but that's all he's good at. For all my life, I had been groomed to rule this estate. For the last five years, I'd been managing all the intelligence reports and the politicking until he made a phenomenal mess of it all."
Was that why Izuna had given her a scroll in the courtyard? Yui turned over the thought in her head for a moment before shrugging to herself and settling down on a cushion. This seemed like it would take a while.
"None of this excuses how you treated me," Lady Hisayo said.
"I lost all my power, you know. What was I supposed to do?" Just as Yui seemed sure of being ignored, Fukuyama turned to her. "Healer, you treated Aiko. Her bruises are from my father's retainer. The first time, I'd told him that if he'd laid another hand on her, I'd make sure to ruin him. My threat had value then, back when I was heiress and my decisions had weight. Now look at me." She drew herself up tall, gesturing to her gorgeous robes as if to demonstrate obvious decline. "I'd had plans to return this estate to its glory days. So, tell me. What do I do when everything I've worked for is taken away from me? What do I do when it was all for nothing?" She leaned forward and tickled the baby's chin, the gentle action at odds with the vitriol of her words.
Yui empathized, but she didn't find it in herself to pity the lady. Not after how she'd acted, not after what she'd seen. "For someone so bent on defending lessers, you've got no problem taking your anger out on others."
The lady drew back as if she'd been slapped. Kono covered her mouth, eyes wide, and Hisayo made her face go carefully blank.
"That's—" She paled, struggling with a response. "How dare..." Fukuyama paused, "I mean to say, that is..."
"To answer your question, you move on." Yui let her tone grow gentler, though it took some effort. "You have options. You're rich. Educated. Titled. Your father loves you. There's a lot you can do with that."
"You have more freedom than me, healer." For the first time, the lady seemed unbalanced. Her lips trembled as she tried to regain her poise, closing and opening her fan. "As nobility, I am constrained by the roles placed on me."
"Freedom is possible. You just have to decide what you want to give up."
She looked startled and annoyed. "Healer, I—That's beside the point. It's not fair."
"It's not," Yui agreed. "So what are you going to do about it?"
Lady Fukuyama didn't respond.
"You said that you wanted to help your servants. That you're upset at losing your power since you can't make things better anymore." She raised her eyebrows, and her unimpressed stare seemed to affect the lady more than anger would have. "Well, right now you're making things worse. People like Aiko are stuck between you and the Lady Hisayo, and this tension isn't helping anyone. It's not her fault, and you know it. If you want to make things better, then do something besides mope."
The irony of the situation hit her all at once. Of all people, Yui telling others to get over it? To stop dwelling on past tragedies? She knew how much of a hypocrite she was, but she didn't let any of that show on her face. Instead, Yui kept her gaze steady, challenging the lady to say anything.
Lady Fukuyama did not. She simply stared back, stunned.
The baby gurgled, and Yui dropped the subject in her mind. It wasn't her job to work the lady through a crisis of purpose. Deliberately, she turned her back, closing the conversation, and hurried to the child—the reason she was here at all. His dark, wide eyes darted between her and Kono. Then, for a moment he focused on Yui and gurgled again.
"He's smiling," breathed Kono.
Yui knew it wasn't true. At this age, it was nothing but a reflex, an instinctive reaction to feeling safe. Still, she reached out with a finger and smiled back when he grasped it, and for a moment, she let herself believe.
"Yeah," she said softly. "He is."
It was strange not expecting the ghost of Sen everywhere she went. In the village, she couldn't help but see him smiling or laughing at every corner; each tree and building was tied to a memory she had of him. It didn't hurt less here—but it hurt differently. It felt wrong, somehow, to be happy when he wasn't here. She knew that was stupid, that it was the last thing Sen would have wanted, but… as she said to her patients, grief was irrational.
"I miss you." She stared at the flower that stood upright despite the snow, and somehow, saying it out loud helped. Maybe it did hurt less here, at least when she gave herself the time to feel. Yui wondered if it would stay that way when she went back home.
When Dr. Tanaka didn't occupy his attention, Makoto helped her practice what she privately called the MRI-technique. She also made a chicken despise her, but it was a fair trade-off for learning how to distinguish between bone and flesh. The technique could be fine-tuned to ridiculous levels, demonstrating exactly where a fracture was or if internal injuries were present in organs.
"I can't do that just yet," admitted Makoto, "but the man who taught me could. It's definitely possible."
"This is…" Yui hesitated, chakra gathering in her palms, steady and pulsing, so unlike the prickling sparks she was used to. "This is great," she said, already thinking about what information — once pushed aside as irrelevant due to the current lack of technology — she could bring forward because of the technique.
Makoto smiled back, and he almost looked relieved. "I'm glad you think so."
The chicken attempted to peck her fingers, but she yanked her hand away before it could. "Behave," she scolded.
"How do you think it works?"
Yui glanced at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well…" Makoto coughed and rubbed his chin. "It's just that the technique's creator didn't have many thoughts on why it works. I'm afraid I've been a bit spoiled by your teaching, Yui-sensei. I keep asking 'why,' but I don't get any answers."
She made a thoughtful noise. "It could be a number of reasons. I won't be sure until I practice more, and even then I might not figure it out." Chakra, after all, operated by a completely different set of rules. "Maybe it has to do with density. Like sound, which passes through bone differently than it does through muscle. Or maybe it has to do with interactions of the chakra inside the body." Like an MRI, changing the internal patterns of chakra.
For that matter, was chakra a wave or particle? Energy or matter? Both at the same time? It took on characteristics like candy, following a strange pattern that Yui hadn't yet figured out and perhaps never would.
Yui examined the (still alive, still exceptionally unhappy) chicken's heart with the chakra-MRI when a cough interrupted her focus. She canceled the technique and looked up. It was the guard—the guard that Izuna had disguised himself as. Was this Izuna? Or was this the original?
"Lord Fukuyama has summoned you." The guard spoke in a calm, rather high-pitched voice, much different from how Izuna spoke. Then again, if Izuna had changed his face, then he could probably change his voice.
She looked back at Makoto, who waved her off.
"Go get your accolades," he said. Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened as he smiled, taking the chicken from her arms. "You certainly deserve them."
Yui gave a slow nod, still uncertain, and handed Makoto the exhausted chicken. The guard gave both healers a puzzled look but didn't comment on the bird.
"This way," he murmured, stepping back and gesturing. Yui brushed the feathers off her sleeves and followed the guard.
The trip to the lord was done in silence, and Yui didn't have the inclination to broach the topic of the maybe-Izuna's identity. Instead, she stood in front of the Lightning-style carved door as the guard stood behind her, spear in hand. Finally, the large door opened, pushed from the inside by another guard, one who gave her a sharp look.
"Enter."
After a glance at her escort, who didn't follow, Yui stepped inside.
The room was more luxurious than any Yui had seen yet. Shelves with books and scrolls covered the far wall, and cabinets full of casually displayed wealth—from fragile vases to bronze figurines—covered the two on either side. Only the wall with the door was left mostly bare, and even then mostly. Two large paintings of people Yui didn't know hung on either side of the door. Yui knew she was gawking, but she doubted she'd see a sight like this again.
"Healer Yui," said the lord. He sat at a carved desk with delicate birds and leaves frozen in a river-side scene. With an ink brush, he signed a scroll with a flourish. "I have heard that my son is well."
"He is." Yui couldn't help but stare at the jade inkwell, inlaid with some sort of blue stone. "As long as you—" she fumbled, knowing that the lord had little to do with his son's care, but she went with it anyway. "As long as you follow my instructions, he should be fine. There's nothing more I can do."
Lord Fukuyama put his brush down. "I see. Then it seems that you are owed my gratitude." He looked into the distance, gaze focused on the painting of the woman opposite from him. His eyes, lined with crow feet, softened. "My late wife bore me six children, and only one survived past a year. I had expected this son to be the same."
Yui let the lord gather his thoughts. No one was immune to tragedy, regardless of their status. That held true in both this world and her last. Yet, tragedy was baked deeper into this society, where reminders of life's fragility lurked everywhere. Tragedy could lead to purpose, though that had never been the case for her. (If anything, it hindered her.) In the light of what his daughter had said, Yui wondered how tragedy had affected him.
He looked back to her, new resolve in his eyes. "I promised that you would be rewarded upon your success." He gave a smile, oddly twisted as if at some private joke. "I would do you the honor of making you part of my household, but I suspect my offer would be met by staunch refusal. And there are… others who would be opposed to it." Lord Fukuyama glanced at the closed door, raising his eyebrows with a knowing look.
Yui nodded. She'd never had the intention of staying, not when her village needed her.
"Then, I must ask: what is it you desire in return?"
It would be a lie to say she hadn't thought about it. "There is… a project I'm working on. If it goes well, I could make a medicine that cures infections."
"Oh?" A note of interest entered his voice; even someone uninterested in medicine could see the potential for a supposed panacea. That same scope of claim, however, made people unlikely to believe her.
"The project is in its beginning stages," she said. "It has a long way to go, and it's expensive, and it needs a lot of stuff that a peasant healer can't get. Not without someone's backing." She took a deep breath. "I'd like your support."
"You will have it," said Lord Fukuyama. "You may have my sponsorship and use my name to open doors that may be closed to one of your standing." He waited, expectant. "What else?"
Yui hadn't expected him to agree so easily—or to offer more. She opened and closed her mouth, caught off guard, but started speaking despite having just a half-formed thought.
"Your estate, it… it has things I haven't seen before," she began. "Electricity. Indoor water."
"Indeed."
"I don't expect it to be all like your manor, but… do you think you could help make my village better? Nicer roads, better wells?"
"Ah, your village. It is now called Chiyuku, I believe." he mused. "The tax I have collected from it has steadily increased in the last years. It seems only right to ensure that my subjects are taken care of in my responsibility as a lord. That will be done. Yet, I had not asked what I can do for your village, healer. I had asked what you desire."
Now, she had no idea what to say. "I—" Yui stopped. (I want my brother back, she thought, but that was something no one could give her.) "I don't know." She had the material goods she needed, and the lord had already agreed to fund her penicillin project.
"Truly? There is nothing you wish for?"
She mused it over a moment longer, and something came to mind. "There is one thing, perhaps."
The lord waited, an odd, almost expectant expression on his face.
"There was this nice tea I had. Jasmine, I think." It was the one she'd thought that Eiji would like. "Could I have some to take back?"
Lord Fukuyama gave her a long, slow look. The warm light from the window cast shadows, deepening his wrinkles. "You are remarkable," he said finally. He stood up and faced the window behind him. After a moment, he spoke again. "Very well. I shall give what you ask. My endorsement, better roads, and tea." He chuckled again. "How little an heir is worth." A tinge of awe colored his words, turning it into not quite a question.
She wasn't sure what to say to that.
"Thank—"
He held up a hand. "No, do not thank me. You have saved my son's life. There is not enough in this world I can do to repay you." The lord gave her a shallow bow. "Healer, you have my eternal gratitude."
News of her impending departure spread. The people of the estate came to pay their respects and settle any remaining debts. A few guards murmured their thanks again—and bargained for her last jar of muscle relaxant. Aiko clasped her hands and whispered her gratitude, not just for the treatment but for also having patience with Lady Fukuyama. Dr. Tanaka gave a stiff farewell with little feeling, while Makoto promised to send more letters about his medical society.
With a fair amount of pomp and circumstance, Yui was given several pouches of tea—the jasmine one she'd asked for and a single bag of a blend called Kanezon. Judging by the reverent way it was handed her, she assumed it was rather expensive. Would it taste significantly better than regular tea? She wondered if she'd ever get around to drinking it; Yui always felt vaguely guilty about consuming expensive things. All the same, the blends would fit nicely in her tea box.
Kono, the woman who had spent three weeks in her constant presence, who shared a quiet bond of grief, had the hardest goodbye.
The baby was asleep against her chest, a silent reminder of everything they accomplished, the reason that Yui still did this. "Thank you, healer."
"You can call me Yui. There's no need to be formal." As titles went, Yui didn't mind that, but after all the time they'd spent together, it didn't feel right.
"Yui, then. Thank you." Her eyes were wet as she used Yui's unadorned given name for the first time. "Thank you for saving him. Thank you for treating me as… as someone."
"It's the least I can do." Yui knew that this would truly be goodbye. This wasn't a world where distance could be surmounted, not for ordinary people like them. There were letters, yes, and Yui had promised to send her one, but this would likely be the last time they would ever speak in person.
"I will miss you."
"I will miss you too." In Kono, she'd made a friend. Yui had dozens of acquaintances, but friends... those she treasured.
They pressed their hands together, and they didn't exchange any gifts but smiles.
Yui packed up her supplies—and the robes that Lord Fukuyama insisted that she keep—and went to the caravan. This time, the lord's aide and his wife weren't present, but Izuna was. The ninja smiled at her shock and stepped aside so she could access the cart.
"I was hired by the esteemed lord to escort you." His normally wayward hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail, bringing attention to his cheekbones and somehow making him more intimidating. Madara had always given off a stronger aura of power compared to his brother, but Izuna had an inherent sense of unpredictability that was far more frightening.
"Thank you," she said automatically, before fumbling and adding, "but it's not necessary—"
"I'm being paid, healer." He watched with arms crossed as she started loading her supplies on the cart. "Besides, I'm not going out of my way. My original task has been completed, and I need to travel in the direction of Chiyuku regardless." He raised an eyebrow. "Is that satisfactory?"
"I... yes." Yui taken aback.
"Good. Let's not wait along any longer." Izuna turned around without waiting for an answer.
She looked back at the estate, looming and anachronistic in its elegance. Unlit streetlights dotted the path behind her, and the faint bustle of all its workers continued despite her approaching departure. She'd miss its people, perhaps even some of its luxuries, but it really was another world, with rules, divisions, and politics—bound by stifling fear.
Izuna cleared his throat, but even his impatience couldn't dampen her growing relief.
She was going home.
Besides Izuna, the lord had sent two other servants on her journey with her. The caravan driver was a chatty man who drew silent whenever Izuna returned from his patrolling or wherever else he disappeared to when they were on the road. On the other hand, the cook was a taciturn woman named Jun with a surprisingly sharp tongue who treated the ninja—and Yui—with the same amount of dubiousness she treated everything else. (Her stews, however, were delicious.)
Yui vacillated between relief that she was returning home and a strange, coiled tension in her gut that grew stronger the closer they were to Chiyuku. Unlike before, they weren't in any particular rush, and the driver was able to drive at a sedate pace, treating the iced dirt road with the caution it deserved.
On the second night, when the sharp wind cut with winter, dread was all Yui felt. Jun sat beside her, finishing a second bowl, while the driver Michi tended to the horses and filled the air with chatter. Even he couldn't drown the crackle of the bonfire that Izuna had lit with a breath of flame. The ninja wasn't here to enjoy the warmth, however; he'd disappeared into the night without another word. Yui edged closer to the fire and watched the smoke rise. It twisted and shook with each gust, billowing and thinning out in an endless pattern.
Michi was telling a story about his trip to Lightning Country for the second time when Izuna appeared from the shadows with a streak of red on his chin. He held a sword in his left hand, dark as rust.
It took a moment for Michi's mouth to catch up with his eyes. "The man had—" He froze, and for once, Izuna acknowledged his presence.
"Oh, do go on, Michi-san." He smiled, and the smear of dried blood cracked on his chin. Izuna settled down by the fire next to Yui. He lounged with a hand propped on his knee, the other hand on the ground next to the bloody sword. "Please, tell us your story."
Michi, of course, did not continue. Instead, after a moment of horrified silence, he stood up and stammered, "I-I should see to the horses." He made himself scarce, while Jun set her bowl down and visibly debated whether she should join him. Izuna watched the driver flee with a growing smile.
Yui did what she always did. "Are you hurt?"
Izuna shook his head, and his grin became even more pleased. "Not a scratch. I can't say the same for the rogues, of course."
Indecision resolved, Jun didn't bother to come up with an excuse before she marched to the inside of the caravan.
Yui sighed and pulled out her scroll. "Even if you aren't hurt, you should clean up." With a light surge of chakra, she unsealed a washcloth from the scroll and handed it to him.
Izuna's gaze was focused on the scroll, and then it snapped up to her. Somehow, the air between them had shifted from professional, icy dislike to constrained cordiality. The scroll, however, was a reminder of the Senju and everything he stood against, a reminder of the day both their feelings had come to the surface. She didn't think that they would ever be friends, not with the gulf between their beliefs. But they could be civil.
"You have a way of wheedling concessions from the strangest set of people," he mused, taking the cloth from her, mouth dipping into a frown.
"Thanks?" she said, uncertain.
"Never mind that." He wiped the blood from his face and began polishing his sword with the reverse of the washcloth. After Izuna was satisfied, he sheathed his sword and stared at her again.
"What is it?" Maybe that was rude, but then again, this was Izuna. He had no expectation of politeness. In that way, at least, their conversations could be refreshing; they both knew exactly where the other stood. It felt even more freeing after her time in the estate.
"I heard what you asked the lord for."
He made to hand back her washcloth, but Yui shook her head. "Keep it."
Izuna folded the cloth and set it aside, pinning her with a thoughtful look. "What you asked for was… proper. It was right of you to look after your village. Your entire approach was masterfully done. Regardless of whatever tea he gave, he will still feel indebted. You could wheedle more concessions from him later, or use his name in situations that he'd be loathe to involve himself in." He tilted head. "I can't tell if it's your misguided sense of morals or a successful attempt at manipulation. Either way, I approve."
"Thanks," she said again. Was he so arrogant to think she wanted his approval?
Yui hid a grimace. No, perhaps that was uncalled for. It seemed like Izuna was offering an olive branch, in his own combative way. It was just so easy to fall back into the same patterns of interaction. The fire continued, louder in the silence as its shadows danced across the ground.
"My brother was concerned about you." Izuna watched the fire, not her. "Everyone could see that you were falling apart."
The nerve of him. What in the world was he going for? What right did he have? He was rapidly losing any goodwill he might've gained. "I don't think—"
"I don't think I was clear enough when I brought up my brother's example. You shouldn't blame yourself for your brother's death. It wasn't your fault. It was the sickness, not you." Izuna sounded completely earnest, and that just made her angrier.
"But I can't go around killing sickness, can I? I'm sorry that I can't cope like you," she snapped, glaring at him. Izuna stared back, eyes widening even as his smile grew sharper. "Sorry," she muttered. "That was…"
He waved his hand in dismissal. "Well, that is what you're trying to do, isn't it? I heard what you told the lord. You want to create a medicine that would do just that."
Yui dropped her gaze and stared into the fire again. "The medicine… it wouldn't have cured my brother's illness."
Izuna shifted in place, attentive and the slightest bit surprised.
"The medicine will be revolutionary. But it wouldn't have saved him. What he'd needed was—" she cut herself off. Vaccines, IV hydration, a million other inventions that she wouldn't be able to invent by herself.
"What would he have needed?" The earnestness had turned into something curious—never gentle, but sincere—and now more than ever she saw the resemblance to Madara.
"He would have needed an entirely different system."
Izuna gave a laugh, just as sharp as the rest of him. "Now you sound like my brother." For once, the comparison didn't sound bitter.
She echoed his laugh, startled that he'd thought the same thing about her. Yui tucked her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around them. How strange that their thoughts had mirrored, despite worldviews that contrasted in almost every way. As she basked in the fire's warmth and mused on it further, her eyes began to close.
"Rest, healer. I'll keep watch."
She blinked herself alert and glanced at him, eyes already bleary. Izuna continued gazing at the fire, acting as if he hadn't spoken. With a yawn, she decided to listen to his advice. It took her only a few minutes to set her bedroll and only a few seconds to fall asleep.
Chiyuku hadn't stood still without her, and it didn't stop for her return—but it did pause. Everyone greeted her, all smiles and pleased exclamations, and it took no time at all for the village gossip network to alert her family. Her sister and mother pulled her into tight hugs, and Yui marveled over how large her niece had grown.
(It hurt to think that Sen wouldn't be there to greet her, but… here, in the village square with everyone around her, it didn't hurt as much as she expected. It was more a dull pang than anything sharp, the ache of a pulled muscle, easy to endure.)
She'd missed her home. She'd missed the comfort of people who treated her like a person, someone valued, but not something other, stuck in between categories: too lowborn to be equal, too mythologized to be overlooked.
Yui hurried to her clinic, eager to sleep in her own bed, drink her own tea, and finally let her guard down. Then, she opened the door to her home and came face-to-face with a disgruntled preteen girl.
"Can't you see the sign says—" The girl stopped and flushed a deep red. "Oh, Yui-san! You're back!"
"Yes," Yui said slowly. She looked familiar. Her hair and eyes were brown, but they were shades light enough to cause notice. After a second, Yui placed her as a relative newcomer, the daughter of a woman who didn't have the best reputation. How odd to think that she no longer knew everyone in her village; it had grown past that point of person-to-person intimacy.
"Who's back?" called a low, authoritative voice from inside.
Yui stepped inside and closed the door behind her, trying not to show her hesitance. Eiji was cleaning supplies over boiling water, a routine task they'd done together thousands of times. His shoulders set with the kind of pleasant weariness that came from a long day of work—tired, but not exhausted. Perhaps the responsibility had done him good, and he'd risen up to the task instead of crumbling underneath it.
Eiji glanced up, and his expression became a mess of contradictions at the sight of her. Subdued confidence turned into apprehension even as he slumped with relief. He pursed his lips, something he did when he was nervous and trying very hard not to show it.
"You're looking well," Yui said, trying to smile. She managed something that felt strained and uncomfortable, but she held it and kept it from becoming more of grimace.
Eiji paused. "You too." He sounded surprised, almost embarrassed. Eiji looked back to his work and scrubbed the knife—Madara's gift—with renewed, unnecessary enthusiasm.
The girl still stood at the doorway, glancing between them. Yui raised her eyebrows at Eiji. Before realizing that the visitor was Yui, she had spoken with enough pomp that Yui doubted she was just a patient.
Eiji paused in his cleaning, shoulders tense again. "This is Tama. I... took her as an assistant."
So it wasn't just their strained relationship that caused his hesitation. Yui didn't operate a guild; her apprentices weren't bound to any formal agreements besides tradition. However, it was frowned upon for an apprentice to take on a student without their teacher's permission, both to keep trade secrets close and to prevent someone half-trained from making things worse. Most tradespeople required an apprenticeship to be over first, and the majority would consider Eiji's actions to be arrogant and improper.
"That's nice. We could always use more help." She said that with a steady voice, looking at neither Eiji or Tama. They had managed with two, but three would be easier, even if she had to be trained from scratch. Especially since Eiji wouldn't stay for much longer. "It's good to meet you, Tama."
Tama bowed, a tad clumsy, and gave a bright, if still nervous smile. "You too! I mean, we met before, but I don't think you much remember me, since I… wasn't, uh, here," she finished, cringing back. "I mean, I was here in Chiyuku, just not in the clinic. I've been here before. Like most people! Yeah!"
"Tama, why don't you go… do something else," said Eiji, wincing with her.
"Yeah!" she repeated. Tama nodded frantically. "Y'all can talk and… stuff." She faced Yui and bowed again, her face turning even redder with mortification. "Nice to meet you! Again!" Tama backed out of the clinic and shut the door.
The two were left alone, and Yui wasn't sure what to say. She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the next and resisted the urge to fidget. She knew she had to say something—and Eiji seemed to feel the same too. He cleared his throat and then paused, staring at her like a deer in headlights. (How strange: she hadn't thought about cars or headlights in a while. Seeing the almost-modern technology of the estate had dredged memories that lurked as almost-dreams, flashes that had faded from irrelevance.)
"She's… enthusiastic," Yui said.
Eiji laughed and set aside the clean knife. "She is. Tama's a bright and eager kid. Sometimes too eager." Ruefully, he added, "I didn't realize how much those small tasks you gave were excuses to get us out of the way until I started teaching her. You were much better at coming up with things to do."
"They weren't all excuses." She smiled at the memory, and then the pang in her chest returned, killing it. Yui would never be able to tell Sen to clean the shed or tend the garden again—and of all the stupid things to get emotional about, why those?
"No." His smile disappeared with hers. Eiji plowed forward, adding in a quiet rush, "Tama really is a good student. She'll do well, I promise. I know that I didn't ask or send a letter, and I'm not done with—"
"I've never been one to hoard information," she interrupted. "Besides, I'd long thought about taking on more students, but it always fell to the wayside." Yui thought about smiling but knew she couldn't manage it yet. "I trust your judgement."
"Thank you." Eiji's voice was thick, but he blinked twice and straightened. "You sound different." He tried for a teasing tone. It fell flat. Yui pretended not to notice.
She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed anyway. "Well, being around the nobles made me fluff up my words a bit," she said, coarsening her accent.
"That sounds like a treat."
They fell into silence again. This would be the point that Sen would've interjected with a funny comment, she knew, or teased the both of them. But Sen couldn't. It was her responsibility now, and she had to stop running away from it and make an effort.
Yui set her shoulders and said, with a voice more unsteady than she'd like, "I brought you tea. I thought you'd like it."
"It's from the nobles?" He brushed the hair out of his eyes—grown just long enough to be a nuisance.
"Yes. Jasmine something, I think." Yui activated the scroll and took out the pouch. "I'll put it on the stove."
"Let me. You must be tired from your trip."
"Thank you."
The silence returned between them, though the fire crackled underneath the kettle, reminding her of the campfire that she and Izuna had sat around. It's not your fault, he'd said. Eiji stared at his hands, lost in thought. Yui felt a surge of affection for her student, this studious dreamer who had grown enough to manage the clinic. Sen wasn't here to bridge the quiet, so she had to make an effort. Yui didn't want to lose Eiji too.
The kettle boiled and hissed with steam, and Eiji stood to prepare the tea. It was Yui's turn to stare at her hands as she tried to summon words to say. Only after he served the tea and settled in front of her did she speak.
"I don't think Sen would've liked this."
He took a sip and gave a fragile smile. "Sen never liked bitter blends." Eiji paused, enjoying the waft of steam. "I like it, though. It's subtle."
"It is." She rubbed her finger over the chip in the cup. Despite the flaw, this was her favorite set: made in Iron-country style and painted with blue flowers.
Eiji took another sip before setting his own cup down. "I... learned a lot from managing the clinic by myself. It's really hard." The words came out stiled, and he grimaced. "I have some stories to tell you."
Yui smiled, soft and real. "I do too."
As the tea cooled, they shared tales of their time apart—sometimes halting, often short. But it was a start.
The village elders were nothing short of ecstatic at the noble's promise. The scribe—who was still kicking, though his granddaughter took over most of his responsibilities—beamed over the written statement agreeing to infrastructure improvements.
"Nobles never write things down if they can help it," cackled Elder Saburo. "It's too much proof. This," he tapped the paper, "means he's positively forced to, even if he does change his mind."
Next to him, the woman was more cautious with her optimism. "If he, ah, 'forgets' about it, is there anything we can do?"
"Ten years ago I'd say no, but the village has enough clout to kick up a fuss about it. And I don't think he'll go back on his word, though no one can really guess a lord's thoughts."
The woman crossed her arms and nodded. She was a shrewd business owner who'd taken advantage of all the travelers by selling simple, nonperishable food for the road. Just entering middle-aged, she would normally seem out of place among the elders. Yet the owner was just one of several who were on the wrong side of fifty. This gathering was more a village council than a group of elders—Chiyuku was large enough to require a semi-formal body.
"When are they coming?" asked the grizzled lead of the militia, which resembled a town guard by the day.
Yui glanced down at the scroll. "Two weeks after the snowy season ends."
He nodded sharply. "That should give us enough time to prepare."
"And prepare we will!" Another man, a merchant who'd settled in the town after marrying a local girl, grinned.
Everyone echoed his enthusiasm, and Yui smiled, finding it lingered on the topic for just a little longer, caught up in speculation, before switching to the next item that the village had to discuss. The entire meeting continued with a steady pace with only minor hitches. As they squabbled over the current one—a minor issue about livestock—she smiled again.
Chiyuku was doing well. Yui would do her part to make sure it continued to do so.
Three days after her return, Yui was still getting settled. She'd finished her round before Eiji's, taking the moment's rest to think. Her routine wasn't the same anymore. Eiji and Tama had developed a new one, and they were still figuring out how Yui slotted in. Tama, for her part, was a bit awestruck. She had an easy banter with Eiji that she seemed reluctant to extend to Yui. But Yui had to admit, it was much easier to have two teachers for one student—almost too easy. Perhaps she could take another one. (The thought immediately made her cold. It was one thing to accept a student who was already there—it was another to seek one herself. There was no reason to feel guilty, she told herself. No one could ever be a replacement. But that didn't change how she felt.)
To her relief, there was a knock at the door. She opened it and smiled despite the rush of chilly air, even gladder to see her guest. "Hashirama, it's been a while." Yui hadn't seen him since before… then.
He looked well. Dressed warmly for the late winter flurries, he had a scarf around his face and thick gloves. She stepped aside and closed the door behind him to keep out the cold, though a few snowflakes twisted in the air before dissolving away.
"I wanted to come sooner." Hashirama tugged down his scarf, and his eyes began to tear up. "Oh, Yui, I'm so sorry."
She found her throat catching. "I—" She cleared it. "Yes, ah..."
Her hands shook. Yui hadn't expected Hashirama's fresh grief, and she hadn't expected her own response. Sen's death, it was supposed to be an old wound. Scabbed, if not healed. She hadn't expected to be confronted like this, by him. Yui thought she'd kept it together so well, plastered all the cracks, pulled everything together—but everything began to crumble.
"You don't have to say anything." Like those years ago, he stepped forward and held her hands.
"Hashirama—" She stood still, trying to blink back the tears from her burning eyes, as she'd done over and over before. Yui had convinced herself that being back home didn't hurt. It had torn away her defences regardless. "You heard he's gone—"
Hashirama hugged her, and she tried to keep it together and tried to stay calm and placid like she was supposed to, like everyone expected, like she'd done for so long, but the tears came anyway. Yui clutched him tighter as she heaved ugly, broken breaths, staining his armor even as she shuddered and tried to steady her breathing.
Her words were muffled and hitched, and she could barely manage a whisper through her tears, but she had to say something. She had to justify herself even as he asked no questions. "I miss him so much."
"I know." His voice was thick too.
"It feels like my fault."
"I know. You don't have to say anything."
She took his advice and just cried. Yui didn't know how long she'd stood there when the door opened and the wind cut against her tears. She opened her eyes and stepped away, wiping her face as she prepared to greet the visitor like nothing was wrong. Even through blurry vision, she knew it was Eiji. He stepped back outside and closed the door before Yui could say anything or even see his reaction.
"Why don't you sit down?" Hashirama guided her to fire, and she followed, numb, accepting the blanket he pulled from the corner. "I'll make some tea."
To her embarrassment, that set her off again, and she sat huddled by the fire as she sobbed quietly to herself. Yui took another deep breath and coughed, wincing at her rough throat. "Thank you."
Hashirama's chakra flared like a forest fire as he held his hand, now glowing red, against the kettle. The water immediately boiled, and he wasted no time in pouring them both a cup. Yui murmured her thanks again, took a sip, and started coughing.
He crouched beside her. "Are you okay?" Hashirama winced. "I mean—you're coughing. Are you okay about—do you need water?"
Yui shook her head, still coughing, and managed to clear her throat enough to breathe uninterrupted. She rubbed the corners of her eyes, removing a different kind of tears.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked, helpless.
"Hashirama, you…" She almost wanted to laugh, but she settled for a sniffle. "You burnt it."
"What?"
"You burnt the tea. It just… surprised me."
Hashirama stared at her for a second and then sipped his own cup. He started coughing too, though he wiped his mouth and recovered much faster. "Oh, gods, that tasted disgusting! I knew I shouldn't have used that jutsu! It—It was a terrible idea. I can brew you another—"
"It's fine," she said, still sniffling. "I think I needed that. I do feel better now," she admitted. "But still awful." What came out was both a laugh and a sob. "That made no sense, I'm sorry—"
"What did you tell me?" he scolded. "Friends don't apologize."
She sniffed and wiped her face, and she gave a watery mess of an expression that partially resembled a smile."Thank you for staying with me. I… I know you probably had things to do."
"Don't worry about that." He smiled back at her, bright, despite the dried tear tracks on his own cheeks.
Yui simply exhaled and sipped her bitter, burnt tea. Her face was puffy, her sinuses congested, and her eyes itched. She'd sat too close to the fire, and her skin was hot to the touch. She felt raw, empty, like a sore throat on the mend.
It would mend, she thought.
It would mend.
AN: As always, thank you all for reading. Your support truly means a lot to me. I read every comment and appreciate every alert. We're getting there, y'all!
Special thanks to GwendolynStacy, iaso, PyrothTenka, Duesal Bladesinger and fishbake for looking over the chapter. They're the absolute best!
Another thank you to iaso for posting the first Sanitize recursive fic on ffnet! Check out Little Wonders, an adorable fic set in the Sanitize-verse featuring Tsubaki and Hatake.
Bonus content is on my tumblr, and you can vote for it on the Discord. Thanks again!