Shiori watched in fascination as those hands that glowed a beautiful green hovered over her damaged ones. She felt every vein within her fix itself, the blood flow and every other muscle tear. To watch a miracle happening before your eyes was spectacular, to watch it performed on yourself was otherworldly. "There, done, now little princess, don't go around doing things you're not supposed to, alright? Rest your hands and try not to perform any chakra related objectives with our hands, okay?"
Shiori looked up at the medic and nodded. The medic smiled before turning to her teacher, "Now, see here young man, don't go letting your daughter do any heavy labour work."
"Yes, yes." Katawara-sensei rubbed his head. Shiori turned to her teacher and her lips curved up, "Are you going to stay here with me tonight, sensei?"
"Of course," her teacher answered without a second thought, he dragged a chair beside her bed and sat down, "You ought to learn your lessen from this. Don't go inventing techniques you don't know the harm for."
Shiori huffed, "I was just curious."
"Yeah and stupid," Her teacher deadpanned, "I suppose it's somewhat my fault too."
"Don't say that, sensei," Shiori mumbled, her teacher couldn't be wrong. He has never done anything to hurt or harm her in anyway, he was a good person, "It was my fault for being arrogant thinking I can develop my own technique without even learning about everything else."
Katwara-sensei froze, what was this girl saying. "Shiori— never mind. Are you feeling well? You killed that night."
Shiori's blood went frozen, her whole body stilled and flashes of the night swam in her head. She remembered the feeling of her kunai piercing through the soft human flesh and tearing open the throat, she remembered the weapon she thrust into one man's heart— blood, death, she killed—!
"Breathe, Shiori, breathe.," Her teacher strokes her hair. Part of Katawara wanted to curse himself for bringing it up, but it was necessary. If the trauma wasn't cleared and acted on during battle, it would've been much more disastrous. "I— we're Shinobi, ninjas, were tools for kill, dispatched by authorities. I shouldn't feel bad, right sensei, I'm doing my job— I'm not evil, right?"
"No—"
"Why, why then, do I feel so guilty," Shiori shook, tears streaming down her face. Katawara looked punched, this was the first time his student ever displayed such strong emotion before him— crying. "I keep thinking, those men, they're probably brothers to someone, father's maybe, a son, a husband, maybe even an acquaintances that greets every morning. Now they're gone, I killed them, I took their life away from someone—" "Shiori, let me ask you a question."
Shiori snapped her head up and looked at the man she held a large amount of respect for.
"Did you enjoy killing them?"
"No." Never. She would never enjoy that, killing was not something to enjoy. Her teacher hugged her and kissed her temple—Shiori finds that she enjoyed that display of affection, it made her feel normal— and whispered, "The day you enjoy it would be the day you should feel guilty."
"Have you ever killed?" Shiori mumbled the question, her teacher heard it anyway. And he answers with a pained voice, "Of course."
"Sensei... Can you tell me about what the man said in the forest? About the fifteen comrades of yours." Shiori dared herself, she wanted to know, it has been bugging her, what made those deaths so famous men in Kumo knows about it. Her teacher's breathe sharpened, he loosened his hold on her— she wanted to take back, it must've been wrong to ask, she didn't mean to—"It happened two years ago"
