Darkness.
It consumed him completely, like a cocoon, warm and quiet. But this was not peace. It was something else.
Then, slowly, sounds began to emerge. Muffled at first then the sharp cry of pain, and the rhythmic beat of a heart that wasn't his. His tiny body stirred, but he had no strength yet to react, no words to shape the thoughts flooding his mind.
The darkness started to shift, a warmth enveloping him as if the very air cradled his soul. And then, the first real sound.
A cry.
It pierced through the quiet room, sharp and loud with the pain of new life.
He gasped instinctively, drawing in the first breath of his new existence. His tiny limbs moved, helpless and weak, as light began to force its way through the veil of darkness that had surrounded him for so long.
He was no longer floating in the void.
He was alive.
A baby, with a faint trace of a forgotten past, took his first breath in the modest room where his mother had labored for hours. The wooden walls of the small house creaked while the dim candlelight flickered softly, casting long shadows on the worn floorboards.
Outside, the city of Nuoding slept, unaware of the life just brought into the world.
The woman holding the child...was trembling, not from the cold but from exhaustion. Her face was pale, yet there was a quiet strength in her eyes. She had once been a maid, a servant in the grand halls of Nuoding City's lord, and now, she held her son, born of a forced union that had brought her nothing but shame and isolation. The lord had not even bothered to visit the birth of his son.
She cradled the baby, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her heart was heavy, not just with the burden of what was to come but with the knowledge that her child would bear the weight of being unwanted by his father, a man who would never acknowledge his existence. The boy's name had already been decided, one whispered to her by the midwife, as if the name alone might ward off the cruelty of the world.
Wang Chen.
A name given to a boy whose soul was once Haruto, the former Chūnin of the Hidden Leaf Village, though no one in this new world would ever know.
"Chen'er… I'm sorry.."
The woman's voice broke through the haze, soft and fragile. She was close, so close he could feel the warmth of her body as she held him. There was a tremble in her voice, a sadness that weighed down her every word, though he couldn't understand the meaning yet.
He could feel her tears, the gentle tremor in her hands. Though the words she spoke were beyond his understanding, the sorrow in her voice was unmistakable. It washed over him, and in that moment, he knew only warmth and sadness. He didn't understand why she was crying, nor could he grasp the weight of her emotions, but the absence of someone, of the man who should have been there was noticeable even in his fragile, new awareness.
The warmth of his mother's embrace was all he knew of this world, a world that had already cast him in the shadow of abandonment. There was no sense of what was to come, only the quiet peace of this first moment, held by the woman who loved him despite everything.
...
Five years had passed since then.
Nuoding City bustled with activity, its crowded streets filled with vendors shouting their wares, nobles walking with their guards, and children playing in the alleyways. Yet in one dark, forgotten corner of the city, far from the bustling main roads, a familiar scene was playing out.
Wang Chen stood in one of the alleyways, his back pressed against the cold stone wall as he faced his older stepbrother, Yuan, and his group of lackeys. It had become routine—each month, Yuan would deliver the money from their father, the city lord, meant to keep his mother quiet about Wang's existence. But the money was never handed over without a price.
"You know the drill." Yuan sneered, tossing the small bag of coins in the air before catching it again. His lackeys smirked, standing just behind him. "But first, a little fun."
Wang Chen remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground. He knew better than to talk back. Nothing he said would stop them, and every word might make the beatings worse. He had endured it so many times before, but today, something felt different.
Yuan's smile grew wider as he motioned to one of his lackeys, a tall boy with a martial soul that had caused Wang more pain than he cared to remember. The boy's soul—a staff—materialized in his hands, glowing faintly as he twirled it with ease.
"Let's see if you can stand after this." the goon chuckled, stepping forward.
Without warning, the staff swung toward Wang's side. He braced for the impact, gritting his teeth as the blow landed, sending a sharp wave of pain through his ribs. Another hit followed, and then another. Wang held his ground, his small frame shaking but refusing to fall.
Yuan laughed, clapping his hands in mock applause. "Oh, look at him, trying to be tough. Give him a real hit."
The staff struck again, harder this time, knocking the breath from Wang's lungs. The pain was unbearable, but he forced himself to stay silent. He had learned not to cry out as it only fueled their cruelty.
After several more blows, the boy's staff glowed brighter. He swung it high, bringing it down directly onto Wang's head. The world blurred as pain exploded in his skull. His vision went dark, and his knees gave out. He crumpled to the ground, his head bleeding as everything faded into blackness.
Laughter erupted from the group, their voices distant in Wang's fading consciousness. "He's faking it!" one of them said, snickering.
Yuan stepped closer, his boots thudding against the stone floor as he nudged Wang's limp body with his foot. "Get up, bastard." he spat, but Wang didn't move.
"Kick him!" another voice urged, and the group began to laugh as they started kicking Wang's body, each blow hitting with cruel precision. His small frame shuddered with each impact, but he didn't respond. Not a sound escaped him.
At first, the boys laughed harder, thinking Wang was still pretending. But as the moments dragged on and Wang remained still, their amusement turned to uncertainty. One of the goons stepped back, his voice faltering. "H-Hey, he's not moving…"
Yuan's smirk faded as he knelt down and shook Wang's shoulder roughly. "Wang! Get up!" But still, there was no response. The color drained from Yuan's face, panic setting in.
"We need to go," one of the boys muttered, his voice shaky. "If someone finds him like this…"
They all looked at each other, fear creeping into their expressions. Without another word, they turned and fled, leaving Wang bleeding and unconscious in the cold, empty alleyway.
Inside Wang Chen's unconscious mind, everything was dark. But deep within the blackness, something stirred. His mind, foggy and blank, suddenly began to flood with memories—not of this life, but of another.
A village with towering gates, called Konoha. Faces he couldn't place, yet somehow felt familiar. A life filled with duty and hardship, where warriors called shinobi fought not for wealth or power, but to protect their people. He remembered practicing jutsu, running through the forests of a place that no longer existed in this world.
The name Haruto echoed in the darkness, and with it came a rush of images—missions, battles, comrades. He had once lived as a shinobi, a warrior who had fought for something greater than himself.
The memories were fragmented, like pieces of a broken mirror, but they began to align, merging with the reality he now faced.
Wang Chen awoke with a sharp gasp, his entire body aching, his head pounding with pain. Blood matted his hair, and he could feel the stickiness of it on his skin as he reached up to touch the wound. Wincing, he sat up slowly, every movement sending a wave of nausea through him.
But it wasn't just the pain from his injuries that plagued him—it was the flood of memories now swirling in his mind. The life of a shinobi, the life of Haruto, had suddenly awakened within him, as if the blows to his head had unlocked something long buried.
As the headache slowly faded, the realization began to sink in.
"I've… been reborn," he muttered to himself, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. He was no longer just Wang Chen, the bastard son of a neglectful lord. He had once lived as a warrior in another world, where chakras flowed through his veins, where jutsu were his weapons. But here, in this world, none of that existed. There were no ninjas, no chakras. Instead, it was a world of spirit power and soul masters.
His small body trembled as the weight of it all came crashing down. He had been reborn into a world where everything he once knew was gone. And yet, the instincts of a shinobi still burned within him.
He clenched his fists, feeling the anger rise in his chest. Yuan and his lackeys had left him to die, and his father's indifference had doomed him to this life of suffering. But now, with the memories of his past life as Haruto, he knew one thing for certain.
He wouldn't be weak forever.
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A/N: Oh yeah...Blud's going to start beating children to sate his anger from now on!
Word Count: [1624]