The doctor carefully chose his words before speaking to Hyuga Ginka:
"It's sympathetic ophthalmia, and it's severe. The other eye… there's a risk of blindness."
His tone was gentle, cautious. The Byakugan was simply too unique. Few members of the Hyuga Clan ever sought treatment for eye conditions, and the medical records on the Byakugan were scarce. Treatment was a daunting prospect. Worse still, the symptoms manifesting in the Byakugan were several times more severe than those in ordinary eyes.
"Is there any hope for a cure?" Ginka asked.
"Well, we can try conservative treatment for now. Hospitalization for a period might help," the doctor replied, unwilling to be too definitive. The Hyuga were a prominent clan in the village; offending them could spell the end of his career.
"Conservative treatment…" Ginka murmured, feeling as though the sky was collapsing around her.
She wasn't sure how she stumbled, dazed and tear-streaked, into Hyuga Nobuhiko's room. Her face was wet with tears.
"Ginka, are you crying?" Nobuhiko asked.
His eyes were wrapped in bandages. The doctor had explained that his eyes were sensitive to light and should avoid exposure to it. The bandages were specially designed, inscribed with seals to maintain a suitable temperature around his eyeballs.
"You're mistaken, Nobuhiko. I'm not," Ginka said, wiping her tears.
Nobuhiko fell silent. The doctor had warned him against using his Byakugan to prevent worsening his condition, and the warning still echoed in his mind. But even without his Byakugan, he could hear the tremble in her voice. Unable to see her tears, he felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if a knife had been plunged into his heart.
He hated Ao.
He despised the Mist ninja who had taken his eyes.
Knock, knock.
The doctor politely tapped on the door before entering to ask Nobuhiko a few questions. Lying in bed, Nobuhiko answered each one methodically.
"Doctor, is there any way Lady Tsunade could treat this injury?" Ginka asked, clinging to a shred of hope. She was ready to beg Tsunade if there was even a chance.
"Who knows? Lady Tsunade's skills are likely up to the task, but the issue is that she rarely takes on patients herself. The few times she has, it's always been for bloodless procedures. Nobuhiko's case…" The doctor trailed off, but his meaning was clear.
Eye surgery would inevitably involve blood, and Tsunade, known for her aversion to blood, would almost certainly refuse—especially for someone like Ginka, who had no personal connection to her.
"So, it's just conservative treatment, then," Ginka said, her heart sinking to rock bottom. Everything had changed so quickly.
That Mist ninja, Ao, who coveted the Hyuga Clan's Byakugan, deserved to rot in hell.
Before leaving, the balding doctor glanced at their dejected expressions and, feeling a pang of sympathy, offered, "You might consider asking Uchiha Shimizu. He's our deputy director now, and his medical ninjutsu skills are exceptional."
With that, the doctor left the room.
Ginka stood frozen, her expression shifting. It all felt too convenient—almost as if it were part of Shimizu's calculations. She shook her head. She had never heard of a jutsu that could predict the future.
"Shimizu? You mean Shisui of the Body Flicker?" Nobuhiko asked, turning his bandaged head toward her.
On the battlefield, he had heard plenty of rumors about Shimizu. They said his Body Flicker Technique was blindingly fast, accompanied by dazzling flames—a jutsu unlike any other.
"That's him," Ginka said with a sigh.
Shimizu had long shown interest in the Hyuga Clan's Gentle Fist. If they sought his help, who knew what exorbitant price he'd demand?
"It's a pity the Hyuga and Uchiha don't get along well. He probably won't help," Nobuhiko said, his voice tinged with loneliness. To go from wielding the Byakugan, one of the three great dojutsu, to near blindness—with the looming threat of total blindness—was a blow he couldn't shake.
"Saving lives is a doctor's duty, Nobuhiko. Don't overthink it," Ginka said, her heart aching at the sight of her fiancé so broken. Yet, she was torn. Without the Byakugan, the Gentle Fist was useless to outsiders. Shimizu's interest was likely just curiosity. Slowly, Ginka's resolve wavered. For her fiancé's sake, she began to justify seeking Shimizu's help.
That night, the sky was filled with stars.
A gentle breeze rustled through the courtyard, sending ripples through the grass.
Nohara Rin pushed open the door and stepped into Shimizu's home. To her surprise, she found Hyuga Natsu still there, hurriedly tying her white apron as she rushed out.
"Rin, I'm leaving…" Natsu's voice lingered faintly as she disappeared.
Rin felt an inexplicable discomfort. Shimizu had already taken her chastity—was that not enough? Was he now entangled with other girls? She had seen Natsu visiting Shimizu before, and their relationship didn't seem simple.
"What did you mean when you said I no longer need to research cloning?" Rin asked, stepping inside. Her nose twitched, but there was no strange scent in the air, which eased her expression slightly. Still, her tone remained cool, betraying no emotion.
"Your research was too slow. I've already developed the cloning technique. For now, you can conduct experiments based on the data I've provided," Shimizu said. He wore loose pants and a tight black chainmail shirt that accentuated his sculpted physique, like a finely carved statue.
Rin took the sealed scroll he offered, her eyes flickering to his barely clothed upper body. She inwardly cursed his shamelessness. Most people's exposed figures wouldn't stir much attention, but Shimizu's physique practically radiated masculinity.
Recalling what he had done to her, she felt a flush of heat in her abdomen, her throat suddenly dry. To distract herself, Rin quickly opened the scroll and began examining it, avoiding his gaze.
The more she read, the more shocked she became. How had Shimizu obtained these experimental results and conclusions? Her lips pressed into a thin line. Had he been toying with her all along? He must have had this technology for a while, yet he'd let her waste countless hours working overtime on it.
By the time she reached the end, her brows were furrowed.
"Calling the results 'cloning' doesn't seem quite right," Rin said skeptically.
According to the data, even a successful outcome would only produce a clone with sixty percent similarity to the original. Could that even be called a clone? The remaining forty percent would manifest recessive genetic traits. Rather than a clone, it was more akin to an "offspring."
"It's just a name," Shimizu said dismissively. "For now, focus on whether you can reliably produce it and if the hospital's equipment is precise enough."
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