Soon, Higashino Megumi entered the classroom carrying several documents. The room immediately fell silent.
Even the usually obstinate Obito behaved himself—anything that might disrupt Rin's studies was strictly off-limits.
Megumi's gaze swept across the room. She glanced at her son, then at Obito, who had his head tilted away and cheeks puffed out in obvious displeasure.
Instantly, she understood— Shin had once again verbally cornered someone.
She didn't particularly like Obito either. After all, the boy wasn't here because he genuinely wanted to learn Medical Ninjutsu.
Still, since he had enrolled, she would treat him no differently from the others.
Even if he never became a Medical Ninja, learning basic first-aid techniques could save a life someday.
The Higashino family bore no real resentment toward the Uchiha Clan, despite the complaints often heard among villagers. They certainly didn't discriminate.
The lesson began promptly. The first two sessions covered foundational medical knowledge, followed by the cultivation methods and operational techniques of Medical Ninjutsu.
Medical Ninjutsu functioned much like a formula. One couldn't simply learn it and apply it blindly; the patient's actual condition had to be taken into account.
Accurately assessing that condition relied on accumulated knowledge, forming a complete and coherent system of training and application.
The final session was practical.
The students packed away their notes and followed Megumi into a specially prepared infirmary.
Inside were four ninjas injured during training or missions, still awaiting treatment.
They had given prior consent, willing to endure some discomfort in exchange for providing younger villagers with hands-on experience.
After all, having more medical experts in the Village meant greater security for everyone's future.
Three of the patients were unfamiliar to Shin. The fourth, however, was instantly recognizable.
Even without the signature green jumpsuit, the glossy black hair, thick eyebrows, and full beard made his identity unmistakable.
It was Konoha's infamous oddball—the eternally Genin, Might Duy.
Back when Shin hadn't yet found his own path, he had once jokingly considered asking someone else to become his adoptive father.
Thankfully, he'd found his own cheat in time and avoided gaining an extra dad.
Who in their right mind would voluntarily study the deadly Eight Gates technique?
Not that Shin looked down on it—but compared to that gamble, Natural Energy was simply far more practical.
The first three patients suffered only minor injuries—mostly cuts from sharp weapons during training, along with muscle strains.
Megumi had the trainees conduct their own assessments first, then corrected their mistakes based on experience and guided them as they applied Medical Ninjutsu.
Finally, she reviewed their work, pointing out any deficiencies.
Konoha had no shortage of ninjas, which meant fresh injuries appeared every day. After a year or so of hospital training, the students would naturally accumulate ample practical experience.
Might Duy, however, was another matter entirely.
His body was a patchwork of old and new damage—severe joint wear, twisted meridians, exhausted muscles, and deformed finger joints.
Even Megumi could identify malfunctioning organs simply by monitoring his breathing, scent, and faint internal sounds with a stethoscope.
For wounds this chronic, even a Tokubetsu Jōnin specializing in medical care had limited options. She could only teach the trainees how to use gentle chakra for full-body conditioning.
She also warned the newly graduated Genin that while diligent training was admirable, overtraining was dangerous.
Might Duy was the living example.
Shin silently concluded that properly healing Might Duy would require Lady Tsunade herself—performing countless surgeries across his entire body.
Not for days. For years.
Simultaneous treatment and recovery on that scale was far beyond Might Duy's means. He needed to work, train, and survive; he simply couldn't afford extended rest.
Moreover, Tsunade now suffered from hemophobia and could no longer perform surgery—a fact known only to Konoha's four-person leadership and her two teammates.
Megumi had once mentioned that Tsunade hadn't appeared at the hospital in a long time.
Shin suspected she had already left the Village with Shizune.
The day's lessons concluded smoothly, and Higashino Megumi finished her shift without incident.
At the hospital entrance, the trainees gradually said their goodbyes. Though she wasn't the only instructor, any teacher who imparted knowledge earned genuine respect.
Even Obito bowed politely. "Teacher Megumi, you've worked hard today."
When it was Shin's turn, the kid casually clasped his hands behind his head, deliberately tilting his face away and making a cheeky sound.
"Obito, that's impolite," Rin said firmly.
"I know," Obito replied instantly, switching tones the moment he saw her serious expression. "Hey, kid—see you later."
Rin's face brightened as she turned to Shin. "Junior Shin, I didn't expect your grasp of Medical Ninjutsu to already surpass mine. You'll definitely become someone like Lady Tsunade someday."
Half of it was sincere praise. The other half was clearly meant to smooth things over for Obito.
Mediating Obito's social disasters had become Rin's instinct since childhood.
What a gentle, considerate girl—truly the perfect white moonlight for a sensitive boy like Obito. No wonder he would later become a ruthless demon for her sake.
"You flatter me, Rin-senpai," Shin replied politely. "You're impressive too. Go rest soon—goodbye."
"Yes—goodbye, Teacher Megumi. Goodbye."
The moment Rin finished speaking, Obito vanished in a blur.
Megumi smiled and shook her head, saying nothing. The hazy emotions of young love were always fragile—and beautiful.
Thankfully, when she was younger, Higashino Jiro hadn't been nearly as clingy as Obito.
Otherwise, she might have been scared away long ago—and Shin might never have been born.
As they walked home, Shin asked curiously, "Mom, does that uncle Might Duy come to the hospital often? With his condition, he should've collapsed by now."
"I used to see people like him in the Village," Megumi sighed. "With that kind of training, even an iron body can't endure forever."
"That's why your father constantly reminds you not to overexert yourself. Overdoing it doesn't just cost you your future—it shortens your lifespan."
"Might Duy is a special case," she continued. "He's famous in the Village—an eternally Genin who only knows crude taijutsu, lacks social finesse, and rarely finds teammates."
"He can only take simple rookie missions, earns very little, and still has a son to raise. So the hospital made a verbal agreement to support him."
"He comes regularly as a patient for trainees to practice on. His body is an exceptional teaching case for Medical Ninjutsu."
"The hospital pays him each visit, easing his financial burden, and we provide basic conditioning. It's a win-win."
"Even if he's weak, he's still a comrade of the Village."
"No wonder he's lasted this long," Shin murmured. "What a strong father."
"Indeed," Megumi replied. "We give him advice and prescribe gentle medicines, but he always ends up using them on his son."
Shin thought to himself: if he didn't love his son so fiercely, he wouldn't have raised a beast capable of opening the Eight Gates and kicking through the Six Paths.
Might Duy was actually admirable. At the very least, he passed down a powerful forbidden technique—and the true ninja way—to his son.
What about the other older Genin?
Limited talent. No secret techniques. No powerful jutsu—and even if they had them, they couldn't use them effectively.
They entered the Chunin Exams year after year, only to be eliminated repeatedly—like endless imperial exams, all for a single title.
Don't mistake a Chunin for something trivial. A powerful ninja could kill one with a single kunai.
In reality, that level was already unattainable for many.
Solid fundamentals and low-level mission experience meant nothing in the end. In the Ninja World, combat strength was what truly mattered.