The Konoha Secondary Hospital didn't smell like the primary one. It lacked the comforting, domestic scent of flowers brought by visitors or the sterile sharpness of lemon antiseptic.
This building smelled of dust, old sealing ink, and secrets. It was where ANBU went when missions went wrong in ways the public couldn't know about. It was where bloodlines were studied, not just treated.
Tsunade stood over the metal bed, her arms crossed. The only light in the room came from the glowing medical seals plastered to the walls, casting a sickly green hum over the scene.
Sylvie lay unconscious. A heavy strip of gauze was wrapped around her eyes, but Tsunade didn't need to see beneath it to remember the damage. She had seen the optic nerves. They looked less like biology and more like geology—fractured, splintered, a spiderweb of cracks running through a gemstone that had been struck by a hammer.
"Status," Tsunade demanded, her voice low.
Shizune, standing by the monitors, adjusted a dial. Tonton was asleep in her arms, letting out a soft, rhythmic snore-wheeze that was the only natural sound in the room.
"Stable," Shizune whispered. "Chakra levels have normalized. The... mutation... has receded. But the damage to the ocular network is severe. If she wakes up now, she'll be blind."
Tsunade nodded. She reached out, hovering a hand over Sylvie's forehead. She didn't heal her yet.
Diagnosis before treatment, she reminded herself. You don't pour water on a grease fire.
The heavy iron door creaked open.
Mitarashi Anko stepped in. She wasn't wearing her usual smirk. She leaned against the doorframe, her trench coat rustling like dry leaves. She looked at the girl in the bed, then at Tsunade.
"You broke her," Anko said flatly.
"She broke herself," Tsunade corrected, turning to face the Special Jonin. "And now I need to know why."
Tsunade stepped into Anko's personal space. She projected the full weight of the Hokage title.
"What did you teach her, Anko? In the forest. In the month I was gone. Did you try to force an awakening? Did you use Orochimaru's methods?"
Anko bristled. The smell of dango and stale sweat clung to her, a scent of defiance.
"I taught her how to splash," Anko snapped. "Water style. Basic manipulation. Stillwater. That's it. I checked her coils day one—she was a blank slate. Civilians don't have Kekkei Genkai, Tsunade. I didn't hide anything."
Tsunade narrowed her eyes. She studied Anko's pupils, looking for dilation, for deception.
"I believed you before," Tsunade said coldly. "Because back at the Tipsy Tanuki, when I drugged you and Jiraiya with that truth serum, your story held up."
Anko blinked. Then, a dry, raspy chuckle escaped her throat.
"That?" Anko shook her head, a flicker of genuine amusement crossing her face. "That actually didn't work, Lady Hokage. Snake training involves high-level resistance to neurotoxins. It tasted like bad cherry syrup."
Tsunade's eyebrow twitched.
"But," Anko continued, her face sobering, "I didn't have anything to hide. So I just played along. I'm telling you the truth now, Tsunade. I didn't know she had eyes like that. If I did, I wouldn't have let her walk around with them unprotected."
Tsunade held her gaze for a long, silent beat. The hum of the medical seals filled the room.
"Fine," Tsunade said, stepping back. "Get out. And don't speak of this."
Anko pushed off the wall. She looked at Sylvie one last time—a look of rare, guarded concern—before slipping back into the hallway shadows.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again. This time, the entrance was timid.
Hinata Hyūga stepped inside, bowing so low her forehead almost touched her knees.
"L-Lady Hokage," Hinata squeaked. "You... you asked for me?"
"Stand up, Hinata," Tsunade said, softening her tone slightly. "I need your expertise. Not as a Genin, but as the Hyūga Heir."
Hinata straightened, her pale eyes wide and nervous. She fidgeted with her fingers, tapping her index fingers together in a rapid, anxious rhythm.
Tsunade gestured to the bed.
"Sylvie's eyes," Tsunade said bluntly. "They cracked. Literally. Like glass shattering inside the iris. The veins bulged and turned black. Have you ever seen a Byakugan react that way to stress?"
Hinata gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She looked at the bandaged figure.
"Cr-cracked?" Hinata whispered. "No. No, Lady Tsunade. The Byakugan veins... the Byakue... they swell, yes. But the eye itself is resilient. It doesn't shatter."
Tsunade crossed her arms. "I need you to think, Hinata. Deep history. The archives only the Main House sees. Is there anything about a mutation? A variant?"
Hinata bit her lip. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. The silence stretched. Tonton shifted, oinking softly.
"There... there isn't anything about cracking," Hinata said slowly, her voice gaining a tiny bit of steadiness as she recited from memory. "But... in the old scrolls... the ones from before the village..."
She looked up at Tsunade.
"There is a legend of an Ancestor. They don't name him. But they say he had a Kekkei Genkai that wasn't the Byakugan, but was born from it. They described his eyes not as white moons..."
Hinata shivered.
"...but as a swirling cerulean sea."
Tsunade froze. Cerulean. Blue.
Sylvie's eyes were usually a nondescript brown, hidden behind glasses. But under the stress...
"I see," Tsunade murmured. "Thank you, Hinata. That is... helpful. You may go."
Hinata bowed again. "Is... is she going to be okay?"
"I'm going to make sure of it," Tsunade promised.
Once the room was empty again, Tsunade turned to the bed.
She had her answers. Or at least, enough of them to know that she wasn't dealing with a disease. She was dealing with a power that the body wasn't built to hold yet.
"Alright, kid," Tsunade whispered. "Let's put the pieces back together."
She rubbed her hands together.
Mystical Palm Technique.
But not the brute-force version she used on the battlefield. This needed to be delicate.
Her hands glowed with a chakra that was a soft, pale teal—cooling, soothing, precise. She lowered her hands over Sylvie's bandaged eyes.
She closed her own eyes, visualizing the damage.
She saw the fractal ruin of the corneas. She saw the stress fractures in the chakra network surrounding the optic nerves.
Tsunade pushed her chakra in. It flowed like liquid silk, seeping into the cracks. She didn't just force the tissue to regenerate; she carefully, painstakingly guided the shards of the "glass" back into place. She smoothed the edges. She reinforced the walls of the veins.
It was like gluing a vase back together, molecule by molecule.
It took ten minutes. Sweat beaded on Tsunade's forehead.
Finally, she felt the resistance fade. The eyes were whole. The chakra flow was smooth again.
Tsunade pulled her hands back, exhaling a long breath. She reached down and gently peeled the bandages away.
Sylvie's face was pale, but peaceful.
The eyelids fluttered.
"Nngh..." Sylvie groaned, her voice dry and cracking.
Tsunade grabbed a cup of water from the side table.
Sylvie's eyes opened.
They were brown again. Dull, unfocused, muddy brown. But they were looking at Tsunade, and the pupils contracted against the dim light of the medical seals.
"Tsunade...?" Sylvie croaked. "Why... is it so green in here?"
Tsunade let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She slumped into the chair beside the bed, offering the cup.
"Drink," Tsunade ordered gently. "You blew a fuse, kid. Welcome back to the land of the seeing."