The battlefield was a mess of groaning bodies and frantic movement. Seiran surveyed the scene with clinical precision—wounded shinobi sprawled across stretchers, medical teams racing between patients, trying desperately to sort the critical from the severe. Too many casualties. Too few hands.
The backup forces were buckling under the weight.
Every minute that passed, treatable injuries festered. Every delay bled away Konoha's combat effectiveness. The bottleneck was obvious to anyone with eyes, but more importantly, Seiran could see the root cause.
"Tsunade's hemophobia," he muttered, exhaling sharply.
He wasn't about to become a replacement for the legendary Medical Saint. He could assist, patch holes here and there, but without Tsunade leading the effort, the system would keep collapsing. The irony burned—one of the world's greatest medical ninjas rendered useless by the very thing she'd studied her entire life to master: blood.
If he could cure that fear, everything changed.
Seiran found Shizune kneeling beside a wounded chunin, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she wound bandages. He waited until she looked up, then posed the question directly.
"Where's Tsunade's tent?"
Shizune's hands stilled. She stared at him, bewildered. "Why? She doesn't want visitors right now."
"I think I can help with her phobia," Seiran said simply. "If we can break through that fear, the entire medical unit's workload drops."
Shizune's eyes widened slightly before skepticism hardened her expression. "Her hemophobia? Seiran, Tsunade is the best medical ninja in the world. If she can't cure herself after all these years, what makes you think—"
"I know the odds," he interrupted, not unkindly. "But my approach to medical treatment is unconventional. It might be worth trying. You saw how I handled that critical case earlier."
Shizune said nothing for a long moment. She'd watched Seiran work, seen him pull patients back from the edge using techniques that defied her understanding. And she knew the truth—Tsunade's absence was becoming a liability. The whispers were spreading, morale wavering.
She exhaled slowly. "Alright. Once I finish here, I'll take you to her."
---
Outside Tsunade's tent, Shizune turned back to Seiran with a gesture for him to wait. She lifted the canvas flap and poked her head inside.
"Tsunade-sama? Are you resting?"
The scene that greeted her was depressing. Tsunade sat slouched on the edge of her cot, cheeks flushed, a bottle of sake dangling from her fingers. The acrid smell of alcohol hung thick in the air.
"Mmm, Shizune..." Tsunade slurred, taking another pull from the bottle. A loud belch followed. "Just need to finish this bottle, then I'll sleep..."
She was barely dressed—just a thin vest stretched over her frame, a loose coat draped carelessly across her shoulders. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.
"Tsunade-sama, you can't drink in camp!" Shizune's voice cracked with concern. "If Orochimaru finds out—"
"Let him," Tsunade waved dismissively. "What's he going to do? I can't even look at blood without falling apart. I'm useless here, Shizune. Absolutely useless."
The bitterness in her voice cut deeper than any blade. Shizune had watched the legendary medic crumble under the weight of her own phobia, watched her retreat into the bottle rather than face another day of helplessness.
Shizune took a breath. "Hyuga Seiran wants to treat your hemophobia."
Tsunade choked on her drink, coughing violently. When she finally managed to look up at Shizune, her eyes were wide with disbelief mixed with something darker.
"That kid? He's going to cure me?"
The tent flap rustled. Seiran stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence commanding despite his youth. His eyes met Tsunade's directly.
"You've lived with this fear for years," he said, his tone level and matter-of-fact. "Don't you want it gone?"
Tsunade pulled her coat tighter, studying him with the gaze of someone who'd sized up countless opponents across decades of war. "So you're the 'dual-bloodline freak' everyone keeps gossiping about. You look normal enough, I suppose."
Seiran's eye twitched. Normal enough. As if he expected to sprout extra limbs or something equally absurd.
"Your phobia," he said firmly, redirecting. "Let's focus on that."
"Why should I trust you?" Tsunade shot back, her voice sharp despite the alcohol. "I'm the best medical ninja in the shinobi world. I've tried everything to break this curse. And you—" She gestured dismissively, "—some kid who probably just hit his growth spurt, thinks he can do what I couldn't?"
But there was uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She'd heard the rumors. Elder Chiyo, the legendary puppet master, defeated by Seiran's own ten-puppet technique. The thought alone made her stomach twist.
What kind of prodigy is this kid?
She narrowed her gaze. "Or is this just about proving something? About beating me?"
Shizune stepped forward, her voice firm. "Tsunade-sama, let him try. His medical ninjutsu is unlike anything I've seen. He saved a patient today with injuries I thought were fatal. The technique he used... I couldn't even understand how it worked."
Something flickered across Tsunade's expression—surprise, maybe even grudging respect. If Shizune couldn't comprehend his methods, perhaps there was something genuine here.
Still, she remained guarded. "Even if you have some talent, involving an outsider in medical treatment is risky. I'm done for the day. You both should leave."
Seiran didn't move. He stood perfectly still, watching her with an intensity that made the silence uncomfortable.
"You don't want to stay broken forever, do you?"
Tsunade's grip tightened on the sake bottle so hard it nearly shattered in her hand. For the first time, she didn't have a sharp comeback ready.