[Uzumaki Ichigoni]

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くたばれ
Ichigoni’s eye fluttered open to find a white luminescence staring back at him. Squinting back shut, he focused on his other senses. There was something poking into his right arm. His left shoulder and arm were restrained. The Uzuamki started to move, but a wrenching pain in his chest and back wracked through him. Groaning, he dared open his eye again, averting it from the light above.

He was in a hospital gown, with a cast bracing his left shoulder and arm. Reaching for his chest, he felt the tug of an IV and the poking sensation got worse. Pushing through the discomfort, his hand fell on his chest and he felt odd nubs laced tightly against flesh forced shut: sutures.

Breathing in and then out, Ichigoni fought through pain as he forced himself up and out of the hospital bed. His IV was attached to a rack with little wheels. His legs felt wobbly like the ocean, and the rack was like a buoy that he could hold onto.

Ichigoni made his way to the window and looked out. He could tell he was a few stories up as he looked upon the kage tower and then the academy. Memories of the Red Keep flooded his mind.

Had Sora made it out okay? What about everyone else? Turning around, the shinobi made for the door while tugging along his IV. He pushed out into an open hallway on the third floor of the hospital where patients were kept to recover after surgeries and other ailments requiring more than a few days of recovery.

🗡️

[Shouki Kumori]

Thanks to Asuka’s Sealing Jutsu, the heavy injury he sustained on his chest was quickly rejuvenated. Being launched off the roof like that…

But others weren’t so lucky, especially a certain Uzumaki Ichigoni. Kumori was the oldest in the squad present at the top of the Keep, and thus while unofficial, he held a lot of responsibility… and he could’ve done better, obviously. But… hmmmmh, enough about all of that self-rebuke. Right now, he ought to check up on the valiant Jōnin.

… It wasn’t a confident sight, to be honest. Ichigoni was still in the recovering stage, and yet he’d made his way out of his hospital room and into the hallway with his IV in tow. The last thing the lad needed was stress, so Kumori decided to walk up to him, now clad in an owl-feathered vest over a dark-blue samue. "I’ve heard of the terrifying, vital spirit of the Uzumaki, and witnessing it in person is quite a sight too,” he jested a bit, trying to dampen any present tension in the air, "You did well guarding and aiding Asuka. Unlike you, I might have a lesson or two hauled my way anytime soon… *sigh*”

It was in times like these when Kumori could really feel it – his bones stuffed deep inside muscle and skin, worn down by the winds of time, cranking and screeching in the quiet. He was getting old, crossing his arms with his entire height, shape and form looming over the West Kaigun-Daisa. "I have some medical experience myself, and you don’t look fresh enough to walk on your own. I can get you a wheelchair, but I suggest you rest some more.”

…

…

Now, was Kumori being a bit unreasonable? Maybe, his left foot was still bandaged, but it’d recovered enough for him to be able to walk around without issue thanks to help. He just couldn’t think about himself at all, not at this age.

[Sora Minami]

Sora hated hospitals; they were sterile places, good for curing a sickness or mending bones, but not for recovering. You needed life, fresh air, warm food and a soft bed when healing, not the dull, not-quite-white walls of a disinfected warehouse full of the sick and dying. So when she had awoken from her long, drug-induced slumber to the pastel-white of a recovery room, the Jounin hadn’t exactly taken well to the idea of staying. Her body had been less than compliant, particularly given the thick leather straps that had been wrapped around her limbs, pinning her to the bed and keeping her almost completely immobile.

Almost, but not quite.

Bloody annoying, cutting myself out of those. The pink-haired woman thought as she limped down the hallway, blanket wrapped around her body to hide the distinct lack of clothing beneath her scrubs. She understood why they had tied her down while she was under; anesthesia often made her get rather… violent, even when she was halfway on death's door, but to leave them on after her surgery was just excessive. She was going to have to have a word with Asuka about that whenever she saw the man next, it had to be-

"Ichigoni?" Sora asked, more out of reflex than anything else, pain flaring across her side as she glanced down the hall, catching sight of the Admiral and his hulking escort, whom she also recognized. And Kumori? God, what the hell did I miss? The pink-haired Jounin pushed through her discomfort though, hobbling down the hall towards her comrades- she wanted to know what had happened, after all. "It is you. You look like shit, man."

Uzumaki Ichigoni Shouki Kumori