The academy day had been long but not unpleasant. Hiroshi found himself enjoying the structure and challenge of learning again, even if his new life as a child meant grappling with an entirely different set of expectations. On the walk home, the warm desert wind swept around him, stirring the sand beneath his feet.
His mind wandered, as it often did these days. Puppetry. It fascinated him more with each passing hour. In this world of ninjas, puppeteers weren't an anomaly—they were respected specialists with a unique fighting style. Yet, in Hiroshi's eyes, they were still underutilized. Their creations relied on precision, but he could imagine so much more.
Why limit puppetry to strings and simple mechanisms?
He thought of drones from his old world—machines that soared through the air on hidden propellers. Could he replicate something similar with chakra threads and lightweight materials? Then there were thermal imaging glasses, devices that could detect heat signatures. What if he could integrate something like that into a puppet, giving it the ability to track enemies hidden by the desert's endless dunes?
The tailed beasts, he thought, his steps slowing slightly.
He knew about them from the anime, mythical monsters of immense power. Could someone like him—a puppeteer—ever hope to face something like that? His first instinct was to laugh at the absurdity. Puppets, no matter how sharp their blades or intricate their traps, seemed insignificant compared to the might of a tailed beast.
But then, another idea struck him. Seals. Those enigmatic symbols that could hold power beyond comprehension.
Are seals like engineering?
He mulled it over, imagining the intricate patterns as circuits directing energy through a system. In his old life, engineering was about control and precision—manipulating materials and forces to achieve desired outcomes. Wasn't that what seals did with chakra?
He imagined a puppet reinforced with sealing techniques, capable of withstanding immense forces or amplifying chakra-based attacks. The potential was endless.
His thoughts returned to the sand beneath his feet. It wasn't just an obstacle or a backdrop—it was a resource. Sand could be molded, compacted, even fused. Could he craft components from it? Lighter and more durable than traditional materials? His ideas swirled in his mind, blending old-world engineering with new-world possibilities.
---
When Hiroshi reached home, he was greeted by the familiar warmth of the little house. His mother, Kokoro, was busy at the stove, her back turned to him. The scent of something savory filled the air, mingled with a hint of sweetness.
"You're late today," she said without looking up.
"Got caught up thinking," Hiroshi replied, slipping off his sandals.
"Thinking? That's a good habit to have," his father, Hachirou, said from the corner of the room. He was seated at the table, a whetstone and a knife in front of him, the rhythmic sound of sharpening filling the space.
Hiroshi's stomach rumbled, and he moved to the table, ready to settle into the quiet rhythm of the evening. But something felt different. His parents exchanged glances, and Kokoro's lips curved into a small smile.
"Hiroshi," she said, wiping her hands on her apron and coming to sit beside him. "Do you know what day it is?"
He blinked, confused. "Uh… just a regular day?"
His father let out a short laugh. "You've been so distracted you forgot your own birthday."
Hiroshi froze. His birthday. Of course, they wouldn't forget something like that. A strange warmth spread through him, a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude.
"I didn't mean to forget," he mumbled.
Kokoro reached out and ruffled his hair. "It's all right. We didn't forget." She gestured toward the table, where a small cloth-wrapped bundle sat.
Hiroshi hesitated, then reached for it. Inside, he found a sturdy leather strap with intricate embroidery—a belt.
"It's for you to keep your tools in," Kokoro said softly. "I've noticed you've been collecting little pieces of wood and string. This way, you can carry them without losing anything."
Hiroshi's throat tightened. He ran his fingers over the leather, marveling at the careful stitching. "Thank you," he whispered.
His father cleared his throat. "Now, Hiroshi, there's one more thing."
Hiroshi looked up.
"What do you want?" Hachirou asked, his tone direct. "We don't have much, but we'll try to get you something. It's your day, after all."
Hiroshi's mind raced. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the question. He thought of asking for something simple, something safe. But then, he remembered his resolve.
"I… I want to start learning puppetry," he said.
Kokoro blinked in surprise, and Hachirou tilted his head, studying his son.
"Puppetry?" his father asked.
Hiroshi nodded, his voice gaining confidence. "I've been thinking about it a lot. I want to make puppets—not just ordinary ones, but something new. I need materials to start."
"What kind of materials?" Hachirou pressed.
"Wood, mostly. And tools for carving. Strings, too," Hiroshi said, his excitement bubbling over. "And maybe some scraps of metal, if I can find them. I think I can make something really special."
His parents exchanged a glance. Kokoro's expression softened, while Hachirou's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Well," Hachirou said, leaning back. "It's not an easy path, but it's an honest one. We'll see what we can do."
Hiroshi's heart swelled.
---
Later that evening, after dinner, Hiroshi sat on his mattress, the leather belt beside him. His father had promised to take him to the market over the weekend to look for supplies.
For now, though, Hiroshi opened his pouch and took out a small piece of wood he'd found earlier. With a knife borrowed from his father, he began to carve. His hands moved carefully, guided by instincts he hadn't used in years.
The figure he shaped was simple—a small bird with outstretched wings. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
As he worked, he thought of the future. Puppetry wasn't just his ambition—it was his bridge between the world he had lost and the one he now lived in.
Tomorrow, he'd refine his ideas. Tomorrow, he'd learn more about the academy's lessons and see how they could fit into his plans.
But tonight, he let himself carve, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating his work. The little bird rested in his palm, and for the first time in this new life, Hiroshi felt truly at peace.