Amamiya Rei was awakened by noise.
This was, after all, a communal dormitory, and he belonged to the busiest group in the entire camp—the Medi-nin—so the idea of long, uninterrupted sleep had never been anything more than wishful thinking.
By the time Amamiya Rei sat upright on his bed and slowly forced clarity back into his mind, the other female Medi-nin inside the tent had already finished preparing themselves, their movements practiced and efficient.
"Let's go."
"Rei."
An older Medi-nin reached out casually and rubbed Amamiya Rei's hair, her touch light but familiar, as though this were an everyday ritual rather than a battlefield camp.
Amamiya Rei narrowed his eyes slightly, rose from the bed, and began preparing himself with smooth, economical movements, completing everything in a fraction of the time it took the others.
Although his current body was female, his habits had never changed, and his pace remained brisk and precise.
Perhaps this, too, could be considered a kind of natural talent.
The moment they entered the medical ward, a heavy atmosphere pressed down upon them.
Once again, the space was packed with wounded shinobi.
War was nothing like what Amamiya Rei had once imagined.
There were no clear intervals of battle followed by rest, no neat pauses that allowed both sides to recover and breathe.
Instead, the frontline battles never truly stopped.
Although each skirmish was not particularly large in scale, they came one after another, relentless and unceasing, rarely allowing even a brief pause.
The reason Rei had heard nothing through the night was simply because the camp lay far, far away from the battlefield itself.
Aside from the steady stream of injured shinobi being carried in day after day, and the stern patrols that never relaxed their vigilance, there was little to indicate that a war was still raging.
That illusion shattered the moment Amamiya Rei's gaze fell upon the stretcher being carried in.
The shinobi upon it was soaked in blood, his body torn and burned until almost nothing remained of his original form.
The Medi-nin around him grew visibly tense, their expressions heavy and grim.
"He's... not going to make it, is he?"
The voice came from Abe Yōichi, a Medi-nin standing nearby.
He was right.
The shinobi's breathing was already faltering, his internal organs almost completely destroyed, and no known medical ninjutsu could possibly save him.
"Let him go without suffering."
"Better a short pain than a long one."
Someone murmured the suggestion.
The moment those words were spoken, silence fell over the room.
The air felt dense and oppressive, like something heavy pressing down on the lungs, making even breathing feel laborious.
Ending the shinobi's suffering might be merciful, but the question lingered unspoken.
Who would act?
Who had the right to decide another person's life?
No one.
And because no one possessed that right, no one moved.
They could only stand there, watching helplessly as the shinobi endured unbearable pain while waiting for death to finally arrive.
In that suffocating stillness, Amamiya Rei spoke.
"Let me try."
Every gaze snapped toward him.
"Rei!"
"Don't be foolish!"
A seasoned medi-nin grabbed her arm, panic and urgency in her voice.
This injury had already surpassed the limits of medical treatment, and everyone knew it.
The shinobi was already doomed, and Rei's words, though well-intentioned, would only kindle false hope, and if the outcome remained the same, she would inevitably bear the blame.
Amamiya Rei smiled gently at the woman restraining her, her voice calm and sincere.
"I want to try. Please let me try, onee-san."
Faced with the earnest resolve in her eyes, no one could bring themselves to stop her.
In the end, the wounded shinobi was carried into Amamiya Rei's private ward.
The door closed softly behind them.
Inside, the air felt colder.
The shinobi's breathing was barely audible now, each breath sounding like it might be her last.
Standing beside the bed, Amamiya Rei activated his Byakugan, his gaze penetrating flesh and bone alike.
It was a female shinobi.
He leaned down slightly, his voice low and even.
"Do you wish to live?"
The woman's throat produced a faint, broken rasp, like air scraping through torn fabric, incapable of forming words.
Amamiya Rei did not rush her.
His gaze remained fixed on her burned, barely recognizable face, his expression detached and unreadable.
"If you wish to die," he continued quietly, "and desire release from this pain, then remain silent."
"If you wish to live—no matter the form, no matter the cost—then make a sound."
The ward was deathly still.
Seconds passed.
Then—
"Hh... hrrk..."
The sound was weak, fractured, and soaked with blood.
Yet she forced it out again.
"Hh... hhh..."
Each rasp tore through her ruined throat, echoing softly within the closed room.
There was no hesitation in those sounds.
Only desperation.
Only will.
Only refusal to die.
"I see," Amamiya Rei said calmly.
"I have heard your answer."
His hand descended and rested lightly upon her body.
The woman immediately fell silent, her breathing thinning to the verge of nothingness, as though her body itself sensed what was about to occur.
Amamiya Rei's long, pale index finger began to distort.
The bone twisted.
The flesh writhed.
In an instant, the finger transformed into a living, pulsating tube of flesh.
It pierced straight into her body.
"Ah—!"
Her body convulsed violently, swelling as though flooded with an overwhelming force.
Vast amounts of vivid crimson blood surged through the tube and poured into her veins.
As the blood flowed, her body began to change.
The charred, shriveled flesh slowly stretched outward, while skin once blackened and cracked like burnt wood became coated in a smooth, porcelain-white sheen.
Silver-white curls spilled forth like liquid moonlight, cascading over her bare form.
When the transformation finally settled, the woman's eyes snapped open.
What stared back at Amamiya Rei were narrow, vertical pupils glowing faintly green, like a predator's eyes in the dark.
She slowly sat up and stared at her hands.
She could feel it.
The power.
The strength.
And something far deeper.
An instinctive, absolute submission to the being before her.
She slid from the bed and knelt heavily on the floor.
Looking up, her eyes brimmed with reverence and devotion, overwhelmed by gratitude for the new life she had been granted.
Amamiya Rei stood quietly, like a god observing a kneeling supplicant.
He reached out and placed his hand atop her head, his touch unhurried, his gaze indifferent.
The woman clasped his hand and pressed her lips to the back of it.
"I will serve you for my entire life."
"You are my supreme master."
"I will obey your commands."
No one ever learned what transpired inside that ward.
Inside the largest tent of the camp, Orochimaru's expression was dark.
The previous night, he had already sent one of his summoned snakes back to Konoha with a letter to his sensei, explaining his intentions and requesting permission to personally guide Amamiya Rei's training.
He had never expected to be refused.
As the Third Hokage's disciple and a shinobi renowned for his mastery of ninjutsu research, rejection should have been unthinkable.
Yet the reply said otherwise.
The letter crumbled into dust within Orochimaru's palm.
What surprised him more was that Amamiya Rei had not come to him to verify the truth of the matter.
It seemed Kakashi and that boy from the Uchiha clan had said something to her the previous night.
Orochimaru's expression shifted.
A smile slowly crept across his face.
Cold.
Serpentine.
This was the frontline.
If he wished to act, nothing could stop him.
***
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