It was just past midnight, and the loud cry of a child at that time would be enough to cause the entire neighborhood to come to his rescue or at least investigate the cause of the alarm.
But regardless of his loud cries, nobody came out that night to help him. At this point, most people were used to his cries as the voice of the abused outcast deserving of no help.
It was nothing new to them, and they had no incentive to do something about it.
Some villagers even found comfort in his cries for help, believing God was punishing him rightfully for bringing misfortune upon the village by his mere existence.
Tobirama's cries came to a halt when a mysterious figure emerged from the dark to save him from his parents.
Within seconds, he attacked them, sending them both flying in different directions across the room.
Tobirama's brief relief changed into horror as he watched his parents get slaughtered by the mysterious figure whom he recognized as the assassin everyone was talking about—the one who was responsible for the deaths of several criminals and corrupt leaders at the time.
Based solely on what he had just witnessed, this was definitely the assassin everyone was talking about, but he never thought that his parents would be one of the "degenerates" on his black list.
It was also strange because, while the famous assassin was known for his acts of bloody justice, he was never known for meddling in domestic disputes like this.
After slaughtering his parents, he looked at the boy, almost giving the impression that he would be the next to die.
Tobirama sighed heavily, calming himself and preparing to face his demise as he closed his eyes.
He believed he was also bad enough to be considered a degenerate, and even if that wasn't the case, he couldn't do that against this assassin.
So he prepared himself for the worst, ready to die—at least this might be the best end to the worst life.
Several seconds passed, but nothing happened. He summoned the courage to open his eyes only to find the corpses of his parents lying right before him, with the assassin nowhere to be found.
He looked down at the corpses of his parents, who seemed to still be alive, staring at him with the gaze of infinite hatred.
Deep down, he didn't understand the depth of their hatred towards him; he knew he was an outcast, but their level of hatred towards him was unparalleled.
Even in their final moments of being slaughtered by the assassin, they looked at him with deep hatred instead of focusing on their killer.
They both died looking at him, as if wishing they had more time to make his life a living hell.
Then it occurred to him.
He was going to get blamed for this and suffer for it in a way that would make all the abuse he had endured from his parents feel convenient, and though he might have been able to bear their physical abuse for all these years, he was not ready to die, as he actually valued his life now that his parents were gone and felt no need to subject himself to needless suffering at least for the time being.
Instinctively, like a rodent running from a fast-approaching predator, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
He didn't know where he was going, but simply felt it had to be somewhere far away from the village.
Maybe if he went to the Capital City, the villagers wouldn't bother coming after him, as peasants were hardly allowed into the city walls without a permit, which cost over six months' wages.
The only problem was that he was also a peasant without exception but made up his mind to get into the city no matter what.
After days of endless walking and hunger, living on the few fruits and nuts he had managed to salvage along the way, he finally made it to the capital city. It was so tall and wide that it made him speechless for a moment upon noticing it.
The gates were the largest he had seen in his lifetime and were heavily guarded, but that was not enough to make him change his mind. His villagers were possibly hunting for him right now, and for his safety, he had to get past those walls no matter what.
He attempted several times by several methods to get into the city but got caught every time, even to the point of becoming a common theme in the mind of every guard assigned to the entrance of the city.
He even got a nickname from them due to their growing familiarity with his attempts.
This went on for weeks, and he was even surprised the villagers from home had not come for him yet.
He could settle down on the streets right outside the capital city and start a difficult life from there, as it seemed his people wouldn't bother coming for him presently, as they possibly believed he wouldn't think of coming to the capital city, which was mostly reserved for the wealthy.
He also found it strange that the guards didn't see him as an abomination or an outcast but simply as a persistent peasant they had to keep out. He was even stunned when one of the guards grabbed him by the arm during one of his past endeavors to get into the city.
He persisted for over a month, surviving on the scraps and leftovers that seemed edible from the waste bags at the incinerator, which was right outside the walls on the left side with a pathway leading inside. He had tried to get in there once but almost got killed by the guard in charge of it.
This one seemed to be a lot more aggressive than the others he had grown accustomed to.
On a typical day with zero success getting into the city, he became frustrated—not that he had never felt like this before, but this time it was more than he could handle.
He could quit now and settle in the suburban streets right outside the city; though life would be difficult, it would be at least better than what he got back in his village. But he couldn't, as his several days of persistence had made it difficult for him to quit now. He had to keep fighting no matter what.
It seemed like part of him had grown fond of getting into the city. Perhaps because he was hated, not because of his odd looks but for better reasons, and that made the struggle thrilling to him.
He felt more at home doing this than being a struggling outcast under constant abuse from his parents and everyone around him.
He wasn't sure why this was so, and the answer continued to elude him.
On that typical day, he thought to himself...
Who was he kidding? He was surely not the first peasant to think of ingenious ways of getting into the city (several rebel squads and armies had tried it in the past and failed), so who was he to think that he could pull this off?
These weren't the walls of any average city—these were the walls of the Capital City, the Republic Capital of the Zion Empire. The heart of the most powerful empire in the known world—could he have imagined doing this all by himself?
After several hours of thinking, he finally came up with an idea: it was now or never.
If he fails at this, so be it—at least living on the streets or trying to make an honest living in a foreign suburban town would be much better than what he got back in the village.
There was a high chance he would get caught and falsely accused of something warranting immediate execution, but he made up his mind to try it out once and for all.