Chapter 89

Taking a deep breath, I utilized the help of clones to very carefully turn Saya onto her stomach and focused on her spine, while the clones each took care of a limb. Unfortunately, I won't be able to restore the spinal cord, but at least I'll mend the bones and heal the torn muscles with the skin.

In order for her to be able to walk again, let alone continue her career as a kunoichi, she'll need a second or even first-ranked medic, and there won't be any of those around anytime soon. And of course, Tsunade went to fight against Suna a few months ago—more people were dying from the puppeteers' poison than from regular wounds, so all medics experienced in dealing with poison were sent there.

Sniffing, I grimaced sadly—well, at least this would be a reason to write her off as disabled, and after that, I'll make sure she stays at home instead of running off to fight again! Perhaps the only good news for today.

For the village, it's much more advantageous at the moment to write off anyone below a jonin rank than to recall qualified medics from the front lines, where they'll save many more lives and allow most of the wounded to get back on their feet.

Unfortunately, she won't be the first or the last one like this. It's also good that the benefits are decently paid—enough to support a family of two people; otherwise, some chunin would be in a truly dire situation. But I swear, I'll restore Sai's ability to walk, even if I have to tear myself apart!

I crawled out of the room closer to dawn, completely exhausted but somewhat satisfied—piece by piece, I managed to gather and mend the shattered limb bones, and the damaged muscles didn't pose a problem anymore.

Collapsing onto a bench in the corridor, I wiped my sweat-drenched face with the sleeve of my blood-stained robe and glanced at the nurses who wheeled Sai, wrapped in a sheet, on a stretcher. They had already washed the blood off her, so at least her face was recognizable.

Thank Kami, her nose was just turned sideways, not smashed into her skull; otherwise, the bone fragment driven into her brain would have killed her instantly.

"Finished?" I turned around and saw Yoshi Kuminaro, a young nineteen-year-old guy with the same rank as me, coming out of room 217.

"Mm-hmm," I had no desire to talk at all.

"And what's the result?"

"She'll live, but with two spinal fractures, she'll only be able to walk with assistance," I answered as calmly as possible, suppressing all emotions. "How about you?"

"She'll survive, and in about six months, she'll be able to return to duty if she follows the regimen."

"Lucky—three of them didn't make it to receiving help," I sighed, "how are the other patients brought in?"

"The nurses said their treatment was finished four hours ago."

"Yes, that's what it means to get into the hands of medics in time," I shook my head.

"Yeah, that's for sure... Are you okay, Ryo? You look really exhausted?" Yoshi unexpectedly asked.

"Operate on your own mother—then you'll understand," I snapped.

The surgery drained all my strength, both physical and emotional, so I felt only a slight irritation at the somewhat out-of-place question.

"Ooh..." my colleague sympathetically fell silent.

What else is there to say?

"Well, I'll go and process the paperwork," grunting, I got up and stretched my back, "I won't be able to sleep now anyway."

"Will you write her off?"

"Yeah, at least now I won't have to worry every time she goes on missions," I sighed.

"At least she came back alive, others won't even get bodies," Kuminaro shook his head.

"That's true."

It might seem somewhat callous on my part, but I'm even a little glad that Saya won't be able to walk for some time—she'll heal eventually, even if I have to hunt down Tsunade, but now Saya will be home. Some clan members have already received coffins without bodies, so just the fact of someone returning alive is considered a blessing. And the absence of a limb or the inability to walk is not so significant when your dear one is alive. It would have been worse to stand in another funeral procession.

"Who do you have?" sympathetically asked my colleague, seeing his detached gaze.

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