My name is Namikaze Hatani. I am twelve years old. My home is in the eastern district of Konohagakure, near the East Gate, and I am single. I serve as a shinobi for the Hidden Leaf; my working hours and overtime are determined entirely by the whims of my superiors. I'd love to smoke, and I'm dying to know what alcohol tastes like, but unfortunately, I currently can't even afford a bowl of ramen.
I can sleep at any time within a twenty-four-hour window; my actual rest period depends entirely on when I run into the enemy.
Before I sleep, I usually down two Soldier Pills and focus on regenerating my chakra. Then, I let my head drop and fall into an immediate slumber—at least until the "wake-up service" from the warning barrier goes live.
Stress and fatigue have been piling up constantly. The medical ninja said...
Well, the medical ninja died in our last skirmish.
The Second Shinobi World War, ignited by Amegakure, was finally drawing to a close. Within the borders of the Land of Rain—a place where sunlight was a rare luxury—large-scale battles had almost vanished. Among the three major powers involved, Konoha and Suna had begun withdrawing their forces toward their respective borders. However, the frequency of small-scale squad encounters was actually on the rise. It seemed everyone wanted to snatch a bit more profit from their enemies in this final stage, perhaps to soothe the lingering resentment deep in their hearts.
This shift had turned what was once a brutal, bloody action movie into a psychological suspense thriller.
No one knew if turning the next tree—or even just opening their eyes—would bring them face-to-face with a comrade or a killing blow.
"Hatani... do you think we'll make it back to the village alive?"
Tucked away within the dense foliage of the Land of Rain's signature "Umbrella Trees," a boy with messy yellowish-brown hair whispered the question. His face was round, punctuated by two distinct red swirls on his cheeks, and his eyes were clouded with uncertainty.
"Who knows?"
Not far from him, Namikaze Hatani sat with his back against a branch. He had short, messy blond hair and soft features, dressed in a standard grey-brown shinobi flak jacket. He cracked his eyes open, revealing a pair of pure, sky-blue irises. His voice held a hint of grief and indignation, but it was mostly buried under a layer of weary resignation.
He thought back to his past life. He had been an ordinary salaryman named Feng Gu, living a life as peaceful and mundane as Kira Yoshikage—well, the harmless version, anyway.
Who could have guessed that a man without any of Kira's... eccentric hobbies would end up in a situation far more disruptive to a "peaceful life" than anything Kira ever faced?
After all, even though Kira was caught by Shigechi and hunted by the Joestars, his surroundings were still a world he understood. But Hatani?
The internet he knew was gone. The endless varieties of food and entertainment were gone. Even the basic safety he had taken for granted was now as fragile as a soap bubble in the sun—vanishing with a single pop.
What made him even more indignant was that Kira Yoshikage brought his troubles on himself. What about Hatani? From childhood to adulthood, he had been the kind of "Model Youth" who would hand over a single penny to his teacher if he found it on the street.
Fortunately, while Kira had his Stand, Killer Queen, Hatani had his own consolation prize after transmigrating: a "domestic-brand"—er, sorry—an older brother named Namikaze Minato. It was a bit of a silver lining.
Unfortunately, the future "Yellow Flash" was currently just an ordinary Chunin, only a year older than Hatani himself. He'd have to wait for that legendary "picking up a girl under the moonlight" moment—the gold standard for all romantic leads—before he'd catch the Third Hokage's eye. Only after Jiraiya finished digging his own holes and returned to Konoha would Minato truly become the "pure-blooded" successor to the Hokage line.
Calculating the timeline, that moment should be coming soon.
However, if we were talking about being "pure-blooded," probably no one in the entire Leaf could compete with the little brat hiding under this Umbrella Tree with Hatani.
After all, his name was Nawaki. And his grandfather was Hashirama Senju.
The man might have been a bit of a goofball, but the God of Shinobi was still the God of Shinobi. Just because the man was a dork didn't mean his Thousand-Armed Kan'on was going to be a dork when it flattened you.
Hatani wondered if those two "rebellious students," Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo Shimura, had been in power for so long that they'd grown naive enough to believe political authority was the same thing as raw strength. Did they really think they could stand tall in front of the two Senju masters?
One of them actually had the audacity to plot the death of Nawaki—one of the only two remaining Senju bloodline holders—to advance the forbidden experiments involving the First Hokage's cells. The other had the gall to play the "see no evil, hear no evil" card, assigning the missions while pretending to be oblivious. Did they never stop to think that if they ever met the Senju brothers in the afterlife, they'd be beaten into a monkey-shaped pulp and a literal frying pan?
After all, as the prized disciples of the Second Hokage (that Master of the Sea), they weren't like commoners who knew nothing of the Pure Land or the immortality of the soul.
The Edo Tensei technique was written right there in the Scroll of Seals, after all.
As a transmigrator, Hatani naturally had no desire to provoke that pair of master-and-disciple manipulators—one a "black-bellied" strategist, the other a cold-hearted pragmatist. But circumstances were stronger than the man. As the teammate assigned to Nawaki's squad, even if he were cold-blooded enough to watch Nawaki die, the "King of Scapegoats" Danzo probably wouldn't let Hatani live to tell the tale.
On the contrary, his only hope of escaping Danzo's shadow was to ensure Nawaki made it alive to the temporary base camp. Once they reached Tsunade and Orochimaru, they would be under their protection. Before the Sannin were completely tainted by their respective vices and went their separate ways, they were the Leaf's premier "Golden Team." If Danzo wanted to cause trouble, he'd have to see whether the "Third Monkey"—who was himself a scholar of political manipulation—stood with him or with his own star pupils.
The experiences they'd had since entering the Land of Rain only proved that Hatani hadn't misjudged Danzo's ruthlessness.
Two days ago, Hatani had spotted a paper bomb trap, likely set by Suna ninja, which saved Nawaki from the "Symphony of Death" that should have claimed him in the original timeline. In the day and a half since then, they had been hit by two consecutive waves of enemies.
The first wave was more or less standard for this war: a skirmish with an Ame squad consisting of one Jonin and three Genin. While their squad leader, Mimura-sensei, held off the enemy Jonin, Hatani and Nawaki displayed perfect coordination to take out the three Ame Genin. Seeing the tide turn, the enemy Jonin retreated, and they successfully passed the first hurdle.
But the second wave? That was beyond "unreasonable." It was "somebody-called-the-devs-to-complain" levels of ridiculous.
They had been ambushed—no, it would be more accurate to say that a Suna squad of two puppet-master Jonin had been waiting for them on their mandatory path as if they were using Google Maps.
If Hatani hadn't sensed the danger early and shouted a warning, they would have walked straight into an ambush of ten puppets.
But even with a warning, it was like a team fight where the gold lead was 100k and your carry was still in kindergarten. You could have full-map hacks and you'd still lose.
Their medical ninja teammate, Kazuha, was a step too slow. She was caught by a puppet's hidden mechanism and died instantly. Seeing that it was impossible to escape with Nawaki, Mimura-sensei chose to stay behind and cover their retreat, desperate to preserve the last of the Senju line.
Though Hatani couldn't confirm if the teacher was dead or alive, he had his suspicions. Five minutes after they fled, they heard a muffled, heavy boom—a sound that made their hearts skip a beat.
Hatani knew that Mimura-sensei specialized in Fire Style. An explosion that could project that much pressure from miles away was likely Mimura's final move.
A move intended to take the enemy down with him.