---Third POV: MC as a kid when he was still on Earth---
Thomas was sitting in Ms. Peterson's first-grade classroom, watching the raindrops race down the window while the other children unpacked their folders and lunch boxes.
"We have a new student joining us today," she announced. "This is Daniel Renold. His family just moved here from California, and I want you all to make him feel welcome."
Daniel stood at the front of the class, his posture slightly hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. He wore a blue t-shirt with some cartoon character Thomas didn't recognize, his black hair falling across his forehead in uneven bangs that suggested a home haircut.
"You can take the empty seat," Ms. Peterson said, gesturing to the desk beside Thomas.
Daniel walked over and sat down, eyes fixed on the desk. While the other students began writing about their weekends, he silently pulled out a worn notebook with stickers covering its cover and began to draw.
"I'm Thomas." Thomas whispered, after Ms. Peterson walked away to help someone on the other side of the room.
Daniel looked up. "Hi."
"What's that?" Thomas asked, pointing to the notebook Daniel was sketching in.
Daniel hesitated, then turned the notebook. On the page was a surprisingly detailed drawing of a spiky-haired man with his hands cupped at his side.
"It's Goku," Daniel said. "From Dragon Ball Z. You know it?"
Thomas shook his head.
"It's the best show ever," Daniel said, his eyes lighting up. "It's about these fighters who can shoot energy and fly and stuff. My dad..." His enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "My dad and I used to watch it together in California."
"That's cool," Thomas said, genuinely interested in the artwork. "You draw really good."
Daniel smiled. "I can show you how to draw him too, if you want."
---Months later--
Thomas was sitting on a creaking swing. The playground was nearly empty, most kids called home for dinner. Only he and his best friend Daniel remained, savoring the last minutes of freedom.
Daniel pumped his legs harder on the swing beside him, his Dragon Ball Z t-shirt flapping in the wind. "Bet I can go higher than you, Tommy!"
"No way!" Thomas laughed, matching his rhythm.
Seven months had passed since Daniel transferred to Thomas' elementary—enough time for Thomas to discover Dragon Ball episodes and for the boys to establish a routine of secret sleepovers whenever Daniel's father was having what his mother delicately called "one of his episodes."
"If you could have any power," Daniel asked, "what would it be?"
Thomas considered this seriously. They'd had this conversation countless times.
"I'd want eyes that could see through anything," Thomas decided. "Like, not just x-ray vision, but eyes that could see people's weak spots. One look and I'd know exactly where to hit to take down anyone."
Daniel nodded appreciatively. "That's cool. Like special death eyes."
"Death eyes sounds scary," Thomas laughed. "What about you?"
Daniel's swing slowed as he thought. "I'd want to be able to counter anything. Like, if someone throws a fireball at me, I could throw it back twice as strong!"
"Full Counter!" Thomas shouted, remembering the manga Daniel had shown him last week.
"Exactly!" Daniel beamed. "And then I'd—"
A beer bottle exploded against the metal pole inches from Thomas' head, showering his hair with stinging glass fragments and foamy beer. Both boys flinched violently, their swinging abruptly desynchronizing as they jerked their heads toward the sound.
A massive silhouette stood at the playground's edge where gravel met grass, backlit by the single functioning streetlight. Thomas recognized Mr. Renold's hulking frame—six-foot-three of twisted muscle and barely contained violence, swaying like a cobra preparing to strike.
"DANIEL! Get your worthless ass home NOW!"
Daniel's swing screeched to a halt. Thomas felt his friend go rigid beside him.
"I'm coming," Daniel whispered, his voice suddenly small. Not the voice that had been excitedly discussing anime powers seconds earlier.
Mr. Renold staggered forward, kicking aside an empty beer can that clattered across the concrete. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, settled on Thomas.
"You..." he slurred. "You're always late."
Before Thomas could say anything, Mr. Renold lurched forward, ripping a fresh bottle from the dangling six-pack in his left hand and hurled it directly at Thomas' face.
Thomas twisted sideways, the swing's chains tangling around his arm as he attempted to dodge. The bottle missed his eye but caught him across the temple, slicing a thin line before shattering against the metal chain. Hot blood trickled down his cheek, mixing with splashed beer and fear-sweat.
"Dad, STOP!" Daniel leapt from his swing, rushing forward. "That's not me, that's Thomas!"
Mr. Renold froze, his alcohol-soaked brain struggling to process this information.
"You brought your fucking friend to watch this?" he growled, advancing on Daniel. "Wanted to show everyone what a pathetic drunk your old man is? Laughing behind my back?"
"No, we were just playing."
The impact came without warning—Mr. Renold's massive fist, not even an open hand, connected with Daniel's jaw with a sound like a baseball bat hitting raw meat. Daniel's small body lifted completely off the ground before crashing back down onto the woodchips six feet away.
A tooth skittered across the concrete.
"Lying little shit," Mr. Renold snarled, advancing on his downed son. "Just like your mother. Always making me look bad."
Thomas felt something snap inside him. He grabbed a jagged shard from the broken bottle.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
Mr. Renold half-turned at the sound, giving Thomas the opening he needed. Remembering a move from Daniel's precious anime, he drove the glass shard into Mr. Renold's exposed side, just below the ribs. It didn't go deep but it was enough.
Mr. Renold howled, more in shock than pain. His massive hand shot out, catching Thomas by the throat before he could retreat.
Thomas was hoisted into the air, his feet kicking uselessly inches above the ground.
"You fucking psycho kid—" Mr. Renold's breath hit Thomas' face like a toxic cloud, "—gonna cut you into fucking pieces—"
The pressure on Thomas' windpipe increased.
Through fading consciousness, he saw movement behind Mr. Renold. Daniel pulled himself up, blood pouring from his split lip and busted nose. He grabbed his lunch container from next to the slide and swung it with everything he had at the back of his father's skull.
Mr. Renold's grip loosened for a second as he stumbled sideways, and Thomas dropped to the ground. He hit the floor hard, his ankle twisting with a nasty pop, but the rush of adrenaline turned the pain into just a dull throb.
"Run, Tommy!" Daniel screamed, his voice distorted by his swelling lip.
"YOU—" Mr. Renold recovered with terrifying speed, spinning to face his son and backhanded him with such force that his head snapped sideways. Daniel crashed into the metal slide, before he crumpled to the ground.
Thomas scrambled across the woodchips, ignoring the splinters driving into his palms. He grabbed a fistful of pea gravel from the border between playground zones and flung it at Mr. Renold's face.
"FUCK!" Mr. Renold clawed at his eyes with one hand while blindly grabbing for Thomas with the other.
Thomas ducked under the wild swing and reached Daniel, who lay dazed but conscious, blood streaming from a gash above his eyebrow.
"Get up!" Thomas hissed, pulling at Daniel's arm. "We have to go!"
Daniel struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on Thomas. They staggered toward the playground's edge as Mr. Renold spotted them and charged like an enraged bull.
Thomas' eyes darted frantically around the playground. The swings were too exposed. The slide was a dead end. The monkey bars—
"There!" he gasped, dragging Daniel toward the jungle gym.
They ducked between the metal bars just as Mr. Renold reached them. The man's bulk became his weakness as he failed to fit through the narrow gaps. He roared in frustration, rattling the entire structure as he tried to reach in for them.
"Come here, you little shits!"
"Through the other side," Thomas whispered to Daniel, pulling him through the maze of bars.
They emerged on the opposite side and made a break for the seesaw. Mr. Renold, realizing his mistake, abandoned the jungle gym and circled around, surprisingly fast.
Thomas grabbed the raised end of the seesaw. "Help me!"
Understanding flashed in Daniel's eyes. Together, they pulled down on the raised end. As Mr. Renold charged past, they released it. The wooden plank shot upward, catching Mr. Renold directly under the chin with a sickening crack. The big man staggered backward, blood spurting from where he'd bitten through his own tongue.
For a moment, Thomas thought they'd won. Then Mr. Renold's eyes rolled forward, focusing on them with a clarity that was somehow more terrifying than his drunken rage.
"You're dead," he said, the words garbled by his bleeding mouth. "Both of you."
Thomas grabbed Daniel's hand. "The street—now!"
They bolted toward the park's edge where the playground met the road. Thomas' twisted ankle screamed with each step, forcing him to hop-run, still clutching Daniel's trembling hand. Behind them, Mr. Renold's pounding footsteps grew closer.
Thomas felt a sudden jerk as Daniel was yanked backward. Mr. Renold had caught the hood of his son's jacket, nearly clotheslining him.
"Daniel!" Thomas refused to let go of his friend's hand, but the force of Mr. Renold's pull dragged him backward too. He lost his footing on the gravel, skinning his knees and elbows as he was dragged across the rough surface.
"Let him GO ASSHOLE!" Thomas screamed, lashing out with his foot, connecting solidly with Mr. Renold's groin.
The man doubled over with a wheezing gasp, momentarily releasing Daniel's hood. Thomas scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blood streaming down his legs, and yanked Daniel away from his father.
They reached the curb. Headlights approached from the left, still distant but approaching.
"My house is just across," Thomas panted. "Dad will help—he'll call the police."
They stepped off the curb together. He squeezed Daniel's fingers, feeling his friend trembling violently beside him.
"It's okay," he whispered. "We're almost—"
"DANIEL!" The roar from behind was inhuman.
He felt Daniel's hand torn from his grasp with a yank so hard it nearly popped his shoulder out of socket. He spun around to see Mr. Renold, blood running down his chin, grabbing Daniel by the throat and hoisting the boy up till his toes barely touched the asphalt.
Daniel's face reddened, then began to purple, his hands clawing desperately at his father's grip.
Thomas stood in the middle of the street, blood dripping from a dozen wounds, his twisted ankle throbbing in time with his racing pulse. The approaching car's headlights illuminated the scene as it rounded the bend.
Something buried deep in his brain told him to save himself.
Instead, he charged.
He drove his shoulder into Mr. Renold's kidney with every ounce of strength his six-year-old frame could generate. The man grunted, staggering sideways but maintaining his grip on Daniel. Thomas followed up with a kick to the back of the knee and was rewarded with a howl of pain.
Mr. Renold swung around, Daniel still dangling from his grasp, and smacked Thomas hard with his free hand. The blow caught Thomas right in the temple, knocking him down onto the asphalt.
Through the haze, he saw Daniel's struggles weakening, his kicks growing weaker. With one last desperate push, Thomas shoved himself up, grabbed a fistful of loose gravel from the gutter. He threw it right in Mr. Renold's face, aiming for the eyes.
The man recoiled, his grip loosening just enough for Daniel to twist free. Daniel dropped to the pavement, gasping and retching, his hands clutching his bruised throat.
"Tommy—" he wheezed, reaching toward his friend.
Mr. Renold, recovered and enraged beyond reason, lunged for both boys. Thomas grabbed Daniel's arm, yanking him toward the opposite side of the street, away from the approaching car.
A hand closed around Daniel's ankle, jerking him backward with savage force. Daniel's chin struck the asphalt with a crack. Blood spattered across the street.
"No more running," Mr. Renold growled, dragging Daniel backward like a rag doll.
Thomas lunged forward, grabbing Daniel's outstretched hands. For one surreal moment, Daniel was stretched between them—his father pulling his legs, Thomas clutching his hands.
"LET GOOOOO!" Thomas screamed.
Mr. Renold responded by yanking harder, simultaneously rising to his feet and wrenching Daniel upward.
The motion broke Thomas' grip and sent Daniel flying backward. His small body arced through the air, a trajectory that would have returned him to the curb, except in that exact moment, the approaching car swerved to avoid what the driver perceived as people fighting in the street.
Thomas watched in frozen horror as Daniel's airborne body intersected with the car's new path. The sickening sound wasn't the dull thud Thomas had expected... The initial impact sounded like a watermelon dropped on concrete, followed by the screech of brakes, the crunch of Daniel's body rolling across the hood, the spiderweb crack of the windshield as his head connected, and finally the muted thump as he was thrown forward onto the asphalt beyond.
Then came the screams—first the driver's, a teenage girl with braces who would never drive again without trembling, then Mr. Renold's, a howl of sudden sobriety, and finally Thomas', a sound he didn't recognize as human, let alone his own.
He scrambled across the pavement, his body moving while his mind shattered into a thousand screaming fragments. He reached his friend's broken form and felt his world collapse around him.
Daniel lay splayed on the street, limbs arranged in angles that human anatomy should never achieve. Most terrible of all was his face—one side perfect and untouched, the other... Thomas' mind refused to process it fully.
But it was the eyes that broke him completely. They stared upward, still open, one intact and one... not.
Thomas didn't remember screaming. He didn't remember running to Daniel's crumpled form. He didn't remember the driver's hysterical sobs, or Mr. Renold's sudden, horrified sobriety.
What he remembered was kneeling beside his friend, blood pooling beneath Daniel's head.
"Get up," Thomas whispered, shaking Daniel's shoulder. "Come on. We have to go. Tomorrow is school."
Daniel didn't respond.
---
Thomas sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by Dragon Ball manga volumes he'd convinced his parents to buy.
He'd been there when they buried Daniel. A small ceremony, attended mostly by classmates and teachers. Mr. Renold, out on bail, had stood apart from everyone, his face unrecognizable in its grief. Daniel's mother had hugged Thomas for a long time, whispering "Thank you for being his friend" over and over.
Thomas flipped through the manga, searching for something—though he couldn't articulate what. Some explanation, perhaps. Some meaning to what had happened.
"If I had a wish," he whispered to the empty room. "If I had just one wish..."
He imagined the Dragon Balls, all seven gathered together. In Daniel's beloved show, they granted any wish. One wish could bring back those who had died.
"I'd wish for a chance to save you," Thomas continued, tears sliding down his face. "Or a power that could have protected you."
He closed his eyes, imagining a system where wishes could come true.
"One pull of the gacha," he murmured, using the term Daniel had taught him from the mobile games he loved. "Just one lucky pull."
---Ryouma's POV---
On a sunny morning, I woke up on the tatami mat inside a quaint, traditional room, feeling unusually energized and refreshed. My body seemed lighter somehow, perhaps from a good dream, though I couldn't quite remember what I'd dreamed about.
The sensation of complete rest was foreign after so many restless nights. Having spent a long time on the battlefield, I felt that time passed so quickly now that I had returned to Konoha.
It had been several days since my visit to Kushina's home.
After washing up, I walked through the long open-air wooden corridor and headed to the backyard.
Cluck cluck cluck~
Taking a few eggs from the chicken coop, I turned back and walked into the kitchen.
---
"Oi~ It's so much more comfortable at home. I never want to see those lousy tents on the battlefield again."
Seeing me spreading sauce on bread, she greeted casually.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Tsunade's eyes lit up when she saw the sandwiches on the table. "Wow, those look amazing."
Indeed, this was her home. It was a luxurious, grand estate.
Since returning to Konoha, I had eagerly asked Tsunade about the Flying Thunder God Technique.
She had said, "Just come to my house. It's quite spacious."
Having long regarded her with respect and trust, I didn't hesitate. After handling some personal matters, I headed straight to her place.
To facilitate learning the Flying Thunder God Technique, I had been staying at the Senju residence for the past few days. Not only was Tsunade teaching the technique, but she also granted me access to Tobirama's study.
Lately, besides studying the Flying Thunder God Technique, I had been immersed in Tobirama's theoretical notes.
To be honest, the gains were immense. He was truly a genius.
Reading some of his experimental records and hypotheses, I realized my previous understanding of chakra was far too superficial. Take the two books I had been studying recently: "Speculations on the Nature Transformation and Shape Transformation of Yang-Attribute Chakra" and "On the Adverse Psychological Effects of High-Purity Yin-Attribute Chakra on the Human Mind."
These works deepened my understanding of Yin and Yang.
Aside from learning, I had also taken the opportunity to earn a certification.
By the time I walked out of the examination hall yesterday afternoon, I had officially become a jonin.
Accompanying me in the exams was of course Shiori.
During the decisive battle against Suna, she had shown extraordinary performance. Having already awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan, her strength surpassed that of ordinary jonin. Combined with the Sharingan's exclusive techniques she had mastered, she had eliminated many notable Suna ninjas, including some jonin-level opponents.
Like me, her strength and achievements were sufficient to warrant her promotion to jonin.
Konoha had a tradition of gifting companions when they were promoted to jonin. For others, I might not know their preferences, but Shiori was an exception.
I simply wrote out a custom ninjutsu scroll for Chidori and gave it to her.
Although she maintained her usual cold demeanor while receiving the gift, the slight curve of her lips betrayed her true feelings.
And her gift to me was a leather sheath.
I couldn't tell what kind of animal the leather came from, but it had pearl-like patterns on the surface and felt exceptionally smooth to the touch. Moreover, it was a perfect fit for Lostvayne.
This reminded me of Heiji. That guy would never have guessed that Shiori and I had both advanced to jonin ahead of him.
At this moment, he was probably still on the battlefield in Kiri.
I stepped outside.
---
Sitting on the wooden veranda, I admired the clusters of white hydrangeas in the courtyard—this flower color was rare in the Land of Fire.
According to Tsunade, these white hydrangeas were a special variety Mito brought from the Land of Whirlpools.
Glancing at Tsunade, who was still eating, I unconsciously touched the necklace around my neck. It was a gift from her yesterday, congratulating me on officially becoming a jonin.
Although she didn't elaborate on the necklace, I was well aware of its history.
When she handed it over, she hesitated, unsure whether giving the necklace to me was the right decision. After all, the previous two owners of this necklace...
I immediately understood her concerns. Without a second thought, I took the necklace and wore it on the spot.
I didn't particularly desire the necklace but thought that if I could wear this seemingly cursed item and safely see the end of the Third Ninja War, it might help her resolve her inner turmoil.
After the breakfast, I walked along the road to the Hokage's office, having received notice from the ANBU that Hiruzen wanted to see me.
After passing the ANBU guards at the entrance, I entered the Hokage's office.
Inside, it appeared that Hiruzen was the only one present. However, with my Rikugan activated, I could detect four ANBU hidden within the room.
For such a small office, they sure hid well.
Seeing me enter, Hiruzen immediately greeted me with a warm smile.
"You've finally arrived, Ryouma. I've been eager to meet you. You did an excellent job in the Land of Rivers."
"You flatter me, Hokage-sama"
I already knew that my title, "Leaf's Gale," was thanks to this old man's handiwork. Still, I couldn't bring myself to get mad at someone who had devoted his life to Konoha, Danzō not included...
Besides, "Leaf's Gale" wasn't a bad title.
Hiruzen's smile grew even brighter.
"The village has decided to reward you with the opportunity to select one jutsu from the Scroll of Seals."
With that, he retrieved the Scroll of Seals he had prepared in advance.
Forming hand seals, complex sealing patterns surfaced on the scroll, rearranged themselves, and then disappeared. Unrolling the scroll, he gestured for me to step forward and make my selection.
I was genuinely curious about the Scroll of Seals. What kind of mysterious and profound techniques were contained within?
As I browsed the jutsu, Hiruzen observed the peculiar creature perched on my shoulder.
Shukaku, sensing Hiruzen's gaze, rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"I've made my choice."
---
The song If Wishes Were Real was made for this chapter.
Check out if you want! Yt link should be in the comments.
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