Age Seventeen (continued)
The war pulled us apart three weeks later.
Kiri had launched a major offensive on the northern border, and Konoha needed every available shinobi. Tsunade was assigned to the medical corps. I was assigned to the front lines.
"This is stupid," she said, standing in the middle of our quarters—we had started sharing a room, though we were both too busy to spend much time there. "We just got together, and now they're sending us to opposite ends of the country."
"It's war," I said. "It doesn't care about our relationship."
"Then we should care less about the war."
"We can't. People are dying."
She sighed. "I know. I just... I don't want to lose you."
"You won't. I'll come back. I always come back."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
She kissed me—hard, desperate, like she was trying to memorize the shape of my lips. Then she pulled away and grabbed her pack.
"Write to me," she said.
"Every day."
"You better."
She left. I stood in the empty room, staring at the door, and felt the weight of her absence already settling on my chest.
---
The Battle of the Northern Plains lasted three days.
I fought alongside Minato Namikaze—a young shinobi with blond hair and a smile that never seemed to fade, even in the middle of a slaughter. He was fast. Faster than anyone I had ever seen. His teleportation technique made him a ghost on the battlefield, appearing and disappearing at will.
"Ren!" he shouted, appearing beside me. "The enemy commander is on the eastern ridge. If we take him out, the Kiri forces will break."
"Then let's go."
We moved.
My chains cleared a path. Minato teleported ahead, taking out the guards before they could raise the alarm. Within minutes, we were at the ridge.
The enemy commander was a Kiri jounin with a scarred face and a sword that crackled with lightning. He saw us coming and smiled.
"The Yellow Flash," he said. "And the Whirlpool Prophet. I'm honored."
"You should be," Minato said.
He moved. The commander blocked—barely—and counterattacked. I joined the fight, my chains wrapping around the commander's legs, pulling him off balance. Minato's kunai found his throat.
The battle was over.
---
That night, I wrote to Tsunade.
"Tsunade,
We won. The northern border is secure. I'm alive. Minato is alive. We killed the enemy commander and scattered their forces.
I miss you.
I keep reaching for you in the dark, and you're not there. The bed is too cold. The room is too quiet.
Come back soon.
—Ren"
Her reply came the next morning.
"Ren,
I'm glad you're alive. I was worried.
The medical corps is swamped. Too many wounded, too few healers. I've been working eighteen hours a day. I'm exhausted. But every time I want to give up, I think of your face, and I keep going.
I miss you too.
Don't die.
—Tsunade"
I folded the letter and placed it in my pocket, close to my heart.
---
The war continued for another year.
I fought in a dozen battles. Minato became a legend—the Yellow Flash, the man who could end a war single-handedly. I became something else. The Whirlpool Prophet. The Golden Chains. The man with eyes that could rewrite fate.
But I wasn't a legend. I was just tired.
Tsunade and I wrote to each other constantly. Her letters were my lifeline, the only thing that kept me sane. She told me about her patients, her successes, her failures. I told her about the battles, the deaths, the weight of command.
"I saved a child today," she wrote. "She was five years old. Her village was attacked, and she lost her parents. I healed her wounds. But I couldn't heal her heart.
Is it wrong to feel like I'm not doing enough?
—Tsunade"
"It's not wrong. It's human. The day you stop feeling like you're not doing enough is the day you should stop being a healer.
You're doing enough. You're doing more than enough. You're saving lives that no one else could save.
I'm proud of you.
—Ren"