Yuji's POV
The orphanage shrank behind us with every step, swallowed by distance and dust. Haruki walked ahead, steady and silent, while I trailed behind, burdened by the weight of everything I couldn't say. The world beyond the gates felt too vast, too bright. Each sound, each shadow, pressed against me like an unfamiliar language I didn't speak.
Back in my old life, I barely left my apartment. University was a box I stepped into and out of, silent and unnoticed. Groceries were battles. Crowds were traps. I had carved out a life in the corners, surviving by staying invisible.
Now I was here. In this world. This new world. With a stranger who had just adopted me like it was the most natural thing in the world. My chest tightened as I looked around the village—stone walls sun-bleached and cracked, windows shuttered, smoke curling from chimneys. The smell of dry earth mixed with wood smoke and unfamiliar spices. It didn't feel like a fresh start. It felt like being dropped into the middle of someone else's life.
What am I even doing here?
I kept walking, head down, lost in thought—until I slammed straight into Haruki's leg.
I stumbled back, heart pounding. Was that leg made of iron? Panic surged. What if he gets mad? What if he regrets taking me in? What if—
"S-sorry," I mumbled, bracing for anger. "I was just… thinking."
Haruki looked down at me. His eyes, dark and unreadable, softened just a little. "It's fine, Yuji. What were you thinking about?"
I hesitated. Too many thoughts. None of them safe. "Why you adopted me."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked, "What's something you enjoy?"
That threw me. My mouth opened, closed, then finally: "Getting stronger, I guess. It feels… good. Like I'm doing something that matters."
He smiled, slow and rough-edged. "That's the reason. There's a thrill in it, right? The climb. The sweat. Watching yourself become something more. That's why I chose you. Raising someone strong—it's the closest thing to legacy I've got left."
I didn't know what to say to that. The words felt too big, too heavy. So I just nodded. "I… understand."
He clapped a hand on my shoulder—solid, jarring. I almost fell over. "Good. Now let's get you something that fits. You look like a scarecrow."
He turned and walked toward a nearby shop. I had to jog to keep up.
Inside, the scent of fresh cotton and dye filled the air. The clothes were plain—tough, practical—but somehow they still felt new, and that mattered. Back home, buying something was an event. A rare moment of normalcy. Of control. I'd memorize routes to avoid crowds, rehearse conversations in my head, and still leave the store drenched in sweat.
Now, standing here, in a place that didn't belong to me, picking out clothes in silence—it felt like winning a quiet, invisible war.
By the time we reached Haruki's house, the sky was turning gold.
It sat on the southern edge of the village, where the land began to stretch and breathe. Fences sagged, trees leaned, and cicadas hummed lazily. The house itself was plain—dark wood, slanted roof, a garden of weeds and weathered training posts. A pond shimmered nearby, catching the last of the light.
It wasn't much.
It was perfect.
Inside, the house was as minimal as its owner. A low table in a bare room. No decorations, no clutter. Just space. Haruki led me upstairs to a small room and gestured inside.
"This is yours," he said. "Keep it clean. I'll check. Leave your things. Come back down."
I set the folded clothes on the bed. The room was empty, but not in a bad way—dark green walls, a creaky bed, two windows that let in just enough light to make the shadows feel like company. It was more than I'd had in years.
When I came back down, Haruki was already sitting at the table, sipping tea like he'd always been there. I sat across from him, careful, tense.
"You can call me Uncle," he said. "If that's easier."
"…Okay. Uncle."
He studied me for a moment. "Anything I should know about you?"
I hesitated, then said it all at once before I could stop myself. "I don't do well around people. I like being alone. Crowds make me… shut down. And I talk to myself. A lot. Just… habits."
He didn't even blink. "Got it."
"I, um… sorry if that's weird."
"You think I adopted you because you're normal?" he said, grinning around his teacup. "Kid, I don't need normal. I need someone who wants to be more than they are. That's you."
He leaned back, voice quieter now. "I'm Haruki Sakamoto. Retired jōnin. No family, no obligations. Just me, and now you. Training starts tomorrow. Four a.m."
I froze. "Four?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"…Got it."
We made dinner together—well, I chopped vegetables while he criticized my grip on the knife. Apparently, learning to cook was part of training. "You can't fight on an empty stomach," he said. "And I'm too old to do everything."
I wasn't sure if I was being trained or recruited as live-in help. Probably both.
Afterward, I returned to my room. Hung the clothes. Sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the walls for a while.
It was quiet.
It was mine.
Tomorrow, everything would begin. Four a.m. Training. Routine. A new path. The thought made something flicker inside me—small, but stubborn. Not fear. Not dread.
Hope.
What will tomorrow bring?