“H-Host Baby ΩДΩ—” The thing that was supposed to be the system finally stammered out once more.
Addressing an old face hideous enough to warrant mental trauma compensation for any viewer as “Host Baby,” Osamu couldn’t help but feel a profound respect for its dedication to the job.
“S-Sorry, sob sob sob, Host Baby!
You were supposed to be transmitted into the body of the second child from left to right in the third row, sob sob sob…
(´;ω;`)” Osamu blinked, located that child, and used a raspy, aged voice to command him to take off his mask.
Beneath the mask was a delicate, youthful face that couldn’t have been older than sixteen.
Yet those pitch-black eyes lacked a single spark of life—a living puppet conditioned into complete self-objectification.
This was Root—a child raised in what was claimed to be the shade of Konoha.
How absurd.
With the roots so thoroughly rotted, how much longer could the tree in the sunlight possibly flourish?
“B-But now…
Baby, I’ll cancel the mandatory tasks for you!
But…
but without Momo Points, your current soul will dissipate!
As long as you explore freely and earn just a little bit of Momo Points, sob sob sob…” The system was still apologizing pitifully.
Osamu fell silent for a few seconds, feeling that his best option was still to reset at the earliest opportunity.
He had no strong attachment to living.
He had already experienced enough love and warmth; those “family members” who shared no blood relation with him had loved him constantly.
From his baby babblings to his premature death from illness, they had given him countless beautiful memories in his brief past life.
Even though he had died young, he harbored no regrets.
Yet now, he had arrived in an alien world where he had no bonds whatsoever—different cultures, different languages, and different mindsets.
What was the point of living in such a tragic world?
He would rather fall into eternal slumber in his peaceful, gentle homeland.
As if hearing the voice deep inside his heart, the system’s voice suddenly turned anxious: “Don’t think like that, Host Baby!” “Didn’t your big sister tell you—’Be happy, even in another world’?” Osamu vaguely recalled that before his consciousness faded, his sister had leaned over his bedside, crying and smiling at the same time as she held his hand tightly, using a trembling voice to pray for the journey he was about to embark on.
“It was precisely because of your sister’s wish that I chose you, Host Baby—” *You must be happy, Osamu.* However, his sister certainly could never have anticipated that he would become a hideous thing like Danzo Shimura, someone who deserved to be ground to dust and scattered to the wind.
“Happiness” was far too abstract an adjective.
Osamu believed that if he made a choice true to his own heart, his sister would surely smile and tell him she supported whichever path he chose.
He had just received Danzo Shimura’s memories.
At this exact moment, the storyline had reached the node where Akatsuki invaded Konoha.
Looking further back, he saw the mountain of heinous crimes Danzo had committed.
The pain, the wailing, and every possibility that should have led to a better future had all been crushed by this man’s insidious greed.
He had no desire to use this body to earn “Momo Points.” If he did that, Danzo Shimura might become popular, but such a person had no right to be beloved.
Osamu made his decision with calm resolve.
Sinners did not need whitewashing; they only needed to face judgment.