Chapter 11: Decision to become a Shinobi

The room was bathed in warm sunlight, its rays streaming through tall, arched windows, but the mood inside was anything but warm.

Kenta sat cross-legged on a plush cushion in the Daimyo's private study, facing his mother, Shizuka, and his grandfather, the Daimyo himself. His older brother, Ikkyū, sat to his right, looking mildly amused but intrigued.

Kenta had dropped a bombshell, and the room was reeling from it.

"You want to become a shinobi?" his mother repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. She was dressed in her usual elegant attire, her hair styled perfectly as always, but her composure seemed to be cracking.

"Kenta, do you understand what you're saying? Nobles don't become shinobi. It's forbidden!"

Kenta, unfazed, leaned back slightly and shrugged. "I know it's unusual, Mom. But I'm not asking to follow the usual path. I want to follow MY path."

His mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'How am I supposed to tell him that the Shinobi life is filled with dangers? I are not losing my dear Kenta like I lost his father.'

"Kenta, this isn't just about tradition. As a noble, you have responsibilities—diplomatic, political, and social. You're expected to oversee lands, make decisions for the betterment of the people, and represent the family with dignity. Becoming a shinobi is completely incompatible with those duties."

Kenta tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Let me stop you right there, Mom. Are you saying I'd have to spend my days sitting in meetings, writing reports, and dealing with annoying nobles who want to complain about their tea taxes?"

His mother frowned. "That's an oversimplification—"

"Because if you are," Kenta interrupted, holding up a hand dramatically, "that sounds like the most boring job in the history of boring jobs. I'd rather throw myself into a swamp of poisonous snakes than spend my life listening to Count Whatever-His-Face whine about losing his fifth estate."

Ikkyū let out a snort of laughter, quickly covering his mouth when his mother shot him a warning glare.

"Kenta," his mother continued, her voice strained, "I understand that you're still young and don't fully grasp the importance of your position, but becoming a shinobi would disqualify you from inheriting any noble title. You would lose your claim to the Daimyo's seat, as well as any chance of becoming a regional lord. Is that what you want?"

Kenta didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

The simplicity of his answer stunned the room into silence. Even the Daimyo, who had remained quiet so far, raised an eyebrow.

"You'd give up your inheritance?" Shizuka asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kenta nodded, crossing his arms confidently. "Look, Mom, we all know Ikkyū would make a better Daimyo anyway." He gestured toward his brother, who looked up in surprise. "He's patient, smart, and actually enjoys all this political stuff. Me? I'd spend five minutes in a meeting and end up throwing kunai at people just to make things interesting."

"True," Ikkyū said with a grin. "I'd pay to see that."

"Ikkyū!" Shizuka hissed, but her son just shrugged innocently.

"What? He punched Lord Senkei's son when he was trying to butter up to him."

Kenta though continued, his tone serious now. "When Ikkyū becomes Daimyo, he's going to need protection. Who better to guard him than his own brother? I might not be a politician, but I can be a damn good shinobi. I can make sure no one even thinks about threatening him or our family."

The room fell silent again, but this time, the weight of Kenta's words hung heavily in the air. The Daimyo, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke.

"Kenta," he said, his voice deep and steady, "do you understand the significance of what you're saying? You're willingly giving up the chance to rule the Land of Fire—something many would kill for."

Kenta looked up at his grandfather, his expression unwavering. "I'm not interested in ruling, Grandpa. That's not who I am. Even in my past life—" He caught himself, quickly correcting, "I mean, even before now, I've always loved watching people fight, challenging myself, and protecting what matters. I can't do that sitting behind a desk."

The Daimyo leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly as memories flooded his mind. His own brothers, blinded by greed and ambition, had tried to kill him for the Daimyo's seat. That betrayal had haunted him for years, a constant reminder of how power could corrupt even the closest bonds.

And yet, here was Kenta—his grandson—willingly giving up that power, not out of laziness or fear, but out of love for his family and a desire to forge his own path.

The Daimyo's voice softened. "When I was younger, my brothers turned against me, consumed by their hunger for power. I've spent my life wondering if I made the right choices, if my family's legacy would endure. But hearing you speak, Kenta … you've given me something I never thought I'd have again."

Kenta tilted his head. "What's that?"

"Hope," the Daimyo said simply.

Shizuka's eyes filled with tears as she listened to her father's words. She had always feared the same fate for her sons—that they might one day turn on each other in pursuit of power. But instead, Kenta had chosen to support Ikkyū, not out of obligation, but because he genuinely believed in his brother's ability to lead.

For a moment, Shizuka couldn't speak. She simply reached out and pulled Kenta into a tight embrace, her tears spilling onto his shoulder.

"My sweet boy," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't deserve a son like you."

Kenta, slightly uncomfortable with the sudden display of affection, awkwardly patted her back. "Uh, thanks, Mom. But, you know, I'm not dying or anything. I just want to be a ninja."

Ikkyū laughed, earning another glare from their mother.

As the emotional moment unfolded, Kenta's mind wandered.

'Man, they're taking this way too seriously. I'm not trying to be a hero or anything—I just want to have fun. Sitting in meetings and dealing with politics sounds like the worst way to spend my life. But being a shinobi? That's where the real action is. Fights, missions, danger—it's exactly what I love.'

He thought back to his previous life as a martial artist. Fighting had always been his passion, the thrill of testing his limits and overcoming challenges. Becoming a shinobi was the perfect way to chase that thrill in this new world.

'Besides,' he thought, smirking inwardly, 'who wouldn't want to clap their hands and teleport across a battlefield? Boogie Woogie's gonna make me unstoppable. It would be a shame if I become anything else other than a Shinobi.'

After what felt like an eternity, the Daimyo finally spoke again. "Very well, Kenta. If this is truly what you want, I will not stand in your way. But there will be conditions."

Kenta straightened, his eyes lighting up. "Conditions? Like what?"

"First," the Daimyo said, "you will have samurai training and continue your current studies until you are eight years old. Only then will you be allowed to join the shinobi academy in Konoha."

Kenta nodded eagerly. "Fair enough. What else?"

"Second," his grandfather continued, "you will train not just in combat, but also in discipline and restraint. Power without control is dangerous, and I will not have my grandson becoming a rogue."

"Deal," Kenta said, his smirk returning.

The Daimyo's expression softened, and he nodded. "Then it's settled. You'll begin your journey as a shinobi in three years. Until then, make the most of your training and your studies."

Kenta grinned, his excitement barely contained. "You won't regret this, Grandpa. I promise."

Shizuka, though still teary-eyed, managed a small smile. "If this is what makes you happy, Kenta, then I'll support you. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Kenta gave her a cheeky grin. "Careful's my middle name."

Ikkyū snorted. "Yeah, right."

-----------Author Notes----------

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