CHAPTER 15

Memorial and Metamorphosis

The next day, Shirō woke up early and changed into a black kimono. He didn't particularly mind wearing one—"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," after all. He already ate Japanese food, spoke Japanese, and lived among shinobi, so why care about clothing? It was just a kimono. A piece of fabric didn't change who he was. And in the end, there was always a possibility of returning—this could all just be a long trip.

Still, despite his rationalizations, the kimono felt awkward and stifling. But today wasn't a day for comfort—it was a day of respect. A day to honor those who had given their lives on the battlefield. His personal discomfort didn't matter.

Today was the memorial for the shinobi who had died in the Second Great Ninja War. To honor the fallen, the entire village observed a day of mourning. No missions were scheduled. No patrols. No academy classes. Just remembrance.

Even Might Guy and his father, Might Dai—usually relentless in their training—had paused for the day, dressed in black kimonos as they made their way to the memorial stone.

The streets were filled with people, yet silence reigned. No one spoke. Civilians and shinobi alike walked in solemn quiet toward the monument.

When Shirō arrived, the crowd was already thick. Shinobi and civilians gathered respectfully behind the families of the fallen and Konoha's higher-ups. No summons had been issued—everyone had simply come, understanding the importance of this day.

The crowd swelled until nearly the entire village stood together in mourning. Yet despite the numbers, the atmosphere remained still—silent.

Then, the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, stepped forward.

"Everyone," the aged Hokage said, his voice calm and measured, "they are not truly gone. So long as we carry them in our hearts, they live on. Their will continues to protect the village."

He paused, then spoke more firmly, "So do not be consumed by sadness. Let them see the smiles of the people they died to protect. Let them have no regrets."

"Life is lived only once. Do not walk a path that is not your own. Live or die freely—but always protect what matters to you. Never let their sacrifices be in vain. We must face the future with strength."

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the crowd. "As long as there are leaves dancing, the fire will continue to burn. The fire's shadow will illuminate the village and give birth to new leaves."

That familiar Will of Fire. Shirō had heard it before in his past life—so often that netizens joked it was the strongest Genjutsu in the series. But now, standing amidst the villagers, watching families grieve and comrades bow their heads in silence, it felt… different.

Maybe wars started for power or land, but they always ended with someone trying to protect their home.

In that moment, Shirō felt true admiration for the heroes of this world—those who gave their lives for their comrades and country. Even with all his power, even if he had ten times their strength, he knew he was still lacking in conviction.

They fought for ideals. Shirō fought only for those he cared about.

As the ceremony ended and people began to disperse, Shirō remained still for a moment. He eventually spoke briefly with Yamada before making his way toward Kushina, Minato, and the others.

He didn't speak. There was nothing to say.

Tsunade stood with them, tears streaming down her face. Dan and Nawaki deaths were wounds that never truly healed.

Neither Shirō nor Minato offered words of comfort. What comfort could there be? Words were pale and powerless against grief like this.

Shirō hadn't lost anyone like that, not in either life. He couldn't understand. He could only watch silently.

Tsunade, the mighty Sannin, stood broken by the weight of the past.

And Shirō thought: perhaps only someone who could grow strong despite tragedy—like a true hero—could ever pull her back from this abyss.

Eventually, Tsunade wiped her tears and turned to leave. "I have something I need to prepare," she said, without elaborating.

Shirō had a guess. If he remembered correctly, this should be around the time she began laying the groundwork for assigning Medical Ninja to every squad. A visionary plan—but he also recalled it wasn't immediately accepted. Still, it wasn't his place to interfere.

Orochimaru, unlike the others, stayed behind at the stone.

Before leaving, Shirō glanced at him. He remembered vaguely—this moment marked the beginning of Orochimaru's descent into the shadows.

---

The next two days were spent in training.

Shirō trained with Might Guy and Might Dai, preparing for the Ryūchi Cave trial. He wasn't overly nervous—he had prepared a trump card for that "minor character snake."

But with Tsunade and Orochimaru busy, the trial had to be postponed. So Shirō continued his usual training.

His routine was simple: archery. He'd shoot arrows, cross-reference his experience with what Projection magic taught him, spot inconsistencies, and refine his form.

Of course, saying it was simple was one thing. Doing it was another.

It was like watching a game tutorial: "Just combo 1-2-3, dodge, repeat." Easy when you watch it. But when you actually try it? Yeah—good luck with that.

Still, practice brought improvement. Not with every arrow—but maybe every third or fourth shot, something clicked. That progress felt good. It just came at a cost.

So, Mr. Ma was right: "Strength is bought with money. Happiness is built with effort."

Once about 70% of his arrows were used, he'd switch to practicing shurikenjutsu. It was another basic tool in a shinobi's arsenal—one he couldn't neglect. At the same time, he incorporated Reinforcement Magic into his training to make every second count.

Afterwards, he'd spar with Guy and Dai in taijutsu until sunset.

But unlike his energetic training partners, Shirō didn't continue cultivating into the night. After dinner, he wandered the village streets. His past life as a slacker still influenced him. He couldn't train as obsessively as Guy. That just wasn't who he was.

The strength he had now? It was thanks in large part to the Heroic Spirit card. And to the people around him.

He remembered how hard it had been when he first transmigrated. Just getting through a day of training had been exhausting.

But things changed when he entered the Academy—and especially when he met Kushina. Her... "enthusiastic encouragement" kept him moving. Slowly but surely, he'd adapted.

Yes, Might Guy and his group also helped—but Shirō was too stubborn to admit it.

Some might say he was foolish. Why enroll in the Academy during a war?

But Shirō hadn't known when the war would end. He hadn't paid attention to the timeline—he'd skipped the flashbacks in the anime, skimmed summaries at best. What if he missed his chance to enroll? What then? Sit around and wait to die?

He was just a shut-in in his past life. He didn't know how to train on his own.

So yes, he was grateful. Things had fallen into place. He wasn't extremely hardworking—but he was trying. That was enough.

This was his pace. This was his path.

Sure, he could've maximized his growth by imitating Emiya Shirou completely. That would've unlocked the full power of the Heroic Spirit card.

But then only Emiya Shirou would survive.

There's a saying: if you pretend to be a good person your whole life, you are one.

The Heroic Spirit card had side effects—subtle mental suggestions. The closer you acted to the spirit's ideals, the stronger the benefits. But eventually, you lost yourself.

Shirō didn't trust himself to resist that influence.

He was just a shut-in—not a hero.

Still, those days were behind him. He'd started to enjoy training, if only a little. Mostly because... well, everything else was kind of boring.

Not even a Connect Four board around here.