STIN: Chapter 110/111

Chapter 110: Don’t Poke Me!

Raindrops drummed tirelessly on the canvas roof of the medical tent, a dull thup-thup-thup that never stopped. The air was thick with disinfectant, a hint of blood, and the earthy tang of scorched soil softened by humidity. A single lantern cast a warm, dim glow over the tent's interior.

"Hiss! Ouch! Easy, easy! You're killing the great Sage here!"

The scream that followed was so sharp and dramatic it nearly lifted the entire tent. It was the kind of howl that made you wonder whether you had walked into an infirmary or an execution ground.

Ryo, who had just reached the entrance, paused mid-step. His lips twitched. That voice was unmistakable. Only one loudmouthed idiot in all of Konoha could sound like that. Jiraiya.

"Heh. Sounds lively," Ryo muttered under his breath, pulling back the heavy, blood-and-alcohol-scented curtain with a flick of his wrist.

The light inside was dim but enough to reveal everything, and even for someone like Ryo, who had seen battlefields drenched in gore, the scene made his brow twitch.

In the center bed lay Jiraiya, bare-chested, his usually powerful muscles drawn tight as cables from pain. Veins bulged on his forehead, sweat streaked down his face, his expression twisted like a man being flayed alive.

The cause was clear, a wickedly shaped kunai embedded deep under his right ribs near his lung. The exposed skin around it was a ghastly black-purple, oozing pus and blood that stank of iron and rot.

That was no simple stab wound. The kunai was coated with a venom that ate flesh before the eye. Without the medical team around him, Jiraiya would have been long dead on the road back.

Two young medical-nin hovered over him, drenched in sweat. One held a gleaming scalpel and a compact chakra scalpel, its blade humming faintly, meant for cutting away necrotic tissue while cauterizing the wound. His trembling hands worked inch by inch, carefully trimming the blackened flesh. Each slice drew a fresh scream that could rattle bones.

"AAAGHHHH! I'M GONNA DIE! Kid, don't shake your hand! Aim first! OWWW! MY PRECIOUS RIBS! I think you just poked my kidney!"

Overseeing the operation was Tsunade, arms folded, lazily leaning against the medical cabinet. Her long golden hair was loosely tied back. Her beautiful face carried not the slightest trace of concern. Instead, she was smiling, that serene, dangerous kind of smile that said you asked for this. Her emerald eyes gleamed with amusement and the satisfaction of vengeance well served.

"Steadier, Morino, Chiaki," Tsunade instructed, voice clear and commanding. "This is a routine debridement. Make sure every bit of dead tissue is gone. Leave nothing. Any residue will spread the poison faster. As for the patient's howling," she flicked an unimpressed glance at the convulsing Jiraiya, "treat it as background music."

"Y-Yes, Tsunade-sama!" the two young medics chorused, voices trembling. Their hands were slick with sweat. This was Jiraiya they were cutting, one of Konoha's Legendary Sannin. Normally, Tsunade herself would handle such a case in minutes. But now she was just standing there, watching. Which could mean only one thing, she was furious.

And this was punishment. No anesthetic. No mercy. Pure, clinical revenge.

Ryo's eyes flicked around the tent, then he understood everything in an instant.

Oh, this idiot definitely did something stupid again. And it must have been spectacularly stupid.

Otherwise, Tsunade would have fixed him up in five minutes flat. Now she was letting two rookies slice him open under her supervision, just to let him scream his soul out. A perfect example of using medicine to deliver justice.

Tch. A textbook case of self-inflicted suffering. Even Ryo had to admit, it was a tragic sight, the great Jiraiya of the Sannin, reduced to a squealing hog under the trembling hands of two terrified medics.

"What's this performance called?" Ryo finally asked, stepping inside, his tone calm, cutting through the cacophony of screams.

Tsunade turned her head slightly, emerald eyes bright with mischief, tone almost innocent. "Oh, Ryo, you're back. Nothing serious here. Just this idiot," she nodded toward Jiraiya, "who said he thought he was dying and wanted one last wish before passing on. Something about a goodbye kiss to soothe his fragile little heart."

"Pfft!" One of the medics snorted before hurriedly bowing his head over the wound again.

Between groans, Jiraiya gasped, "I-I said a kiss full of emotion! A kiss of love to drive away death! Tsunade, I—AAAAAAHHHHH!" His voice cracked into a scream as the chakra scalpel brushed a nerve.

Tsunade ignored him. She looked at Ryo and explained in the clinical tone of a professor giving a lecture, "As you can see, this is a classic case of neurotoxic damage, poison invading the bloodstream, impairing the brain's ability to process dignity and self-awareness. Normal treatment can't fix that. So…"

Her smile brightened. "I've devised a special, anesthesia-free deep stimulation therapy. Intense physical stimulus reactivates the nervous system, speeds circulation, and promotes detoxification. And see? It's working beautifully. His sensitivity to pain is excellent. His nerves are quite active."

Ryo: "...."

There were no words. None. Just twitching veins.

Tsunade, this isn't treatment. It's torture dressed up in medical jargon, he thought. Out loud, he managed, deadpan, "Truly… an impressive effort on your part."

"Stop, Tsunade! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" Jiraiya suddenly wailed, desperation surging through him. "It's all my fault! I shouldn't have asked you to check my abs while bandaging me! I shouldn't have said the scar looked like the mark of love! Ancestors! Great ancestors! Make them stop! You do it! You cut me instead! Just kill me quick!"

He was sobbing. Whether from regret or pain, no one could tell.

"Hmph." Tsunade gave an elegant snort, not even sparing him a glance. She turned to the petrified medics and raised her chin slightly. "What are you staring at? Continue. If this rattles you, how will you handle real battlefield trauma? Practice is the best teacher, and he's the perfect live specimen. Don't worry, I'll take responsibility if he dies."

Her confidence radiated regal authority.

The two medics visibly relaxed, newfound determination burning in their eyes. If Lady Tsunade was here, nothing could go wrong. Morino inhaled deeply, steadied his hands, and brought the chakra scalpel back down toward the blackened flesh.

A faint shhhk, the sound of burning, and the stench of seared skin filled the air.

"AAAAAHHHHH! TSUNADE, YOU DEVIL WOMAN! PERSONAL VENGEANCE! I'LL HAUNT YOU—AAAHHHHH!" Jiraiya's howl rose another octave, thrashing so violently it took both assistants to pin him down.

Ryo stood there, entirely unsympathetic.

He sighed, finally cutting in, his calm voice slicing through the chaos.

"I'll be heading back to the village for a while."

(To be continued.)

Chapter 111: Teach the Flying Thunder God?

"Oh?" Tsunade arched a brow, interest piqued at last, her attention finally peeling away from Jiraiya's lovely accompaniment. "Heading back? That old fox Danzō, actually willing to let a heavy hitter like you leave the front?" Surprise colored her tone, with the faintest flicker of envy.

Heaven knew how long it had been since she had touched dice or breathed in the sweet copper stink of a gambling den. Her hands itched. Then she looked at Ryo and sighed inwardly. Likely that old rat Danzō had been persuaded by this brat, by some means or other. The method felt familiar. Although no, in her case it was pure strength and fists. Ryo's method was, well, probably fists too. Tsunade wisely stopped overthinking it.

Jiraiya, wheezing like a busted bellows but with radar-sharp ears, jerked his head up, eyes gleaming. "B-Back to the village? Ryo, do me a favor."

He mustered what he thought was his most sincere expression. "Look at me, I'm not moving for a while. Since you're going back, could you take the little bit of merit I've got and go to the old man, Hiruzen, and, uh, get something approved?"

He licked his cracked lips, leaning into the words, a greasy sparkle of you know what I mean flashing across his face. "It's, it's that one. The space-jutsu. The Flying Thunder God. Coolest thing ever. The kid's talent is the real deal. If you've got time, maybe toss him a pointer or two? Heh heh…"

Silence fell in the tent for a few beats.

Tsunade folded her arms, rolling her beautiful eyes so hard they nearly flipped skyward. This guy was asking a favor like he was doing them one.

Ryo's gaze was steady, almost bored. He dropped two words, crisp and clean. "I refuse."

He glanced at Jiraiya, eyes as calm and distant as a deep pool. "Your disciple, what's that got to do with me? Close to me? Namikaze Minato? Just a classmate, nothing more. Can't help, and don't want to. That's it."

"W-what? You agreed? That's aweso, huh? You said, refuse?!" Jiraiya's pain-addled brain finally caught up. The smile of expectation hadn't even fully opened on his face before it collapsed. He looked like he had been made to swallow a fly, shocked, awkward, and aggrieved.

Reflexively, he looked to Tsunade for rescue.

"Hmph." Tsunade shot him a monumental eye-roll, chin tilting higher. "What are you thinking? He's your disciple. And who is Ryo, Konoha Academy's babysitter? Besides, he's a Chūnin. Ever heard of permissions and protocol?" She didn't spare him an ounce of face. Helping Minato petition for an S-rank technique was one thing. Asking Ryo to personally tutor him in the Flying Thunder God? The man's brain was definitely poisoned.

"But…" Jiraiya mumbled, crushed under pain and disappointment both, "isn't it… I mean, Ryo already mastered the Flying Thunder God, right? I figured… with Minato's talent…"

He kept fishing, but his voice had gone small. He had never imagined Ryo would refuse so cleanly, without an inch of give.

Nawaki, who had been happily spectating, scratched the back of his head. Soft-hearted, he stepped in to spare Jiraiya further embarrassment. "Jiraiya-nii, don't worry. When I see Hiruzen-sama, I'll bring up Minato. Should be fine."

Jiraiya seized the lifeline at once, shifting expressions like a seasoned actor. In a weighty, elder-beseeching tone, he said, "Nawaki. Then I'm counting on you. Tell the old man, see if they can make an exception and let Minato redeem the Flying Thunder God. If not, other top-tier jutsu scrolls are fine. He's my most promising seedling. Konoha's future Will of Fire rests on him. Do me this favor and I'll owe you for life. I'll buy you the best drink. Show you the grea, ahem, the most majestic mountains and rivers of Konoha." He nearly blurted something he shouldn't. The cough covered it.

"Enough, Jiraiya. Keep yowling and your wound will split again. Shut up. Lie down." Tsunade snapped, finally bringing the farce to a halt. She turned to the two young medics, who looked ready to faint, and said briskly,

"Go rest. I'll take over."

They fled with grateful bows.

Tsunade's eyes slid back to Ryo, the message plain. Danzō might be settled for now, but paperwork couldn't leave handles for him to grab. His pettiness had no bottom.

"As for you, brat," her tone softened but kept its edge, "you're not going back for nothing. There's a batch of severely wounded who must be transferred to Konoha for further treatment. You'll act as escort captain and deliver them safely to the village gates. I'll issue a formal mission order, no one will dare nitpick."

She paused, eyes skimming Ryo's young, blade-sharp face, then flicking to the ink-black sky outside the tent. A thread of gravity shaded her voice. "Bring back every single one. Got it?"

Ryo understood at once. This escort was an iron gate, a shield stamped with the seal of Konoha's Princess and top medical commander. It temporarily folded all of Ryo's movements, up to and including anything he might do in Konoha, under Tsunade's direct-task umbrella.

Safeguard the lives of critically wounded comrades. An unassailable priority. It was a royal amulet draped over Ryo's shoulders, plugging any process loopholes. His return to the village was justified, compliant, airtight.

Let Danzō scheme. First ask the tens of thousands on the front if they would accept undermining the medical commander's judgment on life and death. Ask Tsunade's seal if it agreed.

Lay a finger on him, and you're spitting on every blood-soaked shinobi. Political correctness and strategic necessity, in the face of the Princess's will and fists, were all hot air.

That was a proper backer, quietly flattening every ambush path while chalking you up for merit. High-handed, protective, unreasonable, and it felt great.

A glint of understanding flashed in Ryo's eyes. Tsunade's decisiveness, and her way of shielding her own, suited him perfectly. Fewer headaches for him. He didn't hesitate. He straightened and accepted with clear, ringing confidence, as though taking an honor rather than a burden.

"Understood. Mission accepted. I'll get it done."

With Tsunade's golden shield, the road to Konoha would be clear. As for what came next, stirring up a little fun in the village, maybe leaving a surprise for certain people, the initiative was entirely his.

Tap.

Tsunade lifted her pen and swept her signature across a pre-prepared scroll in bold, flowing strokes.

(To be continued.)