The sun shone warmly through the windows of the orphanage, casting soft rays of light across the small room where Haruto Takeda lay in his crib. Today felt different. The usual bustling routine of caregivers and children seemed slower, more relaxed, almost as if the entire orphanage was in on a little secret.
Today was Haruto's first birthday.
He blinked up at the ceiling, still marveling at the clarity of his thoughts after receiving the Cognitive Boost. It wasn't overwhelming, just… clearer. He understood more, learned faster, and felt more in control of his thoughts and surroundings. And now, as he sat quietly in his crib, he found himself reflecting on how far he had come in his first year in this strange world.
The door creaked open, and Obaa-chan, the elderly woman who had cared for him since his first day in the orphanage, entered with a warm smile on her face. Her wrinkled hands held a small, wooden plate with a simple, hand-made cupcake sitting on top, a single candle flickering gently in the soft breeze.
"Haruto-chan," she cooed softly, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Happy birthday, little one."
Haruto's tiny heart swelled at the sight. He may have been an adult in his previous life, but even now, something about this small gesture of kindness tugged at him. He gave her a big smile, his small hands reaching out in excitement. Obaa-chan's presence had been a constant in his life, her gentle care and warmth giving him comfort in this world of uncertainty.
She placed the cupcake on the small table beside his crib and gently lifted him into her arms, holding him close. "Look at how big you've gotten," she said softly. "A whole year has passed already."
Haruto, in his own infant way, giggled and babbled, though his sharp mind was already cataloging every word she said. He wasn't ready to speak fully yet, but he had picked up enough of the language to understand much of what was said around him.
Obaa-chan held him up to the small cupcake and softly blew out the candle. "There, a birthday wish," she said with a smile. "One day, when you're older, you'll be able to make wishes all on your own."
Haruto snuggled closer to her, feeling the warmth and care radiating from her like a protective barrier. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that this world was full of danger. Right now, he was just a child in the arms of someone who cared for him.
After a moment, Obaa-chan lowered him back into his crib, her expression turning a little more serious. "There's something I want to show you, Haruto-chan," she said softly, her hands gently reaching into her pocket. She pulled out an old photograph, its edges slightly worn but well-preserved.
Haruto's gaze sharpened as he watched her unfold the photo. He didn't know what to expect, but he could feel something important coming.
"This," Obaa-chan began, "is of your parents."
Haruto's breath caught. His parents. The people who had brought him into this world, the ones he had never known but whose absence he had always felt. He stared at the photograph in Obaa-chan's hand, his small body still as he listened intently.
The image was simple but powerful: a man and a woman, standing side by side, both wearing the standard ninja attire of Konoha, their hitai-ate shining in the sunlight. They were young, perhaps in their twenties, and both wore proud but gentle expressions. The woman had long, dark hair tied into a loose ponytail, while the man's hair was short and unruly, his posture slightly slouched as if he was trying to look casual despite the serious tone of the photo. They both smiled, the warmth in their eyes unmistakable.
"They were brave," Obaa-chan continued, her voice filled with a quiet reverence. "Ninjas who lived and fought for the Will of Fire."
Haruto blinked, absorbing the words. Ninjas? His parents had been shinobi, warriors of the Hidden Leaf. He had wondered about them, speculated about who they might have been, but hearing it confirmed sent a rush of emotions through him.
"The Will of Fire," Obaa-chan said, her eyes softening as she glanced down at him, "is the belief that all of us in the village are connected. That we must protect one another, just as family. Your parents… they believed in that deeply. They fought to protect the village, to protect people like you and me."
Haruto's chest tightened as he processed her words. His parents had been shinobi, dedicated to the village's philosophy of unity and protection. But they weren't here now. He had no memories of them, no faces to attach to the stories.
"They passed shortly after you were born," Obaa-chan added quietly, her gaze distant for a moment, as if remembering something painful. "But they left behind a legacy. You, Haruto-chan. They left behind you."
Haruto swallowed hard, his infant body still not fully capable of expressing the complex emotions swirling within him. He felt a strange mixture of pride and sadness. His parents had been warriors, people who had believed in something greater than themselves. But they were gone, and he was alone, left to figure out this world by himself.
Obaa-chan seemed to sense his mood, and she smiled gently, placing the photograph beside the cupcake. "They would be proud of you, Haruto-chan," she whispered, brushing a hand softly over his head. "I know they would be."
Haruto stared at the photo, wondering what other secrets his parents had taken with them. He was still too young to fully understand everything, but the seeds had been planted. One day, he would dig deeper, learn more about the parents he never knew and the village they fought to protect.
For now, though, he allowed himself a small moment of peace, wrapped in the warmth of Obaa-chan's love and the knowledge that, in some way, his parents had left a part of themselves behind.
Obaa-chan wiped a tear from her eye, then, with a laugh, she held up the cupcake once more. "Come, Haruto-chan. Let's celebrate properly!"
Haruto smiled back at her, his small hand reaching out to playfully touch the cupcake. The darkness of his past could wait. Today was his birthday, and even in a world full of danger, it was a day to celebrate.