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Chapter 22
I'm still standing
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A/N: apologies for the delay. I thought I uploaded the chapter but I forgot. On the bright side... two chapters? ^^
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64年11月26日
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He can't let it go.
It's all he's been thinking about. The feeling. The way his hand warmed when his chakra reacted to the seal. He knows it did. Even if it was only briefly. Minuscule. Even if he didn't actually see it. But he knows it was there, in his hand, green. Yang Release. Medical chakra.
Akuto takes a deep breath. Steadies himself. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His throat is dry, his jaw tight, his pulse thrumming at his temples. He's spent the last four days trying to push this away, trying to dismiss it as nothing but a figment of his imagination, a dream born of traitorous desires.
But he can't let it go.
His hand clenches. He glances down at once-calloused fingers, the slight tremor in them. Akuto swallows hard and sits down on the zabuton, crossing his legs. He forces his shoulders to relax, his spine to straighten. Meditation has always been easy, in this life at least, a sort of steadying ritual when his mind spirals and what-ifs claw for control. But right now, his thoughts swarm like locusts.
He tries it anyway.
He breathes. Deeply, all the way through his stomach. He holds it a second, then lets it out. Slowly, steadily. Exactly like Okan taught him years ago and exactly like he taught Kiri-cchi. The world around him blurs as the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest evens out and as the pounding of his heart eases.
Akuto takes another breath, then imagines a river running through him— branched and wild, splitting off into all directions. North, West, South, East, and everything in between. He takes another deep breath and focuses. At first, there's nothing. Almost like his chakra vanished with his arm but then—
There, faintly, he can feel it. It's still. Like the koi pond at Shizuki's, like untouched snow at dawn, like the surface of a mirror-still lake at midnight. Where once his chakra felt alive, now it doesn't flow anymore, and the lightning doesn't spark at all. It feels strange. Deeply unfamiliar. He prods at it, but it doesn't react.
His heart flutters.
…maybe he was wrong, after all. Maybe he did just imagine the whole thing.
He sucks in a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Who is he to give up so quickly? He didn't give up during the fight with the Tawdry Three, Hijiki, or even— He grits his teeth. Or even during the fight with Orochimaru. He didn't even give up during the hours upon hours upon hours of chakra exercises and chakra control fine-tuning just to reach that darned ninety percent because you have potential, dear, and it'll save your life someday (it did, he'll be forevermore grateful). But still.
He shakes his head and takes another deep, steadying breath.
Releases it.
Again, he thinks.
He focuses back on himself, the way his chakra used to rush through his body. It feels incomplete. He's gotten used to his missing arm as well as he can, but currently it feels stronger— worse— than ever. The part where his arm should be, where his chakra should flow, feels cold. Empty.
The rest of himself is still warm. Still there, he reminds himself. He takes a deep breath and stops feeling sorry for himself long enough to remind himself that he's still alive. Still has the rest of himself. His other arm— his dominant one at that— both of his legs, all of his toes as well as all of his remaining fingers, and, most importantly, still has his head.
Alright. He can do this.
If others have done it before, why shouldn't he be able to do this?
This time, he doesn't prod or pull or push.
He asks. In a way. If chakra's all about alignment, about resonance, then forcing it isn't going to work. Something else has to.
So he remembers.
He remembers how it used to feel— the electric rush of his chakra surging through his veins, the accompanying adrenaline; the warmth, the energy, the power. He chases that memory. Holds onto it. Feels it. Then, gently, he reaches for his chakra. He imagines it waking up, moving, flowing. To his palm. To his fingers. Burning green. Medical chakra.
He knows he's done it one-handed before.
In that mess of a battlefield, when he tried to heal the cut on his chest—
A thread of warmth.
It's not gone. It's there. Faint. Like an ember waiting to be fanned into a flame.
His eyes snap open.
The softest green surrounds his hand—
Gone again.
Akuto sucks in a deep breath. He stares. His heart hammers. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence.
But it was there. It was real.
He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Ignores the way his stomach flutters, the way disbelief wars with something that feel dangerously close to hope.
Once is an accident, twice is a pattern, thrice is a pattern.
He clenches his fist and does it again— exactly the same way. Takes a deep breath and imagines the way it used to feel before the cut, the way it felt just now. His heartbeat quickens. For a second, nothing happens, then—
The warmth returns.
He opens his eyes again.
It's back. And it stays a little longer this time.
His breath shudders out of him.
He needs more.
The kunai flashes in his hand before he can think twice. Bites his leg. The slight nick bleeds sluggishly, warm blood trickling down his leg in droplets. He takes a deep breath. Sweet adrenaline buzzes in his chest, rushes through his veins, clouds his head. He reaches for his chakra, imagines the countless time he has healed, done it all without thinking, and watches as it sputters to life in his hand again. It's weak and faint, but it's there.
Stronger than before.
He presses his palm to the nick. Nothing. Of course, he thinks. He has only one hand, how is he supposed to be able to heal—
He takes another deep breath.
Resonance, he tells himself. You have to align your chakra with your intent.
He imagines his palm glowing green. The warmth, the way healing chakra—Yang chakra— feels alive. The way his Yin chakra always has to transform into Yang chakra. He pictures his nick. Pictures the blood flow slowing before finally stopping altogether. Pictures the skin pulling itself back together bit by bit. Pictures his skin, unblemished and pale.
And there—
Slowly, the glow in his hand brightens. Grows stronger. Still a pale comparison to what it once was but stronger than his last attempts. And finally, slowly and hesitantly, almost like he himself, he feels the warmth of the Yang chakra trickling into his leg. The bleeding slows. The sting dulls. The skin pulls itself back together, bit by bit.
Until the cut is gone. Nary a scar left behind.
He exhales shakily. Stares at his palm.
He can still heal.
He can still heal.
He wants to do it again. Wants to push himself, to see how far he can take it, to feel the warmth rush through him again. But the hunger beneath his skin is too loud now, and he knows better than to let it take hold.
But. Not here.
He rushes out the door—
And nearly crashes into Aneki on the way out. She barely manages to lift her cup of tea in time. He wants to rush past her, but she steps in his way. Squints at him. "Where's the fire?" she asks.
Akuto ignores her and tries to brush past her other side, but she snags the collar of his kimono before he can escape.
"Hold on." She frowns. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"
"I didn't," he says far too quickly.
She hums, unimpressed. "Uh-huh."
"Aneki," he says. He tries to make it sound like a warning but it comes out as more of a whine.
She tilts her head, lips twitching. "What's got you all worked up?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"Aneki."
She snickers and finally lets him go. "Fine, fine. But if you get yourself killed doing something stupid, I'll haunt your corpse."
He doesn't even dignify her with a response and runs outside.
By the time he reaches Saigawa, his pulse has evened out and the adrenaline has left, but the restlessness, the hunger, the desire still burn beneath his skin. He follows the same paths and takes the same corners Kiri-cchi once led him through until he arrives at a familiar clearing.
They're watching him again, many eyes caught on the empty sleeve on his left. Akuto juts out his chin, grins, and puts his only hand in the pocket of his pants. He doesn't have any food or water or medical supplies for them, but that's not why he's here.
He needs to know how far he can push it. How much he can still heal.
Chiyomi emerges from some corner. "You're back," she says.
Akuto nods.
She takes a long look at him, then nods as well, and disappears to the same corner she just came from. Strangely, he feels like he just passed a test he didn't know he needed to pass. Like one of the surprise quizzes his teachers in Before loved to pull exactly on the days he didn't study for.
Akuto shakes his head inwardly and walks up to the first injured person he sees.
It's an older man, maybe in his fifties. His face looks weathered, as if he hasn't felt a proper day of peace in years, and streaks of grey mingle with his brown hair. A dirty rag covers his right arm.
He eyes Akuto warily.
Akuto grins at him, all teeth, and says, "That doesn't look good."
"What's it to you?" he asks and tugs the arm behind his back.
"Practice."
The man scoffs. "I can't pay you."
"I don't want your damn money."
Akuto holds out his hand and glowers at the man. "Let me check it out before you get an infection and die, stubborn old man."
"Cheeky brat," he says but finally holds out his arm.
Akuto quickly but clumsily unties the knot and throws the rag away. He would burn it if he could, alas he can't. The man's wound doesn't look too bad. It's a deep cut and looks pretty recent—as in, has recently stopped bleeding recent.
Akuto silently counts to ten and calls upon his chakra. He imagines it again: green, warm, and imagines the way this man's wound closes, fades, heals. His chakra comes to him in what must be seconds later but to him it feels like an eternity. He barely stops himself from exhaling in relief.
It still feels cold, the rest of his chakra still unmoving, but it's, once again, stronger than before and glows brightly. Slowly, bit by bit, the man's injury heals until all that's left is hale skin.
The man stares at it for a second, then at him, and grunts out a thanks.
Akuto just nods, then turns around to look for the next person. A small boy stands nearby, looking eerily similar to Kiri-cchi: short brown hair, brown eyes, far too thin. A massive bruise covers his swollen-shut eye.
Akuto squats, grins softly at him, and waves him over.
The boy doesn't move.
Fair. He doesn't force him to. Instead, he stands and looks for someone nearby he can heal. He makes a find not too far away, still within the boy's line of sight. A little girl with a scraped knee. Akuto grins at her, squats, and points at her knee. It looks just the tiniest bit infected.
"I bet that hurts," he says and she nods at him with wide eyes. "Lemme fix it for you?"
She smiles at him. "Thanks."
"Alright, come here," he says and does the same spiel again. Chakra flickers to life and he presses it gently against her knee. The infection recedes quickly and the scrape is gone not much later. "Try to be more careful, alright?"
She holds out her pinkie. "Promise," she says once Akuto takes it.
It takes five more people before the boy comes to him. None of the injuries were too bad, two more cuts, a puncture wound, an abrasion, and a first-degree burn. The burn took him longest to heal, and he probably spent way too much chakra on all of them, but he can work on his control later. Most importantly: he managed to heal all of them.
Broken bones were still too difficult, he didn't even work on them before, since Okan hadn't had the time to teach him yet, but maybe that's something they'll be able to catch up on now. Now that he can heal again.
"Can you heal me, too?"
Akuto turns around, squats, and smiles softly. "Of course."
The boy juts out his chin and stakes a slow step closer. Then another and another and another until he's right in front of him. This close, Akuto can tell that this boy's eyes are a few shades lighter than Kiri-cchi's. Closer to an amber brown than Kiri-cchi's chocolate. This close, Akuto can also tell that the bruise on his eye isn't an exception.
"What's your name?" he asks the boy.
"Kōsei."
"Kōsei-cchi, eh?" Akuto smiles and slowly, gently holds his hand out to him. His smile doesn't waver when the boy doesn't fully manage to hide his flinch, doesn't let it show he noticed. "I'm going to channel healing chakra into my palm, and then I'm going to hold it to your eye to heal the bruise. Is that alright?"
Kōsei hesitates, then nods. "Will it hurt?" he asks after a few more seconds.
"No. I promise." This time, Akuto holds out his pinkie and the boy takes it (after a few more seconds of hesitation).
"Alright then," Akuto says, and guides his chakra to his palm. It flickers green. Kōsei flinches, so Akuto waits. Once he's sure the boy won't run, he moves his hand slowly to his face, placing it gently above his eye. Ever so slowly, he sends his chakra into the bruise and watches as it shrinks, fades, and finally vanishes completely.
He slowly removes his hand, then rests it on his leg. Kōsei stares at Akuto for a while, then slowly, carefully pokes and prods at the area around his eye, his eyelids, and then even rubs his eye. "It doesn't hurt anymore."
Akuto smiles softly. "I'm glad."
"Thank you."
"Anytime, Kōsei-cchi. Anytime."
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By the time Akuto returns home, the sun has set. After Kōsei, he healed more shallow (and some deeper) injuries before his chakra levels dropped to dangerously low levels. He called it a day, then. And damn it, he felt good. Bone-tired, sure. But warm. Light. Like something inside him had clicked back into place without him even noticing.
"I'm home," he says as he closes the door behind him.
Nanami leans against the door. Grins. "Welcome back."
Akuto slips into his slippers, ignores the way she looks at him, the unspoken questions he knows she has, and hurries into the kitchen where Okan is already cooking dinner. It's just the three of them tonight, Fuguki-oji is still out on a mission.
"What's for dinner?" he asks and takes his seat. It smells of rice and miso soup and fish and— ugh— nattō. Why both Aneki and Okan enjoy it, he still doesn't understand. You'll come to like it as you grow older, his Okan used to say. Until Akuto kept pointing out that Fuguki-oji doesn't like it, either. It's good for you, Okan then said and the matter was closed.
"Fugu," is all Okan says.
Well, then.
Aneki strolls in behind him and takes the seat right next to him, trapping him between her and the wall. He glares at her. But she doesn't say anything, just keeps smiling that damn cheerful grin and just keeps looking at him.
"How was your day?" Okan asks.
…Did they team up against him? Is this on purpose? Does this count as bullying?
"Alright," is all he says. "I was out."
Nanami scoffs but can't say anything when Okan puts the plates on the table and gives her a Look. Akuto pokes out his tongue at her—
Something hits his forehead.
He glowers, ignores the way his sister snickers, and accepts the yunomi with the steaming hot jasmine tea Okan hands him.
"Thank you for the food," they say in unison.
He takes the first sip of the delightful miso soup and drones out whatever Aneki is chatting about. Something about someone doing something, the usual. He sees Okan nodding and asking questions at all the right moments, so he thinks he can get away with it.
Instead, his thoughts drift back to today.
It's… He still can't really believe it.
He flexes his fingers and stares at his palm as if the glow might return on its own. It doesn't. But the memory of it alone— the warmth, the way his chakra flowed through his own body, his palm, and into the ones he healed, the way it felt so familiar, so natural— lingers.
He thought it was gone. His chakra. His ability to heal. His life as a ninja—the only thing he's known for the past eleven years, the only thing he's known in this life. All of it, ripped away with his arm.
He convinced himself of it. Even came to accept it.
And yet.
His breath is steady, but something beneath his ribs feels unsteady.
Because if he can still heal—if chakra still answers him, even after everything—
What else can he still do?
"Ryō for your thoughts," Okan says, voice light.
Akuto blinks. Nanami grins at him and even Okan smiles softly. Akuto opens his mouth, hesitates, but then says, "I'd like to try again. You know, being a ninja and all. I'd like to try again."
Aneki's grin widens impossibly, her eyes scrunching together.
Okan nods once, serious. "It'll be difficult," she says, but there's a hint of warmth and pride to her voice. "We'll have to adjust to your missing arm."
"I know," he says at once. "I'd still like to try."
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64年11月28日
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Utakata doesn't knock.
He stands outside the quiet apartment door, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. He shouldn't be here.
The building is old, despite it's relatively nice neighbourhood— faded paint, a few cracks in the wall, and the occasional creak in the wooden stairwell— but the apartment itself seems well-kept. At least, the door is. It smells faintly of fish and soup and something else— incense. Sandalwood. He hasn't even been inside yet but already it feels different from his own apartment.
His own place is smaller. Quieter— he lives by himself. The walls in his apartment and his apartment complex are all bare, the tatami soft from years of use, but the landlord never bothered to replace them. There's no clutter, no signs of a life lived there. Just the essentials. A futon tucked neatly in a corner, a single table with two cups but only ever one used. It always smells damp, like the scent of rain that never quite leaves. No incense, no lingering warmth of home-cooked meals. Just stillness.
Utakata takes a deep breath, raises a hand to knock—
And the door yanks open.
He steps back on instinct. Comes face-to-face with a girl.
She's taller than him— which is annoying— and carries herself with the kind of confidence that makes it clear she could knock him flat if she felt like it. Her buzz-cut hair does nothing to soften the sharpness of her face, and her purple eyes— exactly like Akuto's— pin him in place. Twin scars run down her right cheek, stopping just below her eye.
She looks at him like she's already decided what he's worth.
Utakata straightens. "…Nanami?"
She lifts her brow. Folds her arms and leans against the doorway like she has nowhere better to be. "And you're Utakata."
It's not a question.
Utakata resists the urge to fidget.
"He talks about me, then?" he asks, keeping his voice light.
Nanami snorts. "No. But I recognize a pain in the ass when I see one."
Utakata blinks, momentarily caught off guard. Then, despite himself— he huffs a laugh. Alright. He gets it now.
"So, what? You gonna let me in?" he asks.
Nanami gives him a long look, then leans back and calls over her shoulder, "Oi, Akuto! Utakata's here to see you!"
Footsteps. A pause. Then, the door swings open further.
And there he is.
Alive.
Utakata barely stops himself from exhaling in relief.
He looks still the same— mostly. Still small for his age, but he still makes up for it with attitude. Probably. His long brown hair is half-tied and unkempt, and his tired purple eyes meet Utakata's with the same easy sharpness he's somehow always had. But now, there's dark circles beneath his eyes. His sea green kimono is loosely tied, slipping slightly at the shoulder, and his left sleeve is empty, swaying in the air.
A flicker of something crawls beneath Utakata's skin. He swallows it down.
Akuto raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the flak jacket. "Promotion?" There's something genuine in his voice— like Akuto's truly happy for him— which makes it worse.
Utakata grimaces. "Shishou insisted."
Akuto snickers, but his eyes flicker with something unreadable. "Right. So, what's this about? You finally come to rub it in?"
Utakata snorts, but it's forced. Too light. Too easy. "Nah, just thought I'd see how the less fortunate live. Turns out you're still surviving… How quaint."
This is wrong. The jokes, the banter— it's all wrong. It tastes bitter in his mouth. He didn't come here to do this—
He tightens his grip on his sleeves. "We need to talk."
Akuto pauses. Watches him carefully now. His grin fades, just a bit. He gestures inside, and Utakata follows, slipping off his shoes and stepping into the neat, orderly apartment. The floors are clean, everything in its place and perfectly arranged, nothing looks like it doesn't belong. All doors but one are open in some way. Nothing like he expected but at the same time, it makes perfect sense. Akuto's room is different. It's messy and feels sort of cramped where the rest of the apartment is clean and spacious, with kunai, shuriken and arrows scattered across the floor.
Akuto flops into his hammock like he doesn't have a care in the world. "Alright, out with it. You're making that face."
Utakata ignores that.
Instead, he stays standing, arms crossed, heartbeat hammering in his throat. He should just say it. Just let it go.
But then what?
He clenches his jaw. It doesn't matter.
"We're even."
Akuto tilts his head, swinging slightly in the hammock. "Huh?"
"You don't owe me. And I don't owe you."
Akuto frowns, clearly puzzled. "Did I owe you something?"
Utakata exhales sharply. Of course he doesn't understand. "You saved my life," he grits out. "Back in that cave. I swore to repay that."
Something shifts in Akuto's expression. His swinging slows.
Utakata's fingers twitch. He hates this. He hates that it feels like pulling something raw and bleeding out of his chest. "I carried that debt," he continues. His voice is steady, but his hands are not. "And now it's repaid. When I pulled you out of that forest, when I dragged you back to Kiri—now we're even."
Silence.
Then—
Akuto laughs. Laughs.
A sharp, breathless sound, like Utakata just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
Utakata snaps. "What the hell is funny?" His voice is low. Tense. His heartbeat is in his throat, his hands won't stop shaking.
Akuto sits up slightly. "You're serious about this?"
"You think I wouldn't be?" Utakata bites out.
Akuto exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "Utakata, I never wanted a damn life-debt. I helped you because I wanted to. Not because I expected you to carry it around like some damn curse."
Utakata freezes.
Something cracks deep inside him, something he's held too tightly for too long.
Akuto leans forward, elbow on his knee. "I never thought you owed me. And I sure as hell don't think you owed me enough to drag my ass all the way back to Kiri half-dead." He smiles but there's no humor in it. "That was you. Not a debt."
Utakata feels like he's standing on a precipice. Like if he takes one step forward, there's nothing but open air.
"You never owed me," Akuto repeats, softer now. "But I'm glad you saved me."
Utakata's breath catches. He hates how easy it is for Akuto to say things like that. How he tosses honesty into the air like it's nothing—like it doesn't burn.
Utakata looks away, heat creeping up his neck. "See? Annoying."
Akuto grins. "Yeah, yeah. Just admit you care and get it over with."
Utakata turns to leave.
"How'd you do it anyway," Akuto asks. He hesitates for a bit. "How the hell did you get me here in time?"
Utakata stops.
For a long moment, he doesn't speak.
Then—quietly, almost too low to hear—
"I don't remember."
It's not a lie.
Not really.
He remembers the rage. He remembers the weight of Akuto's body in his arms. He remembers running— running until the world blurred, until his breath came in ragged gasps, until something else took over. He remembers losing himself. He remembers Saiken pushing forward. He remembers blinking, and suddenly he was in Kiri, and Akuto was still breathing, and nothing else mattered.
But he doesn't say that. He doesn't say that he was scared. That for the first time in a long time, the thought of losing someone sent ice-cold terror through his veins. That it burned in a way he wasn't prepared for.
Akuto doesn't push.
"Alright," he says, too easily. "Guess I'll just have to imagine you heroically carrying me through the mist like some tragic romance."
Utakata groans. "I'm leaving."
Akuto just laughs.
He finds he doesn't hate the sound.