At eight years old, Yuto had already begun to feel the weight of the world pressing against him. His body was growing, but mentally, he was far removed from the carefree children around him. He didn't belong here, not fully. Sure, he was a child, but the adult mind inside him made everything feel strange. His memories of the modern world never left him. When he looked at the village and its people, there was a certain sense of disbelief that kept him on the outskirts. He didn't understand the excitement others felt for becoming ninjas. In fact, the thought of war, something so real and present in this world, left him with a gnawing unease.
The weight of the looming conflict was not lost on his mother, either. Aiko, his mother, had been increasingly somber these days. While she still trained him with patience, he could sense the fear in her eyes, a subtle unease she hid well. The village was changing, and with it, the shinobi who protected it. There were more murmurs of war now, more hushed conversations among the adults.
Yuto could sense the fear in the air. He overheard his mother speaking in low tones with a few neighbors, though he didn't catch all the details. Some spoke of early graduations, some of children being sent into the field sooner than expected. His classmates were oblivious to the true nature of what lay ahead. They were training harder, talking about becoming stronger, faster, better—preparing for something exciting. To them, being a ninja was something to look forward to.
But Yuto wasn't like them. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want war.
One evening, after another round of fire and wind training, Yuto found himself sitting on the edge of the porch, staring into the distance. His mother was nearby, quietly cleaning her weapons, a distant look in her eyes. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way her movements were a little more rigid than usual.
"Mom…" Yuto began hesitantly. He wasn't sure what to say, but he had to ask. "Is it… is it true? Are we going to war soon?"
Aiko didn't look up right away. There was a long pause before she finally set her kunai down, her face shadowed by the dim light.
"Yuto," she said softly, "things are changing. War is coming, and the village might need all of us. Even you."
His stomach dropped. He wasn't ready for that. He was just a child. The weight of her words hit him harder than any punch or jutsu ever could. War was something he'd only heard about in passing, read in books, but now, it was creeping into his life. And it terrified him.
He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "But I don't want to fight. I just… I just want to live like I am."
"I know," Aiko replied, her voice tight, though she tried to hide it. "But sometimes, we don't get to choose. You're strong, Yuto. You're growing every day. And if it comes to that… you'll be ready."
Ready. The word lingered in the air like a cruel echo. Yuto wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready for what was coming.
Training continued, but it was different now. His jutsus had improved—he had already mastered basic fire and wind techniques, though he still had trouble controlling their full power. His focus wasn't on becoming stronger for the sake of it, but on trying to understand what lay ahead. How could he prepare for something he didn't want to be a part of?
His body had become more accustomed to physical exertion, but his mind couldn't keep up with the demands of a shinobi. His classmates, eager and enthusiastic, looked at him with wide eyes, admiring his skills as he executed the techniques, even if his control was imperfect. They saw a prodigy. Yuto saw a person trapped by expectations, unsure of how to meet them.
One afternoon, after a long training session, Yuto sat by the side of the training field, staring at the ground. The sounds of children laughing and calling out to one another filled the air, but it felt distant to him, like an ocean of noise he could barely reach. He wasn't a child in their eyes. He wasn't a child in his own.
It wasn't just the jutsu or the sparring. It was the constant reminder that this world wasn't his. He didn't want to be a soldier in this war. He didn't know how to fit in with the others who wore their shinobi dreams like badges of honor. He was an outsider here—his body a child's, but his thoughts were those of an adult. He didn't know how to talk to his classmates, didn't know how to make friends. They'd never understand. They'd never understand that he wasn't excited by the idea of a shinobi's life.
One evening, as he sat with his mother at dinner, Yuto's mind wandered, his chopsticks suspended in midair. The conversation at the table was different now—more urgent. More worried. Aiko didn't speak much, and when she did, it was mostly about practical matters. Preparations. Skills. Survival.
"Yuto," his mother said quietly, breaking the silence. "I know this is hard. But you need to be prepared for what's coming. War doesn't care if you're ready or not."
Yuto nodded. He wanted to say something, to argue, to plead, but he couldn't find the words.
"Promise me," Aiko continued, "that you'll stay strong. And if the time comes… you'll be ready, even if it scares you."
The weight of her words pressed on him. How could he promise that? How could he say he was ready for war when he barely understood the world around him?
But he didn't have an answer.
The days passed in a blur of training, quiet conversations with his mother, and the looming fear of what the future might hold.
And Yuto knew, deep down, that there was no escaping it. The world was already changing. He could feel it in his bones. And whether he was ready or not, the path ahead was set in stone.