Evan swayed slightly on his feet. The movement was subtle—a fractional dip of the shoulders, a slight loosening of the knees—but in the eyes of a master like Sarutobi Hiruzen, it was as loud as a shout.
His breathing turned uneven, coming in short, shallow hitches that whispered of an overextended spirit. A faint sheen of cold sweat broke out across his brow, glistening under the dim light of the living room lantern. Evan reached out, placing a small, trembling hand against the wooden table for support, his knuckles white against the dark grain. He looked up at the Hokage, his dark eyes slightly glazed, and offered a weak, apologetic smile.
"Sorry, Grandpa Hokage," he said, his voice dropping an octave into a fragile rasp. "I think… I'm out of Chakra. I wanted to do more, but I can't reach any further. Do you… do you feel any better?"
The words were pitch-perfect. They carried the raw, unpolished earnestness of a child who had given his absolute all to help a grandfather figure.
Hiruzen didn't respond immediately. The old man remained deathly still, his eyes closed as he conducted an internal inventory that Evan couldn't see. He flexed his fingers slowly—one, two, three—testing the grip that had grown stiff with decades of gripping a staff and a pipe. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar, grinding resistance of his joints simply… vanish.
A subtle change passed through the Hokage's body, a sensation of lightness that only a veteran of a thousand battlefields could truly appreciate. The deep, jagged ache that had lived in the bottom of his lungs since the Second Great Ninja War was gone. The persistent tightness in his lower back, a souvenir from a clash with a hidden stone operative twenty years ago, had eased into a dull, manageable hum. Even his breathing felt smoother, as if a layer of invisible dust had been washed away from his internal organs.
This wasn't just superficial patchwork. This was foundational repair.
Hiruzen opened his eyes and looked at Evan again. The warmth of a grandfather was still there, but beneath it sat the cold, calculating gaze of the "Professor." He was looking at the boy with unmistakably different eyes now—not as a tragedy to be pitied, but as a miracle to be nurtured.
In reality, Evan was far from exhausted. Over the past two weeks, he had refined his control to a degree that would make most Chunin weep with envy. He knew exactly how much Chakra to release to trigger the System's healing, exactly how deep into the old man's physiology to go, and—most importantly—exactly where to stop.
He had deliberately left a trace of artificial exhaustion in his wake. He had held back seventy percent of his true reserves. He knew that to a man like Hiruzen, or a shadow like Danzo, excess talent without a clear limit was far more terrifying than simple weakness. A child who could heal a Kage completely without breaking a sweat wasn't a doctor; he was a strategic anomaly that needed to be locked in a cage.
"You learned this… truly on your own?" Hiruzen asked quietly, his voice carrying a rare tremor of awe.
Evan nodded slowly, lowering his head as if embarrassed by the attention. "I found my mother's journals in the attic. There were drawings of the body… and notes about how the energy should feel. I didn't understand the words at first, so I just practiced the feeling when no one was around. I thought if I got good at it, I wouldn't have to be alone anymore. I could help people so they'd stay."
Hiruzen's gaze deepened, his heart aching at the "child's" logic. He realized this wasn't standard medical ninjutsu. Even the legendary Slug Princess, Tsunade, relied on massive, brute-force output to jumpstart cellular regeneration. Evan's Chakra, by contrast, felt like a cool spring breeze—gentle, incredibly precise, and almost instinctual. It didn't force the body to heal; it whispered to the cells, inviting them to repair themselves.
A bloodline tendency, Hiruzen concluded. It wasn't a kekkei genkai in the traditional sense—no flashy eyes or bone-growth—but it was something just as potent: an innate, genetic affinity for life-force manipulation.
The old Hokage's expression softened until the iron of the commander was gone, replaced by a deep, weary satisfaction.
"Evan," Hiruzen said, his voice resonant with the weight of his office, "tell me. In this world of shinobi, do you have a dream?"
The question was a trap and a test combined into one. Every orphan in Konoha was asked this eventually. Most shouted about becoming Hokage or getting revenge.
Evan answered without a second's hesitation. He looked Hiruzen straight in the eye, his expression one of pure, unadulterated conviction.
"I want to become a strong ninja," Evan said, "so I can protect my friends. I don't want to watch people walk away into the fog anymore. I want to be the one who brings them back."
Hiruzen let out a long breath and began to laugh. It wasn't the sharp, political chuckle he used in council meetings, but a deep, genuine sound of delight that seemed to shave years off his face.
"Good. Very, very good."
Protecting friends. In the lexicon of Konoha, that was the foundational brick of the Will of Fire. To protect one's friends was to protect the village. To protect the village was to protect the future. Hiruzen leaned back, a sense of peace settling into his bones. If a child like this was allowed to grow, Konoha's medical corps wouldn't just recover from the losses of the Great Wars—it would evolve into something the other nations couldn't touch.
After a brief, thoughtful pause, Hiruzen reached into the deep folds of his red-and-white sleeve. With a casual flick of his wrist, a heavy silk pouch landed on the table with a muffled clink, followed by several neatly wrapped bundles of high-quality charcoal vouchers and ration scrolls.
"Take this," Hiruzen said, his tone dismissing any argument before it could start. "One hundred thousand ryō. And enough supplies to ensure you don't spend your training time worrying about the cold."
Evan's eyes widened. This time, the shock was real. One hundred thousand ryō was a staggering amount for a civilian or an orphan—it was the equivalent of several successful B-rank missions.
"G-Grandpa Hokage, that's too much—I can't possibly pay this back," Evan stammered, half-rising from his seat.
"Nonsense," Hiruzen interrupted, a playful glint in his eye as he adjusted his Hokage hat. "Consider it a long-term investment by the village. I expect to see great things from you, Evan. Don't make me look like a poor investor."
Evan bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the table. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
But as Hiruzen began to rise, Evan took a breath and spoke again, his voice small but steady. "…There's one more thing, Grandpa."
Hiruzen paused, raising a bushy eyebrow. "Go on."
"I want to help," Evan said, his fists clenching at his sides. "At the Konoha Hospital. Just a little. Every day I walk past and see the ninja coming back from the borders. They look so tired… and some of them look like they've lost everything. They protect the village, they protect me… and I don't want to just sit in my courtyard and watch. Even if I only carry water or clean bandages, I want to be there."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Hiruzen studied the boy's face, looking for any sign of a hidden agenda, but he found only the burning, desperate desire of a child wanting to be useful.
"You're still very young, Evan," Hiruzen said slowly. "The hospital is a place of blood and grief. It isn't a playground for a four-year-old."
Evan shook his head, his eyes flashing with a light that looked dangerously like maturity. "Every time I pass that building and do nothing, I feel like I'm failing. If my mother could do it, then I should at least try. Please."
Hiruzen stared at him for a long moment. He saw the lineage of Miko and Feng in that stance—the stubbornness of those who put the lives of others above their own comfort. He let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Very well," Hiruzen conceded. "I will speak to the Head Medic. Half a day only, three times a week. And listen to me, Evan—your physical training must not suffer. A medic who cannot protect himself is just another patient waiting to happen."
Relief, bright and sharp, washed over Evan's face. "Thank you, Grandpa Hokage! I promise I'll work twice as hard!"
Hiruzen stood, his robes swishing as he turned toward the door. He stopped at the threshold, looking back at the small boy standing in the center of the modest room.
"You will grow, Evan," the Hokage said quietly, his voice taking on a prophetic weight. "But remember: growth must be careful. A tree that grows too fast in the wind will snap. A talent that shines too brightly before it is ready becomes a target for the shadows."
Evan nodded solemnly. "I understand."
I understand better than you think, Evan thought. A genius is admired. A monster is feared. And a tool is used until it breaks. I will be none of those things.
After the Hokage's presence faded into the snowy night, Evan stood alone in the silence. The weight of the ryō pouch was a physical reminder of the bridge he had just built. He had successfully tied his fate to the leader of the village. He was no longer just an orphan; he was a "Special Interest."
Only then did the System finally chime in his mind.
[Ding!] [Healed Target: Sarutobi Hiruzen (Third Hokage)] [Detection: Severe Latent Internal Injuries and Cellular Decay.] [Reward: Chakra +15] [Reward: Earth Attribute Affinity +10] [Reward: Skill — Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall (Proficiency: Basic)]
Evan exhaled a long, shaky breath. As he had suspected, the rewards were tied to the status and power of the patient. Healing a few bullies had given him scraps; healing the "God of Shinobi" had given him a massive boost to his reserves and a functional defensive jutsu.
He walked to the window, watching the snow blanket the village. He clenched his fist, feeling the surge of Earth-natured Chakra thrumming beneath his skin.
"If the world tries to break me," he whispered to the dark, "I'll just heal the world until it likes me again."
A simple, perfect solution.