Gekkō Hoshino didn't notice his son's low spirits. He stepped into the kitchen, washed his hands, and began to busy himself. The clatter of pots and pans rang out now and then, and after ten minutes he emerged, carrying a large bowl brimming with rice balls.
"Samukaze, time to eat," Hoshino said warmly as he set the bowl on the table and beckoned his son over for lunch.
Samukaze trudged over, still feeling down—but when his eyes fell on the bowl of misshapen rice balls, his mood plummeted even further.
"Dad… this is… what exactly?"
"Rice balls!"
Hoshino chuckled. "They may not look like much, but I think they'll taste fine."
You think?
Samukaze stared at the lumpy, uneven rice balls—some grotesquely shaped, none with even a sprinkle of sesame—and swallowed down the urge to comment. Instead, he spoke carefully, "Dad, actually… I've always wanted to try soldier pills."
"Samukaze, your old man finally cooks once in a while, you can't just reject my craftsmanship!" Hoshino said sternly. He placed one particularly deformed rice ball—fat on one side, tiny on the other—into Samukaze's hand. "Don't judge by appearance. They're delicious, I promise."
So you do know they're ugly.
Samukaze grimaced and took a cautious bite. Instantly, a wave of salt flooded his mouth.
I trusted you! How much salt did you pack into this thing?
His throat burning, Samukaze rushed off for water.
Hoshino watched him run, his eyes crinkled with affection and a hint of sorrow.
Lunch left Samukaze's heart heavy. Yawning nonstop, he went straight to nap afterward.
Hoshino sighed. Over the past year, he had trained his son rigorously, instilling in him a daily routine of hard work. Yet in just a few short days, Samukaze had already grown slack. Still…
Maybe this is a better path for him. At least it will keep him far away from war.
Lying on his tatami mat, Samukaze stared at the ceiling. Sleep tugged at him, but his mind wouldn't quiet down.
If his guesses were right, his father would be heading to the front lines in just a few days.
And the ninja battlefield was nothing like turn-based combat in games. It wasn't "I strike, then you strike." It was hundreds clashing at once, with jutsu exploding everywhere like showers of sparks. If you were unlucky enough to get caught by a jōnin's technique, you might not even know how you died.
Worse, their enemy was Sunagakure. Puppets, poisons, assassinations—traps impossible to guard against. Just imagining it was despair itself.
But he was far too weak. No matter how unwilling he was, there was nothing he could change.
"No… I have to get stronger. Strong enough to change everything!"
Fired up, Samukaze tried to leap from the tatami in a flashy kip-up—only to flop right back down.
"…Forget it. What's the point of showing off?"
Grunting, he pushed himself up with his hands, sat cross-legged, and began refining chakra.
Unfortunately, thanks to his mediocre aptitude, his chakra refining speed was just a tiny, tiny, tiny bit slower than everyone else's. Within moments, Samukaze gave up with an irritated scowl.
Training is about persistence, not rushing day and night. Chakra doesn't grow massive overnight, so why bother sacrificing a nap?
Besides, rushing didn't fit his philosophy of slow and sneaky growth.
"Forget it. A nap it is. I'm still a kid—if I don't sleep at noon, I won't grow tall."
Yawning, Samukaze collapsed back onto the tatami and drifted off to sleep.
Outside the sliding door, Hoshino listened as the sounds from within faded away. He shook his head in quiet disappointment, then walked off.
That evening, Etsuko returned from her shift at the hospital, her face grave.
Samukaze tried his hardest to play the role of an adorable child, making faces and acting silly to cheer her up, but her expression didn't soften at all.
After dinner, Hoshino and Etsuko left Samukaze at home and went out for a walk.
"When do you depart tomorrow?" Etsuko asked, her head lowered as they walked under the dim streetlamps, strangers hurrying past them.
"Assembly's at five," Hoshino said, gazing up at the night sky. He smiled. "Don't worry. I'll come back alive. Don't forget—I'm a jōnin."
"Even a jōnin can't do much in war," Etsuko murmured, her eyes full of worry. "And Sunagakure's puppet corps, their poisons—they're deadly. You must be careful."
Hoshino was a practitioner of the Konoha Sword Style, a close-combat fighter. That meant, whether he wanted to or not, he'd have to face Sunagakure's puppets head-on. One scratch from a poisoned blade and he'd be finished.
Etsuko, as a medic-nin at Konoha Hospital, had treated more than her share of poisoned shinobi. If you were lucky and the antidote was available, an injection could restore you in half a minute. But if you weren't… all you could do was writhe in agony, waiting for death.
"Relax. Lady Tsunade has already deciphered most of Sunagakure's poisons. And this time, plenty of medical-nin are coming with us—you know that better than I do."
Hoshino smiled. "Besides, I'm not fighting alone. My clan, my comrades in the village—we'll stand shoulder to shoulder. Together, we'll bring victory home!"
Back at home, Samukaze lay sprawled in the backyard grass, hands pillowed under his head, legs crossed, toes tapping lazily at the moon. It was peaceful, almost blissful.
But today, no guests had come by. He hadn't used his Gathering Technique even once. Guilt gnawed at him—like he'd wasted a whole day when he should be getting stronger.
And with his father about to march off to war, that guilt grew heavier.
No. I have to use it. I have to collect from someone, even if it's wasted—it's wrong to let a whole day go by without it!
Determined, Samukaze shot upright, eyes glinting. He dashed to the wall, scrambled up, and started climbing over.
In the neighboring yard, Gekkō Seishi sat with his young son, Gekkō Hayate, quietly admiring the moon. The evening breeze ruffled their hair, making for a picture-perfect scene—until Samukaze's noisy attempt at scaling the wall shattered it completely.
"Big brother! It's big brother, Papa!"
Hayate wriggled out of Seishi's arms, stubby legs carrying him eagerly toward the wall.
"Yo, little bro. Good evening!"
Samukaze tumbled over in a clumsy dog-crawl, straightened his rumpled clothes, and grinned. "Let's practice swordsmanship together!"
"Okay!" Hayate's eyes lit up. He dashed inside to fetch his wooden sword.
"Samukaze, you've eaten, right?" Seishi rose to his feet with a smile.
"Uncle Seishi," Samukaze greeted, embarrassed—he hadn't noticed him in the yard. "Ah… I didn't disturb you, did I?"
"Of course not. Hayate loves training with you." Seishi smiled gently. "And tomorrow, I'll be leaving on a mission with your father. After that, I'll have to trouble you, as his big brother, to look after him."
Tomorrow?
Samukaze's heart skipped a beat. He nodded firmly. "I understand!"
(End of Chapter)