Chapter 1 – Live Freely
The medical tent smelled of blood and damp earth.
A woman with a deep, ragged wound across her shoulder was rushed inside, her breathing uneven as medics surrounded her. Chakra flared in the dim space as hands pressed down, voices sharp with urgency.
"Hold her still.""She's losing too much blood.""Where's the child—?"
Near the entrance stood a small boy in a military uniform, his pale eyes fixed on the stretcher.
The woman turned her head slightly.
Her gaze found him.
With trembling fingers, she reached out and pressed something small into his hand. Her grip was weak, but deliberate—urgent.
"Live freely," she whispered.
Her arm slipped from his grasp.
The tent fell silent.
One of the doctors slowly lowered his hands. Another looked away. No one spoke as they shook their heads.
Their eyes turned toward the boy.
Not with fear.
Not with urgency.
Only pity.
The world shattered.
Akira jolted awake, dragging in a sharp breath as if surfacing from deep water. His heart raced as he stared at the ceiling, pale eyes unfocused.
"…Just a dream," he muttered.
His voice was calm, but his hand was clenched tightly against his chest.
After a moment, he rose and began his routine.
He washed his face. Cleaned the small house. Every movement was quiet and precise, practiced beyond his years. If he kept moving, he wouldn't have to think.
In the kitchen, he prepared a simple meal.
Rice. Soup.
Nothing excessive.
Once seated, he folded his hands together.
"Itadakimasu."
He ate alone.
His name was Hyūga Akira.
He did not speak much. He never needed to.
There were memories in his mind that did not belong to a child—images of glowing screens, structured logic, and the comfort of cooking after long days. A different life. A distant one.
He rarely thought about it.
Some memories were better left untouched.
After eating, Akira changed into black clothes and stepped outside.
The village was quiet.
Too quiet.
He stopped at a flower stall and purchased a small bouquet.
The old woman hesitated before handing it over. "For the memorial?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"…I'm sorry."
Akira nodded once. "Thank you."
The funeral site was filled with villagers, shinobi, and quiet murmurs of grief. Names carved into stone stood as silent proof of sacrifice.
Akira stopped before two of them.
Hyūga HiromitsuHyūga Kiyomi
He placed the flowers down and bowed.
No tears came.
"Akira."
He turned.
A man stood behind him, tall and solemn, his expression calm yet heavy. His presence carried quiet authority—the kind that came not from power alone, but responsibility.
Hyūga Hizashi.
The head of the Branch Family.
Hizashi's gaze softened when it settled on the boy. "You held yourself well today," he said gently. "Your parents… were good people."
Akira remained silent.
"The clan will make arrangements," Hizashi continued. "You won't be abandoned. If you need anything—guidance, support—"
"I'll attend the clan training school daily," Akira said calmly. "Like everyone else."
Hizashi paused.
There was sadness in his eyes. And something else.
Pity.
"…Very well," he said quietly. "But remember—you don't have to carry everything alone."
Akira bowed and walked away.
He wandered the village until he found himself facing the Hokage Monument. Three stone faces looked down upon the village, unchanged by war or loss.
"So many heroes," Akira murmured.
He stood there for a long time before returning home.
His house sat at the edge of the Hyūga compound, close to a small forest beyond the walls. Isolated. Quiet.
Inside, he unpacked the supplies he had bought, placing everything neatly in its place. The house was filled with silence—and memories.
His parents had left him wealth. Enough that even the clan could not touch it.
It meant nothing.
Night fell.
Akira sat alone on the floor, back against the wall. His hand was clenched tightly, knuckles pale.
"…Live freely," he whispered.
The words trembled.
His breathing faltered.
Then his composure cracked.
A quiet sob escaped his lips, followed by another. Tears fell freely as his shoulders shook, grief finally breaking through the calm mask he had worn all day.
For the first time since the war—
Hyūga Akira cried.