---Third POV---
Just like countless promises broken by the endless war, Ken's final words to his son would remain unfulfilled.
He had lived and died beneath the dark clouds of conflict, never getting the chance to return ho.
He was unable to protect his wife, unable to resolve misunderstandings with her, and even missed celebrating his son's last birthday with him.
Thus, this man's life ended full of regrets.
---Ryouma's POV---
I lowered my head as I sorted through Father's final belongings, which were delivered by the ANBU. Their masked faces betrayed no emotion as they perford this grim duty, but their movents were gentle.
Strange how death ca wrapped in such formality...
They were just a few personal items, as his body would be handled by the ANBU and buried in the Konoha Cetery after the funeral. Before this, the family could visit the warti recovery unit to see their loved ones one last ti. The thought of seeing him there made my chest tighten.
Among the belongings, one rectangular gift box stood out, distinctly different from the war-worn and weathered items around it. Its condition was almost jarring among his other possessions.
It was clear this was a birthday gift he had prepared in advance for .
After a mont of hesitation, my fingers trembling slightly, I decided to untie the ribbon and open the box.
How long did you spend choosing this?
Although I had guessed what it might be based on the exterior, the contents still surprised , leaving montarily speechless.
Previously, I had casually ntioned to Father an idea for a Lightning Release jutsu. I had speculated that if a weapon were made from chakra-conducting tal, it might be possible to perform a jutsu without hand seals.
It was just idle talk, an attempt to create a conversation topic between us, just one of many attempts to bridge the gap between father and son.
Unexpectedly, he had taken it seriously. Inside the box was a sword, sheathed and spotless, its great craftsmanship visible even at first glance.
I unsheathed the blade. It was a straight sword, about 30 inches long—on the longer side for a short sword.
The blade glead with a cold, white light, and when swung, it gave the illusion of slicing through the darkness of the night.
Father, how much did you sacrifice for this?
Considering he was an elite jonin, one of the highest earners in Konoha and even the shinobi world, a weapon forged entirely from chakra-conducting tal would still have been beyond his ans.
I recalled that only Kage-level figures or Sarutobi Asuma in the future had used such high-grade ninja tools in Konoha. The rarity of such a weapon made it even more precious.
Could this be a battlefield trophy of Father's? I thought.
As I examined the sword more closely, I noticed a tag tied to its hilt.
"Happy Birthday - Gift from Uchiha Homura and Dad."
The na Homura rang a bell for . He had been one of Father's teammates and had always sent gifts on my birthdays.
With this connection, everything made sense.
The Uchiha clan had a close relationship with the ninneko, who controlled much of the crafting and trading of high-grade ninja tools in the shinobi world.
Given this relationship, the origins of the sword were now clear. However, it also hinted at a deeper bond between Homura and my father. I found myself wondering about the stories behind their friendship that I'd never heard.
But none of that mattered anymore.
I sheathed the sword, placed it back into the gift box, carefully re-tied the ribbon, and resolved to open it again on my birthday.
I held the box, my fingers tracing over its edges. For a second there, it felt like Father was still here sohow, as if so part of him remained in the things he'd left behind.
As I packed up his belongings, my mind beca cluttered with scattered thoughts, blocking my focus. Each item seed to carry a mory, a mont I hadn't appreciated enough at the ti.
I lay down on the living room floor, pondering whether I truly saw him as my father and was grieving because of that.
The ceiling above seed to spin with my thoughts.
Or was it just his death that reminded of my family from my previous life, stirring my sorrow? The lines between past and present began to blur.
To be honest, when I first received news of his death, I hadn't been overco with grief to the point of breathlessness. That fact alone brought its own kind of guilt.
Why wasn't I crying?
Shouldn't a child be crying right now?
Although I had intended to embrace my new life with a fresh perspective, the reality was that Father and I hadn't spent much ti together.
After Mother's death, he had thrown himself into battles, venting his pent-up guilt and hatred on the battlefield. This phase lasted until I turned three years old, after which things began to improve. But those early years had left their mark on our relationship.
As a result, we barely got to spend much ti together. And most of our conversations were initiated by , as he was a man of few words.
But was that truly the case?
Looking back, perhaps I hadn't tried hard enough to understand his way of showing care. I couldn't shake the feeling that sothing was stirring within , taking root and beginning to grow. A deeper understanding of who he had been, perhaps.
---
A knock on the door woke .
I had unknowingly fallen asleep on the living room floor the night before, and I was grateful for the visitor. Otherwise, lying there all night—despite my young and healthy body in this life—I would likely have fallen ill.
I stood up, swaying slightly, and went to open the door.
Outside stood Misaki's daughter, Rin.
I imdiately recognized her from my mories. In this reality, however, we had t at the care center. Her hands were gripping a lunchbox too tightly, and I could see the concern in her eyes.
Misaki must have told her.
Rin's mother initially started helping at the care center for one main reason: she wanted to find Rin so playmates.
"Good morning, Ryouma. You probably haven't had breakfast yet, right? My mom made so tamagoyaki before heading to work. It's a bit lonely eating by myself... Do you want to eat with ? Is that okay?" Rin spoke cautiously, her gaze slightly evasive as she looked at .
She was trying so hard to act normal... just like I would have in my past life.
But I could tell this was a lie.
The real reason must have been because she had heard from her mother about Father's passing.
Although I considered myself emotionally stable, it would be impolite to keep her standing at the door. So, I invited her in.
"Now that you ntion it, I haven't eaten yet. I guess I overslept. Thank you, Rin, you're a lifesaver. Co on in." I stepped aside, glancing at the ssy house. "The house is a bit ssy... I haven't had ti to..."
"Don't worry about that!" Rin quickly interrupted, stepping inside. "Let's just eat while it's warm."
She carried the lunchbox into my ho.
I was indeed starving and began devouring the perfectly cooked tamagoyaki. "Misaki-san really outdid herself with this tamagoyaki," I said between bites. Her tamagoyaki was truly exceptional—not only was the balance of egg and milk impeccable, but the presentation was also exquisite.
When poked lightly with chopsticks, the tamagoyaki jiggled like pudding, showcasing its incredible texture and elasticity.
"Mom made it specially..." Rin started, then hesitated. "She said you might need..."
"Need what? A friend?" I smiled gently at her awkwardness.
I noticed that she wasn't eating from the corner of my eye. Instead, she rested her chin in her hands, staring at absentmindedly.
What's going on? Is she shocked by how I eat? Strange… wasn't I eating like this back at the care center too?
In the Land of Fire, devouring soone else's cooking enthusiastically was the ultimate complint to the cook.
At the care center, whenever I ate like this, Misaki would smile brightly and even jokingly say: "Oh, Ryouma-chan, if only you were my daughter! Then I could watch you eat like this every day at ho."
As for why she said "daughter," well, I'd rather not dwell on that.
Seeing Rin lost in thought, I lightly cleared my throat and reminded her, "Tamagoyaki gets tougher once it cools. Didn't you teach that, Rin?"
"Ah! Sorry, sorry!" Rin snapped back to reality and began eating the tamagoyaki in front of her.
I could tell she hadn't heard a word of what I had just said. But she was too embarrassed to ask to say it all over again. Instead, she focused on eating to cover her awkwardness.
This was sothing I had once taught her: When you feel awkward, find sothing to do. It'll make you seem busy.
I sighed internally. What are you, an eighty-year-old granny giving life advice?
Despite the minor interruptions, my mood had significantly improved. After all, life had to move forward.
Deep down, I reminded myself, I'm an adult at heart. I can't act like a child, stuck in place. Pull yourself together, Ryouma. If life gives you a second chance, make it count and show what you're really made of.
With that resolve, I reached out with my chopsticks, stealing a piece of tamagoyaki from Rin's plate and stuffing it into my mouth.
"Hey! That was mine!" she exclaid, finally showing so real emotion.
Hearing her soft gasp of surprise, I chewed and mumbled through my mouthful, "Consider it paynt for cleaning services. Rin-okaasan, could you help clean up the house? I've been cursed with a condition—if I do too much housework, I'll die."
This ti, she understood perfectly. Initially puffing her cheeks like an angry pufferfish at my act, she quickly deflated like a balloon upon hearing my request.
"Fine, but Ryouma, you'd better stop teasing . Also, what kind of disease is that? It's so obviously made up!"
"That might be difficult, but I'll try," I replied with an innocent look.
"Ugh!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)