Chapter 119: Souta's Worries About the Chaotic Future of the Naruto World
Souta had to prepare himself, training harder than ever to become stronger.
After all, with his new status as a ninja, Souta would soon face missions that demanded courage, cleverness, and strength.
Carrying out missions meant facing danger—not just the risk of injury, but also the very real possibility of losing his life.
On top of that, the looming possibility of the Second Great Ninja War constantly spun in Souta's mind.
Thinking about war made Souta uneasy, as though a dark shadow were hanging over the bright horizon.
And yet, aside from that fleeting anxiety, Souta could only let out a long sigh, trying to calm himself. After all, the coming war was still uncertain, and no one yet knew what would truly happen when the time came.
"Will that war really come or not…?" Souta muttered inwardly, his gaze fixed on the reddish-orange desert sky. His thoughts then drifted back to Makima—the girl who now existed in this world. Her presence alone was enough to shake the balance.
It opened up countless possibilities. Could Denji appear as well? Or perhaps even more of them? Aki Hayakawa? Power? Himeno?
And then, was it possible that characters from other worlds might also be dragged in? Like those from Jujutsu Kaisen? If that were true, wouldn't the Naruto world become far more dangerous than Souta had ever imagined?
All of those thoughts left Souta silent for quite a while. His heart churned, caught between curiosity, fear, and disbelief.
Even though he felt the urge to complain, Souta didn't know what to do. Should he scream? Get angry? Reject it all? None of that would matter.
For now, one thing mattered above all else: returning home. Souta had to prepare every piece of equipment, place his weapons where they belonged, and arrange his supplies with care.
His hands would soon need to set each wooden puppet—Kugutsu—in strategic positions. Kugutsu were Souta's main weapons, tools that could decide life and death on the battlefield.
Thinking about all of this made Souta curve a faint smile. A small smile, not out of relief, but because he understood the direction of his steps. Souta knew his path would be difficult, but he still chose to move forward.
With his mind somewhat calmer, Souta continued his walk home, passing through Sunagakure's sandy streets, where a gentle breeze carried the evening air.
When Souta finally arrived in front of his modest apartment building, with its pale brown clay walls typical of the desert, he stopped for a moment.
He looked up toward the window on the second floor, taking a deep breath before climbing the stairs.
His steps were steady, though desert dust swirled with each press of his feet, dancing briefly in the air before settling back onto the worn stone steps.
At last, Souta stood before the wooden door of his apartment, aged and weathered by time. He pulled a small key from his pocket, its metal glinting faintly as it caught the midday sunlight slipping between the cracks of the surrounding buildings.
With calm precision, Souta slid the key into the lock. A soft metallic click sounded as he turned it, and his hand grasped the cool door handle.
With a single push, the apartment door opened, releasing a faint creak—an aged sigh of old wood long neglected.
Without hesitation, Souta stepped into his apartment. The air inside was slightly cooler than outside, carrying the scent of aged timber mixed with the fine desert dust that lingered in the atmosphere.
Behind him, the door slowly closed with a gentle click, as if sealing off the noisy, chaotic world outside from this small room—his place of preparation and his refuge.
...
Chapter 120: Preparing Equipment for Mission Deployment
The following morning, Souta awoke from his slumber. The dry desert air slipped in through the cracks of his bedroom window, carrying with it the distinct scent of sand.
Sunlight had already begun to filter in, piercing through the thin, coarse curtain, sketching bright lines across the clay walls.
With his body still weighed down by the remnants of drowsiness, Souta stepped out of his room. The cool, hardened earth beneath his soles awakened the refreshing sensation his body craved.
He headed straight for the bathroom—simple, yet sufficiently clean—constructed from stacked sand-bricks reinforced with clay.
The soft sound of water pouring from an earthen jar echoed gently within the small space. Souta doused his body with the cold liquid, the chill seeping deep into his pores, washing away the heaviness of last night's long rest.
When he finished bathing, Souta returned to his room, carrying a thin, dull-brown towel draped over his shoulder, wiping away the droplets clinging stubbornly to his skin. His hands moved with steady precision, ensuring his body was completely dry.
He then slipped into his attire: a short-sleeved blue shirt, paired with a long-sleeved gray vest, slightly worn at the shoulders, and black shorts designed for swift movement.
Souta smoothed out the slight wrinkles across the chest of his shirt before reaching for a rough cloth belt to tighten his shorts around his waist. Once everything was in proper order, he stepped out of his room.
Without hesitation, Souta moved toward the kitchen, situated directly opposite the bathroom. The kitchen was modest, consisting only of a small stone table, an earthen stove, and a few cooking utensils made from metal and clay.
From a plain wooden cabinet, Souta retrieved some rice and several eggs. With practiced movements, he began preparing a simple meal—steamed rice with rolled eggs.
The fragrant aroma of eggs sizzling in the distinctive desert oil quickly filled the air, mingling with the steam rising from freshly cooked rice. Though simple, the meal was enough to grant him strength.
After finishing his breakfast, Souta went on to gather various pieces of equipment. Even if they were not scheduled for a mission today, he still preferred to be ready. In Sunagakure, he knew well that circumstances could shift in an instant.
He strapped on a pouch of shuriken at his right hip, arranging each sharp-edged star neatly for quick and easy access.
A kunai was fastened to each thigh, secured tightly with thin leather straps, while another was hidden at his right ankle, positioned for an immediate draw in emergencies.
Beyond that, Souta carried a storage scroll containing his puppets—his prized Kugutsu—tucking the scroll discreetly beneath his vest.
The sealing paper etched on the scroll shimmered faintly as it caught the sunlight, proof that the sealing technique within remained active.
Souta had also concealed several small puppets throughout his clothing—at his wrists, shoulders, inside his vest, and even beneath his shorts.
He patted each spot briefly, confirming that every item was secured in its proper place, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice.
He did not forget to take his Sunagakure forehead protector, the proud emblem of a shinobi.
The engraved desert insignia on the polished metal plate glinted under the morning sun. Souta slung it across his upper arm, letting it hang casually yet remain clearly visible.
Once all preparations were complete, Souta stepped outside his apartment. The humble building was constructed from compacted sand and clay, its walls painted in the pale yellow hues distinctive to the desert.
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