The rain fell relentlessly. It pounded against the mud, the rocks, and the soaked bodies of three children who still didn't understand that their fate had just been shattered.
Yahiko lay on the ground, his skin cold, his eyes empty, the wound on his neck still open. Konan's hands were stained with blood as she screamed his name over and over. Nagato trembled, as if his legs couldn't decide whether to run, collapse, or kill anyone who came near.
And then… the dead body breathed.
A thread of air, weak at first, escaped from his lungs. Then, another, deeper one. The wound didn't disappear, but something inside him began to beat again with a force that no medical technique could explain.
Konan froze. Nagato blinked, incredulous. The rain seemed to stop for a moment.
—Yahiko!! —Konan shouted, her voice breaking.
But the boy who opened his eyes was not the same one who had died.
Darkness. A formless void. And then… water.
The sound of running water. The crash of a waterfall. The whisper of a river. A deep, precise breath, learned after years of training impossible for any ordinary human.
"Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Let the water flow with you."
That voice… He knew it, but it wasn't his.
A whirlwind of images flooded him:
a world without chakra, only steel and monsters;
whole nights training under the moon;
the edge of a blue sword cutting through demons;
Tomioka Giyu 's cold and calm gaze .
And beneath it all… another life, even further away. A room on Earth. A boring routine. An absurd death. A normal existence that ended in a second.
And now… this.
When her eyes opened, she saw a gray sky torn by rain. She felt the cold mud on her back. Her throat burned as if it had been cut… because it had been.
And he saw two faces weeping above him. Konan. Nagato.
And his mind, divided into three lives, understood instantly:
He had transmigrated into Yahiko's body. Right after his suicide.
"And... Yahiko..." Konan whispered, touching his cheek with trembling hands. "You... you had... you..."
The words were choked by sobs.
Nagato leaned towards him, his eyes darkened by a fear that surpassed his pain.
—Are you alive? Really…?
He opened his mouth to answer, but only a thin, rasping breath escaped. His body was weak, weak as if he had been forced across the border between life and death.
And, in a way, he had.
His mind raced, chaotic, disordered. He remembered Tomioka. He remembered Yahiko. He remembered his life on Earth.
Who was he now?
A sharp pain shot through her head. The rain tapped like needles against her skin. Her breathing quickened, searching for rhythm, searching for control.
Then, as if something inside him were activated, his body began to move on its own:
Water Breathing: First Movement — Improved oxygenation.
His lungs expanded with pinpoint precision. The blood, though still trickling weakly from his neck, began to flow more slowly, more orderly. His chakra—something completely new to him—trembled as if awakening for the first time.
Konan opened her eyes as she saw the color returning to her face.
Nagato took a step back, surprised by the stillness and sudden strength in that breathing.
And he finally spoke:
—I am… alive.
His voice was low, raspy, but firm. Firmer than a dead man should be.
He tried to sit up, but his body trembled. Konan held him by the shoulders, while Nagato helped him sit down.
The world spun slightly. His vision was torn between three overlapping realities:
that of a child from Earth who had never touched a weapon;
that of a Water Pillar who knew death better than life;
Yahiko's, who had died protecting his friends.
"Protect."
That thought burned in his chest.
He looked at Konan, wet, crying, desperate. He looked at Nagato, who was holding back a scream of rage that would shatter the world.
And, without knowing where it came from, a certainty pierced the deepest part of his soul:
I wouldn't lose them. Not in this life. Not after having received a second chance.
He didn't know how to explain it. He didn't know why he had been chosen. He didn't know if he was alive by a miracle, fate, or cruelty.
But he knew, with absolute clarity, what his path would be.
The rain kept falling. The mud kept piling up. The war kept burning the Land of Rain.
But something had changed.
Nagato watched him, confused, as if he sensed a different presence in his eyes. Konan hugged him with a desperation that only those who fear loss can feel.
And he, finally aware of his new body, his new memories, and his new life, gritted his teeth and stood up—leaning on them for support.
The wind whipped at his face. Blood mingled with the water. And a thought, silent but firm, formed in his mind:
"If this world wants to take them from me… it will have to fight me first."
No more death. No more sacrifices. No more unavoidable tragedies.
With his disciplined breathing, his will forged by three lifetimes, and the memories of a demon hunter living in a world of ninjas…
A new Yahiko was born in the rain.
And the world would never be the same.