Tatsuya was supposed to be gone ten minutes. Fifteen, max. Just long enough to grab rice and miso from the shop down the street. A simple errand. Mindless.
But when he came back...
The door was open.
And the floor was red.
At first, he didn't move. He just stood there, frozen, heart hammering in his chest. His eyes were drawn to the blood, the crimson that stained everything, pooling on the floor like a bad omen. He didn't want to look further. He really didn't. But his feet moved, instinct pushing him forward.
And then he saw them.
Mom and Dad. Lifeless. They looked almost peaceful, if it weren't for the bloodstains and the unnatural angles of their bodies.
Their throats... slashed clean, the blood still fresh, dripping in sickening, rhythmic drops. Tatsuya didn't want to get closer, but he had to. The sight wouldn't leave him alone.
It didn't make sense. Why them? Why this? His parents were just... ordinary people. No ninja, no clans. Just civilians, trying to live quietly in a world where even the puddles seemed to have a kill count.
The Second Shinobi World War was still raging. Tatsuya pieced it together, the names, the faces, the timeline. Hanzo was still in power. He knew that much. But he had never expected his parents—his good, kind, unremarkable parents—to be caught in the crossfire.
And just like that, his illusion shattered. The whole "isekai protagonist" fantasy he'd clung to? Gone. It had been ripped out of his chest like a plot twist that didn't even make sense. No gods. No cheats. Just blood, rain, and the silence of a house that stopped being a home the second he stepped inside.
When Tatsuya first woke up in this world, he was confused—but there was a thrill to it. Getting hit by a truck wasn't ideal, but waking up in a ninja world? That was peak genre content. He'd expected a clan, maybe a mentor, hell, he would've settled for being a Nara or even getting cursed by a seal.
Instead, he got poverty, hand-me-downs, and parents who made dumplings and sewed buttons back onto his shirt. He was born in the Land of Rain, one of the most depressing places in the world.
They were good people. Better than he deserved.
And they didn't deserve this. Not like this. Throats slit, house looted, left like trash on the floor, while the rice they'd saved up for was taken by some war-starved shinobi who probably didn't even look them in the eye.
And him? He wasn't even there. They sent him out to get groceries.
Tatsuya had complained about it, whined, even. He'd wanted to stay home and work on a design for a water-powered knife launcher—looking back, he realized that idea was definitely dumb. But his parents had laughed. Ruffled his hair. Told him fresh air would do him good.
And now they were dead.
He didn't cry right away. Not because he was brave, but because he was numb. The rain kept falling, relentless, washing away everything it could.
Tatsuya didn't know what to do next. His brain ran on autopilot, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but nothing fit. Not a damn thing.
Twelve years old, that's how old he was. But mentally? He felt like he was in his twenties. His thoughts were confusing, full of contradictions, the kind of thoughts that made him look at his dead parents and feel... nothing. Not because he didn't love them, but because it didn't feel real. Like it was happening to someone else. Not him.
He didn't realize he was holding his breath until it started to burn. His lungs screamed for air, but he didn't move.
Step by step, he moved closer. One foot in front of the other. Each step harder than the last. He didn't know how to feel. Didn't know how to be.
This wasn't supposed to be his life. He didn't have jutsu, didn't have a ninja bloodline. He was just a regular kid, thrown into the middle of a war he couldn't control.
But he couldn't just leave them there. Not after everything they'd done for him. No matter how tight his chest got, how his hands shook, he had to bury them.
The rain didn't let up. It kept falling, cold and steady, soaking through his clothes and his hair until his bones felt frozen. But he didn't care.
Tatsuya grabbed the rusty shovel from the corner of the yard, gripping it tightly in his small hands, and dragged it to the tree out back—the one his parents had always said they wanted to be buried under, quiet and peaceful.
His arms burned. His body felt like it was made of lead. But he kept going. He had to.
Once the hole was ready, he dragged their bodies, one by one, and carefully placed them in the grave. He didn't want to look at them too long. Didn't want to remember how they'd smiled at him just hours ago. But he couldn't look away.
When the hole was filled, he stood there, staring at the mound of earth. It didn't feel like enough. It never would. But it was done.
It wasn't perfect. The grave was messy, uneven. But it was all he had. All he could give them.
He wiped the rain from his face, trying to push the tears back. The last thing he wanted was to break down. He had to keep moving. This was just the beginning.
The Land of Rain wasn't kind. It didn't care about the weak. Survival was the only rule. And Tatsuya wasn't about to let the war swallow him whole. He wouldn't let his parents' death be in vain.
With one last glance at the grave, he turned and walked away, the rain still falling, cold and steady. The war hadn't stopped. It had just begun. And he would survive it. One way or another.