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Chapter 32 - Branches of the Path

Raizen jogged through the academy halls, the echo of his sandals quick against the stone. The medical wing wasn't far, but he hadn't realized how out of the way it was — tucked in a quieter corridor where the scent of herbs drifted faintly from open windows.

He slid the door open and stepped inside.

Only a handful of students were there: two girls from the general course whispering at their desks, and across the room, two older kunoichi standing at the front. They didn't look like regular academy staff. Their bearing — confident, worn, sharp in different ways — made Raizen guess they were either elite chūnin or maybe even tokubetsu jōnin.

Deja vu washed over him. Just like the genjutsu class, all eyes turned the moment he entered. Surprise flickered across faces — the heir of the Tsukihana clan in Medical Jutsu, of all places. Raizen ignored the looks, crossed to an empty desk, and sat without a word.

The academy bell chimed, thin and metallic.

Both kunoichi straightened and began speaking — at the exact same time. Their voices overlapped awkwardly, like a botched rehearsal.

"Welcome to—"

"Today we'll—"

They cut off, blinking at each other.

The taller of the two, a tanned woman with a medic's coat hanging open and a dango stick still between her teeth, scowled. "Dammit, Kiyoko, I told you I was going first!"

Before the shorter woman could answer, the tall one rapped her on the head with a clenched fist. A solid thunk echoed through the quiet classroom.

"Ow—! S-sorry, sorry!" The smaller kunoichi — pale, bespectacled, her scarf slipping down one shoulder — clutched the forming lump. A glow of soft green chakra flared across her palm. In a few seconds, the swelling shrank until it was gone, leaving no trace.

She bowed her head, stammering. "Apologies, everyone, I-I ruined the introduction again…"

Raizen couldn't help it — a chuckle slipped out. The tension in the room eased for the first time since he arrived.

The taller kunoichi grinned at that, flipping the dango stick between her teeth. "See, Doc? At least you're good for comedy."

The smaller woman sighed, adjusting her glasses. "And you're good for concussions…"

The taller kunoichi finally plucked the dango stick from her mouth and tossed it into a bin with lazy precision. She planted her fists on her hips, grinning like this was all part of the act.

"Alright, let's do this properly. I'm Chōe Sayaka, battlefield medic, jōnin, and resident miracle worker. You get chopped in half, I'll probably have you standing before dinner — assuming you're not too squeamish." She winked at the students, clearly enjoying their nervous stares.

The shorter kunoichi cleared her throat, pushing her slipping glasses back up her nose. "A-ah… I'm Hoshino Kiyoko. Tokubetsu jōnin, medical specialist. My focus is diagnostics and chakra control… I-if you faint or your chakra thread wobbles, it's okay, everyone does at first, please don't panic—"

Sayaka smirked and jabbed a thumb at her partner. "She's the nervous genius who'll keep you alive when I'm not around. Between the two of us, you'll learn precision and speed. Well—if you survive our classes."

A small laugh rippled through the room, nervous but genuine.

Sayaka clapped her hands together. "Now, introductions! Name, why you're here, and what you hope to achieve with Medical Jutsu. Let's hear your dreams before we crush them with reality."

The two general-course girls exchanged glances. One stood first. She was small, with cropped brown hair and sharp eyes that never seemed to stop moving.

"Um, I'm Ishida Kanna. My chakra control's better than my ninjutsu, so I thought maybe this would… suit me. I want to be useful to my squad someday, even if I can't be on the front line."

Kiyoko gave her a warm, approving nod. "That's exactly the right mindset. Medicine saves more lives than fireballs."

The second girl stood reluctantly. She was taller, with long black hair braided neatly down her back, her voice steady in contrast to her friend's.

"I'm Hirano Ayame. My older brother died on a mission last year. They said if his team had a medic, he might have lived. So… I don't care how hard this is. I'm not letting that happen again."

The room went still. Even Sayaka's grin softened for a moment. "Good answer," she said simply.

Finally, the instructors' eyes slid toward Raizen.

He rose without hurry, feeling the weight of every glance. "Tsukihana Raizen," he said evenly. "I chose this class because I don't want my life — or anyone else's — to end because of something I couldn't fix. If I can master this, I'll carry fewer regrets."

Kiyoko's eyes widened, but she only murmured, "That's… very noble."

Sayaka let out a low whistle, grin returning. "Heavy words for a kid your age. Good. Medicine isn't for the faint of heart — and you've all got your reasons. Just don't expect me to go easy because of them."

She clapped once more, sharp enough to make Kiyoko flinch.

"Alright, class!

Sayaka leaned back against the desk, rocking it slightly with her weight, while Kiyoko fumbled through a neat stack of scrolls she'd clearly prepared the night before.

"Alright," Sayaka drawled, "before we get our hands dirty, you should know what you're in for. Medical Jutsu isn't a one-and-done thing. It's a climb. Year One's about building the foundation, or else you'll kill someone by accident."

Kiyoko nodded quickly, adjusting her glasses. "Y-yes. Exactly. Even the smallest misstep in chakra control can sever a vein, burn tissue, or—um—cause… very unpleasant consequences." She paled slightly at her own words. "So… precision is everything."

She unrolled a scroll, revealing a list written in tidy calligraphy. "Our curriculum this year will be divided into three stages."

She tapped the first heading with her brush.

Stage One: Advanced Chakra Control

• Refining chakra threads until they can be woven thinner than a hair.

• Learning to direct chakra to individual fingertips without leakage.

• Balancing chakra output while under physical and mental stress.

• Exercises will include water-walking on moving surfaces, cutting paper with chakra threads, and maintaining steady flow while under distraction.

Sayaka grinned, chewing on a fresh dango stick. "Translation? If your hands shake, your patient dies. So we'll train until they don't."

Kanna swallowed hard. Ayame didn't flinch. Raizen just folded his arms, listening.

Kiyoko tapped the next section.

Stage Two: Battlefield First Aid

• Properly binding wounds and stopping bleeding.

• Setting and splinting broken bones.

• Stabilizing patients until they can be transported.

• Basic use of antiseptic herbs and poultices.

"Th-this part is crucial," Kiyoko said earnestly. "Not every situation allows for chakra healing right away. Sometimes, simple bandages or the correct pressure can save a life."

Sayaka leaned forward, smirking. "Get ready to practice on each other. If you can't stop your teammate from bleeding out in thirty seconds, I'll be your timer."

Ayame's jaw tightened with focus.

Kiyoko moved on quickly, her brush pointing to the last heading.

Stage Three: Diagnosis and Basic Treatment

• Identifying chakra imbalance in patients.

• Spotting the difference between poison, illness, and injury.

• Treating fevers, infections, and minor internal damage.

• Beginning practice with the Diagnostic Palm Technique.

"Y-you'll learn to read a patient's chakra system," Kiyoko explained. "Every person's flow is unique, like a fingerprint. If you can sense where it falters, you can identify the cause of their suffering."

Sayaka grinned wider. "In short: you'll be sticking your hands into your teammates' guts — figuratively, at least for now. The real thing comes later."

Raizen's fingers curled slightly. He'd trained his chakra to be sharp and forceful; shaping it to heal instead of harm would be… a challenge.

Kiyoko cleared her throat and set the scroll aside. "If you can master these basics by the end of the year, you'll be ready to begin real medical ninjutsu training. Until then—please, please, don't try to perform chakra scalpels on your own."

Sayaka chuckled, pointing a finger at Raizen. "That means you, heir-boy. I can see the gears already turning."

For once, Raizen didn't argue.

The academy corridors were empty by the time Raizen returned, the sun slanting low through the high windows. The laughter and chatter of day classes were long gone, replaced by the still hush of after-hours. His sandals clicked against the polished floors as he wound deeper into the old wing where few students ever walked.

The door he sought was plain — no markings beyond the faint black ink stains that had seeped into the wood grain around the handle. He slid it open.

Inside, only four desks waited, each set with a blank scroll, an inkstone, and a brush. The air smelled of parchment and faint smoke, like old calligraphy halls. At the front of the room stood a man in dark robes etched faintly with seal-script, his posture rigid, his eyes cool and unreadable.

"Sit," the man said, without introduction.

Raizen obeyed, sliding into a seat near the front. Mizue sat already in the corner, glasses catching the lamplight as she nodded once in acknowledgment. Two other students — a quiet boy Raizen didn't know and a sharp-eyed girl with her hair bound in a tight braid — glanced up briefly, then fixed their attention forward.

The man turned, picked up a brush, and wrote a single character on the board in quick, decisive strokes: 封.

"Sealing," he said flatly. "This is the heart of fūinjutsu. Not ninjutsu, not genjutsu. Control. If you lack discipline, this art will betray you. If you are careless, it will kill you."

He set the brush down and faced them fully. "I am Tsukihana Keiro. I will not waste your time with speeches. This is not a course for dabblers. We begin now."

Without pause, he snapped his fingers. The four scrolls on their desks fluttered open, blank parchment gleaming.

"The mechanics are simple," Keiro continued. "Ink, chakra, symbol. Brush is extension of hand, hand is extension of chakra. Your strokes must be exact. One misplaced mark, and your seal is worthless."

He strode down the aisle, his presence heavy, commanding. "Tonight, you will practice the five foundation symbols — bind, release, suppress, amplify, and store. Nothing more. You will write them until your hands ache, and then you will write them again."

He gestured, and a pile of thick textbooks thumped onto the desk at the front. The covers were plain, stamped only with a seal script title.

"These will serve as your guide. Study every formula, every theory. You will read one chapter each week. At the start of every session, I will test you. If you fail, you repeat."

Raizen dipped his brush into the ink, his hand steady but his chakra humming beneath the surface, eager and restless.

Keiro's eyes flicked to him. "Tsukihana," he said, voice even but edged. "Your clan carries the oldest sealing bloodline in this village. Do not shame it. Begin."

The classroom fell into silence broken only by the scratch of brushes, ink bleeding into parchment as the first strokes of sealing were laid.

Raizen walked home long after the academy bell had faded, the sky burning orange over the village rooftops. His satchel felt heavier than usual — stuffed with medical notes, genjutsu trigger drills, and now the thick fūinjutsu textbook Keiro had dropped on his desk without ceremony.

His hands still smelled faintly of ink, the brush strokes clinging to his fingers even after he scrubbed them clean. His ears still carried Kiyoko's nervous apologies and Sayaka's laughter. And in the back of his mind, Genzo's cold voice lingered, dissecting illusions as though they were organs under a knife.

Three paths. Three teachers. Three sets of demands pulling him in different directions.

Genjutsu tears at my weaknesses. Medical Jutsu tests my control. Sealing binds me to my clan's weight.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the truth settle in. This is where we start to branch off. The academy isn't about the basics anymore. It's about becoming who we'll be on the battlefield.

And for the first time, he wondered what that would make of him.

Montage — The First Days of Year Three

Raizen walked home long after the academy bell had faded, the sky burning orange over the village rooftops. His satchel felt heavier than usual — stuffed with medical notes, genjutsu trigger drills, and now the thick fūinjutsu textbook Keiro had dropped on his desk without ceremony.

His hands still smelled faintly of ink, the brush strokes clinging to his fingers even after he scrubbed them clean. His ears still carried Kiyoko's nervous apologies and Sayaka's laughter. And in the back of his mind, Genzo's cold voice lingered, dissecting illusions as though they were organs under a knife.

Three paths. Three teachers. Three sets of demands pulling him in different directions.

Genjutsu tears at my weaknesses. Medical Jutsu tests my control. Sealing binds me to my clan's weight.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the truth settle in. This is where we start to branch off. The academy isn't about the basics anymore. It's about becoming who we'll be on the battlefield.

And for the first time, he wondered what that would make of him.

• Tetsuo smashed through a row of training posts, sweat flying from his brow, before later barking crisp orders to classmates in a mock field drill. His strikes and his words carried the same weight: solid, unshakable.

• Reina's sword rang sharp in the Kenjutsu yard, her blade cutting clean but her knuckles raw. Hours later, in Intelligence, she bent over ciphers with a focused scowl, piecing codes together with the same stubborn grit.

• Samui's blade work was calm and economical, every strike controlled. Later, she sat across from her Intelligence instructor, unraveling a false mission report with a cool, surgical voice.

• Omoi muttered curses as his blade slipped in practice, only to redeem himself in Tracking when he pointed out a faint wire trap others had missed. His instructor raised a brow; Omoi flushed, muttering about "just being careful."

• Karui laughed as she drove her partner to the ground in a Taijutsu spar, fists brimming with fire. By evening, she stood at the Ninjutsu range, seals flashing fast, chakra erupting in bright arcs.

• Daichi bore the weight of two heavy logs across his shoulders, each step shaking the ground. Later, his earth release rumbled through the practice yard — crude but strong, a foundation waiting to be built.

• Mizue adjusted her glasses in Espionage, her soft questions pulling truths from a mock target. Later, her hands moved steadily over a Ninjutsu seal, ink smudging across her palm but her flow steady.

• Aika panted through Taijutsu drills, small but relentless, her fists striking again and again. When her turn came in Summoning Basics, she traced the scroll with trembling hands, determination fierce in her eyes.

Raizen saw them all in his mind's eye — blades flashing, fists striking, brushes scratching across parchment.

Year Three wasn't about proving who was the strongest anymore.

It was about sharpening their edges for what came next.

And every edge, once sharpened, was bound to cut.

• Tetsuo smashed through a row of training posts, sweat flying from his brow, before later barking crisp orders to classmates in a mock field drill. His strikes and his words carried the same weight: solid, unshakable.

• Reina's sword rang sharp in the Kenjutsu yard, her blade cutting clean but her knuckles raw. Hours later, in Intelligence, she bent over ciphers with a focused scowl, piecing codes together with the same stubborn grit.

• Samui's blade work was calm and economical, every strike controlled. Later, she sat across from her Intelligence instructor, unraveling a false mission report with a cool, surgical voice.

• Omoi muttered curses as his blade slipped in practice, only to redeem himself in Tracking when he pointed out a faint wire trap others had missed. His instructor raised a brow; Omoi flushed, muttering about "just being careful."

• Karui laughed as she drove her partner to the ground in a Taijutsu spar, fists brimming with fire. By evening, she stood at the Ninjutsu range, seals flashing fast, chakra erupting in bright arcs.

• Daichi bore the weight of two heavy logs across his shoulders, each step shaking the ground. Later, his earth release rumbled through the practice yard — crude but strong, a foundation waiting to be built.

• Mizue adjusted her glasses in Espionage, her soft questions pulling truths from a mock target. Later, her hands moved steadily over a Ninjutsu seal, ink smudging across her palm but her flow steady.

• Aika panted through Taijutsu drills, small but relentless, her fists striking again and again. When her turn came in Summoning Basics, she traced the scroll with trembling hands, determination fierce in her eyes.

Raizen saw them all in his mind's eye — blades flashing, fists striking, brushes scratching across parchment.

Year Three wasn't about proving who was the strongest anymore.

It was about sharpening their edges for what came next.

And every edge, once sharpened, was bound to cut.

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