Shisui POV
For the next few days, we took care of Noa. We tried to give him food, but he always refused. He had no appetite at all, and whenever we insisted, he nearly threw up when he tried to eat. The trauma of losing his fuinjutsu master had hit his mind hard, far harder than I expected. After the first couple of attempts, we stopped pushing him. Forcing food only made his condition worse.
He did drink water, though not much of it. Sena noticed quickly that water alone was not enough. Without making a point of it, she began adjusting, diluting fruit juice into the water and setting it nearby rather than handing it to him directly. When his stomach reacted poorly, she thinned it further. When he looked weaker, she added just a little more. On some mornings, she switched to lightly salted broth, warm and easy to sip. Noa never commented on any of it, but he drank more when it was adjusted to what his body could tolerate. Sena adapted quietly, providing what nourishment she could without turning it into pressure.
Every day, either Sena or I took him out to walk. Those moments were usually when he seemed a little better. As he moved through the village, he slowly became more present, observing the people around him and taking in the environment of the Hidden Sand. He did not speak during those walks, but his eyes followed movement, rooftops, cloth canopies, and passing villagers. It was the closest thing to calm we saw from him.
Unfortunately, because of his extreme diet, he began to lose weight. It was subtle, visible more in the way his clothes sat on him, in the slight hollowness of his face, and in the sharpness his movements lost. I tried to talk to him more than once, but he usually only nodded absentmindedly or hummed in response, rarely saying a word. He was not completely consumed by grief, but it was clear he was trying to process it slowly, in his own way.
He did not exercise or train at all. No ninjutsu, no kenjutsu, no taijutsu. He did not even read his medical jutsu books or study fuinjutsu. In fact, it looked like he was afraid to touch the large seal scroll his master had given him. It was extremely well guarded by an incredible array of seals that reacted only to his intent and chakra, as he had once explained to me. Even I could not open it or interfere with it in any way. The seals protecting it were far too advanced.
Noa spent almost all his time sitting in front of the large windows, looking out over the village and the endless desert beyond it. His mind was clearly consumed by thoughts I wished I could read, but I knew people dealt with grief in different ways. Even though his way felt destructive to me, it was still his way, and I needed to respect it.
During that time, I trained either with Sena or Kaen, making sure that one of us was always nearby to accompany Noa and keep an eye on him. Three days before the tournament began, he sat in his usual compact posture near the window, hands resting over his legs, eyes fixed on the sunset. There was a faint light in them, a small but stubborn piece of will.
However, Kaen's irritation finally boiled over due to Noa's inaction. With the tournament so close and the tension eating at him for days, he finally snapped, stepped forward, and grabbed Noa by the collar, yanking him up just enough to force a reaction while growling, "Are you really going to throw away your strength that easily?"
Noa did not respond the way Kaen expected. He did not resist. He did not respond at all. He did not look away. He barely moved. I sighed quietly as I stepped closer, understanding why Kaen had not adjusted his approach. A single conversation would never undo the way he had been raised.
Kaen spoke again, his voice low and serious this time. "For all I care, you can go and lose to some weak genin from an unknown village. It does not matter to me." His grip tightened slightly. "But will you accept that? The damage it would do to our sensei's reputation if his supposedly strongest student collapsed and lost to some weak genin." His eyes narrowed. "I thought you cared about the people who mattered to you. I thought you cared about sensei."
My hand froze halfway to Kaen's wrist. His words struck deeper than I expected, not because I cared about reputation. I had enough of it for two lifetimes. What truly mattered to me was seeing my students live a long and meaningful life, not burn themselves out to satisfy anyone's expectations.
Noa glanced at me, his instincts flaring just enough that I almost felt seen, as if he sensed my intention in that moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled. It was small and fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared. He turned back to Kaen and exhaled slowly. I felt the effort in that breath, the kind a warrior gathers before stepping into a difficult battle, pulling together will and resolve that had been scattered for days.
He opened his mouth. "I…"
The sound of his own voice caught him off guard. It came out weak and strained, forcing him to pause. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again, the effort visible in the way his shoulders tensed. "I do care about sensei," he said quietly. "And I will not allow a weakling like you to represent our village as the strongest."
Kaen froze. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by something else, something warmer and far more dangerous to his pride. Light slowly ignited in Noa's eyes, and that endlessly irritating grin began to form at the corner of his mouth.
Kaen scoffed loudly and shoved Noa back, though the force was light, almost restrained. "Took you long enough," he muttered, looking away. Then he struck Noa lightly in the chest with his fist, more affirmation than aggression, before turning sharply and heading toward his room.
His ears were red by the time he disappeared.
I watched him go, then looked back at Noa. He was still breathing a little too hard, the effort of speaking clearly taking more out of him than he would ever admit. But the light in his eyes remained, unsteady but real. For the first time in days, it felt like the silence around him had cracked, if only slightly.
Noa did not say anything after Kaen left. He simply nodded once to himself, then stood and went to his room. He lay down on his bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Moments later, he fell asleep deeply. I stayed outside his door until his breathing evened out, then left Sena to watch over him while I kept guard through the night.
When he woke the next morning, he looked no stronger, but he was clearer. The fog in his eyes and thoughts felt like it had thinned. With Sena nearby, he accepted a small bowl of thin porridge, eating slowly and stopping after only a few bites. He did not force himself, and no one asked him to. He drank diluted juice afterward, then rested again. The rest of the day passed quietly. Short walks, light stretching, steady breathing. No training, no pressure.
The following day followed the same rhythm. Kaen stayed close, pretending irritation but never leaving Noa alone. Sena adjusted food and drink carefully, making sure he took in what he could without upsetting his stomach. Using my Sharingan, I guided him through simple chakra regulation, keeping his flow even and warm without output. By the end of the day, he was still weak, still thin, but steady enough to stand without swaying, his eyes focused instead of distant.
He was not recovered. Not even close. But he was present again, and sometimes that was more than enough for a first step forward.