-------------------------------- P.O.V Karin --------------------------------
Another bite.
The man clenched his teeth around my forearm, eyes shut tight, breathing hard. An open fracture at the knee, slow bleeding—just a little bit of my chakra, and it was like the wound had never existed.
He gasped one last time, let go of my arm, and collapsed back onto the cot with a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, Miss Karin… You've saved us again."
I didn't answer. I slowly pulled my arm back, wiped it clean, and turned to the next one.
There was always a next one.
They call it a gift. They say it's luck. But in the end… I'm just a kid with bite marks up and down her arm.
It was the same with my mom, up until she died. I suppose I'll follow her soon enough.
I heard the shinobi leave the room.
At least that one showed a trace of respect. I'd better not get used to it. That thought brought a wry smile to my face.
"No chance I'm getting used to it… not like it happens often enough."
I looked at the newest bite mark on my arm.
It hurt, sure—but it wasn't too deep. I guess that counts as lucky.
I clumsily wrapped the arm I wouldn't be using for the rest of the day.
I never learned to heal. I don't know pressure points.
Everything I know about medicine was picked up on the fly… or from my mom.
When someone bites me, my chakra changes. It flows into them and repairs their body. Just like that. Instantly. No need to suck out poison, no need to stitch wounds, no anatomy knowledge required. Just one bite, and the pain goes away.
I was there, in that makeshift field clinic. A worn-down wooden building, repurposed into a medical outpost.
Patrolling shinobi came and went, faces tired, bodies bruised and burned. They never looked me in the eyes.
Just at my arm.
That's all they wanted. Some of them wanted my body too… filthy perverts.
I heard them talking in the hallways sometimes. "That kid's a real talisman." "She's an Uzumaki, they're tough." "Good thing we've got her."
Like I was some potion bottle they could squeeze dry.
I sighed and cracked my neck. There were still three more patients left tonight.
Then I could go home.
If I could still call it "home."
I finally left the dispensary as the sun dipped behind the mountains.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of dry earth and damp leaves.
I rubbed my other sore arm. More than one "client" today. I was relatively lucky.
Hopefully no one comes to bother me at home.
Every day was the same. And every day, I wondered how long I had before I ended up drained. No healing for me. No guaranteed rest. Just an old mattress and a scratchy blanket in a crumbling house.
I hurried through the narrow alleys, avoiding eye contact. No one spoke to me.
I finally arrived at my door. A small wooden structure with opaque windows and a roof that leaked whenever it rained.
I turned the handle, ready to collapse into my bed… but paused. A warm scent wafted out.
I stepped back instinctively to check if I had the wrong house, then slowly stepped inside again.
The place looked… better than when I had left it. Clean dishes were neatly set on the table, and a real meal had been prepared.
I stepped in, and the door clicked shut behind me, but I barely noticed.
"What kind of fairytale is this…?"
My eyes swept across the neatly set table, the tidy room, the aligned cushions. Even the shutters had been opened. The light filtering in made it look almost… homey.
My stomach growled, and I moved toward the dining table on instinct.
As I rounded the table, I finally noticed the small child sitting in an armchair near the entrance.
I hadn't seen her at first—she was so small, so delicate-looking. Pretty, even.
Did she do all this?
She raised her hand in greeting and said:
"Hello, Karin, I suppose? My name is Narume Uzumaki. Pleased to meet you."
I froze for a moment, catching something odd in her introduction.
"Uzumaki?"
"Yes, Uzumaki."
I stared at her pale hair. Weren't all Uzumaki supposed to be redheads?
I let that thought go when the strangeness of the situation finally hit me full force.
"Wait—hold on… what are you doing in my house?"
She tilted her head slightly, almost proudly, and murmured:
"Ah yes, I really am getting good at this…"
Then she smiled, and before I could react, I found myself seated at the table in front of the meal.
"Let's talk while you eat."
"What if it's poisoned?"
At my question, she pointed toward one of the oldest pieces of furniture in the room. It broke apart instantly.
Then she turned to me, raising an eyebrow. The message was clear: she didn't need poison. I doubted my bones were tougher than that chair.
I obeyed, taking the first bite of the food.
I was surprised. Well, if this was my last meal, so be it.
It tasted amazing, and given my condition, I ended up devouring everything.
I noticed her watching me closely, brow furrowed—and I realized she hadn't touched the food herself.
"Sorry, it's just been a while since I've had something this good."
"Of course it's good. I made it. But that's not the point… I'm guessing you don't eat properly either, huh?"
"Well, I do get meals every day, but it's not always enough. I eat more than most kids my age."
She nodded thoughtfully, then moved to sit across from me.
She raised her hand again, and I felt something pass through me. Like I was wrapped in a bubble.
"Let's get to my proposal, shall we?"