Hinata's blood tasted like copper and fear in the air.
They'd barely cleared the infirmary doorway before the med-nin started barking orders.
"Bed three—no, four, chakra network scan first, watch her airway—"
"Her channels are almost all shut, Eight Trigrams impact, get the suppressor seals ready—"
I wasn't supposed to be here. Technically I was "a patient," not staff. I still had the little paper bracelet around my wrist from when they'd hauled me in after Ino and I knocked each other half into next week.
But my feet had followed the stretcher without asking permission, and now I was here, pressed against the far wall, watching Hinata's limp body get transferred to the bed like she was made of glass.
Her chakra flickered at the edges of my sight. Dim. Fractured. Not gone, but… dimmed like something had put fingers over all the lights at once.
"Hey."
A hand waved in front of my face.
I blinked and found a man in a long white coat looking down at me. Brown hair tied back in a low tail, eyes sharp but tired. A medic's forehead protector with the Leaf symbol gleaming faintly under the lamps.
He had the vibe of someone who lived in these halls. The kind of tired that settles in your bones.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
"I'm already—" I started, then realized I was leaning hard on the wall like it might run away. "Standing-ish."
He huffed something that wanted to be a laugh later, when he'd had more sleep.
"I'm Kusushi," he said, quick and efficient. "Medical-nin. You're Sylvie, right? The one who did field triage in the Forest?"
That startled me. "Word gets around fast."
"Hokage likes to know which kids aren't completely hopeless when it comes to first aid," he said dryly. "You can see chakra?"
"Sort of," I said. My head throbbed in agreement. "Enough to tell when it's doing very bad things."
His gaze flicked over to Hinata, then back to me.
"You want to help?" he asked.
"Always," I said, before I could stop my mouth.
"Good. Come here."
Just like that, I was dragged into the orbit of the bed.
Hinata looked smaller up close. The hospital lights bleached the color out of her face. Her jacket had been loosened, bandages and seals arrayed on a tray nearby.
"Monitor her peripheral flow," Kusushi said, guiding my hand without touching it. "Right here."
He pointed at her wrist.
I swallowed and stepped closer.
The smell of antiseptic burned my nose. The world narrowed to pale skin and the faint rise and fall of her chest.
I hovered my hand a few centimeters over her wrist, focusing. The migraine didn't like that; pressure ratcheted up behind my eyes as I tuned in.
For a long moment, I felt nothing.
Then—faint—chakra trickling along a too-thin line. Like water trying to move through a pipe clogged with sand.
"It's… barely moving," I said. "Like… like everything's shut, but there's still a little pressure behind it. If you push too hard, I think it'll—"
"Rebound," Kusushi finished. "Yes. Exactly." He grabbed a marker and made a tiny note on the chart at the foot of the bed. "Don't worry about forcing anything. Just tell me when it spikes or drops."
I nodded.
Another medic-nin was already at Hinata's other side, palms glowing green as she hovered over Hinata's heart and lungs.
"Rhythm's stable," she said. "Network trauma is severe but not catastrophic. Lucky kid."
Lucky.
My fingers twitched above Hinata's wrist. Her skin was cool but not clammy. There were bruises already blooming under the surface at some of the Gentle Fist impact points.
Kusushi moved around the other side of the bed, attaching a thin strip of paper with inked sealwork to Hinata's collarbone. The ink flared faintly, then settled.
"Shock suppressor," he said, mostly for my benefit. "Helps prevent her system from overcompensating. We don't want her chakra surging until the pathways can handle it."
"Is she… going to be okay?" I asked, quietly.
He paused long enough to make me aware of the pause.
"She came in breathing," he said. "That's the hardest part. We can fix pathways. It'll take time. And she'll have a limit for a while."
He gave me a brief, sideways look.
"If her friends don't rush her into anything stupid, she should make a full recovery."
"Well," I said. "That's the dangerous part."
One corner of his mouth ticked up.
"Keep your hand there," he said. "Tell me if—"
Hinata's chakra fluttered under my palm. For a moment it surged, like a little bird flapping frantic wings against a closed window, then it dipped.
"There," I said. "Spike, then drop."
Kusushi hummed, adjusting another seal. "Muscle memory," he muttered. "Body trying to run patterns it doesn't have energy for. We'll keep her under observation."
His chakra rolled over her in tuned waves, smoothing, reinforcing. It was a dark, steady leaf-green in my senses, threaded with years of practice.
Mine, beside it, felt like a frayed pink ribbon.
By the time we had Hinata stable—breathing regular, chakra lines dim but not actively collapsing—my own reserves were buzzing on empty. I hadn't actually poured energy into her, just watched and nudged, but focus takes its own tithe.
I took a careful step back from the bed, the room tilting for a second.
"Sit," Kusushi said immediately, jerking his chin toward a vacant stool against the wall.
"I thought I was helping," I said.
"You did," he replied. "Now you're going to not become my next patient because you blacked out on the floor."
I didn't argue. The stool was cold through my shorts. It felt amazing.
Kusushi finished writing on Hinata's chart, then turned back to me and stuck out a hand.
His palm was calloused from years of kunai and scalpel both.
"Formally this time," he said. "Yakushi Kusushi. I run things here when the big names are busy."
I blinked at the offered handshake, then took it.
"Sylvie," I said. "I run away a lot and occasionally stop people from dying."
He snorted. "That's more than most genin. You've got good instincts. If you want hospital shifts after the exams, ask your sensei. We can always use someone who can actually see what's going wrong instead of guessing."
Something fluttered in my chest that wasn't anxiety for once.
"Okay," I said, a little stupidly. "I… I'll think about it."
He squeezed my hand once, then let go.
"Don't think too long," he said, turning back to his patient. "We don't get many volunteers."
I watched his chakra settle over Hinata again, heavier now, like a blanket.
Mine felt too thin to do anything useful.
I slid off the stool a minute later, legs shaky but functional.
"You're done for today," Kusushi called after me without looking up. "Go breathe air that doesn't smell like antiseptic. And tell your friend to stay out of my triage unless he's actually bleeding."
"I'll try," I said.
No promises.
The hallway outside the infirmary felt weirdly quiet after all the shouting. The ambient noise of the tower seeped in—the distant roar of the crowd, the clack of the board, someone's laughter echoing behind a door.
I leaned against the cool stone for a second, letting the migraine pulse and fade without fighting it.
Footsteps approached.
I looked up.
Neji Hyūga walked down the corridor like he owned it.
Of course he did. This was his territory—Hyūga clan politics, hospital rooms, the invisible weight of being watched.
He slowed when he saw me. Just a fraction. Enough to register that I existed.
We stared at each other.
Up close, his chakra was even more precise than I'd seen in the arena. Everything in perfect lines, no wasted flow. It made my head hurt to look at; there was no softness in it.
"You almost killed her," I said.
My voice sounded rough and too loud in the narrow space.
His expression didn't change. Not really. A tiny muscle in his cheek twitched.
"She chose to stand in front of me," he said. "Knowing what that meant."
"That doesn't obligate you to smash her to pieces," I snapped.
His eyes narrowed, Byakugan dormant but intent.
"You think I enjoyed it?" he asked. "You, who can barely stand yourself?"
I flinched. He was right; I was listing gently like a bad boat.
"That's not the point," I said, jaw tight. "You kept going after she proved it. After everyone saw she wasn't backing down. You didn't need to finish the technique."
"The difference between sixty-four palms and thirty-two is the difference between 'painful lesson' and 'someone tries to use her as a pawn again,'" he said flatly. "Now the main house, and everyone else, knows exactly how far below me she is."
"That's not how—" I started, then bit down on it.
Because it was how his world worked. That was the horrible thing. He wasn't being dramatic; he was describing weather.
I exhaled.
"You're not wrong that some people get born with more," I said quietly. "Or that the clan is messed up. Or that Hinata's been treated like a failure her whole life."
His jaw tightened.
"But you're wrong if you think that's where it stops," I added. "She still got up. You still chose how far to hit her. And Naruto still chose to stand there and yell at you in front of everyone."
"And you?" he asked.
His gaze flicked briefly to my temple, where the bandages sat, and then down the hall toward the infirmary door I'd just left.
"Where do you stand?"
"Wherever I can see clearly," I said. "Even if it's from the floor."
For a second, confusion cracked through his expression like light under a door.
Then it was gone.
"It doesn't matter," he said, starting to walk again. "In the end, reality will prove one of us right."
He passed me without looking back.
I let him go.
The tower felt like it was full of fault lines—clan curses, snake marks, weird moon headaches—everyone walking around pretending the floor wasn't already cracked.
I pushed off the wall and went hunting for one loud idiot in orange.
It didn't take long.
I found Naruto pacing in a side hallway near the stairwell. He was wearing a groove into the floor, muttering under his breath, hands clenched.
"I'll show him—stupid fate—stupid eyes—stupid—"
"Hey," I called.
He spun so fast he almost tipped.
"Oh. Sylvie," he said, and then everything came boiling out. "Did you see him? Did you see what he did to her? I should go find him right now and punch his stupid face in and then he'll see—"
He took a step toward the main corridor.
I sidestepped into his path and planted both hands on his chest.
"Bad idea," I said.
"What? Why?" He looked outraged. "He deserves it! Did you not see—"
"Of course I saw," I snapped, louder than I meant to. My head immediately regretted it. "I helped keep her from dying, thanks."
He stuttered, tripped by the words.
"She's… is she…" he started, eyes wide.
"She's stable," I said, softer. "Broken, but fixable. If she rests. If people don't… make things worse."
His hands curled into the front of my shirt without quite grabbing it.
"That guy—" he started.
"Is an enormous jerk," I said. "And the system that made him is worse."
Naruto stared.
He wasn't used to me agreeing with his anger. I could see him trying to cram more fuel into it and getting confused when it met mine going the same direction.
"So let's go—" he started again.
"No." I poked his sternum for emphasis. "If you pick a fight in the hallway, you get disqualified. Or thrown out. Or they smack that 'loser' label on you so hard it sticks even more."
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"And?" he demanded. "He still gets to walk around, acting all smug and fate-y?"
"Yes," I said. "For now."
"That's stupid!"
"Correct," I said.
He flailed for a counterargument and seemed personally offended to agree with me twice in a row.
I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. My chest still felt weird when I thought about the way Hinata had said people who stand up for me.
"You promised her," I said. "In front of everyone."
He blinked.
"Promised who?" he said, genuinely baffled.
I stared at him.
"Hinata," I said. "You yelled that you'd beat Neji in her place. That you'd show him he was wrong. Remember?"
He reddened, ears going pink.
"I—I wasn't—" He flailed. "I was just—he was being a jerk! Someone had to say something!"
"Yes," I said. "And you did. And it matters. But right now, the only way you get to hit him in a way that changes anything is if you make it to the finals and beat him in front of everybody."
The idea slid into his brain and sat there.
He chewed on it, scowling.
"So if I punch him now…?" he asked, slow, like he already knew the answer.
"You burn your only real chance," I said. "You give him proof. 'Look, see, the loser couldn't control himself.' You've had people say that about you your whole life. Are you really going to hand him that story?"
His face twisted.
I could almost feel the tug-of-war inside him: immediate satisfaction versus long-game victory. The part of him that wanted to sprint down the hall and start swinging versus the part that had screamed future Hokage at the sky.
The latter was smaller but louder, when it really got going.
"…That jerk," he muttered finally. "I hate that that makes sense."
"I know," I said. "It's annoying when strategy and feelings line up."
He huffed something that might one day be a laugh.
"So what do I do?" he asked, frustration bleeding through. "Just… wait? While he walks around like nothing happened?"
I considered.
"Train," I said. "Eat. Sleep. Scream into a pillow. Pick a better insult than 'jerk' so you're ready later. There's a whole month between this and the finals, right? Use it."
He scratched the back of his head, scowling.
"A month," he said. "That's forever."
"Good," I said. "You need forever."
He squinted at me.
"You're really bossy when you have a concussion," he grumbled.
"I'm always bossy," I said. "The concussion just takes off the filters."
He snorted.
For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. His chakra settled from agitated to merely restless.
From somewhere deeper in the tower, the board's clicking drifted faintly down the stairwell.
Naruto looked up in that direction, jaw setting.
"Fine," he said. "I'll wait. But when the finals come…"
He balled a fist.
"I'm going to beat him so bad he forgets the word 'fate'," he declared.
"Ambitious," I said. "I approve."
He grinned, sharp and bright.
"Thanks," he added, a little awkward and quiet. "For… y'know. Helping Hinata. And… um. Stopping me from doing something dumb."
"You're welcome," I said. "Don't make a habit out of needing that last one."
"Pfft. As if," he scoffed.
We both knew he absolutely would.
I let him stomp off toward the stairs, muttering about training and destiny and stupid branch families under his breath.
Then I leaned my head against the cool stone and closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the tower breathe.
Failure stands tall, I thought. Even when it shakes.
From Shikamaru's point of view, the waiting area had turned into a zoo.
Lee was doing pushups in front of the benches like the floor had personally insulted him. Fast ones. His chakra pulsed with each movement, a steady, burning green.
"Seventy-six! Seventy-seven! Seventy-eight!" he counted, loud enough to make the nearby chūnin at the door wince.
"Lee," Gai said, looming over him like a very enthusiastic tree. "Do not exhaust yourself before your match! Save your fires of youth for the true moment of challenge!"
"But Gai-sensei!" Lee gasped between reps. "My flames burn with righteous fury! Neji's conduct toward Hinata-san… was most unyouthful!"
Shikamaru pinched the bridge of his nose.
He had a scrap of paper on his knee with three names scribbled on it:
GAARA
DOSU
CHŌJI
He'd drawn little arrows, calculating crude odds based on how many names were left, who had fought already, and the exam proctor's apparent desire for maximum drama.
"So troublesome," he muttered.
Beside him, Choji rustled through a bag of chips like it was his job. Which, for Choji, it sort of was.
"You're making me hungry just watching him," Choji complained, nodding toward Lee. "I already had the nervous munchies. Now I have… extra nervous munchies."
He shoved another handful of chips into his mouth to deal with this injustice.
Shikamaru glanced at Lee again.
The guy had moved on to jumping jacks.
"Lee," he tried, raising his voice just enough to cut through the counting. "Can you stop vibrating for five seconds? I want to talk matchups."
"Two hundred and one!" Lee shouted, then popped to a halt, eyes shining. "Ah! Shikamaru! Do you have a plan?"
"I have math," Shikamaru said. "Which is almost the same thing."
He tapped the paper.
"Assuming they want the most annoying possible board, you've got, what, one in three chance of getting Choji, one in three for Dosu, one in three for that Sand kid with the murder gourd."
"Gaara," Lee said. His expression went surprisingly serious. "His aura is… intense."
"That's one word for it," Shikamaru said. "If it's Choji, he'll roll with you. Literally. If it's Dosu, stay away from his gauntlet; there's some kind of sound-based jutsu. If it's Gaara—"
He hesitated.
He'd seen the way Gaara watched the fights. Like they were boring unless someone bled.
"—hope the proctor is fast," Shikamaru finished.
Gai barked a laugh that had no humor in it.
"We will not underestimate any opponent," he said, clapping Lee on the shoulder hard enough to jolt him. "But my student's youth will not be overshadowed by any sand gourd or creepy metal gauntlet!"
Lee's eyes burned.
"I will defeat whoever stands before me!" he declared. "For Hinata-san's courage! For the Springtime of Youth! For—"
"For sitting down before you wear a hole in the floor," Shikamaru cut in.
Lee blinked.
Then, to Shikamaru's mild surprise, he obeyed, dropping onto the bench across from them. His leg immediately started bouncing like it hadn't gotten the memo.
"You really think I might face Choji?" he asked, tilting his head.
Choji paused mid-chew.
"I mean," Shikamaru said, "statistically someone has to draw him. Could be you. Could be Dosu. Could be that kid who keeps smelling everything. Point is, you should think about what you'll do in each case."
Lee frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head, bowl-cut swishing.
"No," he said. "I shall not tailor my resolve to the opponent! I will give one hundred and ten percent of my youth no matter who I face!"
Shikamaru slumped, staring at the ceiling.
"Of course you will," he sighed.
Why did he even bother.
Choji nudged him with the chip bag.
"Want some?" he offered. "Thinking burns calories."
Shikamaru accepted a chip purely on principle.
Fine. Let everyone else chase their destinies and vows and youth.
He'd keep an eye on the board, on the odds, on the ways this could all go terribly wrong.
Someone had to.
"Lee!" Gai yelled suddenly.
"Yes, sensei!?" Lee responded.
"...five laps around the arena before the next match."
"YES SENSEI!"
The board clicked faintly in rhythm with Lee and Gai's footsteps racing into the distance.
Gaara. Dosu. Choji. Lee.
Shikamaru shook his head, crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
No matter how the numbers fell, things were about to get troublesome.