Chapter 28

All the bandits—more than a thousand in total—had died at the hands of Hoshikawa Haru.

His clothes were soaked in blood. He walked in silence, a dazed and distant look in his eyes.

When he reached the village gate, the guards were stunned. The sharp, metallic stench of blood hit them immediately, and even though they were seasoned warriors, they instinctively recoiled. Fear flickered in their eyes, and they each took a cautious step back.

But Haru paid them no attention. He moved like a machine, sluggish and directionless.

Even though the blood had dried and clung stubbornly to his skin, he continued walking, confused and disconnected from reality.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking when he finally found himself at his doorstep.

Sakura Kinomoto was tending to the flowers in the courtyard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the disheveled figure of Hoshikawa Haru. She froze, stunned. The spray bottle in her hand slipped and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

"Ha—Haru?" she whispered, eyes wide with disbelief as she covered her mouth with her hand.

The next moment, she ran over and wrapped her arms around him tightly, like a bowstring suddenly released.

Hoshikawa Haru stood still, limp and unresponsive, like a lifeless puppet. His eyes were vacant, his lips unmoving.

"Did you… kill someone?" Sakura Kinomoto asked gently. She had once been a ninja herself—she knew this smell all too well.

But it wasn't the scent of blood that shocked her the most. It was the sheer volume—his clothes were soaked with dried crimson, and the bloodstains layered across his body told her it wasn't just a few people.

She steadied herself and took a breath. "Come on… You need to change. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Sakura sensed something was deeply wrong, but she pushed her concern aside and pulled Haru toward the bathroom.

She helped him out of the bloodstained clothes. Under normal circumstances, Haru would've protested shyly, flustered by the situation. But now he didn't even lift his head. His body moved, but his spirit seemed far away.

Sakura fetched a clean set of clothes and carefully washed his body—just as she had done when he was a child.

As she continued to gently tend to him, something in Haru's expression softened. A flicker of light returned to his eyes, and he finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"I hate killing."

Sakura Kinomoto paused, then smiled gently, as if making a vow.

"Alright. Then don't."

No matter how powerful he became, no matter what he accomplished—he was still her child. Just a child.

After that brief exchange, they fell into a long, uneasy silence.

When he was finally cleaned up, Haru's cheeks were tinged a soft red, like a delicate flower bud just beginning to bloom. Droplets clung to his long lashes, a tender contrast to the lifeless emptiness in his gaze.

He dressed quietly, then sat beside his mother on the sofa, still processing everything.

"Haru," Sakura asked seriously, "what exactly happened?"

It was rare to hear such gravity in her voice.

Haru looked up. His deep eyes were like dark whirlpools, pulling in everything around them. He opened his mouth to speak—but a knock on the door interrupted him.

Sakura rose and opened it. Standing before her was Hashirama.

"Hokage-sama," she said flatly, her tone ice cold.

Hashirama looked awkward, scratching his head. "Is Haru here?"

"He's not in a good state. He needs time to settle his mind. And I need some answers."

Sakura stepped aside and allowed him in.

The first thing Hashirama saw was Hoshikawa Haru, slumped on the sofa, eyes dull, spirit absent.

"Haru, go upstairs for now. I need to speak with the Hokage."

Sakura's voice was firm.

Haru nodded silently and returned to his room, not even sparing Hashirama a glance.

Hashirama's expression darkened—not out of frustration with Haru, but at the anger he felt toward his brother, Tobirama. Anyone could see Haru was emotionally broken.

"You've suddenly decided to care now? What were you doing earlier?" Sakura's voice was sharp and biting.

Hashirama opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. He could only lower his head in silence.

"As his mother," Sakura said, voice cold and eyes piercing, "I have the right to know exactly what happened."

The force of her gaze made even the First Hokage feel small. Hashirama swallowed hard, cowed by the raw power of a mother's fury.

He nodded with guilt and explained everything—every detail, every decision, every failure.

By the time he finished, Sakura Kinomoto was trembling, her fists clenched tightly.

"You're his teacher! And you let Tobirama put him through that?" she shouted. "Do you even realize the consequences of such a mission?"

Her voice grew louder with every sentence, drowning the room in fury.

"He's just a child! A child born in a time of peace!"

Her words were like arrows to the heart. Hashirama lowered his head even more, consumed by guilt.

"I'm truly sorry," he whispered. "It's my failure as his teacher."

Sakura gave a bitter scoff, no longer willing to argue. But just then, Haru reappeared, voice steady.

"This isn't the teacher's fault. I was the one who insisted."

He had heard every word from upstairs.

He could feel the strength in his mother's scolding and the regret in his teacher's silence.

But he didn't blame either of them. If anything, he blamed himself—for overestimating his emotional endurance.

He thought that living through two lifetimes had made him stronger. He thought experience would be enough.

But experience can become a burden too.

He had grown up in a peaceful world—no war, no starvation, no bloodshed. That stability shaped the way he saw life. He thought killing would just be a necessity, nothing more.

But when he actually had to take lives, he trembled.

He had overestimated himself.

His words silenced them both. Hashirama was devastated. He had wanted to protect his student but had instead left him to carry a burden alone.

Looking at Hashirama's guilty expression, Haru approached and gave a tired smile.

"Teacher… has anyone ever told you that you're too soft? You're always blaming yourself."

Hashirama blinked in surprise. Then his face flushed with embarrassment. How did Haru know that? Did Tobirama tell him?

The confusion on Hashirama's face made Haru chuckle.

"Ahem, uh… are you feeling alright now?" Hashirama asked, quickly changing the subject.

Haru played along, shrugging. "I'm still a little shaken, but I'll be okay. I just need some time."

"Good, good," Hashirama said with visible relief. "If something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."

His face grew serious again. "Tobirama went too far. Even if his intentions were good, it wasn't the right move."

Haru nodded in agreement. "Sensei, times have changed. Children born in Konoha now aren't like the ones from the Warring States period."

"That kind of harsh training is outdated."

Hashirama nodded solemnly but looked troubled.

"But we can't change everything overnight…"

Haru leaned in, eyes gleaming. He whispered something into Hashirama's ear.

As the Hokage listened, his expression brightened with each word. When Haru finished, Hashirama pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his head playfully.

"Haru, you're a genius!"

Haru just smiled and said nothing. After all, the concept he shared had already proven successful—in the world of Naruto, it would eventually become the ninja academy.

Seeing the two of them joking and laughing like old friends, Sakura Kinomoto frowned. She marched over, grabbed Haru by the ear, and hissed through clenched teeth:

"Enough with the talking. You need to rest!"

Ignoring Haru's protests, she ushered him back to his room.

Watching it all unfold, Hashirama scratched his head awkwardly and said with a sheepish grin:

"Well, I'll get going. And I'll ask Tobirama to come apologize in person. It was his decision, after all."

Sakura nodded silently in approval.

Once Hashirama left, the house finally quieted.

Sakura Kinomoto let out a long breath. Her legs trembled slightly as she sat down.

She had no idea where she'd found the courage to speak to the Hokage that way.

But one thing was certain: for her child, she'd face down anyone—even the gods.