Now that he was sure the wounded ninja was stable, Akira rose to his feet, letting out a soft exhale of relief. But just as he turned to leave, a thought flashed across his mind like a spark.
The genjutsu.
His eyes sharpened as he realized he had left the other two teammates still caught in the illusion he had cast during his desperate rush to save their comrade. With a simple wave of his hand, Akira dispelled the lingering genjutsu, his Sharingan fading back into a calmer glow.
The two Leaf ninjas, dazed and blinking, slowly regained their senses. Disoriented, they looked around in confusion, their last memory being the desperate attempt to stop a child from approaching their dying friend. But what greeted them now wasn't a battlefield or chaos — it was Akira, his young face calm, his eyes bearing the unmistakable pattern of the fully matured Sharingan.
Their gazes locked onto his, and the realization hit them like a bolt of lightning.
"The Sharingan... three tomoe..." one of them murmured, voice almost breaking from shock. "A child... no, wait — you... you must be Uchiha Akira, the genius medical ninja everyone's been talking about!"
The other ninja's mouth fell slightly open as the weight of recognition sank in. The name had spread like wildfire across the Hidden Leaf: Akira, the youngest Uchiha prodigy, both a combat and medical genius. Though they hadn't seen him before, the combination of his age, Sharingan, and mastery over medical ninjutsu made the identity undeniable.
Akira offered them a quiet, understanding smile, his tone steady but sincere.
"I saw your teammate's condition was dire. I didn't have time to explain, so I used genjutsu to restrain you both. I apologize for the abruptness."
The two men, still shaken but now filled with guilt rather than suspicion, bowed their heads slightly.
"No, no — we're the ones who should apologize. We'd been waiting for so long without anyone coming to help Kyosuke, and when we saw you... we thought you were just a child wandering too close. We were too anxious, and we let our emotions cloud our judgment."
Their eyes flickered back toward their teammate, Kyosuke, who lay still but peaceful on the makeshift bedding, his face no longer twisted in pain. The change in his condition was undeniable.
"Akira... his condition? Did the poison — was it... the new Sand Village toxin?" one of them asked, the fear returning to his voice.
Akira nodded, his expression growing a shade more serious.
"Yes. It was the same toxin. But I managed to remove most of it. His body will handle the rest."
The words felt almost surreal to the two Leaf ninjas. For days, the poison had taken life after life, even under the care of Konoha's most experienced medical ninjas. Now, standing before them was a child calmly explaining that the poison had been neutralized.
"You... removed it? Completely?" one of them echoed, as if needing to hear it twice.
Akira gave a firm nod, his voice quiet but steady. "Yes. Most of the toxin has been cleansed. What's left is minimal — his self-healing will take care of the rest. He'll survive."
A wave of relief washed over them, their tense shoulders slumping as if the weight of the past hours had finally lifted.
"Thank you," one whispered. "Truly, thank you."
Akira gave a small smile but didn't linger. "No need. There are still others who need help."
As he turned, their whispered conversation lingered in the air, spreading outward like ripples in a pond. It wasn't long before curious heads began turning throughout the camp, whispers threading between the tents.
"Did you hear? Someone found a way to cure the poison!"
"Who? I thought it was hopeless..."
"The Uchiha boy — Akira. The genius kid from the medical corps. He just arrived and already saved a poisoned squadmate!"
The whispers only grew louder, eventually reaching the command tent. The camp leader, who had been pouring over casualty reports, paused when the news reached his ears.
"What did you just say? Someone can neutralize the Sand's poison? Who?" he demanded, rising from his seat, barely able to contain the flicker of hope that surfaced amidst days of grim reports.
A subordinate straightened. "Yes, sir. It's Uchiha Akira — he arrived earlier today with the medical reinforcement squad. As soon as he arrived, he treated one of the most severe cases. They say the patient is stable now."
The camp leader's thoughts immediately turned to Akira's reputation, the stories he had heard. The son of a legendary medical kunoichi who had perished in the Sand's ambush years ago. A boy said to be cut from the same cloth, perhaps even more gifted.
And now, it seemed the rumors were true.
But he needed to see for himself.
Without wasting another moment, the leader and a small group of subordinates made their way to the medical station. They arrived just as Akira was tending to yet another poisoned ninja, his young face calm, though his eyes reflected quiet focus and fatigue.
The camp leader chose to remain silent, observing the boy work. He wasn't a medical expert, but the meticulousness and confidence in Akira's actions were unmistakable.
Akira's chakra scalpel glided with precise, feather-light control, making a small incision along the patient's abdomen. His hands moved in an elegant sequence of seals, and a small water orb materialized in his palm.
He guided the water sphere into the incision, directing it with chakra control so fine it looked as if the water was alive, weaving through the patient's internal pathways, drawing out the dark, toxic filaments that clung to their organs.
Once the orb had absorbed the poison, Akira carefully retracted it, the water now clouded and blackened with toxins. Without pause, he evaporated the water with a focused Fire Release, leaving only the neutralized toxins, which he incinerated into harmless ash.
He repeated the process until the patient's complexion began to shift from a pale grayish hue back to a faint but healthy flush.
Finally, Akira pressed his hands gently over the wound and used the Mystical Palm Technique to heal the incision, accelerating the body's recovery while stimulating its immune response to eliminate the remaining traces of the toxin.
When the patient drifted off into restful sleep, their breathing steady and unlabored, Akira allowed himself a moment of stillness, his Sharingan finally fading, his vision dimming with fatigue. Sweat clung to his forehead, but his posture remained straight and composed.
Only then did he turn to face the camp leader, who had watched the entire procedure in awed silence.
Akira offered a respectful bow, steadying his breath as the leader finally spoke, his voice heavy with both gratitude and wonder.
"Uchiha Akira... I believe our luck has finally changed."
Akira managed a quiet smile, though beneath it, his heart was already moving onto the next patient, the next life to save.
Seeing that Akira had finished his treatment and was taking a short break, the man in command stepped forward, his expression still guarded despite the miracle he'd just witnessed.
"Hello, Uchiha Akira. I'm the person in charge of this camp—Nara Takuma."
Akira rose from his kneel and gave a polite nod. His demeanor was modest, even if his accomplishments were anything but.
Takuma glanced toward the cot where the formerly dying ninja now rested, color slowly returning to his cheeks. His voice was tinged with disbelief and awe.
"I heard someone might be able to cure the poison from Sand, but I didn't believe it. Honestly, I thought it was false hope. Now that I've seen it for myself... You truly have a gift. At your age, to possess this kind of power and knowledge—it's hard to comprehend. You must have endured brutal training."
Akira smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his head with deliberate humility.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. It's mostly talent. I've been lucky so far, but there's still so much I need to improve. If anything, I feel like I'm behind where I should be."
Takuma's eyebrow twitched. The boy's tone was humble, but his words told another story. He wasn't bragging—he was just being honest. And yet, it stung.
This boy had just achieved what no one else could. Did that mean the dozens of medical-nin stationed here were all failures by comparison?
Suppressing his irritation, Takuma cleared his throat.
"Can you explain your method? In detail. This is critical."
Akira nodded. He understood the weight of what Takuma was asking. It wasn't just about saving the man he'd treated—it was about every poisoned soldier in every camp. Hundreds were infected. And with each passing hour, more would join their ranks.
He laid it all out, step by step: the process of isolating the chakra flow, the subtle adjustments to chakra threads required to perform Fine Extraction without damaging internal organs, the way to direct the flow through lymphatic routes to minimize residual infection. Every detail.
Takuma and the medical-nin beside him listened in stunned silence.
The camp's lead medic—a grizzled jonin with lines of worry carved deep into his face—rubbed his chin with a troubled frown. "This method... it might work. But Fine Extraction is incredibly difficult. It requires exact chakra control, a deep understanding of internal anatomy, and perception most of us don't have. Even I wouldn't attempt it without full sensory feedback."
He paused, then admitted quietly, "I'm not sure I could replicate what you just described."
The weight of that admission was heavy. A six-year-old had mastered something beyond the reach of the camp's best.
Takuma's expression darkened. If no one else could replicate Akira's method, then the hope he'd offered was nothing more than a fragile illusion. Akira might be able to save a few, but not all. His chakra wasn't infinite, and not even the Shadow Clone Technique could scale him enough to treat everyone.
Even as Akira continued to treat more patients, the poisoned would still die in waves. Konoha would bleed. And this war—they would lose it.
Akira saw the change in Takuma's eyes and knew exactly what he was thinking. The camp's leaders were already envisioning the collapse—the backlash from the village elders, the dishonor of failure, the shame. Takuma and the head medic might even take their own lives in disgrace, just as the White Fang once had.
He couldn't let that happen.
"There might be another way," Akira said quietly. "I've been compiling data—trends in where the infection concentrates, how it spreads. Each patient shows variation, but the worst damage usually appears in the same regions. If I can gather more cases, I can formulate a standard protocol."
The medic's eyes narrowed. "You're saying you could make a general plan? One that even those without Sharingan could follow?"
"Yes. With enough cases, I can map the danger zones—highlight the most commonly affected organs. I'll design a sequence for chakra flow, one that avoids fragile points and focuses on the most infected tissue. It won't be as effective as doing a full extraction manually, but it'll buy time."
"Even a delay could mean saving dozens," Takuma muttered.
"Exactly. It won't cure them, but it can stabilize them long enough for a proper antidote to be developed."
There was silence as the full implication of his words sank in.
It was still a gamble. A theory. But it was a path forward.
And right now, a path forward was worth more than gold.
The head medic straightened and looked at Takuma. "We follow his plan."
Takuma hesitated for only a breath before nodding. "Issue the order. All available medical-nin are to assist Akira."
It wouldn't be perfect. But it would be something. And in a war where hope had all but vanished, even the flicker of light Akira provided was enough to rally behind.
The camp had a fighting chance again. And Konoha's survival—however slim—hung on the brilliance of a boy who looked like a child but carried the resolve of a nation.