Chapter 56 – The Healer's Hand
Minato hadn't expected Akira's choice.
Of all things—Kenjutsu, space–time jutsu, or even deeper fūinjutsu—Akira looked at him with calm certainty and said:
"I want to learn medical ninjutsu."
For a moment, Minato only stared. Then he exhaled slowly.
"…I see. That… fits you more than you realize."
The very next morning, he brought Akira to Konoha Hospital. Its halls smelled faintly of disinfectant, filled with the quiet murmur of nurses moving between rooms. Minato bowed respectfully to the head of the hospital's medic-nin, an older kunoichi with tired but sharp eyes.
"This boy," Minato said simply, "needs to learn. But it must stay quiet—his training here is to be kept between us."
The head medic raised a brow but agreed. She began simply—with injured fish, then small animals, guiding Akira's hands over them as she explained the delicate art of pushing chakra into flesh, not to cut or burn but to knit and mend.
At first, Akira's chakra was too strong. A fish nearly exploded under the flood of energy. But he adapted quickly. His chakra control, already near flawless thanks to fūinjutsu and his Byakugan's insight, refined itself with each attempt. Wounds closed, torn fins reformed, and the head medic's lips pressed thin as she realized just how swiftly he learned.
By the second month, Akira had advanced to human volunteers—minor injuries, burns, and broken bones. The legendary Mystical Palm Technique, which took even the most gifted years to master, became fluid in his hands within weeks. His chakra glowed a steady, soothing green as if it had always been a part of him.
But per Minato's request, this was hidden. Only a handful of trusted medics knew. On the surface, Akira's progress was described as slow, ordinary. The truth—that he had mastered the Mystical Palm in barely three months—was kept buried.
Late one evening, as Akira finished closing a shinobi's gash without even breaking a sweat, Minato leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"You could outshine even Tsunade-sama at this pace," Minato murmured.
Akira shook his head, wiping his hands clean. "No. I don't want to shine. Not yet. If I stand out too much, I'll become a target before I'm ready."
Minato studied him, the boy's golden eyes glowing faintly in the lamplight. For all his youthful face, there was a weight in Akira's words that felt ancient.
And so, quietly, the healer was born.
A boy who could wield all five elements, wield fūinjutsu without ink, and now mend life itself with the brush of his hand—
yet still hidden in the shadow of secrecy.
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