Konoha Year 47.
The Third Ninja World War broke out in full force.
The Third Kazekage disappeared after being assassinated by Sasori of the Red Sand.
The Hidden Sand Village went mad, searching the world for him, and the front lines of the Five Great Ninja Villages were fully drawn overnight.
Konoha sent out everyone they could, not even sparing those who shouldn’t have been on the battlefield.
For example, Genin.
For example, cannon fodder.
…
The border of the Land of Fire.
Drip, drop.
A drop of something warm hit Kitahara Kaede’s face, trickling down his cheekbone.
He didn’t move, not even fluttering an eyelid.
He suppressed his breathing to the minimum and deliberately slowed his heartbeat, disguising himself as a genuine corpse.
This wasn’t a skill anyone had taught him.
After two missions where his teammates were wiped out and he had to crawl out from a pile of corpses, he had learned it by instinct.
Squinting slightly, he saw the source of the blood—his captain.
To be precise, it was flowing from half of the captain’s face.
Half an hour ago, this man had been clapping him on the shoulder, saying he’d go back to the village for a blind date after the battle.
“I’m already twenty-six.
If I don’t get a wife soon, my mom’s going to strike me off the family registry.”
Now, his lower half had been obliterated by an explosive tag.
His upper half lay slumped beside Kitahara Kaede, the hand that had patted his shoulder still resting on his arm.
Footsteps were closing in nearby; the Hidden Sand Village Ninjas were clearing the battlefield.
Every dozen seconds or so, a dull thud could be heard, followed by the sound of something being dragged away.
Kitahara Kaede bit his lip, remaining motionless.
The footsteps grew closer.
Someone stopped beside him for two seconds.
Only one thought occupied his mind: Don’t look down.
Don’t look down at my face.
The person left.
After another twenty minutes, the surrounding hundreds of meters fell completely silent; even the birds had stopped chirping.
Only then did he dare to gently move the captain’s hand from his side, rolling over to face the sky.
He gasped for air, looking down at his hands—they were shaking.
“The third time.”
His lips twitched, though he wasn’t sure if it counted as a smile.
He had been transmigrated into this world for fifteen years.
No Kekkei Genkai, no Sharingan or Byakugan.
His parents were ordinary Chunin who had died in the line of duty before he could even form memories, leaving behind a dilapidated apartment and some meager savings.
Six years at the Ninja Academy, sitting in the furthest corner, grades below average, barely passing the graduation exam.
When the war broke out, Genin without backgrounds like him were the first to be pushed to the front lines.
He had survived until today thanks to three things: playing dead quickly, playing dead convincingly, and not having terrible luck.
He turned his head to look at the captain’s frozen half-face.
“Captain, the blind date is off,” he whispered.
“I’ll take your Ninja tools.
You…
won’t be needing them anymore.”
He opened the Ninja tool pouch.
Two food pills, three explosive tags.
He popped the food pills into his mouth and chewed, stuffing the explosive tags into his pocket.
He briefly bandaged a gash on his left leg caused by a Shuriken and limped toward the camp.
…
Over two hours later.
Konoha’s temporary border camp.
The moment Kitahara Kaede lifted the tent flap, the clamor inside skipped a beat.
Everyone turned their heads simultaneously, then pointedly looked away.
He was all too familiar with this reaction.
The Special Jonin in charge of registration looked up and saw him, his brow furrowing into a knot.
His expression wasn’t one of relief, but of disgust at his bad luck.
“Kitahara…
you’re alone again?”
“The squad was ambushed by Hidden Sand Village.
Everyone else was killed,” Kitahara Kaede lowered his head.
“The captain covered for me, and I was luc—”
“Lucky?”
The Jonin slammed a hand on the desk, his voice suddenly rising:
“Three missions!
Three full squads!
Twelve people!
And you’re the only survivor!
Kitahara, were you born to jinx your teammates?!”
The tent fell completely silent.
A few resting Ninjas subtly shifted their weight, moving half a body’s width away from him.
No one spoke, but he understood those looks.
It was as if they were looking at the source of a plague.
No one wanted to be the next unlucky soul assigned to his team.
Kitahara Kaede said nothing.
What could he say?
That he didn’t survive on purpose?
That he was just better at playing dead than others?
A coin pouch was tossed to the corner of the desk; the Jonin didn’t even bother to hand it to him.
“Payment.
Seven days of leave, then reassignment in seven days.
Leave.”
Kitahara Kaede picked up the pouch and weighed it.
“Thank you, sir.”
As he stepped out of the tent, the hushed murmurs resumed behind him.
“That’s the third time, right?
This guy is ominous.”
“Don’t put me in a group with him.
Whoever’s with him is doomed…”
The flap fell, cutting off those voices.
Being treated like a jinx—the first time he felt wronged, the second time he felt angry.
By the third time, Kitahara Kaede just gripped the coin pouch and tucked it into his clothes.
Living was more important than pride.
…
It was already dusk when he returned to Konoha Village.
People were coming and going on the streets, there was a queue at the dango shop, and a few girls were chatting and laughing as they left a dessert shop.
Kitahara Kaede looked down at himself, covered in blood and filth, like a rat that had crawled out of a sewer.
He didn’t linger on the street and went straight back to his apartment.
He took out all his belongings, spread them on the table, and counted them twice.
The rewards from three missions, plus his parents’ inheritance and the bits and pieces hidden under the bedboards—
14,800 Ryo.
On his way back, he had asked about prices at the Ninja tool shop.
A penetration-resistant chainmail vest from the Land of Artisans, the kind that could stop a Shuriken, cost 120,000 Ryo.
It was nearly ten times the amount he had.
And in four days, he would be reassigned to the front lines.
This time wouldn’t be any better than the last three.
Word of his “methods” had spread; not only did his teammates despise him, but even the Jonin in charge of assignments wished he would just die out there and not come back.
Next time, he would likely be assigned to the most dangerous sector.
More importantly, if he encountered a sensor-type ninja, his trick of playing dead would be completely useless.
Heartbeats can be suppressed and breathing hidden, but the Chakra inside the body cannot fool a sensor.
When that happened, he wouldn’t even be able to pretend.
He would truly be dead.
Kitahara Kaede stared at the ceiling.
Fifteen years.
No Kekkei Genkai, no fortuitous encounters, no “Cheat” system.
None of the good things that should happen in transmigration novels had come his way.
He closed his eyes.
A sound suddenly rang in his head.
[Ding—]
[Extremely strong survival desire detected in the host.]
[White Moonlight Simulator activated.]
Kitahara Kaede snapped his eyes open.
A translucent panel appeared before him, text scrolling down line by line—
[White Moonlight Simulator]
[Core Rules: The host will enter a special instance to experience a completely different life.
In the instance, you need to win over the target character and become an eternal, indelible presence in their heart—a “white moonlight.”]
[Settlement Rewards: After the simulation ends, the host can inherit abilities acquired during the simulation based on the evaluation grade, including but not limited to: physical enhancement, Kekkei Genkai, Ninjutsu, and Chakra capacity.]
[Evaluations are divided into four grades: C, B, A, and S.
The higher the evaluation, the greater the proportion of inherited abilities and the more generous the extra rewards.]
[Core Evaluation Standard: Your weight in the target’s heart.]
[Current free simulation attempt: 1.
Subsequent simulations will require a corresponding amount of money.]
Kitahara Kaede read every line twice.
His hands were still shaking.
But this time, it wasn’t from fear.
It was something he had almost forgotten, like a drowning man suddenly touching the shore.
A simulator that could inherit abilities.
Evaluation standard: your weight in the target’s heart.
He froze for a few seconds.
white moonlight.
He knew exactly what these two words meant.
It wasn’t about a sweet romance or lovers ending up together.
A “white moonlight” is someone desired but unattainable.
It’s the person the target can never forget or let go of in this lifetime.
It’s a name that still brings tears in the middle of the night.
It’s the shadow against which every future relationship will be compared.
In other words….
It has to be tragic.
It has to be heart-wrenchingly tragic.
The more heroically, miserably, and heart-breakingly you die, the higher the evaluation.
Kitahara Kaede was quiet for a few seconds.
Then he smiled.
In reality, he was timid and lived with his tail between his legs.
He had no choice; in reality, death was final, with no second life.
But in the simulator?
Dying didn’t matter.
After dying, he could return with rewards.
He stared at the panel, his eyes shining brilliantly.
Good heavens.
Wasn’t this tailor-made for him?