Chapter 3 — The House at the Edge of Konoha
Kazuma and Tenzo walked together along the quiet dirt road that led away from the academy.
The evening sun painted the sky orange, and the wind carried the smell of warm food from nearby homes.
Their house stood at the very edge of the village—
small, simple, and just big enough for two people.
The wooden gate creaked softly as Tenzo pushed it open.
Inside the yard, a single tree stood in the corner, and a thin line of smoke rose from the chimney.
The house wasn't fancy, but it was warm.
A small kitchen, a single bedroom with two futons, a sofa, an old fridge, and one bathroom.
This was their entire world.
Kazuma stepped inside slowly, feeling the familiarity of the place through the memories of his new body.
It was quiet… too quiet.
Tenzo placed his bag near the door.
"Brother… welcome home."
Kazuma looked around carefully.
Photos hung on the wall—one of them showed a man with gentle eyes and a sword on his back.
Their father.
Yuki Yuta.
A chunin swordsman of Konoha.
Kazuma touched the picture lightly.
Tenzo spoke quietly behind him.
"Father died many years ago… on a mission. Before that… mother died when we were born. So it's just the two of us now."
Kazuma felt a sharp ache in his chest—
part sadness from this body,
part grief from his own past life.
He nodded slowly.
"We'll be fine, Tenzo. We have each other."
Tenzo smiled faintly.
They both walked to the small wooden stand near the wall.
On it lay two beautiful swords, wrapped in dark cloth.
Tenzo lifted the cloth gently.
"These were Father's last gift to us… the last things he made before he died."
Kazuma unwrapped one sword.
The blade gleamed even in the dim light.
The metal was clean, strong, and heavy—
not ordinary Konoha steel.
He immediately recognized the style.
"…Land of Iron forging," Kazuma whispered.
His past-life knowledge stirred.
"These swords are high quality… chakra metal mixed with strong steel. Father must have worked very hard to make them."
Tenzo nodded.
"He spent months on them. He wanted to teach us his sword style… but he left for too many missions. He never came back."
Both boys grew quiet.
Kazuma gripped the sword tighter.
In his first life, he died holding a sword.
In this life, a sword was the only thing his father left behind.
He took a steady breath.
"I need to train my body… this body doesn't know sword movements well."
Tenzo looked at him.
"You know how to use a sword… right?"
Kazuma nodded slowly.
"I do. I was born for this in a way I can't explain."
Tenzo handed him the second sword.
"This one is mine. Father made it for me."
Kazuma watched as Tenzo stood in the yard and took a stance.
Feet firm, shoulders steady, sword pointed forward.
His movements were rough, but Kazuma could recognize basic training.
Tenzo moved through simple swings—horizontal, vertical, diagonal.
"Academy taught us some basics. And Father taught us a few things before he died," Tenzo said softly.
"If he was alive… he would've taught us his whole sword style."
Kazuma stepped beside him, lifting his own sword.
"It's okay. I'll teach you what I know. And together… we will grow."
Tenzo's eyes widened—then softened with relief.
The two brothers practiced in the yard as the sun faded, their silhouettes moving slowly, step by step.
Kazuma's new body was stiff.
His arms ached.
His swings were sloppy.
He had to control his breathing carefully.
But he kept moving.
Tenzo followed his lead, copying his movements.
For a moment, the yard looked like it had two reflections—
one strong, one learning.
When night fell, they finally stopped.
Kazuma sheathed his sword and walked into the kitchen.
He cut vegetables with careful hand movements, scrambling eggs and mixing them with rice.
Tenzo set the table.
They sat together and ate quietly—
simple food, but warm food.
Tenzo smiled.
"Today felt… good."
Kazuma nodded.
After cleaning the dishes, they lay down on their two futons in the single bedroom.
Tenzo turned toward him.
"Brother… let's do our best tomorrow."
Kazuma closed his eyes.
"Yes. We will."
The quiet room settled.
Outside, the night air brushed against the window.
Inside, two brothers slept together—
alone in the world,
but not alone at all.
End of Chapter 3