[Sunday Special - I have Bulk today (2/4)]
[~1300 Words]
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The sun was high in the East Blue sky, casting a warm glow over the quiet waters that lapped gently against the sandy shores near Foosha Village. Birds cawed lazily overhead, and the breeze smelled faintly of salt and summer grass.
Near the edge of the cove, Makino knelt by the rocks, humming softly to herself as she scrubbed laundry by hand in a wooden basin. Her simple green dress fluttered slightly in the wind, her sleeves rolled up, hands soaked in soap-suds.
She was just about to wring out a shirt when—
"Thud…"
Her head jerked up at the soft but unmistakable sound of something—or someone—hitting the shore.
Makino stood quickly, her eyes scanning the edge of the water—and gasped.
A young man lay there, half-submerged on the sand, blood on his chest, clothes torn, a strange red fan-shaped symbol on his ruined flak vest. His hair was jet-black, long and matted with sea salt, and his breathing was shallow but present.
"Oh no…!"
Without hesitation, she dropped her basket and sprinted forward, hiking up her skirt as she splashed into the shallows. The tide pulled at his boots as she threw her arms around his chest, planting her feet and hauling him out of the water with all the strength her slender frame could muster.
She collapsed onto the sand beside him, panting hard, her hands going to his neck to check for a pulse. Still alive.
His body was warm. Feverish. But alive.
"Stay with me…" she whispered, brushing the wet hair from his face.
He stirred faintly, a whisper on cracked lips—something about "Izumi" and fire and running out of time—but he didn't wake.
Makino bit her lip and stood up quickly. She sprinted up the dirt path barefoot, straight toward the center of the village.
"Mayor Woop Slap! Someone washed ashore! I need help—he's badly hurt!"
Within minutes, the village was alive with movement. A stretcher was brought from the clinic. Several villagers gathered curiously, murmuring about the stranger.
Woop Slap frowned as he helped hoist Haruki onto the wooden frame.
"You sure he isn't a pirate?"
Makino shook her head firmly. "No pirate I've ever seen looks like this. He's young… lost… and hurt badly. That's all that matters."
As they carried Haruki toward the clinic, the sky began to darken ever so slightly—like something ominous lingered just beyond the clouds.
Makino glanced back toward the shore once more, her brows furrowed.
Who are you… and where did you come from?
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The heat was suffocating. The smoke stung his eyes.
Haruki crawled across the burning tatami floor, the timber groaning under his bloodied hands. His left leg dragged uselessly behind him—shredded by an explosion. The walls of their home cracked and hissed with fire.
"Izumi… Izumi…"
He could see her.
Just a few feet ahead, crumpled beneath the shattered doorframe, her body still, blood pooled under her side like spilled ink.
And just beyond her—
Their father. Haruto. Sword drawn. Throat slit. Eyes open and hollow.
Standing in the flames like a silent phantom… Itachi. Cold. Distant. His Mangekyō eyes gleaming in the dim lighted night.
"You should not have returned," the boy genius whispered, before turning his back on Haruki, letting the fire consume what was left.
Haruki screamed as fire consumed him and he still dragged himself burning forward, reaching—always reaching—but his fingers never closed around them. Either of them.
Only ash.
Haruki shot up with a ragged gasp, drenched in sweat, heart pounding like thunder.
His hand instinctively reached for a weapon—but found only a soft bandage wrapped across his ribs.
"Easy, easy… You're safe now."
A gentle voice. Kind, like sunlight after a storm.
Haruki turned sharply.
Makino sat beside him, a cloth in one hand, a bowl of warm water on the stand. Her green eyes filled with concern, and relief.
"You've been unconscious for two days. We found you by the coast. Do you remember what happened?"
Haruki blinked. The smell of antiseptic and sea breeze filled the room. Wood walls. Lantern light. A soft mattress under his back.
"…Where… am I?"
"Foosha Village," she said softly. "On Dawn Island. East Blue."
East Blue?
His breathing hitched.
"You were bleeding badly. Some villagers thought you were attacked by pirates," she said gently, "but your clothes… they're nothing like I've seen. That fan symbol—" she motioned to his tattered vest folded nearby, "—what does it mean?"
Haruki didn't answer immediately. His gaze dropped to the callused hand resting on his thigh—scarred and trembling.
He whispered, "It's… what's left of my family. I think so."
Makino's eyes softened.
"I'm Makino. I run the tavern here. I was the one who found you."
He looked up at her, eyes still shadowed with grief.
"Thank you… for saving me."
"You're welcome," she said warmly. "You can rest as long as you need."
He laid back slowly, eyes on the ceiling.
And for the first time in days, his shoulders relaxed.
But in his mind, flames still crackled behind his closed lids.
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Moonlight spilled through the paper windows of the Foosha Village clinic, casting silver shapes across the wooden floor. Outside, the waves lapped gently, and cicadas hummed in the grass.
Inside, Uchiha Haruki sat upright, teeth clenched, sweat beading on his brow. His wounds still burned—his ribs bound tight, leg wrapped heavily—but he had to move.
He couldn't lie still. Not while Izumi's face haunted him behind his eyes.
`I have to find a way back´. If there's even a chance of getting back to Konoha... He has to check which Village he is right now first.
`Is this the Kirigakure or the Iwa?, Definitely not Suna or Kumo´
Haruki swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hissing sharply as pain flared through his core. His bare feet touched the cool wooden floor, and for a few breaths, he steadied himself against the wall.
Every movement was agony.
But he forced one step.
Then another.
And then—
Thud.
He collapsed forward, shoulder slamming into the edge of the hallway, breath knocked out of him.
"Damn it—!" he growled, biting back a cry. His vision blurred. The bandages around his side had soaked through again.
Footsteps.
"Haruki!"
Makino appeared in the doorway, still dressed in her night robe, a lantern in hand. Her eyes widened as she rushed forward and dropped beside him.
"What are you doing?! You'll tear your stitches!"
"I… I have to go," he muttered, voice rough with pain and emotion. "My sister… she's waiting for me… I can't just stay here while—"
She caught his face between her palms, gently but firmly, making him meet her eyes.
"There's no one waiting for you if you bleed out on my floor."
Haruki's lips trembled. "I saw them die."
Makino's expression softened. She helped him lean into her shoulder, her arms strong despite her small frame.
"Then honor them by staying alive," she whispered. "You're safe here."
And for the first time in days, Haruki let himself sag against her, eyes closing. His body finally gave in.
Makino held him in the moonlight, heart aching for the stranger with too many scars—and not just the ones on the surface.
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