The setting sun bled into the horizon, casting the battlefield in a crimson hue.
Furukawa Itoshiki moved swiftly through the devastation, his face drawn and pallid from three days of sleepless travel. Rows of medical tents lined the area, groans of the wounded rising like a dirge, the air thick with the iron scent of blood and the sharp tang of disinfectant. This was the stench of war—raw, brutal, inescapable.
Without pause, he made his way to the largest tent.
"Tsunade!" His voice cut through the cacophony as he flung back the flap.
Inside, the atmosphere was even more suffocating. Over a dozen cots overflowed with the injured—some already ghost-pale, others writhing in pain. Exhausted medical-nin hurried between them, stretched too thin to meet the demand.
At the center, Tsunade stood over an operating table, hands glowing with emerald chakra as she fought to keep a young Konoha shinobi alive—his abdomen torn open, blood soaking the linens. Crimson spilled between her fingers, pooling on the floor.
She looked up abruptly. Her amber eyes met his—and in that fleeting second, shock flickered before sorrow buried it.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice was hoarse, threaded with both disbelief and accusation.
Furukawa stepped closer, taking in her hollowed eyes, the tremble in her fingers, her chakra fluctuating unevenly.
"I came to help," he said, his voice low but steady.
"I don't need help," she murmured, shaking her head. Her hands never stopped moving, though they trembled with exhaustion. "I can handle it."
He said nothing more. Instead, he stepped beside her.
Tsunade shot him a weary glance but didn't protest.
"Hemostatic forceps," she requested, hand outstretched with practiced urgency.
Furukawa responded without hesitation, placing the instrument into her palm. At the same time, he focused his chakra—Yang Release—to stabilize the patient's vitals.
"Suture thread.""Tissue regeneration compound."
They worked in sync, as if they'd done this a thousand times. Words became unnecessary.
Only the faint breaths of the wounded and the clinking of surgical tools remained.
Three hours later, the last operation ended. Tsunade straightened up—only to sway, knees buckling.
Furukawa caught her instantly, feeling the tremors in her muscles, the near-emptiness of her chakra reserves.
"You haven't rested in days, have you?" His tone was soft, but the reproach in his eyes was clear.
"I'm fine," she said reflexively, weakly pushing his hand away—but her limbs refused to obey.
She staggered toward the exit, as though seeking escape.
Furukawa stayed close, watching her like a shadow, ready to catch her again if she fell.
Outside, the dying sun bathed them in amber light. It caught in her golden hair, tinting it orange—but it couldn't hide the pallor in her face.
"Nawaki…" she whispered suddenly, barely audible. "He was killed… by explosive tags."
His breath caught, but he remained silent, listening.
"He was smiling… till the end. Said it didn't hurt. Said he didn't want his comrades to worry…" Her voice cracked.
Furukawa reached out and took her hand. It was ice cold.
"He wanted to be like me," she went on, eyes unfocused, staring into a place far beyond the battlefield. "A powerful ninja… Someone who could change the world. Who could make sure medical-nin weren't just support—they'd be on the front lines. Protecting everyone."
"Nawaki was a good child," Furukawa said quietly. "His dream—"
"But he's never coming back!" she snapped, suddenly seizing his collar, her composure shattering. "I rushed here… hoping to save him… but I was too late. All I could do was hold his body…"
Tears began to fall, silent and ceaseless.
"I'm a medical ninja… and I couldn't even save my own brother…"
Furukawa wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.
She trembled in his embrace, fragile as a leaf in a storm. The woman known as the Konoha Princess—who had faced down death a hundred times—was crumbling.
"Why…" Her voice was muffled against his chest. "Why did it have to be him? I mastered so much, studied everything, and still… I couldn't save the one person who mattered most."
Furukawa didn't answer. No words could soothe that kind of pain. He only held her tighter.
"I thought I was strong enough," she whispered, "strong enough to protect everyone. But now… I realize I can't protect anyone at all."
"Tsunade," he said gently, "you did everything you could. Nawaki wouldn't want you to carry this weight alone."
"You don't understand!" she shouted, pushing him away. Her eyes burned with raw grief. "You don't know what it's like… to lose family!"
She faltered the moment the words left her lips—realizing the cruel irony of them.
Furukawa only paused for a breath. There was no anger in his expression. Only pain… and understanding.
Quietly, he reached out and wiped away her tears. "I do understand. And you're not alone. You still have me. You still have Konoha. You still have the people who love you."
Tsunade said nothing. She simply let the tears fall, silent and endless.
Night settled over the camp like a shroud. One by one, bonfires were lit, casting trembling halos of warmth amid the cold breath of war.
Furukawa Itoshiki found a quiet corner away from the bustle, where the stars peeked through smoke-streaked skies. He kindled a small fire, the flames crackling softly in the stillness. Tsunade sat beside him, her presence heavy with grief.
From his pouch, Furukawa drew a small bottle of sake and two ceramic cups—slightly chipped from travel. He poured carefully, the liquid catching firelight like molten amber.
"Drink," he said gently, offering her a cup. "It won't heal you, but… it might help ease the ache."
Tsunade took it wordlessly and downed it in a single gulp. The sharp heat slid down her throat, but it couldn't reach her frozen heart.
The fire danced across her face, casting a fragile glow over her pallid cheeks. It gave the illusion of warmth, but her eyes remained distant, shadowed.
"Do you remember…" she said suddenly, eyes fixed on the flame, "the first time we met?"
Furukawa smiled faintly, his gaze softening. "Of course. I was a green Chunin—barely survived an ambush by Iwa-nin. Ended up flat on my back in the field hospital."
"You confessed to me that day," she said with a breath of quiet amusement, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.
"And you healed me," he replied. "Tsunade of the Senju, the legendary medical prodigy, personally closed my wounds."
She let out a short, genuine laugh—the first of the day. "That technique was barely stable back then. I used you as a test subject."
"Then I was the luckiest test subject in the world," Furukawa said, his smile lingering.
But the moment passed. Her smile faded, and her gaze dimmed once more.
"I saved you," she murmured, voice fraying. "But I couldn't save Nawaki…"
Furukawa reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "Tsunade," he said softly, "some things… even medical ninjutsu can't undo."
She turned to look at him, and in her eyes he saw something he never expected from her—fear. Fragility.
"You won't… be like him, will you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You won't leave me too?"
The question struck deeper than any kunai. Even someone as unshakable as Tsunade harbored that fear.
Furukawa lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing away a tear with the gentleness of falling snow.
"I won't," he said firmly. "I promise."
She clutched his hand tightly, her grip almost desperate.
"I wish…" Her voice trembled with longing. "I wish time could freeze—back when you first came to the Senju compound. You, me, Nawaki… it was peaceful then. No war. No blood. Just laughter."
Furukawa said nothing. Because he knew—time never stopped. Peace was a breath, not a state. And grief was the price of love.
"What will you do now?" he asked quietly. "Return to Konoha?"
"I don't know." Her eyes rose to the sky, its velvet expanse scattered with stars. "I thought I'd be burning with hatred… I thought I'd want vengeance. But standing here… seeing all these wounded… I realize revenge just adds more bodies to the pile."
She turned to him again, and this time her eyes shimmered not with sorrow, but conviction.
"I don't want another Nawaki. Maybe he was right. Maybe medical ninja should be on the front lines. Not just healing from the shadows—but standing beside our comrades. Fighting to save them before it's too late."
Furukawa held her gaze, feeling the embers of resolve ignite between them.
"Then change it," he said simply. "You have the strength, Tsunade. The brilliance. Change the system. Rewrite the rules of this world."
She hesitated. "Will you help me?"
"Always," he answered without pause, taking her hand once more.
Their eyes met, firelight dancing between them.
"Together," he said.
Tsunade leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. And for a moment, the ache dulled. The fire before them crackled and waned—but a brighter flame burned within.
Amid a war-torn night, two souls found a sliver of solace.Not in forgetting the pain—But in daring to face what came next.
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