The bathroom in the Konoha General Hospital smelled of industrial-grade bleach and the specific, metallic scent of anxiety.
I leaned over the porcelain sink, the cold edge pressing into my stomach. The water was running, a steady stream masking the sound of my breathing.
Slowly, hesitantly, I reached up and took off Anko's polarized glasses.
The world instantly brightened, the harsh fluorescent lights above the mirror stinging my retinas.
The light hummed with a low, electrical buzz—zzzzzt—a subliminal irritation that seemed to vibrate in my teeth.
I looked at my reflection.
My eyes were normal. Hazel. Human.
But then, I blinked.
Zzzzt.
A spike of phantom pain shot through my skull—the same searing heat I had felt when Haido opened the Space-Time rift during the Gelel incident. The memory of the blindness, of the void staring back at me, washed over me like ice water.
For a split second, the reflection changed.
My eyes weren't light-brown. The sclera had turned a bruised, muddy purple-black. The irises were gone, replaced by glowing, featureless discs of pale, electric blue.
They were the eyes of a ghost. The eyes of something that had seen the space between dimensions.
A cold sweat broke out on my neck, clammy and sticking to my collar, contrasting with the humid warmth of the small room.
I gasped, splashing cold water onto my face, scrubbing at the skin until it burned.
The water was shockingly cold, shocking the air from my lungs with a sharp hiss of intake.
I looked up again.
Brown. Just brown.
My hands were shaking. I grabbed the glasses from the counter and shoved them back onto my face. The dark tint descended, filtering the world back into cool, high-contrast safety.
Keep them on, Anko had said. Don't advertise the bloodline.
"Right," I whispered to the mirror. "Just a disguise."
I walked out of the bathroom, smoothing down my vest.
The hallway was busy. Gurneys rattled past on wobbly wheels.
Squeak-thump... squeak-thump.
The uneven rhythm echoed down the polished linoleum, sounding like a frantic heartbeat.
Nurses moved with the efficient, gliding walk of people who had been on their feet for twelve hours.
The smell of cafeteria coffee—burnt and acidic—wafted from the breakroom, mingling with the omnipresent antiseptic.
"Sylvie?"
I turned. Two medics were standing by the nurses' station, holding clipboards.
Migaki and Kushishi.
They were the old guard. The ones who had supervised my volunteer shifts back when I was just an Academy student trying to learn basic first aid, and my mentors afte rthe exam..
"It is you!" Kushishi exclaimed, his mask crinkling as he smiled. "We haven't seen you since... well, since before the Tsunade search mission."
"Hey, guys," I waved, feeling a strange distance between us.
Kushishi's clipboard clicked—snap-snap—as he nervously toyed with the latch, a fidget I remembered from my internship days.
"Yeah. Been... busy. Field work."
Migaki pushed her glasses up her nose, scanning my new outfit—the tactical vest, the pouch, the dark glasses.
"Field work suits you," she noted, though her tone was guarded. "But we miss your stitching. The new interns have hands like feet. How are you holding up?"
"Surviving," I said. "Just stopping by to check on a patient before I head out again. North."
"The Land of Snow?" Kushishi whistled. "Bring a coat. And try not to end up in one of our beds when you get back."
"HEY! SYLVIE!"
The shout echoed down the sterile corridor, shattering the quiet atmosphere of the ward.
Naruto came barreling around the corner, ignoring the "Quiet Please" signs with his usual subtle grace.
His sandals slapped loudly against the floor—thwack-thwack-thwack—announcing his presence before he even rounded the bend.
"There you are!" Naruto yelled, skidding to a stop. "I looked everywhere! I almost went into the morgue by accident!"
Migaki sighed, turning back to her charts. "And there's the headache. Good luck, Sylvie."
Before I could scold Naruto, a door opened a few feet away.
Hinata stepped out.
She was holding a basket of fruit. She froze when she saw Naruto, her cheeks dusting pink. But she didn't faint. She didn't run away. She stood her ground, clutching the basket handle.
"N-Naruto-kun," Hinata said softly.
Naruto blinked. "Oh! Hinata! What are you doing here?"
"I was... visiting Kiba-kun," she explained, her voice quiet but steady. "And Lee-san. Are you... are you going to see him too?"
"Yeah!" Naruto grinned. "We're gonna tell Bushy Brow we're going on a mission! You wanna come?"
Hinata looked at me. I gave her a small nod behind my glasses.
"Yes," Hinata said, stepping forward. "I would like that."
The Physical Therapy room was a torture chamber of rubber bands, parallel bars, and yoga balls.
Rock Lee was in the center of it.
He was wearing a light hospital gown over his green spandex (which he refused to take off). He was gripping the parallel bars, sweat pouring down his face, his knuckles white. His legs were shaking violently as he tried to support his own weight.
The rubber mats squeaked under his feet—skreee—as he fought for purchase, the sound sharp and desperate.
"One... more..." Lee grunted through grit teeth. "The Power of Youth... does not... sit down!"
"Lee!" Naruto cheered.
Lee looked up. His face lit up, though the strain was evident in his eyes. He collapsed back into his wheelchair, panting.
"Naruto-kun! Sylvie-san! Hinata-san!" Lee gasped. "You have come to witness my recovery! I have successfully stood for twelve seconds today!"
"That's awesome, Lee," I said genuinely. "The surgery was only two days ago. You're a machine."
"Tsunade-sama says I must not push it," Lee admitted, wiping his brow. "But if I do not push it, how will I catch up to you?"
He looked at our gear. The backpacks. The travel cloaks.
"You are leaving," Lee said, his voice dropping.
"Yeah," Naruto said, leaning against the wheelchair. "Mission. Land of Snow. Gonna guard an actress or something."
Lee gripped the armrests. He looked down at his trembling legs.
"I wish... I could go with you," he whispered. "To see the snow. To fight."
The room went quiet. The weight of his injury—the reality that he might never be a ninja again—hung in the air like smoke.
The only sound was Lee's heavy, ragged breathing—huff... huff... huff—filling the silence with the sheer effort of existing.
Naruto slammed his hand onto Lee's shoulder.
"Don't worry, Bushy Brow!" Naruto announced. "You focus on walking. We'll handle the snow!"
Naruto leaned in, grinning.
"I'll bring you back a snowball," Naruto promised. "A huge one! I'll keep it in a scroll so it doesn't melt! And when I get back, you can throw it at Neji!"
Naruto's grin was blinding, radiating a warmth that seemed to physically push back the sterile chill of the hospital room.
Lee blinked. Then, tears began to stream down his face. He gave a shaky thumbs-up.
"Yes!" Lee sobbed. "A snowball of youth! I will wait for it, Naruto-kun!"
"It's a promise!" Naruto declared.
Hinata smiled gently, placing the fruit basket on his lap. "Get well soon, Lee-san."
We left him there, weeping with determination.
The door clicked shut behind us—snick—sealing him in his recovery, a final sound of separation.
We walked out of the hospital and into the cooling afternoon air. The sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet.
"Alright," I said, checking the position of the sun. "The film crew is waiting in the Ryokan District. We need to link up with Sandayū and the team."
"Land of Snow," Naruto said, looking north, his fists clenched. "Here we come."
I adjusted my glasses, hiding the worry in my eyes.
"Let's go."