Naruto: We Agreed on a Simulation, But They Actually Came to Life? Chapter 55 55: The Box

The Hidden Leaf Ninja Cetery.

A new headstone stood at the outermost edge of the old graves.

The na "Hagoromo Kaede" was carved into the stone, the strokes clean and sharp, much like the man himself.

Before the grave lay a plate of grilled Pacific saury and a carafe of sake.

Tsunade had prepared the fish herself, using the soy sauce from that old shop on the corner of the south street.

Hiruzen Sarutobi attended the service dressed in black.

He stood before the headstone in silence for a long ti before finally speaking a single sentence: "A student I raised myself."

His voice was soft, scattering instantly in the wind.

He didn't say more; he simply raised his hand slowly and gently patted the top of the headstone.

It was the sa way he had patted Kaede's shoulder when he announced his promotion to Chunin.

Nawaki stood before the grave, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.

He clenched his fists tight, his lips trembling several tis before he managed to speak in broken fragnts. "Sensei... while you're gone, I'll take good care of Sister."

He wiped his face hard with the back of his hand, but the tears only ca faster.

"I won't forget a single thing you taught ."

He wanted to finish his sentence like a real adult, but by the end, his voice shattered completely. He collapsed into a crouch, burying his head as he sobbed.

Jiraiya stood at the very back of the group, not uttering a single word from start to finish.

As the funeral ended and the crowd gradually dispersed, he looked back one last ti, staring deeply at the headstone. His lips moved.

The wind was too strong; no one heard what he said.

Once the ceremony was over, Nawaki, his eyes red, walked to Tsunade's side, wanting to accompany her ho.

Tsunade shook her head, her voice flat. "Go back first."

Nawaki wanted to say more, but Tsunade glanced at him.

Those completely vacant eyes made him open his mouth, only to force all his words back down his throat. He turned and walked away.

After taking a dozen steps, Nawaki looked back.

Tsunade was still standing before the headstone, motionless.

***

Tsunade used a spare key to open Kaede's door.

The shoes in the entryway were lined up neatly, exactly as they had been the day he left.

She changed her shoes and stepped onto the wooden floor barefoot.

The house was silent, the air slightly stale, as if it had been sealed away for a long ti.

The kitchen door was open; her apron was still hanging on the wall hook.

She walked into the dining area, her gaze instinctively drifting toward the sink.

There was nothing there, yet she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the empty stove for a long ti.

The light shifted across the window, moving from the stove to the sink, and then from the sink to the wall.

Dust motes rolled slowly within the beams of light.

She remained standing, as if waiting for that familiar silhouette to turn around from behind the stove, hand her a bottle of soy sauce, and then be scolded by her with a frown for "pouring too much."

Tsunade sat down at the dining table.

The light outside shifted from white to a dull yellow.

From yellow to orange, like an unquenchable sunset.

Finally, the orange faded into darkness, sinking completely into the night.

She sat there from dawn until dusk. In between, she never rose to pour a glass of water, nor did she speak a single word.

As the twilight slowly swallowed the entire house, her face gradually vanished into the darkness, becoming indiscernible.

All that remained was a blurred silhouette and her hand on the tabletop, which she refused to let go—her palm tightly clutching that dark green necklace.

Late at night, without turning on the lights, she walked into his bedroom by instinct.

Moonlight leaked through a gap in the curtains in a narrow white line, falling precisely beside the pillow.

She stood by the bed, looking down for a long ti.

Then, she leaned over and pressed her face against the pillow.

The scent was still there.

It was faint, almost gone.

She lay down slowly, pulling the quilt over her and wrapping herself tightly.

Then, just as she had for countless nights in the past, she subconsciously reached out, feeling for the space beside her—

Her palm slid across the flat, empty mattress.

There was nothing, only the cold bedsheets.

She pulled her hand back and hugged her own arms tightly.

In that spot, there should have been a broad back.

Sothing she could lean against, carrying a reassuring warmth.

Now, she could only embrace a void of air.

In the darkness, her breathing beca uneven.

Tears make no sound.

She buried her face deep in the quilt, her shoulders shaking, though she never let out a cry.

After an unknown amount of ti, the moonlight from the curtain gap shifted across the entire bed.

She didn't know when she fell asleep.

Or perhaps she hadn't slept at all, but was simply too exhausted for her consciousness to remain clear.

***

Sunlight squeezed through the curtains.

Tsunade rolled over, her hair scattering across her face.

She instinctively touched her wrist—it was empty.

The black hair tie Kaede had tied for her before he left was gone.

She sat up abruptly, flipping through the quilt and pillows, her palms frantically searching the sheets.

It wasn't there. Not on the bed.

She leaned over the edge of the bed, reaching underneath, her fingertips urgently searching the floor.

She touched the hair tie—and at the sa ti, her knuckles hit sothing hard.

Tsunade reached further in and felt the corner of a square object.

Leaning lower, she peered under the bed.

A wooden box.

She dragged the box out; it was heavy as she set it on the floor.

A brass combination lock with four digits.

She stared at the dial for a few seconds and began to turn it.

She tried Kaede's birthday.

The dial clicked to the end, and she pulled hard. It didn't open.

Tsunade's fingers paused on the dial.

The room fell silent for a mont.

Then, she dialed four new numbers: 0-8-0-2.

August 2nd. Her own birthday.

*Click.*

With a crisp sound, the lock snapped open.

She lifted the lid.

On top was a layer of folded thin paper.

She picked it up—a candy wrapper.

Peach flavored. The color had faded, but it had been folded into a tiny, neat square and pressed flat.

The candy she had given him on the first day of school.

Beneath that was a yellowed piece of drawing paper.

Two wobbly stick figures, one tall and one short, holding hands.

Next to them, two words were written clumsily: "Idiot."

The corners of the paper were wrinkled, and soone had carefully applied transparent tape to prevent further tearing.

She had drawn that, crying, when Hashirama passed away.

The Academy graduation group photo.

Tsunade looked at Kaede in the photo—he wasn't looking at the cara.

His gaze was turned to the side, resting quietly on her.

She flipped the photo over.

There was a line of text on the back.

His handwriting, clean and tidy.

"The weather is beautiful today."

There were no extra words. It truly had been a beautiful day.

A blue Omamori lay quietly in the corner of the box.

The one she had made; the one she gave him on the eve of his departure for the battlefield.

But he hadn't carried it with him—the last ti he left the house, he had left it in the box.

She turned the amulet over. The stitching had been redone.

The stitches were much finer and denser than hers, each one placed with ticulous care, repairing every spot where she had sewn crookedly.

She froze for a long ti.

At the very bottom was a letter.

No recipient was written on the envelope.

But in the whole world, only one person could open this box.

Tsunade reached for it, her fingers trembling violently.

Gritting her teeth, she unfolded the letter.

The letter was short—cruelly short.

When Tsunade reached the final line, she saw that the ink had been blurred by water stains; so of the words were no longer legible.

It was impossible to tell if the tears had fallen while he wrote it, or while she read it.

After finishing the letter, Tsunade did not cry again.

She sat on the floor against the edge of the bed, knees bent, her back resting against the bedfra.

The items from the box were scattered around her—the candy wrapper, the drawing, the photo, the Omamori, and the letter.

Two decades of ti lay scattered across the floor.

She looked down. The blue fluorite necklace he had given her caught a sliver of sunlight, casting a small arc of light across her chest.

She clutched the necklace tightly in her palm.

Tsunade sat there, motionless.

From outside the window, the sounds of the Hidden Leaf Village drifted in from afar—the cries of street vendors, the laughter of children running past, the chirping of birds.

These sounds were separated from the silence of the room by a single wall, yet it felt as though a lifeti lay between them.

She closed her eyes.

One hand gripped the necklace; the other rested gently atop the letter.

Her breathing finally slowed, becoming long and steady.

The scene began to fade.

The light in the room, the walls, the objects scattered across the floor—their colors were drained away bit by bit, turning white, then whiter still.

Until eventually, nothing remained but a vast, empty expanse of white light.

A voice drifted through the white.

Faint and distant.

It sounded as if it had traveled across more than twenty years of ti, echoing from the pavilion behind the Senju estate.

A four-year-old boy tilted his head, looking at the little girl opposite him.

He smiled.

His voice was crystal clear—

"I don't know how. Will you teach ?"

The scene faded to black.