Chapter 69: Returning from the First Day of Work
The Second, Third, and Fourth Shinobi World Wars—it's as if this world never tires of creating bloodshed.
And behind all of that, the true threat: the Ōtsutsuki Clan. Beings from beyond this world, entities that sow the seeds of death on every planet they tread.
Souta gritted his teeth. Right now, Souta is nobody. But in the future, Souta will become something, a figure of strength.
That's why Souta chose to work at the Puppet Arts Performance Theater. A place where Kugutsu users—puppet masters—practice and showcase their art.
Where Souta not only cleans the floors, but also pays attention. The movements of their hands, the flow of the controlling Chakra threads, how they manage balance and momentum. Where Souta believes that in silence, he can steal knowledge.
Finally, Souta arrived at the apartment building—a two-story structure made of solid sand and desert stone. Its walls were rough yet sturdy, with a stone staircase beside it. The atmosphere was calm. Only the sounds of night insects and Souta's own footsteps could be heard.
Souta then climbed the stairs. A small oil lamp on the wall cast a golden light. When Souta reached the second floor, he walked past the adjacent room—Pakura's.
Just as Souta reached for the doorknob, a creaking sound was heard. Pakura's room door opened, and the girl appeared, her hair half-tied, still wearing simple but clean daily clothes.
"Are you home?" Pakura asked lightly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at Souta's tired yet satisfied face.
"Yeah." Souta nodded. "Oh, by the way, did you get accepted too?"
Pakura leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "I passed. The test was pretty simple. By the way, the salary is 4000 Ryo a month, right? But they said it could increase if we do a good job?"
Souta scratched the back of his head, his face showing doubt. "I know about the 4000 Ryo, but I haven't heard anything about a salary increase."
Pakura nodded slowly, her eyes then observing Souta's face for a moment as if assessing whether he was being honest or hiding something. Then Pakura smiled faintly. "Alright. Thank you for answering. I hope we can be good coworkers. I look forward to your help, Souta."
Pakura bowed slightly, her movement appearing polite yet sincere.
Souta quickly responded. "Ah—yeah. I look forward to your help too, Pakura."
"Then I'll go in first," Pakura said, nodding and returning to her room, the door closing gently behind her.
Souta stared at the door for a moment, then took a deep breath and opened his own room door. The air inside was cold and quiet, contrasting with the bustle he had just left. Souta dropped himself onto his hard bed, staring at the ceiling.
The first day of work as a cleaner was finally over. But Souta's journey had just begun.
...
...
...
In a cramped room in the corner of Sunagakure village—a village built from sand compacted by generations of ninjutsu—the morning sun slowly crept through the gaps of the worn thin curtains.
The curtains swayed lightly in the desert wind, scattering fine dust particles that floated in the air like specks of gold. The air inside the room was still cool, carrying the remnants of the night that had not fully departed, while the sunlight began to reflect a golden hue on the rough sand walls.
A boy lay on a thin mattress supported only by some solid sand. The blanket covering the boy was worn, its edges frayed, and its color faded from frequent washing under the scorching sun.
The boy stirred slowly, his face slightly wrinkling as the sunlight touched his closed eyelids.
...
Chapter 70: Getting Ready to Start Working
The dry morning air tickled the boy's nose, causing him to sneeze lightly.
Then the boy slowly opened both of his eyes. His vision was still blurry for a few seconds before finally focusing on the sandy ceiling above him.
Where the boy took a deep breath, the distinctive aroma of dust, sweat, and a hint of metal from the old nails in the wall filled his lungs.
The boy was Souta.
Yesterday was Souta's first day working at the Puppet Arts Performance Theater, an ancient building with sandy pillars adorned with desert puppet ornaments, standing majestically near the Ninja Academy.
Souta worked as a cleaner—a job that may seem small, but in a village like Sunagakure, it was a luxury. A stable income, even if it was just pocket change.
Today, Souta would return to work. But this time, there was something new. Pakura, a sharp-eyed little girl, would be joining Souta.
Yesterday, Pakura passed the selection and was accepted to work at the same place. Like Souta, she would also sweep the dusty floors and clean the old performance puppets that smelled of wood from the past.
Souta slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his still-sleepy face, then looked out the small window that had no glass—just wooden slats as a barrier.
The dry desert wind entered uninvited, bringing with it distant sounds from the market that was coming to life. The creaking of cart wheels, hurried footsteps, and faint shouts of vegetable vendors calling out to customers.
Souta got up. His feet touched the cold floor. A few grains of sand stuck to the soles of his feet. He walked out of the room, passing through the narrow, suffocating walls. The living space was no more than a corridor with a table and two mismatched wooden chairs. To the right, there was a bathroom and a kitchen.
Souta stopped in front of the bathroom door. Holding the doorknob, he glanced to the left. The kitchen—if it could be called a kitchen—consisted only of a rickety wooden shelf and a single clay stove. There were no storage cabinets. No decent cooking utensils. Just a dented pot and a rusty iron spoon.
Souta looked at the kitchen with a blank stare. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, not a happy smile, but a bitter one—a wry twist of the lips.
All this time, the kitchen had hardly been touched. Not because Souta didn't know how to cook—he was used to eating out in his previous life. Home was just a place to return to, not a place to live.
Even when he thought about buying groceries, that intention faded because there was no refrigerator, no proper storage space. As a result, the kitchen remained quiet, like a forgotten corner of the house.
But now, with Souta's new job, a small hope began to grow. Maybe in two years, or three years if Souta was frugal, he could save enough to buy a metal storage cabinet that could keep food from spoiling quickly. Maybe he could even buy rice in bulk, not in small packages that were gone in a day.
That thought made Souta sigh—softly, yet deeply. He lowered his head for a moment, rubbed his face once more, then entered the bathroom.
The water in the clay bucket was still cold. Souta quickly poured water over himself. The sound of water splashing broke the silence, and its droplets echoed in the cramped space. Souta shivered a little, but he was used to it. The half-used bar of soap was still kept in a small rusty can.
A few minutes later, Souta emerged from the bathroom with his hair still dripping wet, and a worn towel wrapped around his waist.
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