Want to read ahead? Join my Patreon for just $7 to get early access to all upcoming chapters!
> Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations
─────
Chapter 293: Streets of the Past
After leaving the cave, the two followed a dried riverbed northward.
The ground was still muddy, but as they traveled higher, the soil became firmer and the puddles fewer. In the sparse woods on the distant hills, the silhouette of a low-lying building peeked through the trees.
First, a few dilapidated wooden shacks appeared, followed by a cluster of dirt-walled courtyards, until finally... a small town appeared at the edge of their vision.
It wasn't a large town, but it had everything one might need. A single main street cut from north to south, lined with various shops. There was a grain store, a fabric shop, a blacksmith, a general goods stall, and a bakery steaming with fresh heat.
People bustled up and down the street. While it couldn't be called prosperous, it was orderly and organized.
Konan's pace slowed slightly.
Standing at the town entrance, her gaze swept over the familiar rooftops, landing on an old tree at the end of the street. The tree was still there, taller and grander than she remembered, its dense canopy casting deep shade beneath the sunlight.
"This is it," she said softly.
Alex didn't reply, simply standing quietly beside her.
The two walked into the town side by side.
The street was full of people: peasant women carrying woven baskets, clerks hauling goods, children chasing each other, and the elderly leaning against their doors to soak in the sun.
Their faces held a calm expression—neither fearful nor anxious—as if life had always passed like this, day by day, completely unchanging.
And indeed, it essentially had.
Before the Fourth Great Ninja War, ordinary people across the ninja world lived exactly like this. War was a matter for ninjas, for those high-and-mighty figures, completely unrelated to common folk like them. Their only concerns were today's harvest, tomorrow's business, and the daily grind of survival.
Even now, after the world-shaking event of being 'hung on a tree', their lives hadn't changed much.
Before recalling all the chakra in the ninja world and releasing the Infinite Tsukuyomi, Konan had secretly purged the Daimyo and nobles of the ninja world. Those leeches who bled the common people dry would never return.
Meanwhile, the original administrators and samurai castes had their minds subtly controlled to continue carrying out their duties. However, they were far more just and equitable than before, completely devoid of corruption.
The ordinary citizens knew nothing of the truth behind these changes. They only knew that the local officials had suddenly become much more diligent, no longer demanding bribes or oppressing the masses, and their efficiency had skyrocketed. Some said it was an act of God; others said new lords had taken over.
None of them knew that unbreakable commands had been permanently planted in the minds of those officials.
Every town and city across the ninja world was being managed this way temporarily. Full administrative control would only be established once the Nation of Dawn was formally founded.
But none of that mattered to Konan today.
Today, she only wanted to walk the paths she walked as a child, see the sights she saw back then, and remember those long-gone days that would never return.
Alex walked beside her. Sensing her mood, he reached out and lightly tapped her shoulder.
An invisible wave of genjutsu rippled outward.
The two became like ghosts, walking right down the middle of the street. People bustled around them, but no one paid them any attention. It wasn't that they couldn't be seen; rather, if anyone did see them, their minds subconsciously ignored them, as if they were just a tree by the road or a rock in the corner, unworthy of a second glance.
"Let's go," Alex said. "Take me to see the places you used to visit as a kid."
Konan nodded and stepped forward.
She walked slowly, her eyes darting between the shops on either side. Occasionally, she would stop in front of a storefront, stare blankly for a while, and then move on.
"That clothing store," she suddenly spoke, pointing to a shop with a faded sign. "Back then, Yahiko wanted to buy Nagato and me new clothes. He saved up money for ages, but it ended up getting stolen. He was so angry he couldn't eat for days."
Alex followed her gaze.
The shop was very old now, the wooden doors chipped and the writing on the sign blurry. The door was open, and the faint shapes of garments could be seen inside.
They walked halfway down the street before stopping at a general store. Several wooden barrels sat out front, filled with soy sauce and miso, filling the air with a salty, savory aroma.
"This used to be a blacksmith's shop," Konan noted. "The blacksmith was a good man. Sometimes he'd give us scrap iron to sell. Yahiko said that when we got rich, he was going to forge the best sword for him."
She paused. "Later, the shop closed down. I don't know where the blacksmith went."
Her voice was calm, but Alex caught the faint, lingering melancholy.
Time flew, and things changed. The people who had once shown them kindness were long lost to the passage of time, their whereabouts unknown.
They continued walking.
Finally, Konan stopped outside a bakery.
It was a small storefront. Several wooden racks sat out front, loaded with freshly baked bread that radiated a tantalizing, wheaty aroma. Inside, a middle-aged man with a weathered face was hunched over, kneading dough. Fine sweat beaded on his forehead. His movements were practiced and smooth—clearly the work of a seasoned artisan with decades of experience.
Konan stood before the shop, her eyes locked onto the golden-brown loaves. She couldn't look away.
"Back then..." she began softly, her voice thick with complex emotions, "just to get a single loaf of bread, Yahiko would distract the owner, while Nagato and I would grab them."
She watched the baker kneading the dough, her eyes reflecting scenes from more than twenty years ago.
She had been a scrawny little girl back then, starving, wandering this street with two equally scrawny boys. Yahiko was always grinning, brave and silver-tongued. With just a few words, he'd draw the owner's attention away. She and Nagato would seize the chance to snatch one or two loaves from the edges of the racks, sprint away, and hide in an alley where the three of them would split the food.
One loaf. Split three ways.
Each of them only got a few bites, but the sweet taste of that bread was enough to make them happy for the entire day.
"We didn't think stealing was wrong back then." Konan shook her head with a bittersweet smile. "We only thought about surviving. As long as we could fill our stomachs, we'd do anything."
Alex stood beside her, listening quietly.
"Later, Yahiko said we couldn't keep doing it," Konan continued. "He said that once we had money, we absolutely had to come back and pay him. Nagato nodded, and so did I."
She sighed softly. "But then... we never came back."
Before meeting Alex, she had stayed strictly within the Village Hidden in the Rain. Yahiko died, and Nagato drowned himself in the dream Yahiko had entrusted to him, growing increasingly extreme. As for herself, swept up by overwhelming grief, she carried out her daily missions as an 'Angel' of Akatsuki. She never had the heart to return.
Over twenty years.
A full two decades.
She had never returned.
Those owed loaves of bread, those promises they had made, had simply been forgotten in the corners of time, buried under a thick layer of dust.
Konan took a deep breath, pushing down the swirling emotions.
She retrieved a thick stack of bills from her sleeve and placed them gently on the edge of the bakery's wooden rack, weighting them down with a small porcelain bowl. She took one last look at the owner still kneading his dough.
Over twenty years had passed. The young baker from back then now had greying temples and a weathered face. But his hands were still skilled, and his bread still smelled incredible. He had guarded this tiny shop, surviving in the chaotic ninja world for over twenty years without dying in a war or at the hands of a ninja. That, in itself, was a kind of miracle.
"I guess this... settles a childhood tab," Konan murmured to herself.
She turned and walked away.
Alex followed closely behind. The two walked past the bakery and continued down the street.
Behind them, the bakery owner finally finished kneading his dough. He looked up, stretching his back. His gaze casually swept over the small porcelain bowl at the edge of the rack.
He froze.
Pinned under the bowl was a thick stack of banknotes. The denominations were large—more than enough to buy every single loaf of bread in his shop.
The owner stood stunned for a long moment. He looked around wildly but couldn't spot a single suspicious person. The street was as busy as ever.
"Th-this... this..." He picked up the stack of bills, his fingers trembling slightly. His expression shifted from confusion, to disbelief, and finally, to pure ecstasy.
It was free money!
He glanced around furtively, quickly shoved the cash into his shirt, and pretended nothing had happened, immediately going back to kneading his dough. But he couldn't suppress the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. The unbridled excitement was obvious in his eyes.
He had no idea that the little girl who had once stolen his bread was currently walking down the street, her silhouette slowly fading into the distance.
Konan didn't look back.
She merely tilted her head slightly toward Alex and said, "Let's go. Next stop."
. . .
─────
Support this fanfict by leaving Positive Review, Comments, and Power Stones.
For Advance Chapters:
> Patreon.com/NegativeTranslations