Chapter 4
What the hell was he doing here? In this miserable country. Risking his life every day. And for what, exactly? What was the purpose of any of this massacre? Everything was just wrong.
Or maybe it was time to realize that he just wasn't suited for any of this. Killing to survive. Watching his friends and comrades die—every single day, over and over again. So he couldn't be blamed if he doubted himself. If he doubted his orders, right?
He just wanted to go home. To tell his mother that she was right. That he should have never tried to follow in his father's footsteps. But the reality of that happening was null. The only way he was going home was in a body bag—or not at all.
It was a simple mission: investigate a missing team and recover them, if possible. It had led them to this forsaken country. And now, he was the only one left. Injured, tired, and not knowing what to do.
Holding a fucking kid by the neck and threatening his life. And for what? Again, he had no answer. None of it made sense. He had just been promoted to Chūnin. For a sixteen-year-old, that was quite an accomplishment.
But now he didn't want this. None of it. He just didn't know what else to do. And what could he do but hide and hope that he had escaped them all? He was already lucky to survive, and even luckier to find this cave.
But now, he had a kid by the throat, and two others frozen in fear. He said nothing as he shoved the hostage into the cave and motioned for the others to follow. He had fucked up badly.
"There is food," the kid said, surprisingly calm despite the blade at his throat. "You can take as much as you want. We won't go anywhere or do anything. Just let us go."
"Who else knows of this place?"
"No one, to my knowledge," the boy with wild orange hair replied, not resisting in the slightest. "Konan, Nagato—go to the corner."
"Don't move! I'm in control here, and you listen to me!"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He wasn't trained for this. He didn't know what to do. They were just children, for fuck's sake. He didn't want to kill them. But did he have a choice? Could he afford to let them live?
"We're just kids," the orange-haired boy said, still disturbingly calm. "They're just going to the corner where you can see them. They won't get in your way."
"Yes, yes. Go to the corner and not a sound, or your little friend won't live for long. Are you alone? Are there more of you?"
"It's just the three of us. You can take everything—just don't hurt us."
He wasn't a monster. Right? He couldn't possibly kill them just because he was scared. And what could they even do? They were just kids. But this country—this damn country—was full of monsters. And if he wanted to survive, he had to become one too.
It was the only way. Kill or be killed. And he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mother and beg for forgiveness. Tell her he loved her. Tell her he was sorry for leaving—just like his father had.
"Fuck," he muttered, then shoved the orange-haired boy away. "Make a fire. A small one. And make something hot to eat. Do you have any medicine?"
"Just bought some," the boy replied. "Painkillers, bandages, something to clean a wound. Not much, but take it—it's in the bag."
He never took his eyes off them as he searched the bag and found what he needed. His side was bleeding slowly. Not a deep wound, but it still needed treatment. He had to stop the bleeding. Just follow what he was taught, and everything would be fine.
"Food. Start cooking."
He was starving. He had been running and hiding, not knowing if anyone was even looking for him. He hadn't eaten for who knows how long. The damn rain soaked him to the bone. He just wanted to eat. To rest. Then he would run.
Run as fast as he could and get out of here. Out of this damn country. Back home. To his mother. He would survive—he had to. And he would do whatever he had to do. Even if it meant killing innocent kids.
The orange-haired boy stayed in his line of sight. He put a pot on a flat stone near the fire, filled it with water, and began preparing vegetables, herbs, and mushrooms. He chopped them and added them to the boiling pot, never stepping out of view.
"What's your name?" It was a mistake to ask—he might have to kill him—but he needed to know.
"Yahiko."
"Why are you here? Where are your parents? Your family?"
"Gone," Yahiko answered simply. "All of ours. Shinobi like you came and killed everyone we knew. Destroyed our homes. Left us to fend for ourselves. We have nowhere else to go. No one to turn to."
Damn. They were all monsters creating more monsters. In this fucked up cycle. And for what? Again, he had no answer. He'd never felt so stupid. So childish. He couldn't believe he once thought shinobi were heroes.
No—they were monsters. And he would be one too. Kill or be killed. Follow orders. Do as you're taught. He would always rely on that, wherever he was. But none of that applied here. Not now. He was completely alone and lost.
What would he tell his mother when he got home?
Sorry, I killed a bunch of kids. But don't worry—I followed orders. I did what I was taught. I was a good little shinobi.
Fuck. Why? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn't the people they were looking for still be alive? Why couldn't they just all go home? Why did he have to kill these kids?
"Do you need help?"
"Stay back, and don't do anything stupid. I'm warning you."
He threatened the kid as he fumbled through bandaging his wound. The bleeding stopped—at least he got that part right. He'd rest and warm up a bit, then he'd leave. He be gone before they even realize he was here.
"The food is done."
He looked at the pot of soup. It smelled good. But he had to remember his training. Even if they were just kids, everyone not wearing your headband was an enemy. Don't trust anyone. Don't believe anything. You are alone.
"Eat it," he told the boy.
"Do you think I poisoned it?"
"Eat it."
"Alright, alright." The kid smiled, took a bowl, and started eating. "See? You're just paranoid. Just eat, rest, and take what you want before you leave. No one has to get hurt."
He ignored the boy and took the offered bowl. He was too hungry to argue. He downed the soup in gulps, letting the warmth spread through him as he slumped against the cave wall.
"All of you, shinobi, are the same, aren't you?"
"What?"
"You weren't wrong to think I poisoned the soup. I did. This little mushroom, combined with your blood loss and tiredness, should put you to sweet dreams any moment now. All I had to do was avoid eating it, while you just gulped it down."
"You little—" He couldn't finish. His limbs felt heavy.
So, this was it. He should have known his time would come. He just didn't expect it to be at the hands of a kid less than half his age. He just wanted to see his mother. To say he was sorry. That he loved her. Was that too much to ask?
…
He didn't think he'd wake up again. This should've been the end. Yet here he was, lying bound on the ground, listening to voices. Trying to comprehend what was going on and why he wasn't dead yet.
He felt his hands and legs bound. But with time, he could get out of them. But not fast enough for them to notice him trying and stopping him. He had no choice right now, but to pretend to be still asleep and wait for an opportunity.
"You should have killed him," said another boy—probably the redhead.
"I told you I can't," Yahiko replied, just as calm as before. "And I told you both to leave."
"And leave you alone?" the girl asked. "We're not going to do that."
"He's going to kill us the moment he can."
"Maybe," Yahiko said. "But if he wanted to kill us, he would've done it already. As far as I see it, he's just over his head. As scared as we are."
"He'll betray your hope," the redhead said bitterly.
"You misunderstand me. I'm not a fool," Yahiko replied. "I know kindness to the wrong people can get you killed."
"Then why are you helping him?" the girl asked through tears. "He'll kill us—just like the rest of them killed our families and destroyed our homes. Please. Just kill him. Please."
"It would be easy to surrender to your rage and hatred," Yahiko said. "But I can't. Because you're wrong. I won't regret helping him. I don't want to live a life where I only act for my benefit. I help because that's who I am. Because I am not a murderer. I want to be more than what the world expects of me."
"I'll do it," the redhead said. "I'm sorry for putting it all on you. If you can't, I will."
He could hear the conviction and the want to do it in the redhead's voice. He would kill him. And maybe he deserved it. To them, he was just another monster who broke into their home. No different than those who destroyed their last one.
"I was nothing," Yahiko said, stopping the redhead. "No friends. My family didn't care about me. I had nothing, nor did I care for anything. I'm not helping him because I hope for anything. I'm helping him because it's my choice. If he betrays it, that's his choice. In this world of monsters, I choose to remain kind. Only then can I hope to become something greater in this world."
"You'll die if you don't kill me," he said, loud enough to break the silence. He realized then—he didn't want to be a monster either. So, he had no choice but to die.
"Then in my next life, maybe I'll be the most vicious monster that ever existed. But not in this one."
"That weakness will get you killed. It'll get your friends killed."
"I don't think it's a weakness. It's control. I choose my path. My will is my strength. Kill me or don't—your choice will be your legacy."
The kid was a fool. Cutting his restraints. Letting him go. When anyone else would have killed him, Yahiko chose another path. A path that would get him killed, that should get him killed right now.
And yet, when he looked at the kid, he didn't see the naivety or childness he was looking for. He was calm and made this decision after all consideration. This act was everything against what he knew.
"There's food and supplies in the bag. I redressed your wound—you'll be fine even if you move a bit."
He took the bag and looked at the boy's clear brown eyes. He wanted to tell him he was a fool. That he was only alive because of luck. But he couldn't.
Because the boy was right.
He left without looking back. He couldn't bear to see those eyes—so calm, so clear. That boy had the right to hate him. To kill him. But he didn't.
He wished he were that strong. To be able to choose not to follow the easiest and most sensible path. That's not something anyone could do. Not something he had ever heard happening before.
All he could do now was leave and clear his traces. So, the cave wouldn't be discovered. At least not because of him. He didn't need to, but he chose to do that. Somehow, it felt good to make that choice of his own free will. Not follow everything he was taught.
And he ran. For hours. Ran home. Through rain. Crossing rivers and lakes. Circling through towns. Leaving as few traces behind as he could, but still keeping the pace. Soon, he would leave this country.
"I just want to go home," he said to the dozen figures ahead of him. "Please, let me go home."
His answer was a blade in his back. He looked down at the sword through his chest, rain washing off the blood. Yet somehow, he felt calm at the moment. Even though he knew he was going to die now. That he wouldn't be coming home
But he wasn't afraid.
"Heh. The boy was right."
He didn't regret his life. He chose not to become a monster. And now, he could die as a human. Because of his choice not to kill those kids, he wasn't afraid to face death.
He would see his father again. And tell him—he was brave.
A.N. As always, thanks for reading and supporting me, so I can continue writing without any concerns, and if you want more, up to 7 more chapters and 28 chapters in total with all my other stories, you can support me on pa treon. com \ ironwolf852.