Chapter 10: Stitches and Sparks
"Thread it through. Not too deep. Not too shallow. Unless you want him bleeding out again."
The medic-nin's voice was sharp, but not unkind. She hovered over Ren as he tried to stitch a shallow cut on a wounded genin's arm. His hands trembled just slightly—barely enough to be noticed, but enough to slow him down.
The boy groaned under the pressure of the needle. Ren winced.
"Sorry," he murmured.
The medic sighed. "Focus. You're not sewing cloth. You're sewing flesh. If it's ugly but holds, it's a success."
Ren tightened his grip and pushed through. The stitch held. Barely.
He exhaled.
---
The sun was rising when he left the tent. His fingers smelled of alcohol and old blood. The cool morning breeze helped clear his nose, but not his thoughts.
He wandered to the edge of camp, to a place behind the supply tents where the ground was soft and the noise quiet. He sat. Crossed his legs. Closed his eyes.
Root. Sacral. Solar. Heart. Throat. Third eye.
He stopped there.
No seventh.
No need.
As always, the meditation didn't do anything magical. But it helped. It cleaned the mess out of his head. Slowed his breath. Eased the knot in his chest.
When he opened his eyes, the world felt a little clearer.
---
Later that morning, a group of older orphans trained in the field.
They weren't ninja yet—not even genin—but some had a head start. One of them, a tall boy named Kenta, could already mold chakra. He showed off by sticking a small rock to his palm.
Ren watched from the edge of the group, arms crossed.
"Try it, newbie," Kenta called.
Ren shook his head. "Can't yet."
Another boy laughed. "He's the water boy. All he knows is how to wash blood."
That stung more than it should have.
Ren said nothing.
He wasn't here to impress anyone.
---
Midday brought another minor emergency. A young genin had twisted his ankle during a routine patrol. Nothing serious—but when they brought him in, blood poured from a small tear in the skin. Not lethal, but messy.
The medic-nin wasn't nearby.
Ren was.
He grabbed a kit, knelt, and cleaned the wound. Applied pressure. Wrapped the ankle tight. His fingers didn't tremble this time.
When the medic arrived, she checked the bandage.
"Not bad," she said. "Better than your stitching."
Ren cracked a small smile.
---
That night, Taro tossed him a piece of dried meat. No words. Just a small gesture.
Ren chewed slowly, watching the firelight flicker.
Someone sat across from him. It was the boy from before—Kenta.
"Didn't think you'd be useful," Kenta said. "Guess I was wrong."
Ren shrugged. "I'm not strong."
"No," Kenta admitted. "But you don't panic. That's something."
Ren said nothing. But the words stayed with him.
---
As the stars filled the sky, he sat again beneath the trees, back straight, breath slow.
Root. Sacral. Solar. Heart. Throat. Third eye.
A flicker.
For a moment—just a second—he thought he saw something behind his closed eyes. A spark. A shimmer of light at the edge of awareness.
It vanished.
He opened his eyes.
A genin sprinted by, kunai in hand, leaping from tree to tree.
Normal people wouldn't see a ninja in motion.
But here, with war always whispering in the trees, it had become part of life.
He watched the blur disappear into the forest.
Maybe one day, he would move like that.
Not yet.
But someday.
For now, he was still the water boy.
Still the cleaner.
Still learning.
But not useless.
Not anymore.
And maybe, just maybe, he had a place here.
Even if he had to carve it out one stitch at a time.