The world shrank to the space between Aiko's hands and Hiro's broken body. The cacophony of the medical tent—the screams, the shouts, the frantic scraping of stretchers—faded into a dull, distant roar. Her entire being was focused on the green, life-sustaining glow emanating from her palms as she pressed them against the ruin of his chest. Her chakra, usually a precise and measured flow, surged from her in a desperate, unchecked torrent.
Her diagnostic senses, honed by countless battles, painted a grim map of his injuries in her mind's eye. Multiple ribs were splintered, one perilously close to puncturing a lung. His liver was lacerated, and his chakra network was a tangled, frayed mess, pulsing with a discordant, venomous energy that felt foreign and sticky.
'Chakra poisoning,' her mind registered with a fresh wave of cold dread. The wounds weren't just from brute force; they were intricate, precise, designed to shred tissue and inject a corrosive agent directly into the chakra pathways. The hallmark of Suna's puppet brigade.
She burned through her reserves recklessly, staunching internal bleeding, knitting shattered bone fragments, fighting a war on two fronts: against physical trauma and this insidious, crawling poison. Another medic, an older man with a harried expression, reached for Hiro's shoulder.
"Aiko, let me take over, you're exhausting yourse—"
"No!" The word was a raw, guttural thing, ripped from a place deeper than reason. She didn't even look at him, her entire body a shield over Hiro's. Panic and disbelief formed a cold knot in her throat, tightening with every laboured breath he took.
'Not Hiro. Not like this.' Her vision blurred, and for a terrifying second, the scent of blood and ozone was replaced by the smell of damp earth and sun-warmed grass.
=====
"Get down!"
Hiro's voice, younger, sharper, cut through the chaos of their first real ambush. Their D-rank escort mission that had dissolved into a nightmare of flying kunai and erupting earth. Iwa shinobi, a full squad, had ambushed them. Their sensei, Riku, was locked in a furious taijutsu exchange with the enemy jonin, his commands a distant echo.
"Aiko, left flank! Renjiro, cover her!" Hiro barked, already moving. He was a whirlwind of uncontrolled, aggressive energy, meeting two Iwa chunin head-on. Renjiro used his wind-style to create a slick barrier, slowing a third opponent. Aiko, her heart hammering against her ribs, used the distraction to use Fire Release, amplified by Renjiro's wind.
'It was messy, desperate. A Iwa shinobi slipped past Aiko's defence, his blade aimed at Aiko's exposed back. There was a blur of motion, a grunt of pain. Hiro had thrown himself between them, taking the slash across his shoulder. He didn't falter, driving his own kunai into the man's thigh with a furious roar.'
'Later, bruised and bloodied but victorious, they sat by a campfire. Hiro winced as Aiko cleaned the gash on his shoulder. "You idiot," she scolded, her voice trembling. "You could have been killed."
He just grinned, that infuriating, brilliant grin. "What, and let you get all the glory? No way." They were battered, but they were alive, bound together by the shared terror and triumph. That was the day they learned what it meant to survive together.
=====
Back in the tent, the memory faded, leaving behind the bitter taste of reality. The poison in Hiro's system was tenacious, a rare chakra-binding variant. It coiled around his coils, resisting her purifying energy.
'Chiyo's work,' she thought with a surge of hatred for the legendary Suna poison master. Another medic tried to approach, this time with a syringe of antivenom. Aiko shoved the hand away, her voice a low, desperate snarl. "Just give me space!"
She knew what she had to do. It was a technique she'd only seen in forbidden scrolls, a chakra purification seal far above her clearance level. The risks were monumental—a misdrawn line could sever his chakra network permanently. But it was the only chance. Ignoring the protests, she bit her own thumb, drawing blood. With a focused intensity that made the world vanish, she began painting the intricate, spiralling seal directly onto his sternum, over the shattered bone.
Her chakra flowed into the blood-ink, the symbols glowing a fierce, angry red. As she worked, a searing pain ignited in her own palm, the skin blistering from the backlash of the potent, unauthorised jutsu. Her hands trembled, but she did not stop.
======
The celebration hall was awash with light and laughter, and the air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and fine sake. Hiro and Renjiro stood at the centre, newly promoted jonin, their forehead protectors gleaming. Their family and friends offered toasts to Konoha's bright future.
Aiko stood at the edge of the crowd, feeling like a ghost. She watched Hiro, his laughter easy and confident as he spoke with members of his own prestigious clan and others. Renjiro stood a little apart, accepting congratulations with a polite, reserved demeanour. They were ascending, moving into a world of strategy meetings and high-stakes missions, a world she, a dedicated but unremarkable medic chunin, could never enter.
She raised her own small cup of untouched sake, her whisper lost in the roar of the celebration. "You did it. Both of you." The words were sincere, but they curdled in her heart. And I was just… there. A background character in the story of their rise.
=====
A violent shudder ran through Hiro's body. He jolted awake, his eyes, clouded with pain and poison, snapping open. A fit of wet, hacking coughs wracked him, spraying flecks of blood across Aiko's face. His hand, cold and trembling, shot up and grabbed a fistful of her sleeve with surprising strength.
"Aiko…?" he rasped, his voice a ruined whisper. He tried to speak, the words coming in ragged, broken gasps. "Ambush… Suna… near the Wind border… Chiyo was there… and… another… a red-haired shinobi… threads… like a puppeteer… but no puppet…"
He was describing chakra threads used directly on a human body. The horror of it made her blood run cold. He tried to form another word, a warning, his eyes wide with a frantic urgency. But the effort was too much. His grip slackened, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness once more, his vitals dropping precipitously.
Aiko stared at his ashen face, the fury a cold, hard stone in her gut. "They sent you out there without enough support, didn't they?" she whispered to his unhearing form.
=====
This memory was colder, sharper than the others. A mission on the Grass border, led by a jonin from the Hatake clan—Hiro. She'd been assigned as the mission's medic. He had addressed her not by name, but by rank. "Medic Nakamura," he'd said, his voice devoid of its familiar warmth, his gaze distant and professional. "Stay behind the second line. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary."
The mission was a success. Afterwards, covered in mud and exhaustion, she had gathered her courage and approached him as he checked over the team. "Congrats on the promotion, Hiro," she'd said, forcing a smile.*
He'd glanced at her, nodded once. "Thanks. Glad you made it out in one piece." There was no warmth, no shared memory in his eyes. Just the polite acknowledgement of a subordinate. She'd watched him walk away, his silhouette alone against the setting sun. That was the day I realized… we weren't a team anymore.*
=====
With a final, draining surge of will, Aiko completed the seal. The blood-ink flared with a brilliant white light before dissolving into his skin. The corrosive chakra poison receded, its malevolent presence fading. Hiro's breathing, while still shallow, evened out. His vitals stabilised, hovering at the fragile edge of life, but holding.
Aiko slumped forward, catching herself on the edge of the cot. Every muscle screamed in protest. Her chakra reserves were utterly depleted, a hollow, aching void inside her. The burn on her palm was an angry, weeping wound. Other medics hovered, their faces etched with concern. "Aiko, you have to rest. You'll kill yourself."
She shook her head, a slow, stubborn motion. "I'm not leaving him again." Her voice was hoarse, but absolute.
She dragged a stool to his bedside and sat, her body trembling with exhaustion. Reaching out, she gently brushed a smear of dirt from his cheekbone, a gesture of tender familiarity that felt both foreign and right. The tent around them was still a maelstrom of suffering, but in this small, blood-stained corner, a fragile quiet had fallen.
Hiro slept, his face pale but peaceful in the dim light. The rise and fall of his chest was a slow, precious rhythm. Aiko carefully, hesitantly, took his limp, cold hand in her own, ignoring the sharp protest from her burned fingers.
She leaned close, her whisper meant for him alone, a vow spoken into the space between life and death.
"You left me behind once, Hiro Hatake." Her voice broke, but her grip was firm. "This time… I'm not letting go."
=====
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