Age Sixteen (continued)
My father died three weeks later.
I was at his bedside when it happened. Tsunade was there too, her hands glowing green, trying to keep him alive. Kushina sat in the corner, her face pale, her eyes red.
"It's time," my father said. His voice was weak, barely a whisper.
"No," I said. "Fight. You've always fought."
"I've fought enough." He turned his blind eyes toward me. "Ren. Come closer."
I knelt beside his bed.
"The Eternal Mangekyo," he said. "Take my eyes. Let Tsunade perform the surgery."
"Father—"
"It's the only way you'll survive. The Mangekyo is killing you. Every time you use it, you lose more of yourself. But with my eyes, you'll have the Eternal Mangekyo. No more blindness. No more degradation. You'll be stronger than ever."
"I don't want your eyes. I want you."
"You can't have me. I'm already gone." He reached up and touched my face. His hand was cold. "But you can have my legacy. My power. My love."
"Father..."
"Promise me, Ren. Promise me you'll take my eyes. Promise me you'll use them to protect Kushina. To protect Konoha. To protect the people you love."
I looked at Kushina. She was crying silently, her hands over her mouth.
"I promise," I said.
My father smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had seen from him since my mother died.
"Good boy," he said.
And then he was gone.
---
The surgery took twelve hours.
Tsunade performed it in a sealed operating room, with only a handful of assistants. I was awake for part of it—the Uzumaki vitality made anesthesia difficult. I felt everything. The cold metal. The pressure of her chakra. The moment my father's eyes touched my optic nerves, and the world screamed.
But then—silence.
And light.
When the bandages came off, I saw Tsunade's face for the first time in weeks.
She had changed. The war had carved lines into her features, shadows under her eyes. But she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"Well?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Can you see?"
I looked at my reflection in the scalpel on the tray.
My eyes were different. The Mangekyo pattern had changed—the spiral and the shuriken had merged into something new. A pinwheel of golden and black, with tomoe that spun in opposite directions. The Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.
"I can see," I said. "Everything."
I looked at Tsunade. In my new eyes, I could see her threads—but differently now. The consequences were clearer, more malleable. The cost of rewriting had diminished.
But more importantly, I could see her. Not just the surface. The exhaustion. The grief. The love she was too afraid to name.
"I can see that you haven't slept in three days," I said.
"I had a surgery to perform."
"I can see that you're scared."
"I'm a medic-nin. I'm always scared."
I reached up and touched her face. She leaned into my palm.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me. Thank your father. He gave you his eyes."
"He gave me a chance. You gave me the skill to use it."
I sat up. The room spun, then steadied.
"The bomb," I said. "The next full moon is in four days. We need to stop it."
"You just had eye surgery."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're hopped up on painkillers."
"I'm fine enough."
She sighed. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."