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NYP Ch. 09
🕑 Added 2025-10-25 03:17:40 +0000 UTC"Kenji, you ready? It's time to go."
Ikkaku's voice came through the door.
"Yeah, coming."
Kenji checked his reflection one last time. Black clothing from head to toe, and standard mourning attire. He adjusted his forehead protector, making sure it sat straight across his brow, then turned and opened the door.
Ikkaku stood waiting in the hall. The black clothes made him look more serious. When he saw Kenji emerge, he kept his voice low.
"Let's go. We're meeting my parents at the crossroads first, then heading to the Memorial Stone together. The clan leaders are probably already there."
"Alright."
Kenji nodded and fell into step beside him. Today was Konoha's memorial service for the recently fallen, and he'd woken early to prepare.
Black fabric was everywhere. Most civilians wore simple dark clothing, and the usually lively streets had gone quiet. Everyone was heading in the same direction, toward the Memorial Stone. Their footsteps were slow. Nobody spoke. The only sound was shoe leather scraping against dirt.
They met up with Ikkaku's parents at the designated spot. No words were necessary, just brief nods of acknowledgment before joining the steady flow of people moving toward the plaza.
The Memorial Stone Plaza came into view quickly. The crowd splitted naturally into two groups. Civilians gathered in the center of the plaza while ninjas assembled near the stone. After a quick farewell to Ikkaku's family, Kenji headed for the ninja ranks.
The Memorial Stone stood tall, its surface covered in densely carved names. Each one represented a ninja who'd given their life for the village. Not far away lay the ninja cemetery, where those names would eventually find their final resting place.
Kenji slipped into the chunin section and scanned the front rows where the jonin stood. He spotted Masa immediately, standing between the current Nara and Akimichi clan heads. The three stood shoulder to shoulder. As the core of the Ino-Shika-Chō formation, the three clans had always maintained close ties. Their leaders appeared together at every formal occasion.
Word was that the front lines had just survived a massive engagement. All the major villages were licking their wounds, which meant a temporary ceasefire. That brief lull had allowed many ninjas to return home for the memorial. Only those manning critical positions had stayed behind. But once the ceremony ended, everyone who could still fight would be shipping back out.
Kenji's gaze swept across the chunin ranks around him, mostly unfamiliar faces. Only a handful were old classmates from the Academy, and they only exchanged brief glances.
Then something occurred to him. His graduation class had started with twenty-seven students. Two years later, fewer than ten were still alive. And those survivors were barely fourteen years old.
The Second Great Ninja War had dragged on too long. Casualties were catastrophic. The village kept lowering the graduation age, desperate for fresh bodies. He'd even heard that this year's Academy graduates hadn't reached the usual age of twelve before being sent straight to the front lines.
What a messed up world, he thought bitterly.
Having lived his previous life in peacetime, he still couldn't wrap his head around a world that sent children to die in wars. The shinobi system looked glorious on the surface, but underneath it was twisted and brutal.
No wonder this place breeds psychopaths. Growing up here, if you don't go insane, it just means you're built different.
In his past life, watching the anime, he'd thought the jutsu looked cool and the fights were exciting. But living in this world? He finally understood. People like Nagato, crushed by endless tragedy, were probably the normal ones. Meanwhile, someone like Naruto who could still believe in friendship and bonds after growing up surrounded by death? That was abnormal, way too optimistic to be real.
Time passed.
When everyone had gathered, Hiruzen walked slowly to the front of the Memorial Stone. His voice, amplified by chakra, carried across the entire plaza as he began the eulogy.
Kenji listened with half his attention. Standard stuff. Honoring the fallen, praising their sacrifice, acknowledging the pain of those left behind.
Then Hiruzen's tone shifted slightly as he reached the climax of his speech.
"Where leaves dance, fire burns eternal. The fire's shadow illuminates the village, and new leaves will sprout once more."
Around Kenji, the crowd began to cry. Soft sobs at first, then louder weeping as grief broke through whatever walls people had built. The sky seemed to respond, clouds thickening overhead and wind picking up.
He felt the weight of the moment, the ache in his chest that came from being surrounded by so much loss. But he didn't cry like the others.
Years of life experience in his previous world gave him more emotional control than kids half his age. Death was tragic, yes. But grief alone didn't change anything. In this world, only strength could prevent tragedy from repeating itself.
When Hiruzen finished speaking, everyone bowed together in silent. Then the civilians began to leave while the families of the fallen and all active ninjas lined up to offer flowers at the Memorial Stone.
Kenji's turn came quickly. He picked up a white flower from a nearby basket. He didn't know its name, but the dew clinging to its petals looked like tears. Holding it carefully, he approached the stone.
His eyes scanned the densely carved names rapidly. He quickly found his parents' names, carved side by side. Below them were his teammates' names and their jonin squad leader.
He stared at those engravings for a long moment.
Finally, he placed the flower gently beside the stone.
As he turned and walked back to his place in line, a thought crossed his mind. Maybe one day his own name would be carved there too. But for now, the only thing he could do was get stronger and keep living.
When the flower offering ended, the memorial officially concluded. The ninja ranks began to disperse.
But he didn't head home. He stopped by a flower shop first and bought several fresh bouquets. Then he walked to the ninja cemetery.
He hadn't properly visited the original Kenji's family and teammates since the transmigration. Now that he'd inherited this life, this body, these memories, he needed to honor that connection. Call it a moral obligation from his past life or responsibility to the person whose existence he'd replaced. Either way, it needed doing.
The cemetery was quiet. Most people had already paid their respects at the Memorial Stone and left. That suited him fine. He preferred privacy for this.
He found his parents' graves first, and placed a bouquet of white roses on each grave. The flower shop owner had said white roses symbolized remembrance.
He crouched down and wiped dust off the headstones with his sleeve.
"So, uh, I'm not really your son," he said quietly. "But I've got all his memories now. Which is weird for everyone involved, I think. I'll try to do right by you."
He wasn't sure what else to say. He told them about recent events, like learning puppet techniques, getting prosthetic limbs, and being reinstated as an active ninja. Small stuff that probably didn't matter to the dead but felt important to say anyway.
"I don't know if the original Kenji's soul merged with mine or moved on to wherever souls go in this world. But either way, I'm taking care of what you left behind."
After a few more minutes of one-sided conversation, he stood and moved on.
His jonin squad leader's grave was nearby. He stared at the name on the headstone. In the original memories, this man had just been an assigned superior. Professional relationship, nothing more. Not like the bonds between the Konoha 12 and their jonin instructors in the anime. That kind of closeness was rare in the real shinobi world. Most genin-jonin relationships were purely hierarchical.
He set down flowers and cleaned the headstone.
"Well, we were teacher and student, at least," he muttered. "You lived alone and died alone. Guess that means I'm the one stuck cleaning your grave."
It was a dick thing to say to a dead man, but somehow felt appropriate.
Finally, he approached his teammates' graves. Both headstones were already spotless, with fresh flowers placed beside them. Their families had visited recently.
He added his own bouquet and crouched between the two graves. The original Kenji's memories painted a clearer picture here. These two had been classmates first, then squadmates. They were close friends who trained together, shared snacks, complained about missions, and dreamed about becoming strong ninjas someday.
They'd been fourteen years old when they died.
"Hope you found each other wherever ninjas go after death," he said softly. "I'll come visit again."
He stood and brushed dirt off his knees, then turned and walked back toward his home.
The afternoon sun broke through the clouds as he walked, painting Konoha in warm light.
In his head, he offered one final prayer. Not to any god he believed in, just a quiet hope sent out into the universe.
I hope your soul found peace.
