CHAPTER 13: Yet The World Keeps On Turning
"Good work, everyone," he said as he slowly moved out of the OR, carefully disposing of his PPEs and heading towards the hygiene station. As he aggressively washed his hands, a nurse entered the room. "Saint-sama, a group of injured Anbu just arrived. It seems quite severe," she quickly reported. "And where's Dr. Tomita?" he asked, lathering his hands with antimicrobial soap before rinsing them. "One of the ER patients had an abdominal aortic aneurysm, so Dr. Tomita had to rush into the OR. The others are attending to their own patients."
He nodded. "Which examination room?" he asked, wiping his hands on a disposable towel. "Black Room 3." He thanked her before making his way towards the BER or Black Emergency Room, a ward specially designed for the discreet Anbu. One of the conscious Anbu quickly approached him as he entered the room. "He's really hurt, badly," the Anbu informed him. No shit, Sherlock. He could feel two chakras dimming at a rapid pace.
With a single seal, another exact clone of him appeared, and to the discerning eye, no clouds of smoke materialized. This signified the absence of excess chakra wastage in the process. Meanwhile, he scanned the talking Anbu for any clear injuries, quickly determining that the Anbu only had a superficial wound and his chakra seemed fine. "I understand. Run me through what happened."
Opening the curtain, he saw the silver-haired teen again. He rolled his eyes. "I just brought you back from death days ago," he deadpanned. He told the conscious Anbu, "I've got this one. You go with the clone," swiftly giving orders. The teenage shinobi was unconscious, his silver hair matted with dried blood, his breathing ragged and irregular.
A deep gash ran from his shoulder down to his lower torso, the wound seeping a mixture of blood and foreign chakra. Haruki could tell that it was caused by an elemental weapon - the damage was too extensive for a traditional blade. He also noticed an unsettlingly familiar dark hue around the wound edges, indicating chakra contamination, a type of chakra poison that inhibited natural healing and potentially caused chakra necrosis.
His annoyance quickly transformed into focused determination as he realized the severity of the situation. "Next time, you can just try to jump off a bridge like normal people, you know?" he muttered under his breath, disliking the patient's propensity for throwing himself into difficult and dangerous black ops missions. Haruki's hands glowed with green healing chakra, the Mystic Palm Technique, as he began the delicate task of cleaning and healing the wound.
First, he poured chakra-infused saline into the wound, flushing out the foreign, hostile chakra particles, and then applied an antidote specifically designed for chakra poison. Haruki's hands moved meticulously, every motion reflecting decades of medical expertise and advanced chakra control.
Simultaneously, he began to heal the wound from the inside, ensuring the removal of any residual chakra poison within the tissues. His hands emitted a soothing green glow as he worked, carefully stitching together the more damaged chakra pathways and nurturing the damaged cells back to health.
For the most critical part of the procedure, he performed the Chakra Scalpel technique, delicately severing the contaminated chakra paths to prevent the spread of chakra necrosis. The process was risky; one wrong move could leave Kakashi incapable of properly molding chakra.
Hours later, Haruki finally removed his chakra from Kakashi, taking a step back to evaluate his work. The once gaping wound was now a thin, pink scar, devoid of any lingering contamination. Kakashi's breaths had become even and calm, his pallor slowly regaining its color.
Haruki ran a tired hand through his hair. "That was close," he murmured to the still-unconscious Kakashi. "Next time, at least wait until Dr. Tomita is available, will you?"
Even though Haruki knew that Kakashi couldn't hear him, he found solace in voicing his sarcasm. As the Chief of the hospital, it was his duty to keep the shinobi of Konoha healthy and grounded. He silently made a note to give Kakashi a more thorough scolding once he woke up. He even left instructions for the nurses and doctors to show no mercy. After all, he couldn't allow this suicidal maniac to grow too comfortable in the ER.
As he exited the room, Mamoru approached him. "Haruki-san, you're going to make it to the picnic, right?" he asked with concern. "Picnic? It's still like two days away," Haruki replied, puzzled. "It's in about 10 hours from now," Mamoru looked at him worriedly. Haruki let out a sigh. "What day is it again?" Mamoru appeared distressed.
"Suzaku-sama. Director Iwai is clocking you out," a recently transferred short-haired Hyuga interrupted them. "Fine, fine. I'm heading home," Haruki cracked his neck. "I can take you," Mamoru offered. "I'll escort you, Suzaku-sama," the Akimichi and Hyuga said simultaneously. Haruki glared at both of them. "Are you both clocking out too?" he questioned. Neither of them replied, clearly not done with their work yet.
"So who's going to attend to the patients while the two of you skip work?" Haruki scolded them as if they were children. Before they could retort, he quickly shut them down. "Go, save someone's life," he shooed them away.
Haruki quickly changed his clothes before leaving the hospital. He collapsed onto the couch at home, too exhausted to climb the stairs.
He was roused by a clicking noise. Slowly opening his eyes, he found a plate of bread and a steaming cup of coffee placed on the table in front of him. The warmth he felt on his body and the absence of coldness suggested that someone had covered him while he was sleeping.
"Haruki-kun, you really need to take better care of yourself," the angelic voice spoke. He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing another familiar chakra signature at the kitchen table, further away. "Sensei?" he inquired, and she responded with a questioning hum.
"Where can I find a Shizu-nee?" he asked, knowing that Shizu-nee must have turned red at the question. "Shizu-nee, let's run away together. We can leave the Legendary Sucker and..." His hands shot up from beneath the covers, catching a piece of bread mid-air. He brought it to his mouth and took a bite.
"Are you going to be late for your own picnic?" Sensei asked, annoyance lacing her voice. "Yes, my picnic. The orphans' pity party picnic," he dramatically sighed, intentionally including himself and feigning a pitiful expression. "That's where I belong," he moped, taking slow bites from the bread. Sensei groaned in response, clearly unamused. He couldn't help but giggle at her reaction.
Despite it being a public holiday, the world continued to spin on its axis, the sun rising at dawn, and ninjas carrying out their covert operations of murder and theft disguised as 'missions.' However, the second largest park in Konoha buzzed with an unusual energy.
Children of all ages dashed across the grass, vying for turns on the slides and seesaws, while a notable number of adult ninjas watched over them, laughing and smiling, ensuring their safety. Notably, a group of men manned the grill, filling the air with the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling burgers.
Yet amidst the lively scene, all eyes turned to the entrance as a certain boy made his arrival. Though not publicly known, whispers had reached the ears of the older children, revealing that it was the Saint himself who had organized the picnic. The mere mention of his name brought newfound vitality to the matrons and orphanage directors. No longer did they have to ration their food or sacrifice their portions for the younger ones. Gone were the days of toiling under the scorching sun to scrape together a meager income. Even some adults had visited their orphanage, hired to repair their dilapidated home.
The notion that a stranger had appeared out of nowhere, lifting them off their feet and saving the day, felt almost unreal. Some couldn't help but feel as though they had been enduring a painful existence in vain all this time. Resentment brewed within a few, questioning why the Saint hadn't come earlier. Could those who didn't survive have been saved if only he had cast his gaze upon them?
Unreasonable thoughts of resentment mingled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude that permeated their young minds. And then they caught sight of him—the renowned Saint, the hero of their dreams. His vibrant hair acted as a beacon of hope in the darkest storm, his eyes shining brighter than the sun, making them feel truly seen. His warm, genuine smile reassured them that the eternal winter of their lives was finally over. How could they harbor true hatred towards the person who had offered them everything they had ever dreamed of?
So they swallowed their tears and embraced the joyous occasion. Deep down, a part of them dreaded that the dream would soon come to an end, that they would awaken to their crumbling walls, the cold hardness of their beds, and the painful emptiness in their stomachs. But for now, they indulged in the feast, played with abandon, and screamed with unrestrained delight, allowing these moments of bliss to wash away their feelings of abandonment and unresolved trauma. These memories would remain etched in their hearts for a lifetime.
……
"Waaaaah, Choza-san, it smells so good," Haruki exclaimed in awe, playfully smacking his sensei's hands away from attempting to snatch some fries. The others stood momentarily frozen before bursting into laughter. Tsunade-hime simply rolled her large brown eyes, seemingly accustomed to his antics. The Saint definitely had a feisty side.
"I'm just following the recipe. If anything, it's the brilliant mind of the creator who managed to bring this divine food to us mere mortals," Konoha's master gourmet chimed in, deeply moved by the foreign dish. "And the fries," the Akimichi Head moaned in agreement. Haruki nodded, understanding the sentiment. "And the fizzy drink?" he added mischievously. The man's knees momentarily buckled at the thought.
Having leveraged some of his business venture's partners to supply the sodas, as making them from scratch would have been too cumbersome, he grinned knowingly at Choza-san. "Right, Choza-san," he leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "I've heard that two burger chain stores are opening up in Konoha. They're still renovating the buildings," he revealed, sending the excited man into a fit of yelps and giggles.
A rough cough interrupted their exchange. Choza jumped slightly, guiltily turning around like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Shikaku, standing nearby, looked utterly exasperated but couldn't help but laugh at the comical duo. He proceeded to introduce Inoichi, who had joined him. The Yamanaka had decided to co-sponsor the picnic as well, resulting in Haruki paying next to nothing for the entire affair. More funds for the orphanages, he surmised.
With the cooking completed, the children adorably lined up to receive their meals. Each child received a sizzling beef, chicken, veggie, or shrimp patty, expertly nestled between soft, crispy, buttered buns. The burgers were topped with freshly cut tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles, adding a burst of freshness to the flavors. Alongside the burgers, they were given a side of salty and crunchy fries, accompanied by a serving of colorful salad with a variety of dressings to choose from. To quench their thirst, the children had the option of enjoying a fizzy, heat-repellent soda or a refreshing iced flavored tea.
It was an instant hit. The children practically worshipped the food, and even the adults fell in love with it. Some surreptitiously paired their meals with beer, creating a potentially lethal combination. One adult was caught by the children, who were eager to taste the frothy, deep amber-colored "sodas" they claimed. Haruki gave the guilty parties a disapproving look, chastising them with his piercing eyes.
He spotted Kabuto sitting under one of the larger trees, engrossed in a book, while Yoroi played and exercised nearby. His arrival prompted the two to look up and run towards him, excited to greet him. He also encountered many other orphans who shared their stories, gushed about him, and engaged in playful, childlike activities. As he listened to their tales, he paid close attention to any suggestions or feedback that could help improve the orphanage. Their opinions mattered just as much as anyone else's.
The adults also joined in the children's playfulness, with some even considering the possibility of adopting a child. Haruki was taken aback when Shikaku mentioned that it wouldn't contradict their clan's policies. While these three clans didn't possess kekkei genkais, they still held their clan's hiden techniques, which had never been leaked. So he was pleasantly surprised to discover their willingness to adopt children who might not even meet their hiden's requirements or risk potential leaks.
The picnic proved to be an overwhelming success. The children, with their downtrodden expressions, tugged at the heartstrings of the adults, leaving them begging to stay. 'That's it, kids! Guilt trip them until they fund you through college and give you everything they have!' he silently cheered them on, relishing in their ability to manipulate the guilt of those around them.
Through their chakra, he could sense the lingering guilt that permeated the atmosphere of the picnic. It was a painful reminder that it took an outsider, a mere boy, to step in and take action for the betterment of Konoha, while the oblivious or intentionally neglectful adults turned a blind eye to the suffering of the children caught in the crossfire of the wars they initiated.
For many, it was a harsh awakening, shattering the promises and dreams that the First Hokage had dedicated his life to. But he couldn't help but sneer inwardly. Murderers, thieves, spies, liars, traitors, and warmongers—ninjas—all conveniently unaware of the true victims of war. What a pathetic joke. Morality seemed to elude the inhabitants of this damn village, despite proclaiming to embody them, even if it slapped them across the face.
Yet, he kept his disdain locked away in the depths of his heart, observing as guilt distorted the faces of some adults and tears cascaded down the cheeks of the children who dreaded the harsh reality that awaited them tomorrow and the day that comes after. Today offered only a temporary respite from their miserable lives, lives that the adults had callously thrust upon them. Tomorrow, they would face a world laden with endless trauma, challenges, and the weight of the entire world seemingly against them, regardless of his efforts to salvage the situation.
A Glimmer of Hope Amidst a Sea of Despair.
This was the terrible, miserable, and futile existence that one born within these confines had to endure—a cruel world into which he was unceremoniously thrown.
And still, the world will keep on turning regardless of their cries, their hunger and their meaningless death.
……
Little did they know or expect that this intimate tradition would endure for years and decades to come. One day, when the current Daimyo relinquished their position, the five major nations would officially recognize it as a new public holiday: "The Saint's Day" — a day to celebrate and honor the one who had inadvertently started it all, much to his future dismay and despair.