The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Nara Compound as my father and I made our way to the Yamanaka Clan. He carried me in his arms, his expression unreadable, but I could feel the tension in his grip. This visit was inevitable. My mother, Jina Yamanaka, had been their family, their blood. And now, we had to face them with the truth of her death.
But it wasn't just grief weighing him down—it was guilt.
My father had made a promise, one he couldn't keep. He had sworn to protect Jina, to bring her home safely no matter what. And yet, here he was, carrying only her son in his arms. The shame of failure burned within him, twisting like a knife in his gut. How could he face Inoichi now? The man who had trusted him with his sister's life? What could he possibly say that wouldn't sound like an excuse?
The silence between us was heavy. Even as an infant, I could sense the conflict raging within him. The man who had survived stood before the family of the one who hadn't. The burden of the living.
As we approached, the Yamanaka estate stood in quiet elegance, yet there was a heaviness in the air that no beauty could mask. The wooden pathways, polished to perfection, reflected the discipline ingrained in the clan. Delicate lanterns lined the corridors, their soft glow failing to push away the growing tension. A gentle breeze rustled through the carefully maintained garden, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers—lavender, chamomile, and white lilies. Scents meant to calm the mind, to bring peace.
But there was no peace here today.
The estate was too quiet. Too still. The usual murmur of conversation, the sound of children training in the courtyard, the disciplined steps of shinobi moving with purpose—none of it was present. It was as if the entire clan was holding its breath, waiting. Watching. Word must have already spread. They knew we were coming. They knew why.
My father took a deep breath, his grip tightening around me, before stepping forward and knocking on the door.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the sliding door opened with a soft click, revealing a man with sharp blue eyes and blond hair tied in a high ponytail. Inoichi Yamanaka. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a storm within them as they locked onto my father.
The air inside the Yamanaka estate was suffocating. The weight of unspoken grief, of shattered promises, settled heavily in the room as my father stepped inside. Inoichi's shoulders were rigid, his fingers twitching at his sides. His breaths came slow, controlled—too controlled, like a man on the verge of losing himself.
Then, in a blur of movement, steel glinted.
Thwip!
A kunai sliced through the air, too fast for hesitation. My father barely shifted, but the blade's edge bit into his cheek, drawing a thin, crimson line. A single drop of blood trailed down his face. He didn't react, didn't flinch—he only stood there, accepting it.
"You promised," Inoichi's voice trembled, raw with fury. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at my father, his best friend's brother. "You swore to protect her, Yuma. You swore! And now you're standing here, telling me she's gone? Just like that?"
My father remained silent. What could he say?
Inoichi's breath hitched, his hands shaking, another kunai already clutched in his grip. He looked ready to strike again, to scream, to unleash all the pain choking him—
Then, a cry broke through the room.
I had been quiet, absorbing the tension, the grief pressing into my tiny chest like a weight I couldn't yet understand. But now, the sharp burst of anger in the air, the hostility, the sadness—I couldn't hold it in. I wailed, a baby's helpless sob, raw and instinctive.
Inoichi's eyes snapped to me.
His expression cracked. The rage flickered, wavering, as he looked at me—looked at me. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his grip on the kunai loosening before it finally slipped from his fingers, clattering to the wooden floor.
Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped forward and reached out. My father, silent as ever, handed me over without a word.
The moment Inoichi cradled me in his arms, something inside him shattered. His hand trembled as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, over the faint wisps of hair on my head. His gaze locked onto mine, and I saw the reflection of a man torn apart.
"You look just like her," he whispered, his voice breaking. His thumb gently wiped away a stray tear from my cheek, his own falling freely. "Her nose… her lips… But these eyes—" He inhaled shakily. "These are Jina's eyes."
His grip tightened as he held me closer, his body shaking with grief.
"She was stubborn," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Too stubborn for her own good. She used to sneak out of the compound when we were kids, always looking for trouble, always dragging me into it. She had the loudest laugh… drove our father crazy." A weak, broken chuckle escaped him. "And she never backed down. Never."
Tears fell freely now, dripping onto my tiny hands as he held me.
"I should have been there," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have protected her too."
My cries had quieted, but I could feel the warmth of his pain, the way his body curled around me like he was afraid I'd disappear too.
Behind him, my father remained still, watching, the cut on his cheek already drying. He said nothing. He didn't need to. For now, there were no words. Only grief.
"How?" His voice was quiet but sharp, demanding the truth.
My father didn't hesitate. "We were ambushed on our way back. Four jōnin and one elite jōnin from Iwa. We fought, but… Jina was struck down before we could escape."
Inoichi's fingers tightened around me, his arms tense with barely restrained emotion. His sharp blue eyes bore into my father, filled with rage, grief, and something deeper—regret.
"You were supposed to protect her," he said, voice low and strained. "I trusted you, Yuma. I let my sister leave the safety of this clan because I believed in you."
My father remained silent, his face unreadable. He didn't defend himself. He didn't beg for forgiveness. He simply stood there and took it.
Inoichi exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His jaw clenched so tightly I could hear the grind of his teeth. "I should've never let her marry you."
The words struck deeper than any kunai ever could.
My father flinched, just barely, but enough for me to notice.
"You took her away from us," Inoichi continued, voice raw. "And now, she's gone."
A long silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
But then, Inoichi's gaze dropped to me—the small, helpless infant in his arms. His expression softened, just slightly. He studied my face, his fingers brushing against my cheek as if searching for traces of his sister in me. And whatever he saw there must have shattered something inside him.
"...But I won't let her legacy disappear," he murmured. His hold on me became more protective, his body curling slightly as if shielding me from the world. "Jina may be gone, but her son is still here."
For a moment, he simply held me, lost in thought. Then, he finally turned his attention back to my father.
"Shikaku," he said, his tone shifting from grief to something more composed, "how has he arranged things?"
My father exhaled, grateful for the shift in conversation. "He's given us a place to stay within the Nara Compound. One of his people—Itsumi—is taking care of Akira while I recover. It's a stable arrangement."
Inoichi nodded slowly, processing the information. His grip on me remained firm. "Good. At least he understands the weight of responsibility." His words were sharp, a lingering stab at my father.
Then, with a long sigh, he finally relented. "I will support Akira in every way I can. Whatever he needs, whatever it takes—he is my sister's son. He will not be alone in this world."
For the first time since our arrival, my father lifted his gaze and met Inoichi's eyes. Something unspoken passed between them.
A fragile truce. Not for their sake. But for mine.Inoichi held me close as he stepped out of the room, his footsteps slow and heavy. The grief in his eyes had settled into something else now—responsibility, determination. No matter how much he resented my father, no matter how much pain lingered in his heart, he had made a decision. I was Jina's son. That alone was enough for him to protect me.
Outside, a woman stood waiting. She was beautiful, with long blonde hair cascading down her back and soft violet eyes filled with warmth. She wore a gentle smile, though I could see the sadness behind it.
"Inoki," Inoichi said as he approached her. "This is Akira." She gazed down at me, her expression softening. She reached out, brushing a gentle finger across my cheek. "Oh, Inoichi… He has her eyes."
He exhaled, nodding. "I know."
She leaned in and pressed a light kiss to my forehead. "Jina was like a sister to me. I wish she was here to see him grow." There was a quiet moment between them before Inoichi finally spoke again. "I'm taking him to Jina's room."
Inoki gave a sad smile. "She would want that."
Still cradling me, Inoichi walked deeper into the estate, his footsteps slowing as we approached a particular door. His grip on me tightened ever so slightly before he slid it open. The room was untouched. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. The walls were decorated with old calligraphy scrolls, and the shelves were lined with various small trinkets and books. On the dresser sat a round mirror with a delicate golden frame, a few strands of my mother's hair still caught in its edges. Her weapons lay neatly arranged—kunai, shuriken, even a tanto resting on its stand.
And then, there was the diary.
Inoichi picked it up carefully, his fingers tracing over its worn leather cover. His expression was unreadable as he stared at it for a long moment before finally turning to me.
"This," he said, his voice quieter now, more personal, "was your mother's diary. She wrote in it almost every night—her thoughts, her dreams, her worries." He took a deep breath. "When you're old enough to understand, you will read it. Until then, I will keep it safe."
I didn't understand the weight of his words just yet, but I could feel it in his tone. This was not just an item. This was a piece of her.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You will know who she was, Akira. I promise you that."Then, standing tall once more, he turned toward my father. His expression hardened again as he carefully placed me back into Yuma's arms. His next words were sharp, leaving no room for argument.
"Take care of him. If I ever hear that you've been negligent, I will come to the Nara Compound, beat you senseless, and take Akira myself."
My father met his gaze, unflinching. "You won't have to."
Inoichi narrowed his eyes, then finally gave a short nod. "Good."
And with that, the fragile peace between them remained—for now. After the meeting with the Yamanaka Clan, exhaustion finally caught up with me. The weight of the day's events, coupled with my still-developing body, left me with no choice but to surrender to sleep.
Hours later, I awoke to the familiar sight of our home. My father must have brought me back while I slept. I spent some time simply observing the wooden ceiling above me, reflecting on everything that had happened. My mother's absence, my uncle's anger, and the overwhelming responsibility that seemed to loom over my tiny existence. No pressure, right?
Before I could dwell too much, my father picked me up. "Time for dinner, kid," he muttered, his tone still a bit rough from today's emotions.
Where? To my surprise, we didn't eat at home. Instead, my father carried me toward another familiar place—the residence of Shikaku Nara.
The Nara house was dimly lit, warm, and smelled of home-cooked food. The walls were decorated with various scrolls and traditional wooden carvings, a signature of the clan's laid-back but disciplined lifestyle.
Shikaku greeted us at the entrance with a tired expression, scratching the back of his head. "Took you long enough."
My father grunted, stepping inside. "Had things to do."
Then came Yoshino Nara—Shikaku's wife, and one of the few people in the village my father genuinely respected and feared. She had a commanding presence, her sharp eyes taking in my father's exhausted form before softening as she looked at me.
"Oh, come here, little one," she said, taking me from my father's arms with practiced ease.
And then—it happened again.
The divine sensation. The holy embrace.
Once again, I was at the mercy of the ultimate comfort, a place softer than the finest silk and warmer than the coziest blanket. A true paradise.
But this time, I held my composure. I was not a pervert.
I refused to disgrace myself like that certain jobless reincarnated guy who spent his baby years openly indulging in such pleasures. No, I was different.
I had control.
I did not—okay, maybe I slightly enjoyed it. But in a completely innocent way!
I internally praised my mental discipline while Yoshino cradled me effortlessly, talking to my father about his eating habits and scolding him about taking better care of himself.
Meanwhile, Shikaku smirked at me from across the table, clearly amused. Did he notice? No. Impossible.
I maintained my poker face.
Dinner was served shortly after, and while I, unfortunately, wasn't invited to eat anything solid yet, I enjoyed the atmosphere of the Nara household.
For a moment, things felt… normal.
And for now, that was enough.
The next morning, I woke up to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the paper windows. My small body still felt sluggish, but compared to when I first arrived in this world, I had definitely improved.
Before I could properly stretch, my father was already attending to my needs. He was clumsy at first—nearly dropping the towel while preparing my bath, fumbling with my tiny clothes, and once even attempting to feed me while holding a kunai between his teeth (for some reason). But over time, he got better. I had to give him credit—he was trying.
After the morning routine, he carried me outside and set me down on the wooden engawa that overlooked the Nara Clan's training grounds. This had become our daily ritual.
As I sat there, wrapped in a soft blanket, my father stepped forward and began his training.
He moved with precision, his taijutsu form sharp and controlled. His strikes were efficient, his movements were relaxed yet powerful. But what truly caught my attention was the seamless way he integrated Nara Clan's shadow techniques into his fighting style.
This was my first real look at shinobi combat.
Of course, my body was still too underdeveloped to train, but I had another method—I activated Nano Machine's Analysis Mode. Through Nano's scanning system, I attempted to analyze his movements and the mechanics behind his taijutsu. But reality hit me fast.
"Neural Development Incomplete. Information Retention Limited."
Damn. Even with all these advantages, I was still a baby.
Still, I noticed something interesting—when my father used chakra for his techniques, Nano's analysis of chakra improved. It was slow, but seeing the energy in action was somehow helping Nano decode its properties. This meant that watching chakra-based techniques daily would accelerate the scanning process that initially required a full year.
That was an unexpected but very welcome discovery. And so, my days fell into a steady rhythm.
Each morning, my father would fumble through my bath, dress me with the grace of a one-armed bandit, and feed me before placing me on the wooden engawa, where I became his tiny, silent audience.
Every day, I watched as he practiced—his movements sharp, his chakra flowing seamlessly into the Nara Clan's signature techniques. Nano did its best to analyze, though my underdeveloped brain could only grasp so much. Still, progress was progress.
Whenever my father was occupied with clan duties, I would be carried off to Uncle Inoichi's house, where I spent time with his family. It was a different environment, warmer in some ways, filled with laughter and subtle grief that never quite faded.
And of course, as if guided by fate, I would inevitably find myself nestled in Itsumi Nara's arms, where I experienced the pinnacle of softness and the most exquisite sensation known to mankind. (Strictly for scientific evaluation, of course.)
With each passing day, my understanding of this world grew. My body became stronger, my mind sharper, and the future that once felt distant began to take shape.
Just like that—a year had passed.
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Chapter Lenth-2866 words
(A/N) – There had to be a time skip because not much could be written. It was just the developmental stage, and as much as our MC wanted to act, he was technically just an infant.
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