Chapter 75 - A little bit of peace
Clan Foundation Day(Ren's birthday)
The saplings had grown right.
It was such a simple sentence, but to me, it sounded like a declaration of victory.
Rows of pale-barked trees shimmered faintly under the chakra lamps. Their leaves hummed faintly with the same energy that once took me months to stabilize in paper vats.
This was a major achievement for us.
The paper plant was viable only if we could grow our own trees. Chakra-reactive bark was a living organism, temperamental and prone to dying if the humidity or chakra field wasn't perfect. The association had made sure those secrets never left their monopoly. But we'd done it anyway.
With this, we could expand beyond rented farmland. We could plant near our clan's own compound—our soil, our light, our rhythm. For the first time in two years, I didn't feel like we were clawing uphill.
The Kurosawa clan was healing again.
Between the research, maintenance, and the mountain of loan installments, we barely had any surplus—but at least, we weren't burning cash anymore.
The celebration wasn't much. We were too tired and too poor to throw a proper one. But someone—probably Sayuri—had set up strings of paper lanterns along the fence, each one glowing in different colors. The air smelled faintly of ink, damp bark, and food cooking over a small fire.
It felt alive again.
Rina had just come back from a long mission in the northern borderlands. She and Sensei showed up together for the celebration, trailing dust and warmth and laughter. And with them was a little black pup that followed Rina like a shadow.
When I saw her step through the gate, I felt a strange pang in my chest. The kind you only feel when something long absent finally returns—not dramatically, just quietly, like it had never left.
"Ren!" she called out, waving. The pup barked once, as if echoing her.
"You've been feeding it too much chakra, haven't you?" I said as she approached. "That's not barking—that's a chakra pulse."
She laughed, crouching to scoop the dog into her arms. "He's young. Still learning control. Like someone else I knew back then."
Sensei snorted from behind her. "If he starts acting like back then again, I'm retiring again."
"Again?" I asked.
"Retiring from watching you idiots almost die of overwork." He was better now. Even without his hand.
I smiled, the kind that comes easier when the air doesn't smell like politics. We spent the next hour eating together—roasted meat, rice, and cheap sake. The kind of meal that makes even silence feel full.
The pup—Rina called him Kuromaru—was relentless. I had a lot of people in my life with Kuro in their names. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was this Grim world that made so many of us resonate with black instead of the Light. He kept biting my gloves, tugging playfully at the reinforced seams. His teeth left faint chakra burns where his saliva touched the leather. Rina scolded him half-heartedly, but I waved her off.
"Let him," I said, flexing my fingers. "I've had worse training partners."
"You've also had fewer friends who bite."
I raised an eyebrow. "Debatable."
That got a laugh from both of them. Sensei looked older, but the lines on his face didn't make him smaller. If anything, they gave him the kind of gravity that made you want to sit down and listen.
When the food was gone and the others drifted to the fires, he motioned for us to walk. The night was calm; the leaves rustled with faint chakra discharge. I walked between him and Rina, listening as they talked about small things—new mission regulations, the Hokage's council meetings, the latest ridiculous prices for steel tags.
It all sounded… distant. Normal in a way Konoha hadn't been in years.
We stopped by the small pond near the herb beds. The reflection of the lamps shimmered like dozens of floating seals.
Sensei's voice softened. "You've done well, Ren. I didn't think I'd see your clan stand this tall again so soon."
I bowed slightly. "We're still one bad year away from falling again."
"Everyone is," he said. "But you're growing things. That means you're looking forward, not back."
Rina crouched, letting Kuromaru lap water from her hand. "He's right. You've changed."
"How so?"
"You used to chase control. Now you build stability."
I smiled faintly. "You're using words that sound the same but mean different things."
"Exactly."
There was a long pause. Then she added, quieter, "I've decided to bond again."
Sensei looked at her. "With the pup?"
She nodded. "It's time. I avoided it after—well, after what happened with Shiro."
Shiro. Her old ninken. Killed during a mission that had gone wrong while we were still under Kagenori sensei's command. The memory hung between us for a second, not painful anymore, just heavy. We had raged and we had sworn revenge. And I was sure that if we ever got the chance, we would exact vengeance upon Kuroki Renzo. But we weren't strong enough. He had only grown in the meantime. Some even said he would rival elite jonins in a few years. But I shook my head. Not today.
Rina smiled, brushing the pup's fur. "I realized I wasn't angry at the bond. I was angry at the loss. But bonds don't cause loss—they make it mean something."
Sensei grunted approvingly. "You're finally speaking like someone who's lived a little."
She laughed softly, then looked at me. "What about you? Still trying to control the uncontrollable?"
I hesitated. "Something like that. But maybe I'm learning to let it grow instead."
Sensei clapped me on the shoulder. "Good. Because power isn't a seal, Ren. It's a garden. You don't command it—you tend it."
We stood there for a while longer, saying nothing. The moon was high, the light pale and clean. Somewhere in the distance, the paper vats hummed as the night shift kept the temperature steady.
Rina yawned, stretching. "Feels like we're finally breathing again."
"Don't get used to it," Sensei muttered. "Peace doesn't last in this village. It's just the silence between lessons."
He left soon after, limping slightly as he went back toward the fires.
Rina lingered beside me. "Do you ever think we'll have a quiet year?"
"No," I said simply. "But I think we'll have good ones."
She smiled. "That's enough."
When she turned to go, Kuromaru barked once, the sound sharp and bright. The chakra flare from his throat brushed faintly against my senses. It felt pure, untamed—alive.
"Careful," I told her. "He's got more strength than he realizes."
"Yeah," she said, scratching the pup's head. "So do you."
Then she walked off into the night, her silhouette framed by the lamps and the faint shimmer of the ink herbs.
I stood there for a while, watching the saplings sway in the wind. Their leaves made a whispering sound—like paper before it's cut.
For once, it didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like hope.
I had the strength to ignore what had been happening in the village. The association hadn't kept quiet all this time. But today was a good day. Let me end this chapter on a good note. I'll tell you tomorrow.