The smoke on the horizon was the first sign that everything had changed. I could smell it before I saw it — ash, scorched wood, the coppery tang of blood lingering in the air. My legs trembled, my lungs felt tight, but I forced myself forward. The others followed silently behind me, their steps uneven, hesitant. No one looked to anyone else. No one depended on anyone. Each of us survived in our own panic.
And then I saw it.
The Tarisima compound, once alive with the chatter of merchants and the hum of looms, lay in ruins. Black smoke climbed into the sky, curling like the fingers of some giant hand trying to snuff out the sun. Burnt banners flapped in the wind, partially shredded, half-buried in ash. The smell of fire, death, and loss filled my nostrils, twisting my stomach. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted to fall to my knees and cry until there was nothing left of me.
But then it happened.
In that single heartbeat — a moment stretched impossibly long — memories of another life hit me like a tidal wave.
Fluorescent lights buzzing above white walls. Rain splashing on asphalt. The smell of coffee, the hum of refrigerators, the soft warmth of a bed. Faces I had loved, streets I had walked, the mundane safety of a life I once knew. For me, it felt like years passed in that instant. I remembered it all — every quiet morning, every sound of a civilization that ran smoothly and safely, a world utterly unlike this one.
"I… I remember…" I whispered, but the words barely left my lips.
The others glanced at me, but no one spoke. No one looked to me for leadership. Everyone was too busy surviving themselves. And for a moment, I envied them — their singular focus on fear and survival, untainted by memories of a peaceful world I had lost.
I took a shuddering breath and forced my gaze back to the ruins. Bodies lay scattered, twisted among the ashes of looms and shattered beams. My father's banners, blackened and torn, bore the emblem of our clan like a ghost of what had been. I felt my chest tighten, a weight I could not lift. But deeper, beneath the panic and grief, a small voice spoke: survive. That was all that mattered.
I moved forward, slow, careful. My fingers brushed over the edge of a charred beam, over the blackened tatami. And then I saw it — a section of the main storehouse, surprisingly intact. Dustless. Preserved. A subtle raised floor, as if someone had hidden something there. My father. He had always been meticulous, always preparing for disaster, even in a clan devoted to trade and silks.
I knelt. I traced the sealing lines with trembling fingers. Careless, and the contents could be lost forever. But the seal was cracked, not destroyed. With deliberate care, I opened it.
Inside, neatly stacked, untouched by fire: coins, ledgers, a few unburnt bolts of silk. 1.5 million ryō. Enough to give the clan's name a chance to survive. I exhaled slowly. For a moment, there was a fragile glimmer of order amidst chaos.
But the world outside reminded me why I couldn't linger. Smoke still curled higher, and there were dangers I could not even name: bandits, enemies, wandering assassins. The ruins were no longer ours. I needed to move.
I turned to my companions. They waited silently, exhausted, no one looking to me for instruction. I realized then that I was not responsible for them, and they were not responsible for me. Survival was individual.
I swallowed and suggested quietly:
> "We leave. Now. Somewhere safe. An inn… the nearest town. Rest first."
No objections. Everyone simply nodded, too exhausted, too frightened to argue.
The journey was tense, silent. Each step measured. Every footprint covered. We moved through the darkened countryside cautiously, the shadows lengthening around us. My body ached, my lungs burned, my mind spun with grief, panic, and the alien comfort of memories from a life I had lost.
Hours passed. The town came into view — modest streets, the smell of cooking, smoke, and sweat. The inn was small but clean enough. We rented rooms and collapsed on the tatami. Every muscle screamed, every thought wobbled on the edge of consciousness.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning. Naruto's world. Black Zetsu. Madara. Hashirama. Obito. Tail beasts. Maybe even the Six Paths Sage. And me. A boy with no powers, no cheats, no golden finger. Just a mind from another century trapped in this war-torn land.
Exhaustion weighed down my panic, but my mind could not stay silent. Desperation forced words, barely a whisper:
> "System… Grandpa… Golden Finger… Dad… anybody…"
Silence. Nothing answered. Only my ragged breathing and the distant creak of the inn.
I exhaled slowly. For tonight, survival was enough. The fire behind us was gone. The ruins no longer claimed us. The world outside was dangerous, but for these few hours, I was safe. My muscles slackened. My heartbeat slowed.
I closed my eyes and let the shadows of lantern light dance across the walls. Tomorrow could wait. Tonight, I survived. And for now, that was enough.The tatami beneath me felt impossibly hard, yet somehow comforting. My body wanted nothing more than to sink into it and sleep for days, but my mind refused. It spun in a whirlwind of disbelief, fear, and the alien familiarity of another life — a life from a world that had no fire, no blood, no constant threat of annihilation.
I traced the outline of the room with my eyes. Lanterns swayed gently, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls. Each movement, each shadow, seemed alive, a subtle reminder that this world was not forgiving. Not a single thing here was static. Death lurked in the distance. In the darkness beyond these walls, enemies moved, beasts stirred, and legends walked in human form. And here I was — thirteen, alone in everything but body, no powers, no cheats, no system interface to save me.
I shivered and muttered under my breath:
> "System… Grandpa… Golden Finger… Dad… anybody… help me."
The words felt ridiculous even as they left me. Nothing answered. No voice, no light, no guidance. Just silence. My own pulse throbbed in my ears, matching the irregular rhythm of my panicked thoughts.
I tried to reason with myself. Makoto… survive. That's all. Nothing else matters tonight.
But reasoning was useless. My mind darted through possibilities I had no tools to influence. Black Zetsu, Madara, Hashirama, Obito… tail beasts… maybe the Six Paths Sage — maybe not. Which of them would appear first? Who was alive now? Who hadn't been born yet? Could I even survive if they noticed me?
I rolled onto my side, trying to let the exhaustion take over, but the questions wouldn't stop. My chest tightened as I imagined them descending on this small town, my body helpless, trapped in a world I had no control over.
And then the memories of the other life returned again — not just flickers, but a flood. Streetlights at night, the hum of a refrigerator, the smell of rain on asphalt. Ordinary meals. Ordinary mornings. Ordinary warmth. I could almost feel the contrast like a physical ache: a world of peace I had once known, now impossible in a land of ash and blood.
I buried my face in my arms. Just survive, Makoto. Forget revenge. Forget the clan for now. Forget the blood and fire. Just survive.
I allowed myself to recall the vault. The coins, the ledgers, the bolts of silk. At least that was still there, untouched. Perhaps a small thread of continuity — a promise that even if everything else was gone, something tangible survived. Perhaps someday, if I lived, I could rebuild. But that was not tonight. Tonight, I had to let the exhaustion swallow me, fully, completely.
Hours passed. Minutes, or maybe seconds — I had lost all sense of time. Shadows moved across the ceiling like living creatures. Every faint creak of the inn, every whisper of wind outside, made me flinch. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my mind spinning between the surreal familiarity of my old life and the brutal reality of this one.
Sleep finally claimed me in brief, fragmented bursts. Dreams merged the two worlds: I saw my father in the ruins, beckoning me to run; then I was in my bedroom from the 21st century, the warm glow of streetlights through my window, the quiet hum of civilization. The contrast hurt. I woke sweating, trembling, only to remind myself that none of it mattered right now.
I whispered again, almost silently this time:
> "System… anyone… please…"
Nothing. Just the sound of my own ragged breathing and the faint snore of the others who had managed to fall asleep. Even in exhaustion, they had some instinct to survive that didn't require reflection. I envied them.
I lay there, muscles aching, lungs tight, eyes staring at the ceiling, and allowed the thought to sink in: I survived the ruins. I escaped. I am here, alive. Nothing else matters tonight.
For the first time since the fire, I could let my body rest fully. My mind still churned faintly, replaying images of fire, ash, coins, and memories, but the panic had dulled. The worst of the shock had passed.
I closed my eyes. I clutched the tatami beneath me, letting the shadows dance over my vision. The world outside was still dangerous, cruel, and alive with threats I couldn't yet understand, but I was here. I had survived.
And for tonight, that was enough.