Warning! The content has some trigger implications. For your health and safety, I recommend skipping this chapter. Don't worry, it won't disrupt the flow of the story if you do.
??? POV
I'm not actually a 4-year-old, and I wasn't always named Noemi Tsukiko.
To start, I was a 24-year-old modern girl on Earth, living my days in silent apathy. I never dreamed of anything, never truly thought about what I liked or disliked. I simply didn't have the luxury to think deeply—not with being orphaned at a young age, with no family, relatives, or meaningful friendships to rely on.
Still, I continued to play my part. I made sure to study hard, juggled part-time jobs after part-time jobs just to barely make ends meet. I finished my degree and secured myself a stable work. I lived as normally as someone like me could ever hope for—slowly drowning myself to the responsibilities of a young adult.
I was slipping away from reality, drifting lifelessly through the hollow world. Solitude was no stranger to me, but a welcomed companion that brought me the promises of a bittersweet peace.
However, growing up didn't bring me relief nor hope—everything after that followed a different kind of struggle.
I soon fell into a mindless routine of work and medicated sleep, doing everything I could to detach myself from the unsavory thoughts that plagued me. I didn't know when things had gone wrong, there was no goal for me to pursue—moreso when my late parents' wishes for me had long since been fulfilled. And frankly, I was tired.
In a way, I ended up in denial about how meaningless my life had turned out to be. Maybe, deep down, I always knew but refuse to accept it. The alternative wasn't a possibility I could afford to entertain. I swore to myself that I wouldn't become like that. Yet, I felt myself regressing into the person I'd rather forget, and that terrified me more than any physical pain ever could.
But fate seem to have other plans for me.
Like an unexpected light in the darkness, a constant came into my life—a friend whom I couldn't dare to acknowledge out loud for fear of the hurt if he, too, decided to leave like the rest had. He embodied everything I was not—he was kind, full of energy and life.
He was my sun.
It was impossible for me not to love him. He effortlessly broke down the walls that had closed me off from the world. Being with him brought vibrancy to my days. He was funny and outgoing, an adventurous person by nature.
And just like the moon chasing after her sun, I started to gravitate around him, hoping for his affection that I knew would never cross with mine.
Of course, my pursuit wasn't without any setbacks. To my surprise and horror, he was a combat-artist enthusiast. He spent a good number of his time expanding his skillset as a fighter. If not for the stamina and endurance I built through my odd part-time jobs, I wouldn't have any hope getting closer to him. To me, who knew nothing but to live for the sake of living, I desired a deeper understanding of him. He was an enigmatic figure propelled by a passion that eluded my understanding.
This curiosity led me to participate in his sport-related activities alongside him, ventures I wouldn't have typically pursued if not for him and his bold claims that they would provide a new perspective on life. He sparked my interest I didn't know I had. Yet his peculiarity didn't stop there—he was also a die-hard otaku. Thinking about it now makes it hard for me to keep my smile in check. In my eyes, he was adorable.
I didn't fault his childishness, I adore them.
He talked incessantly about one of the shinobi from an anime series he loved, so much to the extent of customizing a cloak with a big "Hokage" stitched on its back, displaying his reverence for the anime. He genuinely wanted to become one, and I didn't see why not. He had the skills of a fighter honed through years of dedication.
To me, he already was.
Despite it all, I enjoyed indulging in my life with him, finding myself again and feeling things for the first time—never realizing how much his existence changed my own.
He was the breath of fresh air in my otherwise stagnant life.
In other words, I never moved on when I lost him too.
That's when I began to live my life with reckless abandon.
My newfound joy and ideals, as well as the future I envision thrown into the mud.
I. didn't. care. anymore.
I resigned from my job and went beyond the borders of being adventurous. Unlike him, I continued to attend kenjutsu and learn how to wield a katana with fervor and aggression meant to hurt even its wielder. I trained in hand-to-hand combat more furiously until I could feel the pain from each hit, engaging in sports and physical activities he would have normally attended, just to fulfill his childish desire to be a real-life shinobi.
While I, for lack of a better reason, grieved his absence, which used to fill my days with endless joy, now turned to endless suffering. Exhausting myself with senseless training, like a masochist that I didn't know I had become, I started to watch the Naruto he loved despite the hurt trying to suffocate me. For the year I had known him, this was what made a significant impact on his life.
I couldn't give this up, nor prolong it any longer. While he was here, he made me promise to binge-watch the anime series with him. Although it's long overdue now, I held one of his picture and whispered, "I'm sorry, it took me a while to watch this."
Investing my time watching Naruto in between my 'activities' helped me grasp what he cherished and loved about the anime. I found myself loving it just as much as he did, if not more. Out of all the characters in the series, Obito Uchiha was my favorite. He reminded me of him yet had a uniqueness only he possessed. Watching over Obito until the end of his story brought back something I thought I had lost—the warmth of a companion.
For the life he lived, I ceased to see him within Obito and instead wished for Obito himself to attain his own happy ending. I didn't want him to die like he had.
Time moved forward, and so did I.
Although the thought of Obito pushed me forward, the daily numbness and weariness eventually took their toll on me. It was inevitable that my reckless behavior finally caught up to me and spelled my demise.
I felt remorse for following him so early on—he must have never wanted this from me.
"I might receive a good scolding from him once I come to face him,"
I mused mirthlessly.
A bitter part of me, however, was relieved that my suffering was coming to an end and secretly wished to see him again if the heavens permit. Perhaps I'll finally have the courage to tell him the things I couldn't say. I didn't know, though, that I unconsciously thought of not only him but Obito as well. Even if I never truly believed my wish would be ever granted, not even in my last moments. Yet, like a hopeless fool, I still made such a whimsical wish if only to find a momentary solace from my perpetual torment.
"Maybe in another life, our time won't be as short as this one," I thought as I drew the last of my breath under the moonlit sky.