You… want to learn medical ninjutsu? - Naruto: Mindfire

"Plop!"

The rain fell steadily as the orphanage courtyard came into view. Heavy droplets drummed on the roof like a muted taiko beat, accentuating the chill in the noon air. Satoru and the rest of the children trudged back inside, water dripping from their hems, sandals squishing with each step. The caretakers—Nono, Akari, Midori, and a pair of younger assistants—hustled them into the building's warmth.

"Quickly now!" Akari called, voice earnest amid the drizzle. "Go and change your clothes, get warmed up! We'll be having evening meals soon!"

Midori ushered a group of children toward the dormitory wing, her tone gentle: "Fold your wet clothes neatly and hang them by the window to dry. Come right back once you're changed."

Satoru barely registered the instruction through the fog of his thoughts. He nodded absently and followed the others into the long, low-ceilinged room where their low beds lined both walls.

In his mind, bells clanged.

Was revealing his Sharingan really the best move? That crimson eye had been intentionally flared in an act of 'grief'. Satoru now weighed the consequences.

Another part of him hardened: if he intended to become a shinobi—no, a competent one—he must rely on the Sharingan at some point. To try hiding it while also using it would be a hassle and also counterproductive.

He followed the other children to the communal changing area. Kids stripped off soaked layers—shirts clinging to skin, socks twisted inside-out, trousers heavy with water. They chattered in between yanks of fabric, the smell of damp cotton thick in the room. A boy wriggled out of soaked clothes; another complained as his bare feet touched the wet floor. There were squeals of cold, teasing laughter, some pushing and bumping as siblings sought warmth in shared space.

Satoru's awareness—or perhaps his true age as Ren—made the scene uncomfortable. In his soul, he was older: mental muscles honed, memories complex; but his shell was a child's. He felt exposed, not only physically but emotionally.

He slipped a thought quietly beneath his breath: 'It is better I go somewhere else until they, more so the girls, finish changing.'

He also needed breathing space; the grief he felt and the politics around him were not easily digested—and certainly not while surrounded by dry socks and damp chatter.

He walked out of the room towards the corridor. One of the younger caretakers saw him leaving.

"Where are you off to, Satoru?" Midori asked, her brows knitting.

He paused in the hallway and glanced over his shoulder. "Um—I need the bathroom," he said softly.

Midori nodded, gently brushing back a damp lock of hair from his forehead. "Okay, but be quick—and remember to change your clothes as soon as you return. You don't want to catch a cold."

Satoru only half-smiled. He moved swiftly toward the restroom as the children's voices became muffled behind closed doors.

In the quiet of the bathroom, his senses hurtled inward. He eased himself into a stall, relief mingling with guilt at the bathroom break lie.

Alone, he answered nature's short call.

'The Uchiha clan now knows of my existence. I wonder how they will react?'

He remembered the moment when the dark-haired shinobi at a distance started murmuring among themselves when he revealed his dojutsu. They wore obvious Uchiha crests on their tunics and shoulder guards.

'If not for that, I might have thought they were spying on leaf shinobi casually. But I know who they are.'

Another wave of thought crashed: 'What matters most now is what Jun and the Yamanaka clan will do. Will they still want me, now that my Sharingan has awakened? Or will the Uchiha clan lay claim to me? Or—will both ignore me?'

He exhaled. A sharper acknowledgement: 'Everyone knows my chakra has been unlocked. I must act—now, decisively.'

He finished washing, dried his hands, and weighed his options. He opened the door.

Back in the dormitory, two boys stood near a bunk, still in wet clothes—or rather halfway out of them. One of them was the same kid who, earlier, had announced his intention to become a future Hokage. He now hammered on a t‑shirt while bouncing around in damp socks.

"Fuji‑Kun, hurry up!" another child called.

Satoru skirted past, changing discreetly behind a screen. He grabbed dry clothing from his bag—a clean shirt and pants—and zipped up quickly before the sweaty anticipation of communal undressing could irritate his focus.

Once clothed, he exhaled and made his way to the hall where dinner would be served. The scent of warm broth and steamed rice floated ahead. He heard occasional giggles and small conversations as children and caretakers settled in for the evening meal.

He entered the hall to see a long wooden table lined end to end, mats arranged on tatami mats beneath it. Some children were already eating enthusiastically—slurping soup, hands grabbing rice balls, cups of tea chiming with quiet clinks.

Caretakers buzzed around ladling soup, refilling cups, wiping small faces. Akari ensured younger children ate nutritious portions; Midori assisted others with spilt bowls. The communal ritual warmed the gloom after the emotional drain of the afternoon.

Nono Yakushi stood near the centre of the hall, overseeing the distribution of the evening porridge. Her robe was damp from the rain but immaculately clean. Her hair had small droplets glimmering around the bun; her face calm, unreadable—but not unkind.

'Well, here goes nothing.'

Satoru thought as he approached quietly, footsteps soft. He cleared his throat, heart pounding with cautious resolve.

"Nono‑sama," he said respectfully, voice low.

She turned, eyebrows slightly raised. Her eyes, sharp behind calm expression, seemed to probe into him. Even though his grief-smeared eyes looked fragile, he forced himself to meet her steady gaze.

She nodded gently. "Yes, Satoru?"

He fumbled momentarily, then spoke with surprising confidence.

"Could you—teach me medical ninjutsu, Nono‑sama?"

The question hung between them, amid the clatter of bowls and the murmur of voices.

Satoru continued softly, "I… want to help people." He purposefully avoided referencing war or combat or even chakra control to arouse any suspicions. His tone was respectful, earnest, hiding the urgency within.

Nono tilted her head slightly, regarding him quietly. Around them, caretaker whispers eased to silence. Cedars outside rustled under rain.

"You… want to learn medical ninjutsu?" she asked, voice gentle but firm.

"Yes, if it's possible," Satoru replied. "With your guidance. I'd be very grateful."

Nono's expression remained still. After a moment, she let a slight nod escape, just enough to betray mild respect. "Medical ninjutsu," she murmured. "That is a demanding discipline, Satoru. It requires focus, chakra control, and compassion."

"I understand," Satoru said softly.

"We'll begin tomorrow morning, after chores. I will teach you the basics so that you can even help me out later."

Satoru's heart pounded as he thought, 'I hope this does not come to bite me in the back.'

Akari approached, clutching a bamboo bowl of steaming rice, eyes bright. "Dinner's nearly ready," she announced.

Nono glanced at her, then back to Satoru. "Get warmed. Eat well tonight."

Satoru gave a respectful bow. He accepted the bowl from Akari, who offered him a ladle of soup with a kind smile.

Nono's eyes never left him as he sat down at the low table near the far wall, not too close to the chattering children, not too distant from potential guidance.

Chapter 9 - You… want to learn medical ninjutsu?