Medical Ninjutsu—an exclusive technique used by medical-nin.

  Takagi Naohito had some vague memories about it. He knew it existed, but couldn’t clearly recall how it worked—how the healing process functioned, how chakra was applied, or how effective it truly was.

  So, he chose the simplest way to find out.

  With a steady hand, he carefully drew a shallow cut across the back of his left hand using a surgical scalpel, avoiding all major blood vessels and only slicing a few capilries.

  A thin trickle of blood oozed out. He hurriedly activated the medical ninjutsu on the wound—any slower and it would’ve started healing on its own.

  “…It’s itchy.”

  To his surprise, the technique felt oddly scientific.

  “So it stimutes cell growth to accelerate regeneration? I thought it’d be more like healing magic.”

  Looking at it from that angle, the technique wasn’t all that impressive. Back in his previous life, nanobot treatments from decades ago could do the same job—not as fast, maybe, but with fewer side effects and more biocompatibility.

  Even medical ninjutsu, if used too frequently, could shorten a patient's lifespan.

  Come to think of it, this world’s medical tech was ughably primitive—like it was stuck in the 19th century.

  “This won’t do.”

  Compared to the advanced tech in his past life, which could revive someone whose heart had stopped for over three minutes, Konoha’s so-called medical techniques were downright crude. No wonder ninja mortality rates were so high.

  “There’s not even a basic emergency response system—no coagunt sprays, no sterile medical bandages. Forget about professional med pods, organ transpnts, or consciousness transfer surgeries. Do people here just not get sick?”

  Takagi Naohito shook his head. “If this is the limit of medical ninjutsu, then it’s nowhere near enough.”

  A doctor, in his mind, was someone who saved lives with selfless resolve. And yet, he now found himself hesitating—should he even help Konoha?

  Setting aside the high-tech stuff, just introducing coagunt sprays and sterile bandages would significantly reduce bleeding from non-arterial wounds. The bandages alone would prevent infection, infmmation, and fever—symptoms that could severely weaken a shinobi’s combat effectiveness.

  Takagi wasn’t sure how strong the high-ranking ninja really were, but surely they bled, right? If they didn’t bleed, didn’t get injured, or didn’t die… then what was the point of having medical-nin?

  “…Yeah, I guess I still can’t just stand by and watch people die.”

  He made up his mind to reproduce a few items from memory—thankfully, he was intimately familiar with the tech.

  After all, he'd helped design a lot of it.

  Oh, right—forgot to mention. In his past life, Takagi Naohito had already lived for XXX years.

  ——————————————

  Easier said than done. When he actually arrived at the pharmacy window to start, he realized a problem.

  “Doctor Takagi, what herbs are you trying to get?” the nurse behind the counter asked. “You’ve been standing here thinking for ten minutes.”

  “Just a sec, almost done.”

  In his mind, Takagi was cross-referencing herbs used in his past life’s coagunt spray with the medicinal pnts avaible in Konoha. One by one, he compared properties and appearances, selecting the ones that matched perfectly in both.

  “I need eyebright, thyme, selfheal, chamomile, and…”

  He rattled off a list of over a dozen herbs, leaving the nurse wide-eyed.

  “Doctor Takagi… these herbs aren’t for treating a disease, are they?”

  “Just a combination I thought of. Might be effective for stopping bleeding,” he said ftly. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well…” The nurse looked extremely uncomfortable. “A few of these herbs are known to be toxic. We’re required to report it.”

  Normally, herbs were dispensed based on prescribed formus. A reasonable blend usually meant no issues. But Takagi’s request was all over the pce, and that left the nurse in an awkward spot.

  “Then report it,” he said without hesitation. He understood her position. After all, the same herb that healed could also kill. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “If anyone dies because of these herbs, they can come find me.”

  He had a clear conscience and no reason to retreat.

  “…Alright, I’ll log it and report it.”

  Soon, the nurse had finished preparing the herbs. Everything was weighed, packed, and handed over.

  “Thanks.”

  Takagi paid, took the bag, and left. He needed to run tests—back home, with proper b equipment. A professional workbench, test tubes, fsks… he couldn’t extract the active ingredients without those.

  He also needed live test subjects. Medicine that hadn’t undergone clinical trials wasn’t real medicine—and it definitely wasn’t fit for human use.

  ——————————————

  Saturday night, July 21.

  Today marks the first day of my transmigration.

  Konoha’s a surprisingly likable pce. While wandering around, I ended up at the hospital.

  Honestly, the clinic I got my childhood vaccinations in was bigger and better equipped than this one. But I won’t deny it—the hospital here was full of heart. Every doctor I saw worked with incredible focus and sincerity.

  With that kind of spirit, I can’t afford to sck off. I’ve got to show these youngsters the perseverance of the older generation!

  Being a ninja is a dangerous job. Missions often come with life-or-death stakes. And medical-nin, due to their low combat ability, stay in the vilge. They rarely reach injured ninja in time. By the time someone carries the wounded back, it’s often too te.

  Which is why I believe: emergency field treatment is absolutely necessary.

  Tonight, I’ll begin trials for a coagunt spray and medical bandages. I pn to finish within three days. Now that I’ve familiarized myself with Konoha’s herbs, it shouldn’t be difficult. The hospital’s b mice will serve as test subjects for now.

  If I can complete this medicine, I believe it’ll be a game-changer. Even if a ninja’s alone in the field, without a medical-nin nearby, they’ll be able to treat their own wounds in time to survive long enough for better care. Especially those operating solo, with no chance to forage herbs.

  War is merciless, no matter the world. So I’ll do everything I can. I just hope it goes smoothly.

  Watching a patient’s life slip away in front of you, knowing there’s nothing you can do… that’s every doctor’s worst nightmare.

  And I don’t ever want to see that happen again.