Kuroha arrived just past noon, sliding the door open with her usual half-grin - confident. To anyone else, she looked perfectly normal.
But my heat sunk as soon as I saw her.
The faint drag in her step. The slight tremor when she pushed the door aside.
The strain in her chakra – nearly depleted, stretched thin, overused.
Miyuki noticed it too; she always did. "You're late," she said, tone sharp but calm. "And you look like you didn't sleep again."
Kuroha lifted a brow, smirking lightly. "Harsh welcome, Mother. I'm glowing with health. Radiant, even."
"Radiant exhaustion," Miyuki snapped back, unimpressed. "Don't try to hide it."
Kuroha didn't flinch—she simply shrugged, casual as ever. "I'm fine."
I leaned on the table, arms crossed. "Sit down before you collapse."
Kuroha plopped onto the cushion with dramatic flair, grin widening. "See? Sitting perfectly. No falling involved."
Shin exhaled slowly. If she were any other child, I'd believe her. But normal kids don't burn through chakra reserves every day. They don't drag themselves home half-dead with a joke on their lips.
She cleared her throat. "So… Father. I want to learn medical jutsu."
I froze.
Miyuki's reaction was instant. "No. Absolutely not." Sharp as a kunai. Immediate, unwavering.
I frowned. "You can't take on more. Your body is already—"
"It's practical," Kuroha cut in, adjusting her posture. "Raijin Drive strains muscles and chakra coils. If I can heal myself afterward, I won't have to bother anyone.
Efficient, right?"
Miyuki stepped forward, voice cold with worry. "Efficiency is not the issue. Medical jutsu is not something you just learn because you want to. The theory alone is enough to overwhelm adults, let alone—"
"I can handle theory," Kuroha said quickly. "I like learning. It's fun."
Miyuki's brow twitched. "Fun?" Her tone made it clear she didn't buy that for a second.
I rubbed my forehead. "Kuroha. Medical techniques require precise chakra control. Patience. Stability. You have talent – but also instability. You push too hard."
Kuroha grinned like she'd won the debate. "Then isn't this exactly the kind of training that'll teach me to stop pushing too hard?"
I stared at her. Who do you think I am that I would believe that?
Miyuki shook her head slowly. "You're doing too much already. You need to rest, not stack techniques until you break."
"But I won't break," Kuroha said lightly, leaning back with a mock-lazy stretch. "I'm sturdy. Durable. Practically immortal."
After a long silence, I exhaled.
She would try anyway. Secretly. Recklessly. Better I control the pace than find her collapsed over a manual.
"Kuroha," he said finally, "…We'll begin theory tomorrow."
Her eyes lit up—too bright for how exhausted she looked.
"But" he continued firmly, "we go at my pace. No rushing. No jumping ahead. And the moment you show signs of strain, we stop."
She raised a hand dramatically. "Shinobis honour."
"You aren't a shinobi yet," Miyuki muttered.
"Details," Kuroha chirped.
Shin shook his head, but his tone softened. "Tomorrow. Theory only. And you rest tonight. No training."
"Of course," she said – way too fast.
They both knew she was lying. They both knew she'd train anyway. They both knew this was her way of appearing strong.
But they also knew she needed structure—not stopping.
So, they accepted it.