Chapter 4: A Deformed World
[FAIL!]
[Success! Obtained a standard kunai!]
[Success! Obtained a Exploding talisman!]
[Success! Obtained three soldier pills!]
[FAIL!]
[Success! Obtained a random +1 improvement card for a single attribute!]
Six chances to loot corpses, all spent.
Baishi had to admit his "corpse touching" career was going about as well as expected—mostly disappointing with occasional moments of "hey, at least it's not nothing." Out of six attempts, only one attribute card. The grim reaper was apparently stingy with his rewards.
Still, something beat nothing. That was practically Maruyama Qifeng's life motto at this point.
He used the card without hesitation, watching the system's hexagonal roulette spin like some macabre game show. It finally landed on "essence," giving his chakra a modest boost. Great. From pathetically weak to slightly less pathetically weak.
After cleaning the morgue—because even dead people deserved some dignity, unlike his career prospects—he locked up and headed toward the Ninja School.
He had a sister's earrings to deliver and some bad news to break. Just another Tuesday in the wonderful world of ninja life.
The intel from that ANBU ninja's forehead protector still nagged at him. Iwagakure getting restless, Third Ninja World War brewing like a storm on the horizon. But reporting it? Right, because a glorified janitor walking up to the Hokage with "Hey, I found this while touching dead bodies" would go over wonderfully.
First, there was no good way to explain how he'd obtained the information. The ANBU had already processed the body—they were supposed to be competent. If they missed something and he found it, that raised uncomfortable questions about either their abilities or his methods.
Second, if an ANBU ninja had been there eavesdropping on Iwa-nin, it wasn't exactly a coincidence. The Third Hokage probably already knew something was up.
"I'm just a small-time genin corpse collector," he muttered, stepping onto familiar streets. "Let the 'Will of Fire' crowd handle the whole 'protecting the village' thing."
Self-preservation disguised as humility. A ninja specialty.
Konoha's streets buzzed with life and commerce, a testament to being the wealthiest ninja village. People actually smiled here, which was either genuinely heartwarming or a collective delusion. Either way, it beat the alternative.
The atmosphere did lighten his mood, even if he suspected half these happy faces would be crying into their rice bowls once the war properly kicked off.
At the Ninja School, the security guard still remembered him. Small victories.
"It's Qifeng!"
Maruyama flashed his most harmless smile and scratched his head. "Uncle Tianfu, still keeping the rascals in line?"
"Hahahaha—you know it! What brings you back, kiddo?"
"Hoping to catch Sensei Fukuda. Got some questions." The embarrassment in his voice was only half-feigned.
Uncle Tianfu's knowing nod said it all. Former students coming back for advice wasn't uncommon, especially the ones who'd drawn the short straw in the talent lottery.
Most graduates got team leaders—chunin, special jonin, sometimes even full jonin if they were lucky. A year of hand-holding through the "adaptation period," then either stick with the team or strike out on your own.
Qifeng's middling abilities had made the choice for him. Rather than drag down talented teammates, he'd gracefully bowed out and found stable work. Stable, safe, adequately paying work that mostly involved dead people who couldn't judge his performance.
The ninja world's participation trophy: corpse duty.
"He might still be teaching, so don't interrupt," Tianfu warned.
"Got it." Qifeng thanked him and walked into the campus that practically vibrated with youthful energy and blissful ignorance.
Following the earring's memory—still weird to think about—he found Chana's empty classroom. Outdoor training, probably.
"Perfect. Saves me from figuring out what to say to a kid whose sister just became worm food." The words tasted bitter even as dark humor.
The seating chart led him to Chana's desk. Clean, organized, but his eyes caught something that made his stomach drop. Faint marks scratched into the corner—tick marks. He counted them twice, hoping he was wrong.
They matched the exact number of days since her sister's mission began.
Each mark a day of hope. Each mark a prayer that meant nothing now.
This is what being a ninja really means.
He placed the gift box on her desk—beautifully wrapped, cruelly timed—and walked out. Instead of leaving, he found a wall to lean against in the corridor.
In his previous life, he'd have read a story like this, felt a momentary pang of sympathy, then moved on. Fiction was safely distant. Reality had a way of grabbing you by the throat and making you pay attention.
This wasn't even unique. Stories like this played out daily across Konoha. Sisters, brothers, parents, children—all waiting for news that would never come, or news they wished hadn't come.
The village hidden in the leaves. Also hidden: the fact that most of those leaves are obituaries.
When the students returned from outdoor training, he spotted her immediately. A little girl who wore her grief like ill-fitting clothes, standing apart from classmates who still believed in happy endings.
She saw the gift box. Read the card: "Chana, happy belated birthday, sorry."
The tears came like a dam bursting. Silent sobs, bitten lips, hands clutching the box like it contained pieces of her sister's soul. Her pain filled the classroom like smoke, visible to anyone who bothered to look.
Classmates gathered around, offering comfort with the awkward sincerity of children who didn't quite understand death yet.
Qifeng watched from the corridor, patting his pocket before remembering he was out of cigarettes. Perfect timing.
He didn't approach. The girl had probably known deep down—she'd just been waiting for confirmation. Now she could grieve properly, tuck her sister's memory away, and study hard enough to avoid the same fate.
Comfort was for civilians. Ninjas got reality checks.
Harsh? Maybe. But over half the students in this school would face similar losses. Even Kakashi, the supposed prodigy, had watched his heroic father die when he was five.
The whole ninja world was just a collection of tragic backstories wearing headbands.
"Hey, Senior Qifeng?"
He looked up to find a goggle-wearing kid with the kind of eager expression that screamed "future disaster."
Uchiha Obito. Future mastermind of global chaos. Currently: classroom dead-last.
"Obito, your classroom?"
The irony wasn't lost on him. This enthusiastic kid would eventually orchestrate the Fourth Ninja World War over a dead teammate. Another tragedy-in-waiting, right here making small talk.
Tragedy: the ninja world's most renewable resource.
"Yeah! What's wrong with Chana?" Obito asked, casual as discussing the weather.
Qifeng just shook his head. What could he say? Your classmate's sister got killed on a mission, but don't worry, you'll probably experience worse before you're twenty.
More students filtered back. Some recognized him and offered polite greetings. Others just nodded. Everyone seemed so... normal. Innocent, even.
Give it a few years.
"Senior Qifeng." Another voice, and this one made him perk up.
He grabbed the newcomer before he could escape.
"Asuma. Cigarette. Now." No point in subtlety.
Asuma's face went through several expressions—surprise, guilt, panic—while glancing at a red-eyed girl nearby. "Uh, haha, Senior Qifeng, you're joking right? I don't smoke!"
Sure you don't, kid. And your dad doesn't have a pipe permanently attached to his face.
Qifeng knew all about Asuma's secret smoking sessions behind the school. The kid had been trying to emulate his old man since he could walk, choking on cigarettes in the grove and leaving evidence everywhere.
Like father, like son. Except the father was competent.
Without ceremony, Qifeng produced cigarettes and matches from Asuma's own pocket. He lit up with practiced ease, took a deep drag, and felt some of the day's weight lift with the exhaled smoke.
Much better.
Asuma looked like he wanted to disappear. Uchiha Obito, being Obito, immediately started making noise.
"Ohhhhh! Asuma! You're smoking! At your age!"
And there goes any hope of keeping this quiet. If Obito knew, the whole school would know by lunch. Which meant the Hokage would know by dinner.
Asuma's face went pale as he probably imagined explaining this to Hiruzen.
"Qifeng?"
Speak of the devil. Their sensei approached, and Qifeng smoothly dropped the cigarette, crushing it underfoot.
"Sensei Fukuda."
Fukuda-sensei glanced at the cigarette butt, then at the mortified Asuma, and somehow managed to look amused. "Good timing. Why don't you tell these kids about ninja life? Give them some perspective on what they're signing up for."
Qifeng looked back at Chana, still crying over her sister's final gift, and felt something bitter settle in his chest.
"I think they're getting a pretty good education already."
Fukuda followed his gaze and understood immediately. He patted Qifeng's shoulder with the weight of shared experience.
"Smoke less."
Now there's some practical advice for the apocalypse.
"Yeah," Qifeng agreed, already planning to ignore it completely.
After exchanging brief pleasantries, he left Fukuda to handle the classroom crisis and made his exit.
Behind him, Asuma stood alone in the corridor, processing the fact that his smoking secret was blown AND his entire cigarette stash had just walked away.
Welcome to ninja life, kid. It only gets worse from here.