Sasuke went silent and continued to sit next to him, not leaving the young boy's side. The blonde could feel his concern and worry, a quiet presence that lingered like a protective shadow, but he still avoided looking at him or speaking. He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his own self-pity and hatred, feeling the weight of his failures pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
Time passed and the room remained silent, the only sound was of his own breathing. Boruto continued to remain silent, still avoiding Sasuke's gaze. He felt like a burden, a weak and pathetic kid who couldn't even handle a simple trip. Why was Sasuke even still here, wasting his time on him? He thought. The question gnawed at him, deepening his sense of inadequacy. He remembered all the times he had admired Sasuke's strength and composure, wishing he could be more like his mentor—someone who never seemed to falter, even in the face of adversity
The silence in the room was maddening. The young blonde kept trying to think of something to say, something that would make him feel less useless and pathetic. But his mind was blank, no words coming to his mind. He fiddled with the sheets on the bed, trying to distract himself from the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach. Every movement felt heavy, as if the air itself was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
The silence continued, and his mind continued to race with negative thoughts. He felt like a failure, and his confidence and self-esteem were at an all-time low. 'Why did I let this happen? Why did I fall for that woman's tricks? I should have known better, I was raised to be a shinobi and this is how I let myself be treated by a woman? I was disgusting and pathetic.' The self-hatred continued to rise as the silence continued to engulf the room. He remembered the expectations placed on him—not just as a shinobi, but as Naruto's son—and how he seemed to fall short at every turn.
The self-hatred and negative thoughts continued to swirl through his mind, consuming him completely. He felt completely useless and weak, like a complete coward. He wondered what Sasuke was thinking, sitting there next to him in complete silence. 'He probably thought I was weak too, and not worth his time. Why was he even still here next to me? Didn't he have better things to do than waste his time on a coward like me?'
The silence continued to stretch on. He felt like he couldn't take it anymore. He desperately wanted to speak to Sasuke, say something to break the silence and release the self-hatred that was consuming him, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell him to leave, to go away, that he was a lost cause and not worth the effort, but he couldn't bring himself to utter the words. His body felt heavy and he felt too exhausted to move.
He remained frozen in place, the silence feeling like it was slowly suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to shout, to break something, anything just to get rid of the negative thoughts and feelings that were consuming him. But he couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he felt like a statue in the dead silent room.
The deafening silence continued to taunt him, as the thoughts and feelings of self-hatred continued to swirl through his head. 'Why couldn't I just speak, why was I so pathetic that I couldn't even form the words to tell Sasuke to leave? I was supposed to be a shinobi, a strong ninja, but here I was, reduced to a quivering mess of self-pity and cowardice.' His heart rate quickened and the room felt hotter than ever before. His breathing became more labored. The thoughts in his head became more intense, louder, telling him what a failure and coward he was. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the very air in the room was choking him. He wanted to scream, to shout, to let out all of the emotions that were building up inside him, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed with self-hatred, self-pity, and cowardice.
The room felt like a prison, and he was the prisoner. He wanted to break free, to escape from the thoughts, the room, everything, but he remained frozen in place, unable to bring himself to speak or move.
The seconds ticked by, each one stretching out like an eternity, heavy and suffocating. The silence around him wasn't just the absence of sound—it was a living, breathing entity that swallowed him whole, pressing down on his chest until every breath felt like a struggle. He longed to shatter the oppressive quiet, to scream or speak, to reach out and claw his way back to something resembling hope. But the words were trapped behind a wall of fear and shame, lodged deep within his throat. He was imprisoned in a cocoon woven from threads of self-hatred and cowardice, each strand tightening with every passing moment.
He yearned for someone—anyone—to pull him from this abyss, to offer a lifeline when he felt utterly lost. Yet the thought of asking for help was a mountain too steep to climb. Pride and despair tangled together, silencing his voice before it could even form. In his mind, he was nothing more than a failure—not just as a shinobi, but as a person, as a son, as a brother. The weight of that judgment crushed him relentlessly.
Desperately, he tried to shove the dark thoughts aside, to force his mind to latch onto anything—any fleeting memory of light or laughter—to break the suffocating grip of despair. But the darkness was relentless, a storm raging within his chest, drowning out every flicker of hope. The venomous thoughts slithered through his mind like poisonous serpents: This was all my fault. I was the one who made the mistake. I deserved every ounce of hatred thrown my way. Each wave of self-loathing crashed harder than the last, piling higher until he felt as though he might shatter beneath the weight.
His body trembled, heart pounding erratically as if trying to escape the turmoil inside. The cacophony of negative emotions—shame, guilt, fear—swirled in a chaotic tempest, threatening to consume him entirely. He craved an escape, anything to distract from the suffocating darkness clawing at his soul. But there was no refuge. No comforting voice, no warm presence—only the cold, unyielding company of his own thoughts.
He was utterly alone, surrounded by the echo of his failures and the harsh judgment of his own mind. A worthless shadow of a shinobi, a disappointment to those who once believed in him. I don't deserve kindness. I don't deserve forgiveness. I deserve to be hated, to be cast aside. The crushing weight of those beliefs made his chest tighten, his breaths shallow and rapid. His heart hammered like a frantic drumbeat, drowning in the sea of his own despair, as if he were slowly drowning in an ocean of his own making.
He could barely think coherently anymore; the silence pressed down on him like a suffocating weight, and the relentless flood of thoughts was overwhelming to the point of paralysis. The line between reality and imagination blurred into a chaotic haze—he couldn't distinguish what was real from what was a cruel fabrication of his mind. Every attempt to grasp a stable thought slipped through his fingers like smoke. All that remained was the searing, gnawing self-hatred that consumed him from the inside out, an unrelenting fire that scorched every corner of his being. He could feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage, each beat a frantic drum signaling alarm, while his breaths came in short, ragged gasps as if the very air was betraying him. His mind was a tangled mess of self-loathing, a cacophony of degrading words echoing louder and more viciously than ever before, drowning out any semblance of peace.
This self-hatred was no longer just a feeling—it had taken on a life of its own, a monstrous presence that clawed at his mind with razor-sharp talons, dragging him deeper into darkness. The thoughts screamed inside his head, so deafeningly loud that the world around him ceased to exist. The walls of the room seemed to dissolve into an indistinct blur, colors and shapes fading into the background as his consciousness narrowed to the singular torment within. He was utterly lost, submerged in a sea of despair, with no lifeline in sight. The torment was relentless, an endless spiral pulling him down into a void where hope was a distant memory.
His body betrayed him, trembling uncontrollably as if seized by an invisible force. Tears streamed down his cheeks in silent, relentless rivers, but he had lost all sense of time—he didn't know how long they had been falling, only that they would not stop. His heart raced as if trying to escape his chest, threatening to burst, while his breathing grew shallow and erratic, each inhale a desperate gasp for relief that never came. He felt as though he were plummeting into an abyss, spiraling out of control with no ground to catch him, no end to the fall. The darkness enveloped him completely, a suffocating vortex that swallowed every shred of light and hope.
The silence was no longer peaceful but deafening, pressing in on him until it was hard to breathe. The solitude was unbearable, amplifying every painful thought and feeling until they became unbearable weights crushing his soul. He was teetering on the edge of a complete mental collapse, the haze in his vision thickening, his mind fracturing under the strain. The self-hatred was a crushing force, a relentless tormentor that squeezed the life out of him piece by piece. His body shook violently, tears carved silent paths down his face, and in that moment, he was utterly broken—lost in a storm of anguish with no hope of calm.
Sasuke's voice cut through the darkness in Boruto's mind, anchoring him to reality when he felt most lost. Boruto's eyes, wide and shimmering with tears, darted up to meet Sasuke's, searching desperately for reassurance. His small frame trembled uncontrollably, every muscle tense, and his breaths came in short, ragged bursts—a visible sign of the storm raging inside him.
Sasuke placed a hand on Boruto's shoulder and softly said, "Boruto... you need to stay calm. Take deep breaths and try to focus." His voice was steady and gentle, but young blonde could see the worry etched in his mentor's eyes—a rare glimpse of vulnerability from someone he admired so deeply.
Boruto desperately tried to follow Sasuke's advice, taking slow, deep breaths, struggling to calm the storm raging inside him. His chest tightened with every inhale, his hands trembling as he fought to steady his nerves. The room felt smaller, the shadows pressing in, amplifying the guilt and shame swirling in his mind. Every negative thought echoed louder, making him feel exposed and powerless—like a frightened child unable to escape his own mistakes.
Sasuke remained by his side, his presence a steady anchor. His hand rested firmly on Boruto's shoulder, radiating a quiet strength. "You're not alone, Boruto. I'm here for you. We'll get through this together." The words, meant to reassure, only deepened Boruto's sense of inadequacy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was a burden, dragging Sasuke into his mess when the legendary shinobi had more important things to do. 'I caused all of this,' Boruto thought bitterly, 'and now Sasuke's wasting his time on me.'
Sasuke's sharp eyes didn't miss Boruto's struggle. He saw the tension in Boruto's posture, the way his gaze darted to the floor, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Sasuke tried to jolt him back to the present. "Boruto, look at me." The command was gentle but firm, and Boruto hesitantly raised his eyes, meeting Sasuke's unwavering gaze—a gaze filled with both understanding and expectation.
Maintaining eye contact, Sasuke spoke in a calm, measured tone. "You need to stay grounded. Focus on my voice and breathe. In and out." He demonstrated, his own breathing slow and deliberate, his presence radiating calm. The rhythmic rise and fall of Sasuke's chest became a guide for Boruto, who tried to match the tempo, clinging to the instructions like a lifeline.
It wasn't easy. The negative thoughts still buzzed at the edges of his mind, but Boruto concentrated on Sasuke's voice, letting it drown out the self-loathing and fear. Gradually, the shaking in his limbs lessened, his breaths growing steadier, as if Sasuke's calm was contagious.
Sasuke noticed the change and offered more encouragement. "That's it. Keep breathing. You're doing good. Focus on my hand on your shoulder. Feel my presence here with you." His words were steady, his tone soothing, grounding Boruto in the moment and reminding him that he wasn't facing this darkness alone.
Boruto focused on the sensation of Sasuke's hand—the warmth, the strength, the silent promise of support. It was a small thing, but it tethered him to reality, a reminder that he wasn't as alone as he felt. For a moment, hope flickered in his chest, fragile but real.
Sasuke continued, his voice unwavering. "You're strong, Boruto. You've faced many challenges and come out victorious. You can get through this as well. You can always talk to us." The words echoed in Boruto's mind, stirring memories of past battles and victories—moments when he had overcome the odds and proved his strength, not just to others but to himself.
He remembered the lessons learned from his father and teammates, the bonds forged through hardship, and the times he had risen above his own doubts. The weight of his lineage, the expectations of being the Hokage's son, and the desire to carve his own path—all of it had shaped him into a shinobi capable of growth and change.
But just as hope began to take root, the memory of the video crashed over him again, a wave of shame and regret threatening to pull him under. The old self-hatred returned, sharper than before. His body trembled, and the familiar voice of doubt whispered, 'I was just a weak, unable to stop them, not only let them but begged for them to do it more. I'm shame to my family.'
Note: Due to some renovation going on at my residence, I would update chapters weekly.