Five days had passed since Hinata opened her eyes, and though her chakra remained inert, something else had begun to bloom.
In the hospital courtyard, under a gentle morning light, Hinata took slow, uneven steps. Her legs trembled, her body weak—but her spirit was steady. Each footfall was an act of will. Beside her walked Kuro, tail wagging softly, her body close enough to lend warmth and balance.
The garden stones were uneven, but Hinata didn't stumble. Her perception of the world had changed. Though blind, she felt everything: the shift in the breeze, the pulse of the earth, the soft breath of her companion. Her spiritual senses, once dormant, now painted a world unseen.
From the shade of a nearby maple tree, Takama watched silently. The samurai did not interfere—he had learned, from Michel and from time, that some things must be earned by the spirit, not given by the hand.
Inside the Silver World, Hinata's training was tireless. Michel, patient as ever, guided her through meditative forms that aligned her soul with the remnants of her body. Simple things—raising a hand, flexing a toe—became victories celebrated with quiet grace. These movements didn't directly move her physical body, but they taught her how to project intention, how to weave spirit into muscle. The lessons flowed inward, deepening the bridge between her awakened soul and the dormant shell that waited patiently.
One afternoon, Naruto burst into her hospital room, his voice loud and full of chaotic joy.
"Hinata! You wouldn't believe what I've learned! I've got a new sensei—he's kind of a pervert, but he taught me this awesome jutsu! I can summon giant toads now! Real ones! Huge!"
Hinata smiled, tilting her head toward his voice. "Giant toads... that's amazing."
"Right?! I'm gonna smash Neji in the finals—you'll see! You'll be there, right? Watching me?"
She hesitated. Her hands rested on the bed, pale but firm. "I'll try. I want to."
Naruto grinned wide, scratching the back of his head. "Well, I'll wave real big so you don't miss it."
When he left, the room felt quieter but warmer. Kuro nudged Hinata's arm with her snout, and Hinata stroked her fur gently. "I'll be there," she whispered. "Somehow."
<<<< o >>>>
The days passed. Hinata's steps became surer. Her speech, once halted and breathy, grew stronger. Kuro assisted not just with movement, but in her own mysterious way, brought comfort: fetching books from across the room, alerting the nurses with quiet whines when Hinata stirred at night.
Team 8 visited often. Kiba was loud and overdramatic, insisting that she needed "a full recovery so he could properly lose to her in a spar." Shino brought her a preserved beetle in a glass pendant—a symbol of endurance. Kurenai, ever present, simply listened when Hinata had the strength to speak, letting silence be a healing balm.
Even Ino passed by with a bouquet of lilacs. "They reminded me of you. Beautiful but tough," she said, before dashing away in embarrassment.
In the Silver World, Hinata knelt before Michel.
"I think... I'm ready to try standing."
"Then you must," the Michel said with calm certainty.
Her spiritual form rose—shaky, imperfect, but upright. It was not magic. It was a signal—her soul whispering to the body that it was time to reconnect, to move. A mirror of her body's journey, slower but now aligned in purpose.
In the real world, Takama watched as Hinata shuffled slowly from her bed to the open window, Kuro beside her. The light touched her face as she leaned into it, unseeing—but smiling.
Outside, the cherry trees had begun to bloom.
The war was not over.
But spring had come.