Soul of a Samurai

Chapter 9: Chapter 9: A Future Decided



Two years had passed.

Time felt strange. The days stretched on, slow and steady, yet looking back, everything seemed to blur together. I had changed so much in those two years.

For one, I finally had full control over my body.

I could walk, run, and even swim. Moving no longer felt awkward or unsteady. Running through the house or the village was easy now, though my mother still warned me not to go too fast. I could also take care of myself in ways that once seemed impossible—eating, dressing, and even pooping on my own. That last one was more of a personal victory than anything, but it was still progress.

More importantly, I could speak.

At first, it was just simple sentences, short and to the point. But over time, my vocabulary expanded. I learned how to properly express myself, how to speak like the people around me. I started calling my parents "Mother" and "Father," which they both seemed to like. My father, in particular, always gave a small nod of approval whenever I addressed him properly.

Of course, some things never changed.

I still took naps with my mother, finding comfort in the warmth of her presence. I still watched my father train, observing the way his sword moved, how his stance remained firm, how sometimes—just sometimes—his blade would glow with that strange energy I now knew was chakra.

But one of the biggest things that happened in the past two years was finally seeing my reflection.

It happened one morning while I was wandering the house. I came across a polished bronze mirror in my parents' room and saw myself properly for the first time.

I had smooth black hair like my father, falling neatly around my small face. But my **eyes—**they were dark red. Like my mother's.

I blinked.

… I was cute.

It was a strange realization. I had spent so long just existing in this world that I hadn't really thought about what I looked like. But now that I had seen myself, it was impossible to forget.

One of my favorite things to do now was walk around the village.

It wasn't very big, but it was lively. There were many people—blacksmiths working on swords, shopkeepers selling food and clothes, children running around playing.

But what stood out the most were the samurai.

I had seen a few before, but now that I was older, I was able to recognize them more easily. They all carried swords like my father, their movements precise, their gazes sharp. They were intimidating, just like him.

One day, as I walked beside my father through the village, I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for a long time.

"Father," I looked up at him. "Will I become a samurai too?"

He stopped walking.

For a moment, he simply looked at me. His face was unreadable, as always, but I saw something in his gaze—certainty.

"You will," he said. "Your training will begin when you turn four."

My eyes widened.

I felt excitement bubble up in my chest.

I was going to be a samurai.

I smiled brightly. "Okay!"

My father gave a small nod, then continued walking. I hurried to keep up, my excitement still buzzing inside me.

For the first time, my path in this world felt clear.

And I couldn't wait.


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