Chapter 12 — Shinosuke Nohara (01)
(Future Shin narrates)
I had a normal family — a happy one.
A chaotic one.
A mother, a father, and a loving younger sister.
My life was peaceful…
until everything changed.
If you ask anyone alive today, they'll say Shinosuke Nohara lived an unbelievable life — swords, beasts, death, True Monster, wars, all of it.
But that's not how my story started. Not even close.
Before I became a god who destroyed anything, before I met Vaibhav and Alicia, before I met your mothers…
I was just a small kid in a house that was always one spark away from exploding.
Literally.
Because my mother existed.
Year 6654 was the year I turned five.
That was the year Hinata was born, and the year my peaceful childhood officially ended — replaced by noise, warmth, and enough chaos to power half of United Earth.
Her first cry shook the entire hospital.
Not because she was loud —
but because my mother, Akari Nohara, accidentally spilled a volatile mixture in her lab while giving birth.
She mixed chemicals while in labor. Who does that?
My mother does.
When my father, Hiroshi Nohara, heard the explosion echo from the maternity ward, he simply sighed, put down his cup of tea, and asked the nurse if he was allowed to bring a fire extinguisher inside.
That was the first memory I have of my family. A blazing room, a screaming mother, a calm father, and a confused doctor who still probably has trauma.
Growing up, this was… normal.
Akari Nohara was a brilliant scientist — one of the smartest people on all of Earth. Her research on "Spiritual Element Conduction in Human Vessels" was so groundbreaking that the entire Evolution Council wanted her.
But her intelligence came with a side effect.
Chaos.
Three lab accidents a week was the average. Five was common. Seven was her record. The fire extinguisher in our home had a name and personality because we used it so often it felt alive.
And yet, she loved us more deeply than anything else.
Whenever I cried, she hugged me so tightly my bones almost cracked.
Whenever Hinata fell, she ran so fast I swore she created sonic booms.
Whenever father got tired of cleaning up her messes, she'd make him tea with a guilty smile, then accidentally drop a chemical vial on the floor, and the entire cycle would start again.
Father cleaned everything calmly. With one hand. While drinking tea with the other.
He was the exact opposite of mother — quiet, stoic, and the kind of man you'd think was boring.
Until you realized he created combat techniques for fun.
Yes, fun.
He would sip tea, look at the broom, and say, "This wooden handle has excellent balance," and then create a technique out of it.
I still remember the first time he tried teaching me one.
"Shin," he said when I was six, "today I will teach you a technique passed down from my ancestors."
"What's it called?" I asked, excited.
He paused. "It doesn't have a name."
"So it's new?"
"Yes."
"You just made it up, didn't you?"
"…No."
"Dad."
"…Yes."
That was my father.
He was predictable in a comforting way — unless you asked him what was in his tea. Nobody knows.
And then, of course, there was Hinata.
My sweet little sister.
Born with eyes that sparkled like dawn and a laugh that could soften any heart, and the hair color of my favorite fruit — orange. She became the center of our world instantly.
She adored me. From the moment she learned to crawl, she would grab my clothes and demand to be carried.
When she turned two, she couldn't say "Onii-chan." She said "Onii!" Then "Shii!" Then somehow combined them into "Shin-onii!"
It stuck.
She followed me everywhere — into the yard, into the kitchen, into mother's lab (which nearly killed us both), and even once into the neighbor's yard when a dimensional rift accidentally opened.
Mother's fault. Again.
Hinata always climbed my back like I was a mountain. She never got tired of it.
But… I didn't mind. Her warmth made everything better.
Even when mother burned the kitchen for the third time in a week.
Speaking of mother — her accidents could be described as "creative disasters."
One time, she tried to make breakfast. She added eggs, milk, flour… and accidentally a vial of "low-grade combustion spirit."
The pan exploded. The stove exploded. The wall exploded.
I exploded. Well, I got thrown across the kitchen.
Mother screamed. Father sighed. Hinata laughed.
Father opened a window, calmly patting the fire on his sleeve.
"Breakfast is ruined," he said.
Mother collapsed on the floor apologizing. "I'm sorry! I don't know how it happened!"
I raised my hand from the ground. "You put… the wrong vial…"
"I DID NOT— oh god, I did."
Hinata toddled over, hugged her leg, and declared, "Mama warm!"
We all froze.
Father coughed lightly. "…Certainly warm."
Mother almost died of embarrassment.
This was my life. Pure chaos. Pure love.
There wasn't a single day I didn't laugh or shout or nearly die in an explosion.
For now I was just a trouble magnet.
And I discovered hacking completely by accident.
I was seven.
I wanted to play a game on father's computer. But it had a firewall that required his password.
So I stared at it. For twenty minutes.
The screen taunted me: "ACCESS DENIED."
I had two options: ask father, or hack it.
I chose the wrong one.
Mother walked in, saw me typing something weird, and asked, "What are you doing, Shin?"
"Hacking," I said proudly.
"What?"
"Look! I did it!"
The computer beeped. Screen unlocked.
Mother screamed. Father blinked. Hinata clapped.
Father took a deep sip of tea. "…He's your son."
Mother dragged me out of the room yelling, "NO MORE COMPUTERS FOR YOU UNTIL YOU'RE FORTY!"
That ban lasted exactly six minutes.
Because father asked me to copy a file for him.
After that, I learned programming, firewalls, system mapping, encryption… at age seven.
I didn't realize how abnormal it was.
But father did. He just didn't stop me because he believed talent shouldn't be suppressed.
Martial arts were another story.
Father tried teaching me stances. I copied all of them.
He tried teaching me discipline. I copied none of that.
I would strike properly… then ruin the entire technique by doing a little dance or adding a punchline.
Father sighed often. "Your footwork is excellent," he said once.
"Thank y—"
"But your pose looks like a chicken."
Mother laughed so hard she choked.
Hinata imitated me. Her chicken pose was better.
For all my chaos, I was talented. But talent is useless without the people who raise it.
My parents raised me with both hands — one loving, one cleaning a burning stove.
Hinata gave me warmth. Father gave me calm. Mother gave me chaos. Our home was loud, messy, ridiculous, and wonderful.
One day I was six, following a shiny rock into mother's lab. She yelled for me to stop.
Too late.
The rock was a charged spirit crystal.
The crystal reacted with mother's chemical solution.
The room exploded.
I spun in the air like a ragdoll and crashed into a pile of plush toys.
Hinata giggled and clapped.
Mother screamed. Father calmly said, "The explosion radius is smaller than last time. Improvement."
Mother threw a beaker at him.
Those were… good days.
The happiest of my life.
My childhood was supposed to be simple.
A house full of smoke, laughter, and explosions. A mother who mixed chemicals in the kitchen. A father who created martial techniques using spoons and chairs. A baby sister who believed my head was her personal seat.
That alone should've been enough to fill a childhood.
But my life in the Nohara household did not understand the concept of "enough."
It always found ways to add more.
I discovered that when I was seven and a half.
That was the day I met Nanao.
It was a calm morning — or as calm as mornings ever got in the Nohara residence. Akari had already caused a small fire in her lab at sunrise, Hiroshi had already used a teacup to put out the flames, and Hinata had already stolen my breakfast toast.
I was chasing Hinata around the living room, yelling, "GIVE THAT BACK! HINAA!!" while she giggled with her mouth full of bread.
Life was normal.
Then the doorbell rang.
Akari rushed to answer it because she always assumed someone important was coming whenever she heard a sound. Most of the time it was the mailman. Sometimes it was a neighbor complaining about the explosions. But that morning, for once, it was someone different.
A tall girl, fourteen years old, stood outside. Dark green hair that shimmered in the light. Calm eyes, steady posture, disciplined aura.
She looked like she belonged in a temple, not in front of a house that frequently produced smoke clouds.
Akari gasped loudly enough to make me flinch. "NANAAOOO!"
The girl bowed politely. "Hello, Professor."
I poked my head around the doorframe, Hinata clinging to my back.
Akari didn't waste a second. She pulled the girl inside like she'd found a lost treasure.
"This is Nanao! My new disciple!"
I blinked. "A girl?"
Nanao looked at me. I looked at her.
I was seven. She was fourteen. There was absolutely no competition.
I felt something strange in my chest — a flutter I didn't understand yet.
Nanao smiled gently at me. "Hello. You must be Shin."
My brain crashed. Completely. Irreversibly.
Without thinking, I puffed out my chest and said, "Yeah, I'm Shin. I'm strong."
Nanao tilted her head. "Oh? Really?"
I nodded aggressively. "Yeah!"
Hinata, still stuck to my back, copied me: "Yah, Ya!"
Nanao laughed softly — a warm, calm sound. I felt my ears burn.
Akari proudly introduced everyone.
"This is my son! He's very smart. And chaotic. And he hacks things sometimes. But he's cute! Isn't he cute?"
I died internally. Hinata cheered, "Shi- Shin-nii cu-te!"
Nanao crouched slightly to pat Hinata's head. "You're adorable," she said.
Hinata squealed and hid behind my hair.
And just like that, Nanao became part of our daily life.
She helped Akari in the lab — meaning she prevented explosions. She learned techniques from Hiroshi — meaning she sipped tea with him while he explained weird theories. She played with Hinata — meaning Hinata clung to her like a baby koala. And she interacted with me — meaning she became the center of my world.
I tried to act cool around her. I tried showing off my kicks. I tried lifting heavy things. I tried attacking father with a wooden stick to prove I was "strong."
Every attempt ended with me falling, tripping, or getting flicked by Hiroshi across the room.
Nanao didn't laugh at me. She smiled gently, kindly.
And that made it worse.
I would run into my room afterward and flop onto my bed.
"What is happening to me…" I whispered dramatically.
Hinata climbed onto my stomach. "Shin-nii shilly."
Yes. I was silly.
But I was also seven.
My world was still bright.
For the next few years, Nanao was a constant presence in my house. She kept Akari from blowing up the kitchen, helped Hiroshi organize scrolls, carried Hinata around like a baby sister, and gently encouraged me to control my energy.
She was patient. She was calm. She was everything I wasn't.
And that made me admire her even more.
Year 6660 came and went. I turned eleven. Hinata turned six. Nanao turned eighteen and left for advanced studies and Nexus adventures, promising to visit often.
The house felt emptier without her. I didn't admit it. But mother noticed me staring at the front door sometimes.
"Missing her?" Akari teased.
"NO!" I yelled too fast.
Akari winked. Hiroshi sipped tea. Hinata patted my head.
Nanao visited every weekend, but it wasn't the same.
I needed a distraction.
I found one unexpectedly — in the form of a sleek black device placed on the kitchen table, glowing with faint blue lines.
A gift.
From my parents' friend — Lin Xuan.
I didn't know Lin Xuan personally then, but Hiroshi and Akari did. Lin Xuan often delivered rare items to our home with no explanation.
This device came with a simple note:
"Test this. Don't break it. — Lin Xuan."
Akari immediately fainted from excitement. Hiroshi caught her with one hand and read the manual with the other.
"It's a game," he said.
My eyes sparkled.
"A game?"
"Not just any game," Hiroshi said. "A simulation of the real Genesis Nexus."
I grabbed the device, Hinata grabbed my shirt, and both of us disappeared into the living room.
It took me three minutes to set it up. Two minutes to skip tutorials. And one minute to choose a username.
LaughingFlame69 — because it sounded funny.
Hiroshi stared at the name. "…Why sixty-nine?"
"Umm… WELL… It looks cool," I lied.
Akari slapped her forehead.
Hinata tried typing her own name, but she typed "Hinaaaaa," which became my NPC pet's name.
The moment I entered the game, I understood the hype.
Genesis Reign Online was unlike anything I'd played. The world spanned infinite continents, floating islands, abyssal realms, and beast territories.
NPCs behaved like living creatures. Dungeons shifted layout every time. Bosses learned player patterns.
I was terrible at it at first. I charged into mobs and died. I jumped off cliffs accidentally. I forgot to equip my weapon. I used my ultimate on a rock.
But I learned fast.
Too fast.
Because the moment I learned the mechanics, something inside me clicked. I began weaving unpredictable movement. I dodged attacks with impossible timing. I laughed while fighting, taunting bosses.
I became LaughingFlame69 — The Unpredictable Flame.
Only one person was stronger:
DaddyVyuk.
A mysterious player who led perfect dungeon runs. Who tanked bosses with calm precision. Who saved me from dying at least twelve times.
I instantly respected him.
DaddyVyuk became my partner in raids. Our synergy was frighteningly good.
IcyPrincess joined our team — silent, deadly, terrifying with ice element, but too kind to troll me back.
We became the top trio of Obsidian Onyx servers.
Rank 1 — DaddyVyuk
Rank 2 — LaughingFlame69
Rank 3 — IcyPrincess
I didn't know their real names. I didn't need to. They were my friends.
We spent countless nights clearing dungeons. Hinata sat beside me, eating snacks, cheering for me. Akari watched with interest. Hiroshi pretended not to care but sometimes whispered suggestions.
"Nanao-onee would like this game," Hinata said once.
I choked on my drink.
But I didn't deny it.
For me, Genesis Reign Online wasn't about rank or achievements. It was about the laughter, the teamwork, the feeling that I wasn't alone — even when my house exploded for no reason.
One night, after a particularly grueling dungeon run where DaddyVyuk saved me from falling into lava, I leaned back on my pillow, staring at the ceiling.
"You guys are weird," I said softly.
Hinata looked at me. "Who?"
"My friends."
Hinata smiled. "Shin-nii has friends!"
I threw a pillow at her.
Year 6661 was peaceful. I was twelve.
The family bickered, argued, exploded, cooked, trained, and lived.
I was happy.
The chaos was still fun.
The warmth still filled the walls.
The world outside didn't matter.
Oh — I still have one more piece of childhood left before everything changed.
And that piece was bright as the flame in my name.
Nanao returned one night, just as I was logging off from a raid.
She opened the door quietly. Hinata jumped into her arms. I turned, saw her, and froze.
Nanao smiled softly. "You've grown."
I stuttered. For once, I had no comeback.
Nanao walked over, ruffled my red-and-black hair, and said:
"You did well, Shin."
That moment stayed with me forever.
Because it was the last time things were simple.
I didn't know that, of course. I didn't know how fragile peace could be. I didn't know my laughter-filled world was already shifting. I didn't know what the next year would bring.
I only knew this:
I was happy. Truly happy.
And I would remember that happiness long after the world changed.
Next Chapter: Shinosuke Nohara — 02