บท 145: C145
That night, after the successful mission at the abandoned outpost, the team made camp. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the quiet of the forest surrounded them. Tonight, it was Shuisi's turn to hunt. He returned with a couple of rabbits, which they quickly prepared and cooked over a small, smokeless fire. The meal was simple and efficient—just enough to sustain them without drawing too much attention. As always, Sakumo kept the rule about small talk. Conversations were kept to a minimum, allowing the team to focus and rest.
Haruto had first watch. As the others settled into their sleeping positions, Haruto sat cross-legged, his chakra sensitivity activated at medium range, allowing him to monitor their surroundings without taxing his reserves too much. The camp was quiet, and the only sounds were the crackling of the dying fire and the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze.
With his Two Minds ability, Haruto was able to split his focus. One part of his mind stayed alert, keeping tabs on the faint chakra signatures around the area, ensuring no threats approached. The other mind… wandered.
What would it be like to kill?
The thought weighed on him, heavier now than it had before. His teammates—Shuisi and Daichi—had both taken lives during these missions. Haruto hadn't yet been faced with that moment, where a person's life rested in his hands. It was something he knew was coming, something inevitable for a shinobi. This world wasn't like his old one. There were no referees, no tapping out when the fight became too much. A shinobi's mission often ended in death, and if you hesitated, it would be yours.
But what would it feel like?
Haruto's fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of a kunai. The weight of it was familiar, comfortable. He had fought before, in his old life and this one. Hurting people, winning battles—it wasn't new. In fact, he had relished the challenge in his past life as a martial artist. But this was different. Shinobi didn't fight for sport or pride. They fought to kill. They fought to protect. They fought for survival.
In his past life, there had been rules, honor between fighters, even if the battles were brutal. But here? The person he might kill wouldn't even know he was coming. If he did his job right, his target wouldn't see it, wouldn't feel it. One second alive, the next gone.
There was no glory in that. No honor. Just the cold, calculated reality of the shinobi world.
Haruto's second mind drifted further, imagining the act itself. Would it be quick? Clean? Would it feel like victory, or would it leave a mark, like so many scars etched into his psyche from the past? He had hurt people before, but killing—taking a life—that was something different. And yet, it was the reality he had to face. He had signed up for it the moment he decided to become a ninja in this world. No turning back.
As the wind picked up, rustling the leaves around him, Haruto felt a flicker of unease. His chakra sensitivity didn't register any approaching threats, but the unease wasn't from an external source. It came from within, from the uncertainty of how he would feel when the moment finally came. Would it change him? Would it harden him, like it had so many others?
The faces of those around him flashed in his mind. Shuisi, who carried the burden of his ANBU past, who had killed before with the efficiency of a seasoned shinobi. Daichi, the burden of his past. Both of them had already faced the reality of killing.
Haruto exhaled, feeling the weight of the kunai in his hand again. His time would come, and when it did, he would be ready. He had to be.
For now, though, he focused on his watch, his senses sharp and steady. The night passed slowly, the fire dying down to embers as his mind drifted back to the task at hand. The question of what it would feel like to kill would linger, but tonight, his duty was to keep his team safe.
And that, above all else, was what mattered.
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