Kato Dan followed Maki into the room, taking in his surroundings with care.
The space wasn't large—maybe thirty square meters—with windows open on three sides. Through them, he could see the trees and flower beds outside Konoha Hospital. The air was quiet, peaceful…
…if you ignored the contents of the room.
Tall shelving units lined the walls, every inch crammed with glass jars. Inside floated an unsettling mix of preserved creatures—plants, animals, insects… and human organs.
Dan swallowed hard and glanced toward the "tough guy" from earlier.
The man was now completely wrapped in a writhing swarm of insects, lying on a small bed and moaning weakly. He was alive… probably.
Dan's eyes shifted to Maki. She sat at her desk, lazily spinning a pen between her fingers, her gaze fixed on him.
He felt it—that sharp, assessing stare.
Wait… is she… interested in me?
No, no, no—stop thinking that.
He forced a smile. "Uh… is he… okay?" The real question being, What the hell happened to him?
"It's fine," Maki said. "Sit."
Dan obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the chair. "Look, Doctor, I'm actually fine—"
Maki's gaze drifted to his broken leg.
"It's just a fracture," Dan blurted. "It'll heal in a few days!"
"Oh?" Maki stopped spinning her pen, resting it on the desk and tapping with one finger. She didn't say a word.
Dan held his breath. His scalp prickled. This felt like waiting for a death sentence.
"You look like a short-lived type," she said finally.
Even after all these years, she recognized him—Tsunade's future boyfriend. Or at least, hand-holding level boyfriend.
"No!" Dan asked in alarm, "Can a broken leg kill you?"
Then, paling, "Do I… have some other illness?"
"That's not it," Maki replied. "So why are you here?"
"I got lost!" Dan blurted. "My feet hurt, so I stopped to rest!"
"How interesting," Maki murmured. "Take it off."
Dan immediately crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do?"
"Tch. Your shoes," she said flatly.
"Oh." Dan awkwardly lowered his arms, blushing. "I'm not sick."
"A broken leg heals slowly because bone regrowth is weak," she said matter-of-factly. "In combat, that weakness is a fatal risk. Even after it heals, pain during intense movement will ruin your close-range fighting. One sudden snap in battle and you're finished."
"I have the Spiritualization Technique," Dan muttered. "I don't do close combat much. It's fine."
"Enough nonsense." Maki stood, looming over him with cold authority. "I've been polite, kid."
"What are you—"
She waved a hand. Suddenly, Dan's entire body locked up—he couldn't move a finger.
"The chakra scalpel," she explained, "can cut inside the body without leaving a wound. I've severed the synapses below your cervical spine. Your brain can't send signals to your body now. If I wait too long, the neurons will die and you'll be paralyzed forever."
She pulled a pair of white gloves from her pocket, slipping them on with elegant precision. "Do you still want treatment?"
The rumors were true.
She's the devil—AAAHHH!
Tears welled in his eyes. "Do it! Hurry!"
"Speaking of which," she said coolly, "didn't they teach etiquette at the Ninja Academy? The Seal of Opposition? Basic field manners so you don't shame the village?"
"Please!" Dan begged, voice cracking. "Thank you very much!"
"Since you insist."
Her hand bloomed with black, writhing insects. Dan's eyelids twitched violently.
"Open your mouth," she ordered.
He clamped it shut and shook his head hard.
"This is medicine," she said. "Just like pills—quick-digesting, non-toxic, no side effects."
He shook his head harder.
"They're all like this," Maki sighed. It was exactly why the hospital had shoved her into her own department.
Stepping forward, she pinched his cheeks until his jaw popped open. One by one, the beetles crawled inside.
They were a variant of the snack beetle—loaded with medication.
"Don't bite. Swallow," she instructed.
The prescription wasn't special—just a painkiller. Even with the nerve block, he'd feel it later.
Dan sat frozen, eyes shaking as the last insect disappeared.
What if they chew through my stomach…?
Maki moved on without pause. She tapped the knee of his bad leg—he flinched reflexively.
"Your feet smell?"
"No!"
"I mean, I can heal it. Three million."
Dan blinked. "What—?! No way!"
She could tell from one look that this was a work injury—meaning the village would reimburse it. Free money.
When he refused, she simply grabbed his ankle. Swarms of parasitic insects climbed onto his leg, biting into the skin and crawling inside through dozens of tiny wounds.
Normally, this procedure would be agonizing.
But with general anesthesia and the nerve signals cut off, there was no pain—just an odd numbness.
Kato Dan glanced at his calves. Beneath the skin, small lumps moved rapidly, bulging and shifting like something alive. A chill ran up his spine.
"W–What is that?!"
"Don't panic. Just checking under the skin," Maki replied, glancing briefly at him before focusing again.
"It'll be over soon."
The Secret Technique of Insects — The Art of Life Transformation.
It rapidly activates an insect's vitality to boost the body's natural healing. Bone cells divide at an accelerated rate, repairing fractures without side effects.
In simpler terms—it forces the body to "add blood."
A moment later, as Maki waved her hand and brushed her neck, Dan felt sensation return to his legs.
"Where did the bugs go?" he asked, voice trembling. He'd seen them crawl in… but none come out.
"They're dead," Maki said casually, peeling off her gloves. "Don't worry. I'll remove the fixing plate in a week."
"Fixing plate?"
"Think of it as insect corpses. You could keep them in there forever, if you wanted." Her lips curved faintly. "But when it rains, it might ache a little."
The flesh would eventually decay, but the chitin shell was incredibly tough. These parasitic insects could dissolve themselves and fuse into various stable, rigid shapes.
It was, essentially, a "cracked" version of the Slug Sage's healing—just covered in an insect's armor.
Like the slug technique, it repaired damage by consuming its own cells.
Once the life force was spent and the flesh decayed, the hardened shells had to be removed.
Not ideal for combat—but extremely convenient.
One of Maki's little innovations in recent years.
"You're not going to do this again, are you?!" Dan blurted, remembering what the doctor had warned him about. His mind was already scarred enough.
"Can't we… not do this?"
"So noisy. Fine, whatever," Maki replied, waving him off as if shooing a fly.
Dan didn't wait. He practically leapt to his feet and bolted out of the room, as if pardoned from a death sentence.
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