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Chapter 8 – Into the Hospital
The next morning, Kirito slipped into the academy library. Rows of neatly stacked scrolls and books lined the shelves, sunlight cutting through the high windows in dusty rays. He pulled down a volume on chakra flow, flipping through diagrams of circulatory systems and vague sketches of tenketsu points.
He frowned. "Too basic…" He shoved the book back onto the shelf, scanning the rows again. Nothing beyond the surface. Nothing that could help him reimagine chakra itself.
A sigh escaped him. This is pointless. The real knowledge won't be here—it'll be in the hospital.
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By noon, he stood at the pristine white entrance of Konoha Hospital. People bustled in and out—patients limping, nurses carrying trays, shinobi with bandaged arms and legs. The smell of antiseptic wafted from the doors, sharp and clean.
Kirito walked in casually, approaching the reception desk where a nurse with tied-back hair sorted paperwork.
"Excuse me," he said politely. "Where's the medical library?"
The nurse gave him a once-over. A boy, no older than twelve. "You're from the academy?"
Kirito nodded. "Yes."
Her voice hardened. "Then you're not allowed inside. The library is for trained medical-nin only. Please leave."
Kirito pressed on. "I just want to study anatomy, not forbidden jutsu—"
"Regulations are regulations," she cut him off firmly, already turning back to her documents. "Go back to your academy books."
For a moment, irritation flickered in his eyes. But he forced a smile, bowed politely, and stepped outside.
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He ducked into a narrow alley, where the shadows swallowed him whole. His hands blurred through seals.
"Henge no Jutsu."
Smoke enveloped him. When it cleared, a plain-looking man stood in his place—mid-thirties, slightly hunched shoulders, unremarkable features. A face no one would remember.
"Let's try this again," Kirito muttered, his new voice deeper and duller.
He walked back through the hospital doors. No one glanced twice.
His senses stretched outward, chakra expanding in a silent ripple. The familiar signatures of doctors, nurses, and patients lit up in his mind. Stronger than civilians, but no real shinobi guards.
Good. No ANBU, no traps. Just medics.
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He moved quietly down the corridors until he found the door: Medical Library – Restricted Access.
His hand touched the handle. Locked.
Kirito whispered, "Concealment Jutsu."
The shimmer of chakra wrapped around him, blurring his presence. With a precise twist of chakra into his fingertips, he manipulated the lock. The faint click echoed like thunder in the silence. He slipped inside.
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Rows upon rows of scrolls and books greeted him, far larger and more advanced than anything at the academy. Detailed anatomical charts. Complex chakra pathway diagrams. Scrolls on healing techniques—and others that looked far darker.
Kirito's pulse quickened. This… this is it.
He formed a seal. Poof! Six clones materialized around him.
"Take everything. Copy every page, every diagram. No mistakes."
The clones nodded and scattered, each grabbing scrolls and opening fresh blank parchment to copy onto. The sound of frantic writing filled the room. Pages rustled. Ink scratched.
Kirito himself sat at a desk, poring over a scroll that detailed the human tenketsu system. It was everything he had hoped for and more: precise pathways, hidden nodes, forbidden notes on chakra surgeries. He memorized it with a hunger that bordered on obsession.
Then—footsteps.
A medic-nin walked past the door. Kirito froze. His clones halted mid-stroke. The footsteps lingered, then faded.
Kirito exhaled slowly. "Too close."
One clone whispered, "We should hurry."
"Keep working," Kirito ordered, voice firm but quiet. "Knowledge like this doesn't come twice."
Minutes stretched like hours until finally, every scroll was copied, sealed neatly into Kirito's prepared blanks.
He looked around. "Done?"
"Done," the clones whispered.
Kirito nodded. "Good. Dispel."
They vanished in puffs of smoke, leaving the original alone in the silence. He slipped out the door, closed it gently behind him, and walked the corridor with the same dull, unremarkable gait.
By the time he exited the hospital, the henge shimmered away, revealing his true form once more. The stolen knowledge sat heavy in the scrolls tucked inside his jacket, like stolen fire waiting to burn.
He smiled faintly, the sharpness of it hidden beneath his calm face.
"Step one complete," he murmured. "Now, I have the tools. Next comes creation."
The village bustled around him, unaware that a boy had just stolen secrets that could reshape the foundation of chakra itself.
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