CHAPTER 23: Rule Number One
Months had gently seeped into the deep crevices of time, a trickle that morphed into a robust torrent, as Suzaku Haruki, aptly christened 'The Saint of Embers', found himself immersed in the intricate maze of pristine hospital corridors, age-old parchment stacks, and the perpetual tide of ceaseless demands that came with the mantle of Chief of Konoha's Medical Department, not to mention the spectrum of other ongoing projects that kept his hands full.
Before he could fully comprehend the swift passage of time, the grand inauguration of the new Hospital wing hovered ominously on the horizon, an event of immense proportions that promised to triple the size of Konoha's medical facility. The entire village throbbed with tangible anticipation, transforming into a vibrant, pulsating entity perched on the brink of a brand-new era.
The launch of the new hospital wing was no ordinary affair. It was an undeniable testament to the growth and tenacious resilience of Konoha. Each brick, every painstakingly placed stone, and every minute design detail was steeped in hope, a solemn promise to its people that their well-being was paramount. The growth signified more than just an expansion of a building; it was an extension of the heart of Konoha itself.
To every villager, from the distinguished Third Hokage to the most fledgling genin, the hospital's expansion was a tangible symbol of the village's commitment to its people. It resonated with a silent vow that Konoha would exhaust every resource to ensure the health and safety of its people. This was not just a hospital, but a sanctuary, a stronghold against the onslaught of disease and misfortune.
The commitment to attend the opening by the Third Hokage and all the clan heads underscored the magnitude of the occasion. Their presence was an acknowledgment, a validation that bore witness to the importance of this event. It was a subtle assurance, whispered through the eager chatter of the villagers, that every life within Konoha's boundaries was cherished, every pain would be soothed, and every wound would be healed.
In essence, the new hospital wing was more than a building, but a guiding light in the tempest, its radiance piercing the gloom of suffering and despair. It was a tribute to the village's enduring spirit, a symbol of Konoha's firm belief in a brighter, healthier future for all its inhabitants. The opening ceremony was more than a formal protocol; it was a declaration of dedication, a fulfillment of a promise etched deep within the very soul of Konoha.
As the momentous hour approached, the serene tranquility of anticipation was shattered by the pounding footfalls of a frantic Uchiha. The messenger skidded to a halt before Haruki, breathless and wide-eyed, as he stammered, "An… an emergent patient… coded. You're… you're the only one who can operate, Suzaku-sama."
Haruki's heart pounded in response, his mind rapidly transitioning from the administrative burdens to the urgent precision of a seasoned surgeon. Within moments, his peripheral thoughts were stripped away, revealing the focused intensity of the dedicated medical professional beneath.
Without uttering a word, Haruki spun on his heel and bolted towards the operating room, the weight of the impending ceremony forgotten. His vibrant medical chakra flared to life around his hands, preparing him for the critical task that awaited.
As he burst through the operating room doors, his glistening ruby eyes absorbed the scene in a split second. Beneath the brilliant surgical lights, his world narrowed to the singular challenge before him. For Suzaku Haruki, it was the electrifying act of defying death daily that infused his daily life with an invigorating sense of purpose.
Shikaku Nara, the astute commander of Konoha's Jonin and the village's leading tactician, found himself ensnared within the familiar oak-panelled sanctuary of the Third Hokage's office. The air was redolent with the scent of time-worn parchment and long-faded ink, a silent testament to the countless strategies and plans that had been conceived within these walls.
Their conversation initially meandered around the typical threads of intelligence, the information flowing smoothly like a river meandering through a well-known landscape. However, akin to a pebble disrupting the tranquility of the water, the Hokage steered the dialogue towards the topic of the impending hospital inauguration.
A warm, knowing grin stretched across Shikaku's face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in sincere delight. With the deftness expected of a seasoned shinobi, he expertly navigated the conversation, his voice resonating deep and clear within the room's silence.
"Hokage-sama, the inauguration of the new hospital wing signifies more than just an expansion, it embodies a revolution," Shikaku began, his fingers spread wide on the wooden desk, mirroring the gravity of his words. "We aren't simply constructing rooms; we're nurturing hope. With every piece of state-of-the-art equipment, each cutting-edge facility, we're gradually eradicating the shadow of disease and injury."
As the Jonin Commander, Shikaku painted an elaborate tableau of the hospital's grandeur - a panorama not merely showcasing glimmering, advanced machinery, but reflecting the promise of breakthrough medical research that would catapult Konoha to the zenith of the ninja world's healthcare system.
"These strides, Hokage-sama," he continued, his eyes shining with pride and conviction, "they won't merely nudge Konoha's medical innovation forward by decades. They will thrust us headlong into a new epoch, outshining all other nations. Our village will emerge as a symbol, the paragon of healing and recovery."
Every uttered word was tinged with tangible excitement, his anticipation for the upcoming event as contagious as his broad grin. As the room slipped into a contemplative silence, the profound implications of Shikaku's words unfurled like a comforter, echoing Konoha's resilience and the unyielding dedication towards its people's health.
In response to Shikaku's fervent monologue, a flicker of something vibrant and rare sparked within the usually somber depths of the Third Hokage's eyes. A fire stoked by the words and the profound promise they bore. He listened keenly, his head nodding in agreement to Shikaku's points. Then, with the gravity of years and wisdom shaping his utterance, he proposed a crucial distinction.
"Yes, Shikaku," the Hokage began, his voice steady and measured. "The facilities, the equipment, they are vital to our mission, but they are not its heart. Neither is the hospital itself. And as harsh as it might sound, not even our dedicated personnel. That honor, undeniably, belongs to Suzaku Haruki."
As the discourse continued to flow, Shikaku adeptly redirected the topic towards the recent revisions in Konoha's Academy system. "Speaking of the Saint," he began, his gaze still transfixed on the sprawling village view outside the window, "I've noted how the Academy's curriculum has also been revamped."
Hiruzen followed the thread of thought, his attention wrenched away from the panoramic view of the village back to Shikaku. "Ah, the mandatory medical course for the final year students. Yes, it will become an integral part of their education."
Shikaku nodded, "It won't merely be an essential part; it will form a foundational pillar. An entire course devoted to learning within the hospital is a novelty. The students will be exposed not only to medical knowledge and skills but also to the harsh realities of life and death. It's a lesson far more profound than anything they could grasp within a traditional classroom."
Hiruzen acquiesced, "Yes, indeed. And the extra credits for those who intern at the hospital—it provides our young ones with an incentive and an opportunity to delve deeper into the medical field. A clever strategy to foster a new generation of iryo-nin."
"The effects will soon manifest," Shikaku remarked. "The seeds sown today will fortify the backbone of our village tomorrow. Another testament to the famed healer's wisdom."
In the ensuing silence, the only sound resonating in the room was the rhythmic ticking of the Hokage's antique clock. An unspoken understanding passed between them, a mutual admiration for the path Haruki was charting for the village's future. Their conversation was more than idle chatter—it was a strategic assessment of the transformative changes sweeping their cherished home.
Hiruzen eased back into his chair. A faint sigh slipped past his lips, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet office. "Haruki," he echoed, the name resonating with an air of reverence. "Our 'Saint of Embers', he's more than a healer; he's the cornerstone, the lighthouse guiding us through the storm. His commitment, his vision... those are the true pillars of our progress."
As the Hokage paused, his gaze seemed to grow distant, a spark of admiration dancing in his eyes. "Haruki's dedication, his ingenuity... he's transformed a mere dream into tangible reality," the Hokage interjected, his voice laced with pride. "Our medical department now stands as a formidable force, a testament to his relentless endeavor. He's not just the head or the disciple of the Slug Princess. No, he is Konoha's silent guardian, a hero heralding a new era."
As the Hokage's words echoed within the chamber, the significance of Haruki's role became increasingly tangible. It was no longer merely about a new hospital or advanced equipment. It was about an individual who, against all odds, brought forth a beacon of hope and innovation. The true strength of Konoha didn't merely rest on its formidable shinobi; it was rooted deep in the hearts and spirits of those like Suzaku Haruki.
As the Third Hokage's praises reverberated through the room, Shikaku found himself drawn into a whirlpool of recollections. He, too, found his thoughts echoing the Hokage's sentiments. Haruki, the Saint of Embers, was a powerhouse—a monumental figure whose wrath could unchain a cosmic calamity. Yet, as an ally, he was the very embodiment of steadfastness—a beacon of certainty amidst an ocean of doubts.
Haruki had not only revolutionized Konoha's medical sector but achieved what seemed near-impossible: Uniting the divergent clans under the hospital's emblem. His leadership created a domain where clans and civilians alike could intermingle, fostering unity and camaraderie under the wider banner of the village—an accomplishment even the previous Hokages' best efforts couldn't achieve.
Respect, tinged with a subtle apprehension, flickered within Shikaku's gaze, hidden behind his stolid facade. Fear wasn't a sentiment he often entertained, yet it found a foothold in his heart as he pondered the unimaginable: Suzaku Haruki as an adversary. The mere thought was cataclysmic, signaling doom for their beloved home.
Deep within Shikaku Nara's mind, the unspoken words resounded with weighty implications. 'Indeed, we must keep the Saint as an ally, for the sake of Konoha.'
A shiver of fear, uncommon for the stoic Nara, nestled within him at the thought of the Saint allied with anyone but them. Yet, intertwined with that fear was an undeniable excitement, a pulsing anticipation of the vast array of possibilities Suzaku Haruki represented.
His gaze shifted from the window, where Konoha stood resolute under the setting sun's protective glow. The village's radiant visage served as a constant reminder of their collective duty, symbolizing the unwavering unity they sought to uphold. Silently, his inscrutable eyes returned to the Third Hokage, a spark of unwavering determination subtly kindling within.
Hiruzen, unaware of the covert shift in the atmosphere, continued to look outside at the bustling village. However, Shikaku's gaze lingered a moment longer on the Hokage, absorbing the unspoken churn of thoughts, silently considering the myriad scenarios and countermeasures that danced in the shadowed corners of his mind.
Subtle signs of determination etched themselves onto Shikaku's usually impassive countenance, hints of a complex strategic game that had begun just out of sight. These nuances, perceptible only to a trained eye, pointed towards a grand chess game unfolding, stirred into motion by the discussion surrounding the Saint of Embers.
Shikaku was a master puppeteer of circumstances, deftly manipulating the strings of possibilities to shape the desired outcome. The realm of what was achievable seemed limitless with the ever-burning flame of Suzaku Haruki on their side. Thus, the seasoned strategist braced himself, ready to conduct a symphony of intricate maneuvers, all aimed at preserving Konoha's harmony and ensuring the Saint remained their indispensable ally.
Time was a commodity Suzaku Haruki couldn't afford. The usually composed Saint of Embers found himself submerged elbow-deep in a macabre tide of crimson. His countenance, starkly illuminated by the harsh glare of the surgical room lights, remained unfalteringly focused. Despite the chaos swirling around him, his movements were honed to a precise rhythm.
The muted wave of panic spreading through the room was palpable, its disquieting pulse adding to the soaring stakes of the procedure. The patient's vitals capered a precarious tango on the monitor, a shrill, piercing wail signaling a code blue interrupting the stifling silence sporadically. It was as though the grim reaper was lurking uncomfortably close, impatient to claim a life that Haruki was fiercely determined to keep anchored in the world of the living.
"Hold on, don't you dare give up..." Haruki murmured, his voice a bare whisper above the clamor as he mentally sifted through a myriad of potential treatments. He channeled his chakra into the patient, the life force spinning in a desperate bid to offset the lethal dance unfolding within the patient's body.
The typically assertive voice of Director Iwai Mari suddenly sliced through the frantic ambiance over the intercom. Her voice, often so dauntless and commanding, was laced with an unfamiliar strain of apprehension. "I've heard about the emergency surgery, any idea when you'll be finished?"
Haruki's response was as nonchalant as the grim circumstances allowed. "I'll be finished when the patient—" The wail of the heart monitor interrupted him, signaling another code blue. "Dammit," he spat, a tinge of exasperation seeping into his tone as he girded himself to once again wrest his patient back from the precipice of death.
The silence that extended on the other end of the intercom lingered uncomfortably. Iwai Mari was experienced enough to know better than to anticipate a swift conclusion. Her mind embarked on a turbulent journey through a labyrinth of contingencies.
"Do you require my assistance for something?" Haruki eventually disrupted the silence, his speech underscored by the persistent drone of life-sustaining machinery.
"Yes! For the ceremony," she managed to stammer out, her tone straddling the line between disbelief and frustration. She hastily conveyed the incongruity of Konoha's preeminent medical figure missing the grand unveiling of the hospital wing that was his brainchild. Yet, her words lingered unaddressed, echoing around the pressure-charged operating room where life and death hung precariously in the balance under the deft hands of the world's most renowned healer.
Beads of perspiration carved paths down the furrows of Haruki's brow as he verbally navigated a complex maze of medical strategies. "Chakra transfusion… No, too risky given his condition… Surgical auto transplant… Damn, if only we had more time…" His words formed a spectral layer of sound hovering over the haunting concert of the heart monitor and the metallic orchestra of his surgical instruments.
Positioned at the eye of the storm, the anesthesiologist turned to Haruki, his voice cutting through the spectral symphony of the room, "Suzaku-sama, the patient's vitals continue to decline. We're losing our grip…" His words fell like a heavy cloak of desperation, shrouding the room.
The nurse, usually a beacon of tranquility and steadiness, exhibited a raw edge of worry creeping into her voice, "He's been under too long, Suzaku-sama. The operation…" Her statement faded into a chilling echo, leaving an unspoken caution suspended in the electric air of the room.
The crescendo of apprehension, the dramatic overture of the situation, only amplified the gravity. Haruki was the conductor of this macabre performance, each of his actions, every decision representing a note that could either ascend to a triumphant finale or descend into a mournful requiem. There was no margin for error; the Saint was performing a perilous ballet on the razor-thin line separating life and death.
Haruki's gaze briefly flitted towards the patient's visage, his hands never ceasing their delicate, relentless choreography. "Takaki Kaito," he declared, his voice reverberating in the tense space. "36 years old, a husband, a father of two..."
His voice, steady and unwavering, filled the sterile environment as he outlined a vivid portrait. "Akemi, his wife, a woman of deep affection with onyx eyes reflecting the warmth of her soul. She holds a passion for gardening, her fingers perpetually tinged with the rich hue of fertile soil. Possesses a fear of snakes potent enough to provoke an audible yelp from her even from a significant distance."
He let his words permeate the room, allowing the team to fully comprehend the grim reality of their mission.
"Then there's his son, Tomoe, a bright ten-year-old inheriting his father's keen facial features and his mother's vitality. His hands are frequently stained with ink from the intricate shogi designs he obsessively doodles on his board..."
The image of the young boy came to life in their minds, infusing their endeavor with a poignant dose of reality.
"And his daughter, Sora, a five-year-old whirlwind of delight with curls more chaotic than any storm and a laugh that could illuminate the darkest corners. Her sole aversion is bedtime, and she can spend hours supine, her eyes captivated by the shifting patterns of the clouds."
The silent portraits of these lives unfurled before the team, casting an imposing weight of palpable urgency onto the room.
His voice pierced the tense ambiance, his question suspended in the electric air, "Allow me to ask a question to everyone present. What is the first rule of iryo-nin?"
A hush fell over the room, a shroud of silence heavy and thick, which was abruptly torn asunder by Director Iwai's crisp, commanding retort. "No medic ninja shall ever abandon medical treatment until the final breath has been drawn from their charges," she declared, her words cutting through the air with the precision of a well-honed blade.
As Director Iwai's resonating voice filled the room, the visages of the medical staff surrounding him, both veterans and novices, reflected a spectrum of emotions. The junior residents, their academic credentials still fresh, their eyes still filled with the bright gleam of fervor, found their breath hitched in anticipation. The import of his words settled deep within them, profound and poignant. They had recited the first law of iryo-nin myriad times, yet the gravity of it had never truly resonated until this moment.
Their patient was not just Takaki Kaito, an abstract name on a chart, but a husband, a father, a gardening partner, a mentor to a shogi enthusiast, and a safe refuge to a dreamy cloud-watcher. The weight of their obligation, the comprehension of their solemn vow, bloomed within their hearts with an unanticipated intensity. A spark of resolve ignited within their eyes, the fear born of the situation being tempered by the enormity of their commitment.
The seasoned staff members, too, discovered a deeper understanding. They had been witnesses to innumerable lives, numerous tragedies and miracles, yet Haruki's narration rekindled their latent passion. They had recited the same law, often mechanically, transforming it into a mantra devoid of the very essence it was meant to convey. But hearing it now, framed within the context of Kaito's life which hung on a precipice, the meaning struck them with renewed vigor.
Their eyes, toughened by years of experience, betrayed a hint of surprise, a shimmer of reawakened resolve. They had long understood the burdens of their profession, yet it took Haruki's poignant reminder to reignite the spark of dedication that had initially set them on their paths.
Haruki's words took on an impassioned hue, his determination echoing throughout the room. "So until the patient is declared medically deceased, we won't stop. No potential solution will remain unexplored, no amount of effort will be spared." His words formed a solemn pledge, shrouded in unwavering determination, that imprinted onto their hearts, acting as a beacon of relentless resilience amidst the darkest turmoil. "So that in the event of the patient's death, I can honestly tell their family that I have done absolutely everything I could," he declared with steely finality, leaving no room for further debate.
"I'll reschedule the ceremony, Chief Haruki," Director Iwai interjected, her voice laced with an unusual strain of desperation.
Haruki, elbow-deep in his ongoing struggle against the unforgiving reaper, shook his head. His voice, steady and resilient, refuted her, "No, Director Mari. Each of us has our own battleground. Mine is right here. Yours...is at the ceremony."
Director Iwai's frown deepened, her mouth parting to voice her protest, but her words were snatched away by the piercing wail of the heart monitor reverberating throughout the room. The patient was flatlining yet again.
Haruki maintained his unyielding focus on his patient as he began his narration, "Before I arrived, this hospital was in a state of disarray... understaffed, lacking crucial equipment, facilities. Death didn't merely frequent the OR, it seeped into every corner, every soul within these walls..."
A sheen of perspiration glossed over his forehead as he continued, "Nevertheless, it continued functioning, regardless of how drained or fragmented the system became. Why? Because it had a guardian."
Haruki's gaze never wavered from his patient, but his voice filled the room as he began reading aloud, "Iwai Mari, renowned for her exceptional skills and dedication, was elevated to the position of Konoha's Divisional Head of Logistical Support and Medical Division for the Iwa Front in the Third Ninja War at the tender age of 26..."
As his words reverberated within the room, he maintained the relentless rhythm of his work, his hands dancing with certainty and precision.
"Post-war, she was personally honored by the Fourth Hokage and endorsed by Chief Fujimura Ren to serve as Konoha's youngest Hospital Director..."
Caught off guard, Director Iwai's jaw slackened, her cheeks flushing a distinct shade of red. Stunned into silence, she stood immobilized, disarmed by Haruki's audacious yet heartfelt speech, unable to muster a response.
Haruki's words sliced through the dense tension within the room like a surgeon's scalpel, exact and resolute. "Every word, every stride, every breath you've given has been for this hospital," he affirmed, his hands unflinching as his gaze was fixed on the heart monitor. For a moment, the relentless beeping seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was in suspense. It resumed its steady rhythm when Haruki implemented a crucial adjustment to the patient's chakra flow. A wave of relief swept across the room as it seemed Haruki had unearthed a glimmer of hope for the patient.
"You've earned this, Director Mari," he proclaimed, his voice echoing with the weight of his belief. His eyes remained tethered to his patient, but the sincerity in his voice reverberated off the sterile walls of the operating room. "You truly deserve this."
His subsequent words were gentler, imbued with a warmth that began to dissipate the frosty tension permeating the room. "This institution is your creation, Director Mari. Your baby." The sentiment lingered in the air, drawing a soft chuckle from the fatigued medical staff. "Go flaunt it to those imbeciles," he suggested, a trace of a smile gracing the corners of his mouth as he resumed his meticulous manipulation of chakra.
Haruki's words impacted Iwai Mari as sharply as a medic-nin's chakra scalpel, engraving themselves into the depths of her soul. Her expression, usually a rigid mask of resolve, faltered slightly. Swallowing, her eyes glistening, she nodded, an unexpected determination igniting within her gaze. "I'll give it my all, Haruki," she pledged, her voice tinted with an uncommon hint of vulnerability.
With a determined spin on her heel, she strode out of the operating room, her stride imbued with a rekindled sense of purpose. The room she left behind returned to its familiar rhythm, filled with the symphony of beeping machines and subdued murmurs. Each person, fortified with a clear objective, returned to their individual tasks, doing whatever was within their capability.
The hum of anticipation was tangible as the assembly congregated at the entryway of the hospital's new wing. A platform had been meticulously assembled, serving as a beacon for all who attended. Seating arrangements had been painstakingly placed in rows, each adorned with a small sign denoting the name of a prominent guest. Leaders of clans, key figures from Konoha, some surprising attendees from the Daimyo's administration, and even the esteemed Third Hokage himself were slated to be in attendance.
Among the sea of villagers, the tops of eager children's heads could be spotted, hoisted high on their parents' shoulders. Their wide-eyed awe stood in stark contrast to the somber purpose of the edifice they stood before. On this day, even a hospital was transformed into a symbol of hope, a testament to Konoha's advancement.
As the inaugural ceremony unfolded, speeches were delivered, and minor events executed to the enthusiastic applause of the audience. However, a distinct sense of expectancy hung in the air, an unvoiced query suspended as attendees cast surreptitious glances around. Where was the primary orchestrator of this health monument? The clan heads exchanged puzzled looks, and even the Third Hokage appeared slightly bewildered by the conspicuous absence.
Then, amidst the hushed anticipation, Director Iwai made her entrance. A wave of applause radiated across the crowd, swelling into a consistent cheer as she confidently mounted the stage, acknowledging the applause. Her words resonated across the gathering, her heartfelt appreciation reaching every individual present. However, the notable absence of the 'Saint of Embers,' whose vision led them to this monumental day, was impossible to overlook.
"Chief Suzaku genuinely wanted to be here," Director Iwai commenced, her voice projecting a warmth that contradicted the seriousness of her words. "We were in conversation just recently, in fact." Recollection softened her countenance, coaxing a gentle smile onto her lips. "Do you know what he told me?"
The crowd leaned in, compelled by her narrative. She continued, her voice carrying through the silence. "He spoke of a woman with strikingly beautiful onyx eyes, a woman who cherishes the serenity of her garden and recoils at the mere mention of snakes." Her words hung in the air, the illustration painting a perplexing yet engaging picture for the crowd.
"He also recounted tales of two luminous children. A ten-year-old boy who takes after his father and nurtures a fascination for...," she chuckled lightly, introducing a touch of humor, "well, let's just say he harbors an unconventional hobby." The crowd responded with mild laughter. "And a delightful five-year-old girl who loathes bedtime yet is fascinated by cloud watching." At this point, she was laughing openly. "I'm sure the Nara clan can identify with that!" The laughter intensified, spreading through the crowd like a communal jest. Even the usually unexpressive Nara delegates sported amused grins.
She paused, allowing the laughter to recede before continuing, her tone shifting. "At this very moment, Chief Suzaku, our Saint, is engaged in a battle. He's fighting for the life of their father, their husband," she inhaled deeply, the heaviness of her words descending upon the assembly. "Right now, he is deeply entrenched in that struggle, making every possible effort to ensure this small family's light isn't extinguished. That, my friends, is why he couldn't be here today."
Director Iwai's words echoed through the crowd, resonating like a solemn bell toll, the weight of her message cutting through the prior joviality. A profound silence descended upon the attendees, each individual, from high-ranking officials to the youngest children, processing her words in their own way.
Then, gradually, akin to the sunrise, a murmur of reverence started to ripple through the assembly, reflecting the palpable admiration etched on Iwai's face as she spoke of the absent Chief. The profound respect in her voice accomplished more than any physical presence could. Suzaku Haruki, the Saint of Embers, was absent in flesh but present in spirit, and his devotion resonated deeply with all present.
Director Iwai carried on with her address, acknowledging the support and dedication that had made the day a reality. She applauded the nurses, doctors, volunteers, donors, and clan leaders who had endorsed the hospital. She expressed gratitude to the Hokage for his unwavering guidance. She lauded the critics who, in spite of their apprehensions, had vested their trust in them, allowing them to shape a better future. Every word she uttered was sincere, fortifying the bond that had been forged through mutual endeavors and shared aspirations.
The ceremony progressed, recognizing individuals who had made notable contributions and revealing the plaques commemorating the event. However, despite the joviality, one absence remained acutely felt. Iwai's words had provided everyone with a deep understanding of the extent of Haruki's dedication.
Eventually, the crowd began to disperse, taking away not just memories of a grand ceremony but also the indelible imprint of a tale of dedication and resilience. The image of a man engrossed in his struggle to prevent a family's light from being extinguished left a poignant impression in their hearts - a testament to the life-saving mission at the heart of Konoha's new medical wing.
Back in the operating room, Suzaku Haruki continued his struggle, unaware of the impact his absence had made at the ceremony. A father was soon to be returned to his family. In Haruki's world, the rhythm of a beating heart and the resolute determination in his eyes were the only ceremony that mattered. His battlefield was here, in the thick of the fight for life, exactly where he intended to be.
As he finally removed his scrubs and cleaned up, he caught sight of a familiar face leaning casually against the wall, clutching a box from a renowned cake store. Ah, the second fly once again. They merely stared at each other in silence. Eventually, Haruki relented, releasing a sigh far more significant than any he had emitted during the operation, and trudged towards his office. The Nara, grinning in victory, followed him, matching his pace while stealing sideways glances.