Chương 92

The next day, after a dreamless sleep, I headed to the Senju clan to check up on Genta and Takemaru. The walk to the compound was quiet. My mind felt too calm, and for a second I thought my heart had stopped beating altogether. If it wasn't for the faint sensation of my chakra circulation, I would've believed it. It scared me, and fear is never a good thing. It felt like darkness was being born in an empty space, nothing to hold it back.

It reminded me of my old self, the version of me who felt nothing and faked everything just to fit in or reach his goal. I shook my hands out fast, trying to chase off that fear, to push away the creeping panic that was twisting up in my chest. It got so bad that I actually activated Stormdrive just to feel something. I wanted to see the world bright instead of washed-out and dead. I needed to hear the wind, to feel my body racing at full throttle.

I stopped walking, standing there just to keep the Stormdrive running for even a moment longer. But time never cares. It moves forward whether you're ready or not. My body couldn't handle the strain, so Stormdrive shut down and the world turned back to its horrifying, muted gray. At least the panic faded a bit. I forced myself to walk slowly, step by step, until I reached the Senju compound. At the gate, an ANBU stood watch. I frowned in confusion and asked, "Where's the old man who guards the gate?"

The ANBU looked at me, voice flat but not unkind.

"He's at Daiken's house, attending the small memorial service." I hesitated before I asked, "Is it okay if I come in and join?" He studied me for a moment, then nodded.

"It's fine. You were one of his students, and you're a friend of the Senju. You have a place here." He opened the creaking gate while giving me directions to Daiken's house, and I stepped inside, my steps feeling heavier with every turn. After a short walk into the compound, which felt even more silent and empty now that the few people living here were already at Daiken's home, I reached the house. It wasn't what I expected. I'd always pictured Daiken's place as cold and strict, just like him.

Bare walls, training gear stacked in every corner. But when I stepped in, it felt… warm. Lived in. That made the empty air feel even heavier. I slipped off my sandals at the door. The hallway smelled faintly of old incense and fresh plants. Small clay pots lined the low windows, each one holding a sprout or flower, some just green shoots, others wide-leafed and thriving. I caught myself staring. Daiken, that stern, hardened man tending plants every morning? I'd never imagined it.

Maybe that was my fault for never asking. The main room was simple but filled with details. A few old scrolls rested on a shelf, each labeled in that sharp, neat handwriting of his. On the low table, a stack of paper sat half-finished, covered in lines of brush calligraphy. Words for strength, perseverance, duty. I wondered if he practiced them every night, steadying that big frame with quiet strokes of ink. There were people in the room, but not many.

Old faces, lined and tired, watching everything with clear eyes. The Senju elders, the ones who'd survived everything the clan had endured, now sitting together and murmuring prayers for one of their last. They glanced at me as I entered, nodding but saying nothing. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Genta sat near the small shrine in the corner, hands clenched tight in his lap.

He looked like he was trying to make himself smaller, to slip away from the weight pressing down on him. The old man leaned close to Genta, his voice low but not so low that I missed it. I caught a few words, just enough to understand. Another elder put a hand on Genta's shoulder, murmuring something that made the boy's eyes flicker with frustration. They didn't want him to be a shinobi anymore. Maybe they never did.

Now that Daiken was gone, Genta was the last Senju male left, and they didn't want to see another name carved into stone. To them, he wasn't just Genta anymore. He was the last breath of the Senju name. I forced myself to look away, pretending to study the brushwork on the table again. I felt like I was trespassing on something too raw, too private. But everything felt raw now. There was no easy way to stand here and pretend otherwise. Takemaru noticed me by the door.

He gave me a small nod, no smile, just that tired look that told me I belonged here, at least for today. I stepped further in, careful not to brush against the shrine or the fallen leaves from one of the potted plants. They looked like they hadn't been watered since Daiken left. I wondered if Genta would take care of them, or if he'd let them dry up and crumble, like the name he now carried alone. I moved closer to the shrine, picking up an incense stick without really thinking.

The surrounding elders murmured softly, but I ignored their eyes. Genta shifted beside the shrine, but I didn't look at him. I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep going and say what I needed to say. My hand shook a little as I lit the incense. The crackle seemed too loud against the soft murmurs and whispered prayers filling the room. I placed it into the bowl, watching the smoke curl up. Without planning to, I spoke. My voice came out low, nearly a whisper.

"Daiken-sensei, I…" I paused, throat tight.

"Thank you." The room fell into silence. The soft murmurs stopped. All eyes were on me, but I kept my focus on the smoke.

"Thank you for treating me like a human being," I said, my voice trembling but steadier than before.

"You were one of the few who did. You didn't just see me as another orphan or a project. You saw me. You cared." Something caught in my chest, heavy and sharp. My eyes stung, and everything turned blurry.

"You pushed me hard. You yelled, you scolded, you made me furious half the time… but you believed in me more than I ever did myself. You fought for me when no one else bothered. You were one of the very few who stayed by my side." A tear slipped down my cheek. I reached up to wipe it, surprised by how warm it was. But I didn't stop. I wouldn't.

"I never said thank you. Not really. Not when you could hear it, and not in a way that showed what I truly felt in my heart. I thought I didn't need to. I thought you'd always be around. Now it feels so wrong that you're not here to hear it." My voice cracked, and more tears spilled out. My chest hurt with that old, familiar ache I hadn't felt since my sister died. It was ugly and raw, but somehow it made me feel real again.

"I admired you, sensei. I really did. You made me feel like I could belong somewhere, even if just for a moment. You gave me a place. You gave me a chance to be more than what I was." I wiped my eyes, but it was useless. The tears kept coming. I didn't care anymore that everyone could see.

"I'm sorry. You deserved better. You deserved more time. You deserved more than this." My voice dropped to a whisper.

"But… thank you. Thank you for everything you did for me. I won't forget it. I promise I won't." When the words ran out, I just stood there, head lowered, tears dripping onto the floor. The room was quiet, heavy with something too big to name. I felt exposed and small and painfully human. But for once, I didn't mind. Because at that moment, I knew I could still feel. Maybe that was enough to keep going.