The storm had passed, but the unease it left behind lingered.
For days after Keiji's chakra surged, Retsu Unohana kept her son close. The clinic doors were locked earlier, neighbors were greeted with polite distance, and the bustling markets were avoided altogether. When the boy practiced, it was never alone—her eyes were always there, sharp as steel beneath her gentle mask.
Keiji noticed.
Her warmth remained, but her hand strayed closer to the sword she thought he did not see. Her gaze lingered too long on shadows. Her voice, though still soft, carried a current of steel.
At six years old, Keiji had already grasped what many grown men never understood: danger circled brightest around those who shined too much. And now, he shone like a flame in the dark.
---
The Bloody Era:
It was late evening when his mother finally broke her silence. Rain tapped against the shutters, herbs simmered in a clay pot, filling the small house with a sharp medicinal aroma. Keiji sat across from her, patient, waiting. She had been wrestling with something all day, and he knew—sooner or later—it would spill.
Her voice came low, steady, yet burdened.
"Keiji… do you know the world you were born into?"
He tilted his head, choosing his words carefully. "It is the Land of Fire. With markets. With guards. With a capital."
For a moment, her lips curved, softened by his innocence. Then sorrow edged her expression.
"Yes. But beyond these streets, the world bleeds."
Her gaze turned distant, shadowed by memory. "This is the Sengoku Jidai. The Warring Clans Era. The Uchiha. The Senju.The Uzumaki. The Sarutobi. The Shimura. All clans live not for life, but for war. Rivalries stretch for generations. Villages burn, not for survival, but for pride. Peace is only the pause between contracts written in blood."
Keiji listened silently, though inside, his pulse raced. He had read of ninja wars. He had seen them through a screen. But hearing it from her lips—lips that whispered lullabies to him—cut deeper.
"Children younger than you," she said, her tone like cold steel, "are given blades and sent to kill or die. They grow without laughter. Without kindness. Their hands taste blood before they ever taste love."
Keiji's fists clenched in his lap.
Her gaze returned to him, firm and unyielding. "You are not like them. You must never reveal your strength. Not to neighbors, not to strangers, not even to those who seem like friends. If they see what you are, they will not leave you. They will take you. Mold you. Use you until nothing of my son remains."
The fire snapped, filling the silence between them. Shadows danced across her face, mother and warrior entwined.
Keiji swallowed hard. "…So I must hide."
Her hand reached across, cupping his cheek with trembling tenderness. "Yes. Hide. Until you are strong enough that no one can take you."
---
The Vow:
The silence stretched, heavy with smoke and rain.
Keiji lifted his chin. His eyes—dark yet haunted by another life—met hers.
"Mama… I don't want to hide forever."
Her hand stilled, but she did not pull away.
"I want to grow strong," he whispered fiercely. "Strong enough to protect you. Strong enough that no clan, no war, no stranger can take you from me. If I must be both healer and fighter, I will. Whatever it takes."
Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, she did not see a six-year-old boy but a man—a warrior forged of her blood and Madara's fire.
Her chest ached as she pulled him into her arms, clutching him tightly.
"My son…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "If that is the path you choose, then I will give you all I can. But promise me—never lose your kindness. Power without kindness is nothing but a naked blade."
Keiji pressed his small hand against her back. "I promise."
---
Lessons of Shadows:
The days that followed grew sharper.
Sword drills continued, but no longer were they gentle corrections. Retsu pushed harder, feinting with speed that forced Keiji to stumble and recover. Each mistake was met not with scolding, but with the quiet demand: again.
Healing lessons deepened. No longer was he told only which herb treated fever, but why. He learned how to grind roots without destroying their oils, how to feel a patient's pulse for hidden fevers, how to listen for weakness in their breath.
But the most important lessons were whispered in shadows.
"Never let others measure your strength," she murmured as she corrected his stance.
"An unseen blade is the deadliest."
"Kindness is a weapon too," she warned as he bound a bandage.
"But the world will mistake it for weakness. Learn when to show it… and when to hide it."
Her eyes lingered on him longer each day. Pride flickered there. Fear too. And a silent war within her that she never spoke aloud.
---
Keiji's Resolve:
At night, Keiji lay awake on his futon, staring into the dark.
In his old life, he had been powerless—a cog in a machine of deadlines, dying without even a ripple.
Not this time.
"I will not be a tool," he whispered to the ceiling, voice quiet but burning. "I will not be taken. I will be strong. Strong enough to protect her. Strong enough to protect myself. And if fate tries to chain me…"
His small fists clenched. "…I'll break it."
The words seared into him like fire, a vow unshakable.
---
The Strangers in the Dark:
While Keiji dreamed of strength, shadows gathered.
Deep in the city's underbelly, two masked watchers knelt in a smoke-filled chamber. The air reeked of sake and burning oil. Crates of stolen weapons lined the walls, and parchment scrolls bound in seals hinted at darker trades.
At the far end sat a man draped in crimson silk, his face hidden in shadow. His presence alone pressed down like a stormcloud—the underworld boss who ruled the capital's hidden veins.
The taller masked figure spoke first, his tone low and controlled. "We confirmed it. A child. His chakra flared—Katon, Raiton, Yin—all at once. Unstable, but powerful."
The shorter one added, "He lives in the healer's quarter. Son of a woman named Retsu. She is skilled, but solitary. The boy…" He hesitated, then finished, "The boy is not normal."
The boss leaned forward, fingers drumming slowly against wood. His voice was deep, gravel scraping against stone.
"A child… with chakra like that?"
"Yes, Boss," the tall one confirmed. "Untrained. But if molded…"
Silence hung thick. Then the boss chuckled, low and dark.
"In this era, every weapon has a price. A boy like that—raised right—could fetch more than gold. Or…" His tone sharpened, a predator's smile hidden in the dark. "…he could burn the city before he grows."
His hand waved, dismissive but decisive. "Keep watching. Do not act yet. If the clans have not claimed him, then the underworld will. Report every spark. Every whisper."
The masked figures bowed deeply. "Yes, Boss."
They vanished into the night, leaving only the stench of smoke and the weight of greed.
---
Whispers of War:
Back in the healer's home, Retsu lulled her son to sleep with a gentle hum. The soft rhythm of her voice carried him into dreams, but her hand never left the hilt of the sword beside her futon.
Unaware, Keiji slept peacefully, his small body curled against warmth, the firelight flickering against his face.
But outside their wooden walls, his name had already been sold as rumor, as commodity, as weapon.
Whispers began to spread across the city's underbelly. Of a boy. Of a storm sleeping in his veins.
And in an era where whispers became blood before dawn, Keiji's fate had already shifted.
The first ripples of war had begun.
---
End of the Chapter
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