Consciousness returned to Miwa Uchiha not as a sunrise, but as a slow, painful seepage, like water finding cracks in parched earth. It began with sound: a low, rhythmic and steady as a shinobi's measured breath.
Then, smell: the sharp, astringent bite of antiseptic, undercut by the coppery tang of old blood and the faint, cloying sweetness of healing herbs.
Finally, sensation: a deep, throbbing ache radiating from her left shoulder, a tightness across her ribs with every shallow breath, and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion that felt heavier than the stone walls of the fallen Uzushiogakure.
Her eyelids felt glued shut. She forced them open, blinking against the diffuse, pearly light filtering through a high, narrow window.
The ceiling swam into focus. She was in a medical bay. The familiar, utilitarian starkness of Konoha's hospital was absent; this was rougher, more makeshift.
She tried to turn her head, a spike of pain lancing from her shoulder down her arm. A soft gasp escaped her lips, dry and raspy.
"Ah! You're awake!"
A figure blurred into her field of vision – a young woman with kind, tired eyes, her dark hair pulled back severely under a clean but simple headband.
"Easy, Miwa-san," the woman murmured, "Don't try to move just yet. You took quite the hit." Cool fingers pressed lightly against Miwa's wrist, checking her pulse. The touch was competent and reassuring.
Miwa swallowed, her throat raw.
"Where…?" The word came out a croak.
"The main medical shelter," the medic replied, dipping a clean cloth into a bowl of water. She gently wiped Miwa's forehead. "You've been out for nearly a week." She adjusted the thin blanket covering Miwa, her movements efficient.
"Do you remember what happened?"
Fragments surged, chaotic and terrifying: The earth-shaking punches of Killer B. The sickening collapse of the barrier. The desperate scramble against the impossible. Then… pain. A blinding impact. Darkness.
"Bits… and pieces," Miwa managed, her voice gaining a little strength, rough with disuse and lingering terror.
"Ayy… the collapse…" She winced as another throb pulsed from her shoulder.
"My team…?"
The medic's expression softened further, laced with relief. "Alive. All of them. Injured, like you, but stable."
Miwa closed her eyes for a moment, relief washing over her like a cool wave, momentarily eclipsing the pain.
Then, another fragment surfaced, hazy but persistent – a figure standing between her fading consciousness and the oncoming Danger.
"Someone…" Miwa murmured, her brow furrowing as she chased the elusive memory. "Before… the darkness. Someone was there. Facing them… Ayy and the Jinchuriki…?"
The medic's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of awe replacing the exhaustion. "Oh! Yes! Him! Renjiro-san!" The name was spoken with profound reverence.
"He saved you. He saved all of us."
Renjiro.
The name hit Miwa like a physical jolt, sharper than any pain in her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, fully focused now.
"Renjiro?" Disbelief warred with the dawning memory. The figure… the stance… the chakra signature she'd felt, even through the haze of pain. It had been him.
"The very same!" the medic confirmed, nodding vigorously. Her voice dropped slightly as if sharing a sacred secret. "He appeared like… like a storm given form! Just as Killer B was about to finish you, Renjiro-san intercepted him!"
Miwa's breath hitched. Her nephew. Facing the Eight-Tails Jinchuriki? The image was simultaneously terrifying and… fiercely proud.
The medic continued, her words tumbling out now, fueled by the adrenaline of the memory. "Renjiro-san… he summoned it! A great Eagle bigger than any summon I've ever seen! It engaged the Jinchuriki! Held it off! Can you imagine? A summon facing a Tailed Beast Jinchuriki!" She shook her head in wonder.
"The noise… the ground shaking… the heat…"
Miwa listened, transfixed. Her Sharingan instinctively flickered to life, a single tomoe spinning slowly as she visualized the scene the medic painted. Renjiro, standing defiant. A summon of incredible power. A battle on a scale she could barely comprehend.
"The Eagle… is it…?"
The medic's expression sobered. "Wounded. Badly. But it took the focus off us for crucial minutes." She placed a comforting hand on Miwa's arm. "He bought us time. He saved lives. Yours especially, Miwa-san."
Renjiro had been her shield. Her nephew. Sachi's boy. Takeshi's son. A fierce warmth bloomed in her chest, battling the persistent chill of injury and the lingering terror.
"Where…" Miwa's voice was thick with sudden, overwhelming emotion. "Where is he? Renjiro? Is he… is he alright?"
The medic hesitated, her earlier awe dimming slightly. "He… he vanished, Miwa-san. Shortly after the immediate threat receded."
She gestured vaguely. "No one saw him leave. One moment he was standing there, breathing hard, covered in dust and… a bit of blood… the next, he was gone. Like smoke."
"Gone?" Miwa echoed, a sharp pang of anxiety cutting through the warmth.
"But… his injuries? The battle…?"
"He looked… exhausted, yes. Bruised, definitely. But he moved under his own power." She shrugged, a touch helplessly.
"Maybe the Hokage recalled him? Or another mission" There was no judgment in her voice, only a profound respect tinged with bewilderment.
Miwa stared past the medic, her gaze unfocused, seeing not the stone ceiling but the chaotic battlefield painted by the woman's words. Renjiro appears like an avenging spirit. Standing toe-to-toe with Killer B, commanding a summon powerful enough to momentarily stall a rampaging jinchuriki. And then… vanishing. Just like that.
The image solidified in her mind: not just her nephew, but a shinobi of terrifying power and unwavering resolve, stepping into the heart of hell to pull them out, then melting back into the shadows.
The medic fussed for another moment, checking bandages and offering water, but Miwa barely registered it.
Relief for her survival warred with the deep ache of her injuries. Awe at Renjiro's impossible intervention battled with sharp concern for his unknown fate. And beneath it all, rising like a slow tide, was something else. Something profound and bittersweet that tightened her throat and stung her eyes.
The medic-nin, sensing the shift, finished her adjustments quietly. "Rest now, Miwa-san. Your body needs it. Your chakra reserves are still dangerously low." She offered a small, encouraging smile.
"We're safe for now, thanks to him." With a final gentle touch, she moved away, her soft footsteps fading towards the other occupied cots, leaving Miwa alone with the rhythmic beeping and the weight of her thoughts.
Alone, the carefully maintained composure of the Uchiha Kunoichi, the hardened Jonin commander, began to fracture. The image of Renjiro, battered but unbroken, standing defiant against impossible odds, wouldn't leave her. The sheer scale of what he'd done… it wasn't just skill. It was power. Power she'd sensed flickering within him even as a child, power that had sometimes frightened her with its intensity.
'He has the spark, Miwa,' Takeshi's voice echoed in her memory, deep and resonant, as clear as if he stood beside the cot.
And Sachi… oh, Sachi. Miwa could almost feel her sister's phantom hand gripping hers now. Sachi, whose laughter could light up the darkest Uchiha compound hallway, whose eyes held both the ferocity of a kunoichi and the boundless warmth of a mother.
'My little boy,' Sachi would whisper, brushing sweaty hair from Renjiro's forehead after a nightmare, her voice thick with a love so fierce it was almost painful.
'So much strength. So much heart. Promise me, Miwa… promise you'll watch over him when I can't.' The memory was a physical ache, a hollow space beneath her ribs that never truly healed.
Tears, hot and sudden, welled up in Miwa's eyes, blurring the rough stone ceiling. She didn't fight them. Here, in the quiet aftermath, shielded by the temporary safety Renjiro had bought, the dam holding back a decade of grief, worry, and fierce, protective love finally broke.
Silent sobs shook her frame but it was drowned by the deeper emotional agony.
'Look at him, Sachi,' she thought, the words a raw, silent scream directed at the sister stolen too soon.
'Look at your son! Look what he did!'
The tears flowed freely now, tracing paths through the dust and grime still clinging to her cheeks. They weren't just tears of pain or exhaustion. They were tears of awe. Tears of profound, soul-deep relief. Tears of a grief transformed, not diminished, but overlaid with a fierce, burning pride.