Of scars and what they mean IO

Takeshiyama shifted on the exam room bench, his broad shoulders crowding the space as he waited for the doctor to finish his notes. The clean scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint tang of autumn air sneaking through the cracked window behind him. Outside, the distant noise of festival preparations carried on the breeze, reminding him of what he would soon be free to return to. But for now, he was grounded here, with one last hurdle to clear. The doctor—a steady man with lines etched deep around his eyes, a lifetime of healing scrawled into his tired face—reviewed the final lines on Takeshiyama's chart before snapping the clipboard shut with a practiced flip.

“Well,” he began, “the healing is coming along better than I would have expected, considering…” His gaze lingered on the bandaged stump of Takeshiyama’s left arm, now a little smaller and cleaner with each passing day. “But we’re almost done here, I think. Just one more thing before I officially clear you.”

Takeshiyama raised an eyebrow, his remaining hand moving almost involuntarily to adjust the fabric of his loose dark blue kimono, adorned with subtle patterns of flowing waves that seemed to ripple with each motion. “One more thing?” he asked, voice half-curious, half-guarded. He’d thought today would be the last of the poking, prodding, and checking, the last time he’d be treated as a man defined by his wounds.

The doctor offered a small, apologetic smile, the kind that showed he understood the frustration. “I know, I know. You’re eager to be out of here.” He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “But there’s someone else who wants a quick look. The Kage insists she personally examines you before you’re fully cleared.”

Takeshiyama felt a familiar unease tug at his gut. The Kage’s bloodline techniques, though powerful, never quite sat right with him, and he preferred his healing to be straightforward. She had offered before, in her own enigmatic way, to ‘restore what was lost,’ but the idea of that unnerved him more than his own scars.

“Kage herself?” he asked with a grumble, though the words carried no heat. He respected her, and he knew her abilities were unlike any other’s, but still....something he just didn't want.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, she insisted. I believe she just wants to make sure you’re truly on the mend. She’s… fond of you, you know.”

Takeshiyama sighed, glancing down at the bandaged remains of his arm. “Fond of my suffering, perhaps. I still prefer what I can touch and feel.” He gave a small, sardonic smile. “Even if I can feel a little less of it these days.”

The doctor returned his smile with a look of steady understanding. “I think she knows that. But you gave a lot for the village, Takeshiyama. Let her see what she needs, for her own sake as much as yours.”

Takeshiyama nodded, a reluctant acceptance settling over him as he stood up, the floor creaking under his weight. “All right, then. But if she tries any of that ‘blood magic’ stuff…” He shook his head, a glint of humor breaking through.

The doctor chuckled, patting Takeshiyama on the shoulder. “I’ll warn her to keep it strictly professional. I’ll go let her know you’re ready.” As he left, Takeshiyama took a steadying breath, bracing himself. He had not really seen Junko since coming too from his injuries. He hadn't strictly been ignoring or avoiding her, but it was something close. For her part after her offers she had left him well enough to his own devices, still he supposed a final conversation was always going to occur.

TWC - 608