In the forty-eighth year of Konoha, the Battle of Mount Kikyo ended in a pyrrhic victory for Konoha.
Unwilling to accept defeat, Sunagakure dispatched multiple squads into the Land of Fire to execute an infiltration plan.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, scorched flesh, and the indelible, sickening stench of blood.
Atop this ruin baptized by ninjutsu, the loss of life was as insignificant as a speck of dust.
“Cough…
cough cough!” Uchiha Hoshi suddenly snapped his crimson eyes open.
The first thing he felt was not relief at having survived, but an agonizing pain radiating from his abdomen that felt as if it would tear his very soul apart.
It was a dull, grinding torture, like a rusty blade being violently twisted inside his internal organs.
He instinctively tried to sit up, only to find his limbs as heavy as lead.
Every breath he drew scraped against his fractured ribs, producing a sickening grating sound.
“Don’t move.
A third of your spleen was shredded by a Sand Ninja.
I’ve only just managed to stop the bleeding.
If you want my efforts to go to waste, then by all means, keep struggling.” A cold, low, yet undeniably authoritative female voice sounded beside his ear.
Hoshi struggled to turn his head, his vision blurring with double images.
He caught sight of a striking green coat and a face that, even when covered in fatigue and bloodstains, was breathtaking enough to steal any mortal’s breath away.
Her long blonde hair was tied loosely into twin ponytails, and the faint teal diamond mark on her forehead glowed with a subtle, life-giving light inside the ruined wooden cabin.
Hoshi stared blankly, his gaze locking onto the two Chibaku Tensei right in front of him.
As an office drone who had worked overtime until his heart stopped, Hoshi was all too familiar with this face.
But immediately after, the fragmented memories of the body’s original owner flooded his mind like a torrential tide, violently tearing at his soul.
It was a hellish scene: his parents were Uchiha shinobi who had retired to Mount Kikyo after being heavily injured and separated from the main forces.
Defeated Sunagakure stragglers, seeking to vent their rage or complete a mission, had stormed their home.
Puppet mechanism poison needles fell like rain.
To shield the swaddled Hoshi, his mother, Uchiha Michiko, had her back turned into a pincushion.
“Hoshi…
survive…” That was the last warmth his mother left him.
Next was the roar of his father, Uchiha Homura.
The usually reticent elite Chunin, upon witnessing his beloved wife’s brutal death, had the Three-Tomoe Sharingan in his eyes spin frantically and fuse together.
In his furious quest for revenge, his eldest son, Yoru, was used as a shield by the enemy.
Homura accidentally killed his own son, instantly losing all will to resist.
Then, his father was captured, and the enemy tortured and killed Uchiha Homura in front of Uchiha Hoshi.
A despairing father died in despair, but fortunately, Tsunade and Shizune happened to pass by and saved Hoshi.
“Holy crap…” Hoshi lay on the operating table, his voice as raspy as two coarse grindstones rubbing together, the two-tomoe in his eyes spinning frantically.
This curse was his most helpless protest against fate.
Starting out at a year and a half old, having just learned to extract chakra, his entire family sacrificed, and his only brother dying at their own father’s hands—this hell-mode script was something even the wildest web novel authors wouldn’t dare write.
(Well, Itachi went to the battlefield at age three, so a year and a half is the perfect age to start learning~).
Tsunade deactivated her Chakra Scalpel, a trace of surprise flashing across her amber eyes.
“You little pervert.
You just crawled out of a pile of corpses, and the first thing you do is swear?
It seems your vitality is far more resilient than I imagined.” Tsunade wiped the sweat from her brow.
Even though she was exhausted to the limit, her proud, heroic aura remained striking.
Behind her, Shizune—holding a glass jar containing eyes in one hand and cradling the pink piglet Tonton in her other arm—already had eyes red from crying.
“Lady Tsunade, this child is so pitiful.
His family…
except for him, they’ve all been confirmed dead.
That pair of special Sharingan has already been preserved.” “Mm, keep the eyes safe for now…” Tsunade frowned.
She, too, felt pity for the child, her maternal instincts seemingly overflowing.
She had endured the discomfort of her hemophobia to perform the treatment, and now her symptoms were beginning to flare up.
Hoshi closed his eyes, two lines of clear tears trickling from the corners of his eyes.
Though he was a transmigrator, the grief of their shared bloodline was impossible to fake.
That father who, to ensure his safety, had maintained a guarding posture even after his heart stopped beating; that mother who was calling his name until her very last breath…
“Why…
did you save me?” Hoshi’s voice trembled.
“No reason.
You looked pleasing to the eye.” Tsunade snorted, taking a swig of sake from a nearby bottle.
The burning liquid cleared her head slightly.
“Plus, your heart miraculously started beating again three minutes after it stopped.
Surviving was all your own doing.” Hoshi took a deep breath, even though the movement sent another wave of sharp pain through his abdomen.
He knew very well that in the tail end of a war where human lives were cheaper than dirt, an Uchiha orphan wandering alone would have only two fates: either snatched by some mad scientist to be used as an experiment, or raised by another country as a tool.
And Tsunade before him was the thickest and warmest golden thigh he could ever hope to cling to in this life.
“Lady Tsunade…” Hoshi struggled to prop up his upper body, the blood seeping through his bandages a shocking sight.
“I want to go with you!
I don’t want to just watch my family die helplessly before my eyes ever again.
I want power—power enough to protect myself and those around me!” A deathly silence fell over the medical tent.
Shizune looked at Tsunade, feeling somewhat at a loss.
Due to the deaths of Nawaki and Dan, Tsunade had an almost physiological aversion to the concepts of “taking a disciple” and “bonds.” “Taking a disciple?” Tsunade laughed self-deprecatingly, a trace of desolation in her voice.
“Kid, you’ve probably got the wrong person.
I’m nothing but a rotten gambler who loiters in casinos, a loser who only knows how to escape reality.
If you follow me, you’ll only learn how to scrape by while fleeing from casinos and debt collectors.
Do you really want a life like that?” “As long as I can grow stronger, I can keep your accounts, run your errands, and even fight for you!” Hoshi’s eyes, sharp as knives, locked onto Tsunade’s.
“I will prove to you that saving me is the most profitable gamble you’ve ever made in your life.” Tsunade’s amber eyes stared intently at Hoshi.
On that childish face, which was nevertheless filled with a murderous aura, she saw a trait she hadn’t seen in a long time—the Uchiha’s unyielding arrogance in the face of destiny.
“Jiraiya always says I’m destined to be a babysitter for the rest of my life.” Tsunade rubbed her blonde hair in mild frustration, waving her hand.
“Fine.
Since your life is tough enough to survive, you can follow me for now.
But don’t call me Master.
I have no intention of actually taking in a brat to give myself a headache.” “Thank you, Master!” The corner of Hoshi’s mouth curved upward, revealing a smile that was a mix of childish innocence and cunning.
“I told you, don’t call me Master!” “Yes, Master.
No problem, Master.” “Shizune, is dinner ready?
We’ll stay the night here and leave tomorrow morning.
Kid, go pack up.” …