There was no answer that would satisfy the vice commander, even if Genma lied outright. He could claim he’d exhausted every avenue, that he’d attempted the type of complex jutsu that a surgeon might have used. But a lie like that would never bear scrutiny — he was a Field Medic Grade Three; his scope of practice was clear, and his medical jutsu knowledge tested and certified by Nakamura-sensei, the medical supervisor for all of Konoha’s field medics.

Raidou and Ryouma had been there; he wouldn’t put them in the position of having to support a fiction.

And Fukuda deserved the truth.

“Then I gave her an additional dose of morphine, and told her that her injury was too severe for me to repair.” He swallowed, throat tight. “I told her I would make sure she wasn’t in pain, but I couldn’t save her.”

Kuroda pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing like he had a migraine. “You useless incompetent,” he muttered. He snapped his head up. “What then?”

The ship rocked hard. Genma staggered a step, caught a precarious balance, and anchored himself hard to the creaking deck with a flash of unfocused, uncontrolled chakra. Raidou and Kurenai both grabbed handholds behind him.

Kuroda barely moved. His scowl intensified.

Genma gritted his teeth against the rising urge to vomit. “She asked me to end it quickly. She said her goodbyes to her sister. I performed the hissatsu maneuver. She died.”

For the first time, Kuroda looked surprised. And then furious. His features contorted in a menacing glower. His jaws ground. Killing intent roiled from him as his breath huffed between clenched teeth. When he finally spoke, his voice abraded the air. “Shiranui, are you telling me that not only did you fail to save her, you actually killed her?”

Genma looked down. “Yes.”

“And you think that was the right decision?”

Yes. No. “I—” Was it the right decision? What was the right answer? Of course? She was dying anyway? No, I should have saved her? He couldn’t have saved her. No field medic could have saved her. Could they?

Genma’s vision tunneled down, until all he could see was the slim patch of flooring at Kuroda’s feet. He heard himself answer, “I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t,” Kuroda said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. “Get out of my sight, Shiranui.”

Genma saluted. He turned. Raidou said something angry, but he couldn’t hear it clearly. When the ship heaved under him, he slammed against the cabin door, fumbling at the latch. It swung open abruptly, and he stumbled onto the dark deck, eyes still dazzled from the cabin lights. Two figures moved towards him. “Lieutenant—”

He shoved past them both, reaching the ship’s rail just in time. Icy rain sheeted over him. He felt Ryouma’s hand on his shoulder, and shrugged it sharply off. When he’d finally finished vomiting, he pushed back from the rail. “Go— Go see about Thirteen,” he said thickly. He didn’t wait to see if Ryouma obeyed. He just needed to find a place to lie down, somewhere quiet and alone, to put himself back together for a few minutes. Maybe the cargo hold. He knew it was reckless, but he needed to get away from his team and their questions and accusations. Just for a little while. He wasted the chakra, and translocated.