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The Ninja Academy was simple on the surface—rows of children in open classrooms, scrolls on the walls, and instructors who taught everything from basic throwing techniques to the importance of teamwork. But beneath the structure and discipline, every child was shaping their future: some to protect, some to fight, and some—like Timoshi—to quietly rewrite the rules.
Timoshi blended in like a pebble in a stream. He answered questions well, but not too well. He ran fast, but never fastest. He made sure his chakra control exercises succeeded only as often as the best students. To the instructors, he was promising but not exceptional.
That's exactly how he wanted it.
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A Curious Discovery
It began on a warm afternoon during a break from class. Timoshi and a small group of friends—Naoki from the Yamanaka family, Etsu from a civilian merchant family, and Masaru, a quiet child with a fascination for insects—had decided to sneak into the edge of the training forest behind the Academy.
They weren't supposed to go there.
Which made it perfect.
"Let's play Rescue the Kage!" Etsu shouted, pointing dramatically like a movie heroine.
Timoshi grinned, enjoying the childish energy. The "Kage" in their game was always the leader who needed saving, and they took turns switching roles. But this time, their game turned unexpectedly real when Masaru tripped on a hidden root and fell hard, cutting his leg against a sharp rock.
There was a moment of silence—then panic.
Blood dripped onto the forest floor. Not a life-threatening wound, but scary enough for children.
"Stay still," Timoshi said, his voice suddenly steady. Something old had awoken in his mind—not a memory, but a reflex.
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A Secret Practice Begins
That night, after making sure Masaru was safely treated by an adult, Timoshi lay in his room, staring at the ceiling.
He had seen the technique used on Masaru's leg: glowing green chakra flowing from a trained medic's hands, the wound knitting back together like magic. But Timoshi didn't see magic. He saw science.
He saw cellular regrowth, accelerated healing, tissue cohesion. Words from his past life. Processes he once used in a hospital, under sterile lights and murmuring machines.
> "If chakra is life energy," he thought, "then medical ninjutsu is just focused biological control."
And that's when it began.
Timoshi couldn't just walk into a medic class—those were for advanced students and elite clan members. So he improvised.
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The Healing Game
Over the weeks that followed, Timoshi created what looked like a series of playful adventures for his friends—but in truth, they were carefully crafted missions.
One day, they played "Spy in the Hospital", sneaking around the edge of the medical training center, pretending to be secret agents. Timoshi carried a tiny notebook under his shirt, scribbling down hand signs and terms the medics used.
Another day, it was "The Great Scroll Hunt", where he convinced his friends to help him look through discarded training materials behind the Academy.
> "It's part of the game!" he told them with a grin.
In truth, he was scavenging bits of forgotten knowledge, cross-referencing them with what he already understood about biology.
Sometimes they played "Guess the Injury", where he'd ask his friends to describe symptoms or act out pain, and he'd diagnose them—then show them simple pressure points to relieve it.
They thought it was fun.
He was secretly building a medical framework that combined ancient chakra techniques with cutting-edge understanding of anatomy, chemistry, and diagnosis.
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Unintended Ripples
What Timoshi didn't realize was that his curiosity was contagious.
Masaru, still embarrassed from his injury, started learning about herbs and bug-based medicines. Etsu began carrying a small cloth pack of bandages and antiseptic herbs, "just in case." Naoki started drawing diagrams of the body in his notebook, asking his clan's elders for help understanding it better.
Without trying, Timoshi had sparked something in them—a quiet interest in healing, knowledge, and responsibility.
None of them would connect these curious habits to their strange but kind friend with calm eyes and soft laughter.
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A Glimmer of Control
Late one night, with a single candle flickering, Timoshi sat on the wooden floor of his family home. His hands hovered over a slice on his own palm, too shallow to scar, but deep enough to train.
He closed his eyes and focused.
Green light flickered at his fingertips—weak, unfocused. It sputtered out.
Again.
And again.
And again.
By dawn, he had succeeded only once. But that was enough.
The burn of chakra strain in his arms didn't bother him. Neither did the sweat or exhaustion.
Because for a brief moment, he had become both healer and ninja.
And no one knew.