"Save him! Hurry!"
The tent flap snapped open as Seiran stepped through, and immediately the chaos hit him—voices overlapping in desperate urgency. On a stretcher lay a young shinobi, his body a tapestry of wounds, each labored breath a struggle.
Among the panicked crowd, Seiran recognized Anko Mitarashi and Shizune. The latter stood rigid, her hands trembling as she shook her head.
"I'm sorry," Shizune said quietly, her voice small against the noise. "His injuries are too severe. Only Tsunade could save him, but..."
She didn't need to finish. The shinobi around her weren't interested in excuses. They kept pressing, shoving closer.
"You've trained under her for years! Surely you can do something!"
Shizune's lips pressed into a thin line. Silence.
Anko hadn't given up. Sweat dripped down her temple, mixing with specks of blood as she knelt beside the stretcher. Her palms glowed faintly green—medical chakra burning through her reserves as she fought to keep the boy breathing.
"Stop..." The wounded shinobi coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips. His eyes found his comrades, pleading. "There are... others hurt. Don't waste... resources on me."
His words only made the standing shinobi's faces crumple harder, tears threatening to spill.
Seiran took it all in with a quiet exhale. War was cruel in ways that had nothing to do with jutsu or steel. A gifted healer paralyzed by trauma. A dying man asking his friends to let him go. The brutal arithmetic of triage.
He'd spent months terrified of the Third Shinobi World War's weight. Before his Electromagnetic Manipulation had reached Level 4, that fear had felt justified. But fear was a luxury he couldn't afford anymore.
He walked forward without hesitation. "How is he?"
Anko's head snapped up, surprise flickering across her face before her expression darkened. She glanced back at the stretcher, her voice grim. "Multiple internal lacerations. Heavy bleeding. I've slowed it, but..." She trailed off. They both knew what that meant.
Seiran's eyes swept over the watching shinobi. They knew him—the Hyuga prodigy who'd turned Elder Chiyo into a puppet, the one whispered about in barracks conversations. But they'd never heard he could perform medical ninjutsu. Neither had he, until now.
Shizune hesitated, studying him carefully. "His condition requires Tsunade's expertise. But with her... condition..." She didn't say it outright, but everyone understood. Tsunade's hemophobia would make her useless here. Blood like this would freeze her solid.
Anko was still trying, still fighting, but it was like holding back a tide with bare hands.
"Let me try," Seiran said.
Anko's eyes met his for a moment, then she nodded and carefully withdrew, making space.
The watching shinobi exchanged uncertain glances. Could the Hyuga prodigy actually heal? Doubt warred with desperate hope.
Seiran activated his Byakugan, his vision piercing through skin and muscle. The damage revealed itself—lacerations threading through the boy's torso like dark veins. Catastrophic, but survivable if he worked fast enough.
He placed his palm gently on the boy's chest wound. The other shinobi gasped as the gaping laceration—a terrible tear in flesh—began to contract. The edges drew together as if pulled by invisible threads, and the bleeding stopped mid-flow.
"What...?"
"How is he doing that?"
Seiran tuned out the whispers. His concentration was absolute.
What looked simple was anything but. First, he'd used a low-level electromagnetic field to sterilize the wound, killing bacteria without adding trauma. Then came the difficult part—using Electromagnetic Manipulation to make the wound's edges align perfectly, like opposite magnetic poles attracting. It was far more efficient than stitching, faster too.
The external bleeding was contained. The internal damage remained.
He amplified the boy's natural biomagnetic field, encouraging his body's own healing processes to accelerate. Unlike traditional medical ninjutsu—which consumed the patient's life force in exchange for rapid cell division—this method worked with the body's existing energy. It was gentler. Sustainable.
But Seiran knew his boundaries. He could nudge the biomagnetic field, encourage it. True mastery would require advancing Electromagnetic Manipulation further, and he wasn't there yet.
The boy's color was improving. His breathing steadied. It wasn't a complete recovery, but it was night and day compared to minutes before.
Seiran's brow furrowed as he considered the internal injuries still visible through his Byakugan. This was the real test.
He reached into his clothing and withdrew a small dark sphere, no larger than a marble. He pressed it against the boy's lips. "Swallow this."
The wounded shinobi's eyes widened with instinctive fear. After watching Seiran's unorthodox "stitching" technique, this mysterious black pill looked deeply suspicious. "What... what is it?"
Seiran paused. He could explain the theory—how the magnetic pill would align with his electromagnetic field, accelerating recovery from internal trauma, distributing healing energy directly where it was needed. But that would take time he didn't have.
"A healing pill," he said simply. "Trust me."
The boy hesitated for only a moment before swallowing hard.
Almost immediately, color flooded back into his face. His breathing deepened, became easier. The shinobi watching held their collective breath.
It was working.