The cheering faded. Slowly, the euphoria of survival gave way to the gnawing ache of loss. Among the wandering ninjas, grief spread like wildfire.
A young kunoichi clutched her lover, silent tears streaking her face. The others, caught in the tide of her sorrow, felt it too—pain and helplessness threading through every heart.
"This… is the fate of the ninja. Even for those who wander," Hatake Gintama murmured, his tone cold, eyes hardened. He had seen this too many times, and yet it never got easier. Perhaps years of loss had numbed him, perhaps he had simply stopped crying.
Raizen tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his sharp gaze. "Gintama… why are you running from the Sarutobi clan?"
"For survival," Gintama answered, voice faint but unwavering.
Raizen frowned, parsing the words. They were simple, yet loaded. Gintama gestured to the scattered group of wandering ninjas around them.
"They're either defectors, or those who were forced out of their clans. No home, no support—nothing but the clothes on their backs and a handful of chakra. To survive, they must serve the major families… but every task they complete, they risk offending someone powerful. Without family backing, there's no mercy. Just suppression. Just death waiting around the corner."
Raizen's eyes swept over the sobbing, ragged faces. The Amamiya clan may be small, but at least they had a home, a foothold, a network to lean on. These wandering ninjas had nothing. Each mission was a gamble; each victory temporary. A single misstep could wipe them out completely.
"Tell me," Raizen's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Why are you standing here?"
The ninjas stiffened. Some knew the boy standing before them—he had saved them five years ago—but even they couldn't answer. They didn't know why they lingered in the smoke and ruin, why they survived, why they fought at all. Perhaps for family. Perhaps for strength. Perhaps for nothing.
Raizen's gaze sharpened, unwavering. "Some of you fight for your family, some fight for survival, some fight to grow stronger. Some dream of one day standing among the ninjas of the great clans. But what do you really have? No foundation. No backup. No even basic ninjutsu. You die again and again, barely scraping by. And even if luck saves you, your children will inherit the same cycle—relatives dead, comrades gone, war swallowing everything."
A hush fell over the group. Raizen's words pierced deeper than any weapon, exposing truths they'd buried beneath grief and exhaustion.
"I've seen war, death, and ruin," Raizen continued, voice flat but heavy. "When I was five, my father was slaughtered by an enemy family. By seven, I watched my brothers, my teachers, my younger siblings die before me. Our home reduced to ash. Loss is sharp—it leaves a mark. Only when you face all of it do you know pain."
The wandering ninjas listened, some nodding faintly, eyes glistening. Only those who had endured real suffering could understand his words. Only those who had felt death at their heels could hear the truth in his voice.
"Do you want to endure this forever?" Raizen's tone thundered now, shaking the air between them. "To watch your friends, your children, your relatives die one by one? To stumble from battle to battle, powerless, as the world burns around you?"
A young man rose, tears streaking his dirt-streaked face. "We want… we want to be strong. We want a place to belong. But what can we do? What can we do?"
Raizen's eyes blazed. He stepped closer, voice rising, sharper than any kunai. "And that's why you stagnate! That's why you let life pass you like corpses in the mud! Enough!"
He took a breath, letting the words settle like fire. "As long as we breathe, hope exists. As long as we fight, we can carve a future for ourselves—a future without endless war!"
The group fell silent, the embers of despair smoldering in their hearts—but for the first time in years, a spark of something else flickered: resolve.