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Murakami 1st POV
Getting back on my feet wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be. My body was a mess—torn muscles, brittle bones, ruptured veins. Even my chakra pathways were damaged.
According to the medic nin, I had oversaturated them with chakra beyond their capacity.
That wasn't unexpected.
I'm still just fifteen. My body hasn't hit its peak yet. What I did… It was like tearing down a dam and forcing a flood through a garden hose.
And to make matters worse, my body wasn't responding to their medical ninjutsu. Even the A-rank Mystical Palm Technique only proved to cause more harm than good.
This was a technique that accelerated the body's healing capabilities on a wounded area.
Although its most obvious use is as a way of treating external injuries, it can also be used for internal illnesses, yet it proved useless before my injuries.
Anyone using it must be careful to only use as much chakra as is needed for the specific injury.
If too much chakra is sent into the body, this can disrupt the body's circulation, putting it into a comatose state.
And considering my previous comatose state, it was only a death sentence to keep using it on me.
It had been three months since I was brought in, and a week since I woke up. Even now, just getting out of bed was a massive strain.
Unfortunately, the wheel chair doesn't seem to have been invented yet since no matter how I describe a chair with wheels to the doctors and nurses, they just looked at me with question marks on their head.
It would've been nice to have them make it but there was no way I was giving up on such a lucrative business opportunity.
Knock. Knock.
I turned to the door just as it opened to see my personal nurse entering with Hina following right behind her.
It'd been a while since I'd last seen her and if anything, time had been good to her.
If she used to give off a mild ara~ ara~ vibe before, now it was a full-on force of nature.
She was about to speak when I raised my finger, albeit difficultly and made a soft whisper that traveled into the nurses system. "You only came to check up on my wellbeing."
The nurse's eyes glazed over for a moment before clarity returned and she bowed with a soft smile. "You're making good progress on your recovery, Murakami-san. I'll let the doctors know."
"I appreciate it." I said with an equally soft smile as she completely ignored Hina's entire presence and left the room.
As soon as the door clicked, I let out a laboured breath and sunk back into my bed due to the migraine threatening to split my head apart.
Even a whisper of chakra manipulation sent a warning throb through my skull.
"You've looked better." Hina said softly as she approached with a smile.
"I still look amazing regardless." I replied with a smile of my own. "You on the other hand…look stunning. What have you been doing these past few months?"
Hina chuckled as she sat down on a stool beside the bed and ran her hand over my bandages. "Y'know, being the mistress of a merchant guild has a few perks."
"I bet." I said. "I would love to hear the details later on."
She nodded but then her smile turned a shade sadder as she said. "When I first heard you were here, I thought the rumors were wrong. You never seemed like someone who'd do something so reckless,"
I couldn't resist the urge to chuckle which caused me to wince in pain. "War is…unpredictable. It was all I could do to survive."
"That's not true and you know it." Hina said as her grip on my hand tightened. "You could've always run."
"I had the thought actually," Murakami smiled wryly, "but I couldn't leave my other teammate to die."
"I don't know much about Shinobi dynamics, but I do know that it's the duty of the Jonin leader to do what you did." She said and I wasn't surprised at how she even knew that. It would've been weird if she didn't know.
"He probably wouldn't have lasted." Was all I could say with a tone of finality and Hina, despite wanting to say more kept it to herself.
"It's good you're back."
"It's good to be back."
There was a moment of comfortable silence between us before she broke it. "You didn't go through the trouble of summoning me just to have us sit in silence, did you?"
"I wouldn't dream of it. The Lotus Pavilion still has to function." I replied and beckoned for her to come forward. As she did, I tapped her forehead and passed on a direct image of a wheelchair to her brain.
"Wha-" she was first shocked at the intrusive chakra before her mind blanked.
Memory transference technique. A technique I came up with to pass information without the need for reading with your eyes or hearing with your…well…ear.
During the war, while at the camp, I had the opportunity to observe the various bloodline clans I worked with; Uchiha, Hyūga, Aburame, Akimichi, Nara, Yamanaka and many more.
This technique was an improvised version of the Mind Transfer Jutsu of the Yamanaka clan, but instead of transferring my mind over, I just transfer the necessary information from my mind to another's.
While it didn't consume chakra, its consumption of mental energy was massive.
Just as I was about to black out from the drain, the light in Hina's glazed eyes returned but before she could say anything, I said. "Have that constructed as soon as possible. Remember to keep it a secret."
Following that, darkness took over.
Yup. It wasn't only my body that suffered from the release of the Heavenly Restriction. My mind took its own fair share.
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Normal POV
Hina had prepared herself for many things.
She had faced furious customers, negotiated with nobles who underestimated her, and rebuilt half a district after a fire gutted one of their warehouses.
But nothing could've prepared her for the sight of Murakami; bandaged, pale, hollow-eyed, and barely able to lift a finger.
The boy she'd once protected, mentored, and eventually answered to, lay broken before her. And still, even on the brink of unconsciousness, he was orchestrating plans and planting ideas.
That whisper technique, the memory transference jutsu—he made her the keeper of a vision no one else could understand yet. And she'd carry it, no matter how heavy.
The Lotus Store had once been a small operation tucked away in the East Market District.
Back then, her job had been simple: manage inventory, count ryo, keep things running while Murakami schemed and learned from the shadows.
But when he left for the war, it was as if everything changed. Rumors swirled, competitors took aim, and the pressure nearly swallowed her whole.
Still, she'd held the line and had Murakami focus on the war.
Under her guidance, the store didn't just survive, it expanded. Murakami's framework had always been solid, but she gave it polish. She trained new staff, dealt with corrupt employees, and quietly doubled their reach in Konoha Market as well as the capital.
Every decision was made with his silent approval in mind, as if she could still hear his voice guiding her.
When Ishida-san delivered the contract for the new property in the Fire Capital, her hands trembled as she signed it.
The Lotus Pavilion wasn't just a business expansion; it was a declaration.
A merchant from the Leaf, setting roots in the heart of the Fire Nation's elite. No shinobi name. No noble clan backing. Just the legacy of a boy who built something from nothing.
The Pavilion was bigger than anything they had ever touched before. Imported woods, refined sealwork, and intricate design—everything was curated to blend subtle elegance with Murakami's distinct taste for functionality.
She personally oversaw construction, snapped at architects who tried to cut corners, and slept on-site more nights than she cared to count.
Now, sitting beside him again after so long, she realized how fragile it all was. One bad battle. One reckless decision. And she might've had to carry it all alone.
Yet even now, he was still fighting. Still working. Still creating.
When the light returned to her eyes and the wheelchair design burned fresh in her mind, he whispered his last instructions before falling unconscious.
Hina stood. He had passed the torch again, without asking or warning, but she accepted it just the same.
"I'll handle it," she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow.
Because no matter what title she held now—manager, guildmistress, partner—Murakami was still Murakami. And she would move heaven and earth to make sure his vision never stopped growing.
Even if he couldn't stand yet, the world would feel his presence through her hands.
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