Time, much like the slow-moving waters of the Naka River, passed with a quiet, unrelenting grace.
In what felt like a mere blink of an eye, half a year had slipped through the fingers of the village. The heavy snows of winter had long since melted into the fertile soil, giving way to the humid, vibrant heat of midsummer. For most of Konoha's inhabitants, life moved in its usual cycles of missions and markets. But for the Konoha Hospital, the last six months had been defined by a singular, rising phenomenon.
Every morning, without exception, before the first light of dawn had even touched the stone foreheads of the Hokage Rock, Evan Kamiyo arrived at the hospital gates. It had become part of the building's very rhythm—as natural as the changing of the guard. The staff no longer looked twice at the small boy with the unnervingly calm eyes and the perfectly pressed white coat.
Healing.
That was his life's work now. It wasn't a hobby or a chore; it was a craft he honed with the cold, calculated precision of a master smith.
When he had first started, Evan treated barely ten patients a day. These were simple cases: bruised ribs from training accidents, minor exhaustion from D-rank chores, or lingering wounds that had already mostly closed. Now, that number had multiplied several times over. The waiting area of the medical wing often had a small cluster of shinobi specifically asking for "the boy from the morning shift."
The reason for his sudden popularity was simple.
Word had spread through the ranks—from the gossip of the Genin to the hushed conversations in the Jonin lounge. Evan's healing wasn't just effective; it was thorough. He had a knack for identifying "dark wounds"—the hidden, insidious damage that accumulated over a decade of service. These were the poisons that hadn't been fully purged, the hairline fractures that never quite set, and the microscopic chakra-pathway blockages caused by overextending during a desperate battle.
Many shinobi who appeared "healthy" on the surface were shocked when Evan's hands revealed the rot beneath.
Of course, Evan didn't heal everything at once. He was a transmigrator, not a saint. To display a "one-touch miracle" would be to invite the kind of curiosity that ended in a laboratory. Instead, he practiced a masterful level of measured restraint.
When a patient reached the specific threshold where the System's reward began to taper off, Evan would withdraw his hands, wipe his brow with a practiced look of slight fatigue, and calmly instruct them to return in a few days. Officially, he explained this to the senior doctors as "segmented treatment to avoid cellular shock."
Unofficially? It was efficient harvesting.
By breaking one major injury into four sessions, he maximized the System's output while maintaining the illusion of a child working at his limit. It was perfectly ethical—after all, they were getting better—and it was extremely profitable.
[Treatment Session Complete.] [Reward: Chakra +2.5 | Wind Attribute Insight +2 | System Points +2]
The crystalline notification echoed quietly in his mind. Outwardly, Evan's expression remained a mask of professional concern.
"Mr. Inuzuka," he said gently, his hands withdrawing from the man's scarred calf. "That's all we can safely manage for today. Your chakra pathways in the lower leg were severely constricted by that old Earth-style trap. Come back after three more sessions, and you'll be able to run at full speed without that phantom ache."
The middle-aged ninja, a veteran with a wild mane of hair and the red fang markings of his clan, let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years. His face lit up with profound relief.
"Thank you! Seriously, kid... thank you. I thought I'd be limping until retirement. You really are a little genius doctor! I'll be back Thursday—I'll even bring some high-grade jerky for you!"
As the Inuzuka man left, leaning less on his cane than when he arrived, a nurse standing by the medicine cabinet sighed with a mix of admiration and envy.
"'Little genius doctor'… it started as a joke, but it's becoming a title," she murmured.
The nickname had stuck. First, it was the bored nurses in the breakroom. Then, the senior medical ninjas who realized Evan's diagnostic skills surpassed their own. Now, even the battle-hardened patients used it naturally, as if "Doctor Evan" were an established rank in the village hierarchy.
Taking off his white coat and hanging it neatly on its hook, Evan mentally checked off his progress.
Work: Done. Reserves: Growing. Reputation: Solidified.
As he stepped out into the bright midday sun, the heat of the village streets hit him like a physical weight. He immediately spotted a familiar figure waiting in the shade of a nearby cherry blossom tree.
Hinata Hyuga stood quietly, her posture much straighter than it had been six months ago. She was holding a neatly wrapped bento box in both hands, her lavender eyes brightening the moment she saw him.
"Hinata," Evan said, a genuine smile breaking through his professional mask. "Sorry for making you wait. The morning rush was a bit more intense than usual."
Walking closer, he naturally reached out and rested his hand on her head, lightly ruffling her dark-blue hair. Over the months, this had become his standard greeting—a way to ground her and show affection without the stifling formality of her clan.
Hinata froze for a split second, a reaction that had become a cherished routine. Her face flushed a vivid, rosy red almost instantly, and her fingers gripped the bento box with enough force to crack the wood.
"I-It's okay," she said softly, her voice no longer a stuttering mess, but a gentle, melodic whisper. "I... I only arrived a few minutes ago. I didn't wait long at all."
Evan noticed the slight tremor in her hands and withdrew his own in time. He knew that with Hinata, the "Great Wall" of her shyness had to be dismantled brick by brick. Too much closeness too fast would cause her to retreat.
He took the bento box from her hands, the wood still warm from her touch. They walked to a small park nearby, sitting on a bench overlooking a pond filled with bright koi. Evan opened the lid, revealing an arrangement of food that was almost too beautiful to eat.
He picked up a piece of shrimp tempura. Crunch.
The crisp coating shattered perfectly between his teeth, the sweetness of the fresh shrimp and the savory oil blending in a way that made his eyes soften with pure satisfaction.
"Hinata," Evan said, looking at her with total sincerity, "your cooking has improved again. If you keep this up, the restaurants in the commercial district are going to go out of business."
Hinata's shoulders straightened, a quiet, glowing pride shining in her eyes.
"Yes… I practiced with the head chef at home," she replied. "I wanted to make sure the seasoning was exactly how you liked it."
Ever since Evan had jokingly mentioned months ago that he'd love to eat a bento she made herself, Hinata had taken the task with the same seriousness her father applied to the Gentle Fist. Every grain of rice was inspected. Every vegetable was cut to a precise millimeter.
At this point, her culinary skills rivaled professional chefs. The only downside was that Evan knew the ingredients alone—blue-fin tuna, premium rice, and out-of-season greens—probably cost enough to feed Naruto ramen for half a month. But Hinata looked happy, and to Evan, that was worth more than the gold in the Hyuga treasury.
"Are you heading to the training grounds after this?" she asked cautiously, poking her fingers together.
Evan shook his head, leaning back against the bench and watching the clouds. "Not today. My body feels a bit sluggish. You should rest too, Hinata. You've been very diligent with your clan's training lately."
In truth, Evan had reached a temporary bottleneck. His Sage Body had given him explosive early growth, pushing his constitution and chakra reserves far beyond what any four-year-old should possess. But even a god-tier talent followed the laws of diminishing returns. Grinding basic physical exercises endlessly would no longer yield the massive jumps in power he needed.
Instead of forcing progress through brute force, it was time to adjust his strategy. He needed more complex chakra theory and higher-level patients.
Seeing the hopeful, slightly expectant look in Hinata's eyes, Evan made a sudden decision.
"Let's take a walk around the village this afternoon," he said. "No training, no medicine. Just a stroll to see the summer festivals setting up."
Hinata's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "…Really?"
He nodded, standing up and offering her his hand. "Really. Even a 'genius doctor' needs a day off, right?"
As they walked together through the bustling streets, Hinata's small hand hovering near his, Evan felt something unfamiliar but deeply warm settle in his chest. In his previous life, he had been a man of logic and survival. In this life, he had spent every waking second calculating his path to power.
Strength was important. Power was a necessity in a world where gods threw meteors. But as he watched Hinata point excitedly at a colorful wind chime, he realized that protecting moments like this—this simple, quiet peace—was the true reason for becoming strong.