The silence in the room was almost comforting, disturbed only by the soft drip of water from a half-full bucket in the corner. The dim light of an oil lantern cast dancing shadows on the light wooden walls. A faint but persistent scent of medicinal herbs hung in the air.
Karui opened her eyes slowly, as if emerging from an endless dream. Her gaze, blurry at first, settled on the modest but clean ceiling. The exposed beams were old but well maintained. A warm blanket rested on her, and the mattress beneath her was simple but comfortable. The sheet smelled of freshly washed linen.
She was alive.
The last thing she remembered was the burning breath at her back, the enemy silhouette in the wooden debris, and then—nothing.
She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her hip and shoulder. She let out a muffled groan and collapsed back onto the pillow.
"Don't move."
The voice that echoed in the room was deep, calm, almost gentle… but carried an undertone of cold indifference.
Karui slowly turned her head toward the source of the sound, frowning. Then her eyes widened instantly. Her throat tightened.
Takeshi Sarutobi.
He was standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his dark gaze fixed on her. His clothes were simple: a sleeveless black shirt, slightly burned at the edges, and worn military pants. His Konoha headband hung from his belt, almost like a worthless keepsake.
Karui's instincts flared. She had captured him. Fought him. Underestimated him. And now… he was the one looking at her, as if he'd always been in control.
She opened her mouth, ready to spit out a sharp remark, but he raised a hand.
"Don't speak." His voice was firm. "Save your strength. You wouldn't understand anyway."
A heavy silence fell. She stared at him, her gaze blazing. What did he mean? She wouldn't understand what? Why had he spared her? Why was she here, treated, fed… by him?
"Anko didn't go easy on you… you've got several fractured ribs. Your shoulder was dislocated, but it's been set. Your chakra is unstable, you suffered backlash from the explosion. If you push too hard, it could kill you."
Karui forced herself to take a deep breath, her lungs burning with each movement. She wanted to protest, but her body refused. The pain was too much.
Takeshi pushed off the wall and calmly walked over to a small cabinet near the door. He picked up a steaming wooden bowl, then a spoon.
"Eat. You'll need it."
He approached the bed and held the bowl out to her.
She looked at it like it was poison.
"You think… I'm going to eat what you give me?" she muttered, each word painful.
"No," he replied simply. "But it's worth trying."
He brought the spoon to her lips.
Karui, mustering her remaining strength, violently slapped the bowl away. The hot liquid splattered across the floor. The bowl rolled and hit the wall with a dull thud.
"Screw you, you crazy bastard."
He stared at her, unshaken. Not even a twitch. He calmly bent down, picked up the bowl, and returned to the table. He refilled it, wiped the edges with a quiet gesture, and placed it on a small stand next to her.
"Do as you like. But your body won't last like this."
He then walked to the door. His hand rested on the handle, but he paused before opening it.
"I didn't keep you alive to be liked."
Of course that was a lie. Otherwise, why would he have spent 300 merit points to learn medical ninjutsu?
He cast a look over his shoulder.
"Just… eat."
And he left the room without a sound.
Silence fell again, heavy and thick. Karui turned her head toward the steaming bowl. The smell was simple—boiled vegetables, rice, a bit of meat. Nothing special, but it was warm, nourishing… and human.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Why?
Why heal her? Why not let her die? Why was Takeshi—the one she had hunted so relentlessly—now taking care of her?
Nothing made sense.
And yet, in that strange silence, wrapped in the dull ache of her body, a flicker of doubt took root. Not about herself. But about him. About his intentions. About what he really wanted.
A ninja doesn't survive by ignoring nuance.
And something in Takeshi's gestures, in the way he had placed the bowl without a word, without aggression… wasn't normal.
Maybe she didn't understand. Not yet.
But she would.