Chapter 12: The Line Between Help and Harm
The air in the medic tent was heavier than usual.
Ren could feel it the moment he stepped inside. The usual smell of antiseptic and dried herbs was overpowered by the thick, metallic tang of blood. The soft murmurs and clinks of tools had been replaced by tense voices and hurried footsteps.
Something was wrong.
Ren had barely placed the clean towels on the supply table when the tent flap was shoved open.
A chunin burst in, carrying a young genin slumped in his arms. Blood stained the boy's side, flowing from a wound that looked too deep for comfort.
"He's fading!" the chunin barked. "Someone get me a medic!"
Ren stood frozen for a moment. There were no medics in sight.
The chunin's eyes fell on him. "You! Pressure! Now!"
Ren blinked. "M-me?"
"Do you see anyone else?!"
Without thinking, Ren rushed over, hands trembling. He knelt beside the boy, pulled up the torn shirt, and pressed a cloth against the wound. Blood soaked through instantly.
His hands were shaking. The boy winced, his eyes fluttering. Ren looked up—no sign of a real medic yet. The chunin was already outside, shouting for more help.
Ren tried to remember the steps. Clean the wound? No, too much blood. Stop bleeding first. Apply pressure. He did. But the blood kept seeping.
He needed gauze. Real gauze. He reached for the nearby kit and opened it.
Wrong supplies.
His mind spun. Was it the blue box or the brown one that had the gauze? Or was it the green one from last week?
His breath quickened. The cloth in his hand was soaked. The boy let out a weak gasp.
"I'm—I'm sorry, I—"
"Move!"
A hand shoved Ren aside, not cruelly but urgently. A medic-nin swooped in, already gloved and focused. In seconds, she had gauze, antiseptic, chakra glowing faintly from her palm as she sealed the worst of the bleeding.
Ren stumbled back, heart racing.
He felt useless.
---
Later, the medic-nin found him sitting outside the tent, back against a tree, head in his hands.
She crouched beside him. "You didn't mess up."
"I froze."
"You're not trained. You're learning. That's different."
He didn't respond.
She sighed. "There's a time to step in. And a time to wait for help. You did your best. But if you're unsure, say so. Don't guess. Guessing kills."
"I didn't even know which box had the gauze," he muttered.
She smirked. "Nobody remembers in the beginning. I once tried to clean a wound with cooking oil."
Ren glanced at her, surprised.
"Hey," she said. "You want to get better? Start paying attention to more than just the supplies. Watch how we decide who to treat first. Who needs chakra healing and who just needs a wrap. That's where the real learning is."
He nodded slowly.
---
That night, Ren sat beside a fire, watching the medic tent from a distance.
He didn't join the boys playing dice nearby. He just sat, thinking.
Taro eventually wandered over, holding two rice balls. He plopped down next to Ren and offered one.
"You looked like a ghost earlier. Here. Food for the living."
Ren took it, still quiet.
"You didn't screw up, you know," Taro added. "I mean, you didn't die. That's a win around here."
Ren snorted. "I felt like I did."
"Yeah, well… next time, don't faint before the actual medic shows up."
"I didn't faint!"
Taro gave him a look. "You looked pale enough to pass as a ghost."
Ren smiled despite himself.
They ate in silence for a while. The stars above blinked quietly. Distant thunder rumbled—maybe from a storm, maybe not. It was hard to tell these days.
"You ever think about what we'll do when the war's over?" Ren asked suddenly.
Taro blinked. "Like… real food and a bed?"
"No, I mean… like a job. A path."
Taro shrugged. "I dunno. I never thought I'd live long enough to need one."
"…Same."
Ren stared at the fire. "But I kinda want to now."
Taro didn't reply, but he nudged Ren's shoulder gently.
---
The next day, Ren watched from the corner of the tent as a senior medic triaged incoming wounded. She didn't even touch most of them. Just looked, listened, then pointed them to the right place.
He began writing notes again. But this time, not just vocabulary.
Priority Levels: Bleeding heavily vs. minor cuts
Look at face color—pale = shock?
People talk a lot when they're panicking. People dying don't talk much.
---
He didn't want to be a hero.
He didn't want power.
He just didn't want to freeze again.
And if that meant memorizing every box, every symptom, every sign… then so be it.
Little by little.
Step by step.
Even small hands could save lives.
End of Chapter 12