Two Months of Fragile Peace:
Two months passed since the night of the chakra surge. Retsu Unohana carried the memory of it like a blade pressed against her heart. She never spoke of it aloud, but its weight lingered in her every glance, every movement.
She locked the clinic doors earlier now, sometimes even before sunset. She rarely left the healer's quarter, and when she did, Keiji never left her side. He was six, but she no longer allowed him the careless freedom of a child.
Keiji noticed the shift, of course. His mother's smile remained, her hands still warm when they guided his, but her eyes were always drawn toward the shadows, her body always poised for a fight.
And outside their home, whispers grew.
Healers across the capital spoke of odd disappearances—patients vanishing on their way home, strangers loitering at doors but never speaking, coins left for payment though no footsteps approached. Unease seeped through the quarter like damp through wood.
Then one night, whispers became screams.
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The Assassins' Hunt:
The attack came like a storm without thunder.
In the dead of night, assassins fanned out across the capital. They were shadows with steel, blades whispering through paper walls, cutting through homes and lives with chilling precision.
Every clinic was marked. Every hut where salves and poultices were mixed became a place of slaughter.
But the true order was sharper.
"Strike the healers," the underworld boss had commanded. "Make noise. Keep the guardians chasing shadows. But test the boy. If the reports are true, see how brightly he burns."
So while blood painted the streets elsewhere, a smaller group of masked killers slipped toward the modest home where a healer and her young son lived.
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The Attack:
Keiji sat by the lantern, carefully sorting feverfew from wormwood. His small fingers moved with practiced patience, guided by his mother's lessons. Across the room, Retsu ground a root into paste, humming softly under her breath.
The smell of herbs, the flicker of lamplight—these were their evenings.
Then the paper door shuddered.
Before Keiji could turn, three masked men slipped inside, steel catching the light.
"Kill them both," one hissed.
Retsu moved instantly. She shoved Keiji behind her and unsheathed her blade in a single breath. Steel clashed, sparks crackled, shelves splintered as her sword met theirs.
"Stay down!" she barked, her voice steady even as fury burned in her veins.
Keiji's small body trembled, but he didn't freeze. His heart pounded so loud he thought the assassins could hear it. Something inside him—something raw and primal—stirred awake.
The killers pressed in. Herbs scattered like rain, shelves cracked, the room filled with the metallic stench of steel and sweat.
Retsu parried one strike, kicked another back, but a third assassin slipped through her guard and lunged straight for the boy.
"Keiji!" she cried.
---
Instinct Awakens:
Time slowed.
The blade gleamed inches from his chest. His breath caught, vision tunneling.
His hands lifted without thought. Chakra roared through him—wild, untamed, explosive.
Light burst from his palms. A crackle, sharp and blinding.
The assassin's eyes went wide. His chest seized, smoke curling from beneath his mask. The stench of ozone filled the air.
Then silence.
The man collapsed in a lifeless heap.
Keiji stared at his shaking hands. His breath came ragged, his small body convulsing with shock.
He had killed.
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Guardians' Arrival:
The other assassins closed in, fury burning in their eyes, but salvation came in a thunder of footsteps.
The city's guardians stormed into the healer's quarter, armor marked with the Fire Daimyō's crest. Their blades cut through the night with ruthless precision.
"Protect the civilians!" their captain roared.
The assassins turned to fight but were outmatched. In moments, steel cut clean, blood sprayed across tatami mats, and silence returned.
The captain glanced at Retsu briefly, bowing. "Lady healer, forgive us. The capital is under coordinated assault. Stay inside. We'll see to the bodies."
And just as quickly as they arrived, the guardians vanished into the night.
Leaving behind broken shelves, corpses cooling on the floor, and the shattering weight of a boy's first kill.
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The Guilt of a Child:
Keiji could not look away from the dead man at his feet. The cracked mask revealed lifeless eyes, staring blankly toward the ceiling.
His stomach twisted violently. His throat tightened.
"I… I killed him…" His voice cracked as tears filled his eyes. He turned to his mother, voice breaking. "Mama… I killed him!"
Retsu dropped her blade and wrapped him in her arms, pulling his face against her chest before he could see more. His small body shook with sobs, his fists clutching desperately at her robes as though to tear away the guilt clinging to him.
"You did what you had to," she whispered, her voice steady though her heart ached. "You're alive. That's enough."
"But… I didn't mean to—" His words broke into a sob. "He's gone, Mama. I felt it. He's gone!"
Retsu smoothed his hair, pressing a kiss to his crown. "Yes. He's gone. And that truth will never leave you. But hear me, Keiji. This world is cruel. Those men came to kill you—to kill me. If you had done nothing, I would be holding your body right now."
Keiji's sobs softened, but his dark eyes—haunted, too knowing—stared at the floor.
Retsu held him tighter. "It is not weakness to grieve. But don't let guilt chain you. Carry it, learn from it, and walk forward. Do you understand?"
He nodded weakly. His tears slowed, but his chest still ached with shame.
---
A Mother's Vigil:
That night, Retsu did not sleep. She sat by the futon with her son curled against her side, his breathing uneven and restless.
Her eyes remained fixed on the shadows beyond the walls, her hand resting on her sword's hilt.
"Damn this era," she whispered into the silence. "Damn their greed. Damn them all."
Her gaze softened as it fell upon Keiji's small face, still damp with tears.
"You are not their weapon. You are mine," she vowed softly. "And I will see you through this storm."
---
The Flicker of Red:
Near dawn, Keiji stirred. His sleep grew restless, his small body twisting beneath the blanket. His breath grew shallow, then ragged.
"Keiji?" Retsu leaned closer.
His eyes fluttered open. For a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—his irises glowed. Crimson light shimmered, threatening to spiral into tomoe.
Retsu's breath caught.
The glow flickered—then died. His eyes returned to their dark, hazy normal. Exhaustion dragged him back under, and he slumped against her chest.
Retsu tightened her hold, her pulse hammering.
So it begins.
---
Elsewhere: The Underworld
Deep beneath the capital, the underworld boss reclined on cushions, smoke curling lazily from the pipe between his lips.
Before him, masked assassins knelt—the survivors from other strikes across the city.
"So," the boss drawled, voice like gravel, "did the boy show his fangs?"
The tallest assassin bowed low. "Yes, boss. He killed one of ours. Instinctive chakra channeling. Untrained, but lethal."
The boss exhaled a plume of smoke, a slow grin spreading. "Good. Very good. The boy isn't some ordinary brat. He's potential wrapped in innocence."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming like coals in the dark.
"Keep your blades sharp. The clans may not know yet, but I'll not let a gem like that remain uncut. Watch him. Wait. His time will come."
Above ground, dawn broke over the capital, golden light spilling across rooftops as if the world itself wished to forget the night's blood.
But in the underworld, whispers grew louder.
A boy with unusual chakra. A child who had already killed.
And in the healer's home, Keiji slept fitfully, unaware of the crimson flicker his mother had seen unaware that fate itself was holding its breath.
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End of the Chapter
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