Chapter 1: Goodbye World!

‘A Kazama Ninja flows with the wind, blends in the night, and kills with a single strike.’

Kazama Ren’s grandfather had reminded him of this motto so much so that he could recite it in his sleep.

After losing both his parents in a freak accident, Ren’s grandfather, Kazama Ryu, took him in and started drilling the shinobi path into him. According to Ryu, the Kazama Clan was once the deadliest of all shinobi families. But with modernity, the shinobi’s value slowly trickled to threads. Unfortunately, no secret art was able to stop that downfall.

With the intent and hopes of one day restoring the clan’s prestige, Ryu stringently passed down every Kazama technique — from stealth to hidden weapons — to Ren. However, high ambitions came with high expectations. Ryu’s training were borderline torture.

At the young age of seven, Ren was already scaling cliffs and running on tree tops without as much as a harness. Ryu would also randomly attack him at night to ensure that the child would never lower his guard. Even Ren’s food wasn't safe. His grandfather would douse their meals with poison, frequently increasing the dosage to supposedly build his resistance to them.

But despite his questionable means, the result was nothing short of miraculous. Ren not only forged a robust mental fortitude befitting a warrior, he also attained mastery over all of the Kazama Clan’s techniques before graduating middle school. Much more miraculous, Ryu’s harsh teachings didn’t foster hate in Ren’s heart. On the contrary, the young shinobi both respected and loved his grandfather. He even found bits of his training enjoyable like some twisted bonding moment.

Ryu, as tough as he was, also held Ren dearly to his heart; and he made sure the boy knew it. Just as Ren entered high school, Ryu contracted a fatal disease. Ironically, no amount of poison made him impervious to diseases.

In his dying breath, he told Ren, “I’m sorry for being too tough on you, Ren. But do know I did it not out of hatred but of love. With me gone, you will truly be the last of the Kazama. But before that, I now appoint you as its head. Whatever you will is the Kazama’s will, and the Kazama’s will shall never falter.”

With that, he rejoined the shadows.

—

Unfortunately for Ren, time cared for no one. Technology continued to advance, and the Shinobi’s role in society became much more obscure. Even so, Ren pushed through. He started his own company and called it ‘Shinobi Rising’ with the slogan ‘Look like a ninja, feel like a ninja, be a ninja.’

The company mainly catered to tourists wanting to experience being a ninja. He would teach them the basics of shuriken throwing and tightrope walking. Of course, he wouldn’t actually reveal any of the Kazama Clan’s techniques. It was nothing more than an experience. While it was hugely successful, he somehow felt empty. It was as if he had lost his way.

Sullen, he knelt in front of the altar honoring his late grandfather. With a straight back and hands atop his legs, he gave a respectful bow. He then said, “Grandpa, am I doing this right? Am I preserving the clan’s legacy by turning it into some sort of camp? A getaway? Is this what all of those hellish days of mastering shinobi arts, our family’s art, is all about?”

His grip tightened, scrunching the leg part of his shozoku. But after a few seconds, he let go and sighed. It wasn’t the first time he unloaded his feelings to his grandfather, and it also wasn’t the first time he was met with deathly silence. Even so, pouring out his emotions made him feel better, even if just by a bit.

He raised his head, bowed one more time, then lifted his right knee to prop himself up. But just as he was about to stand, Ryu’s picture frame shook as if it was about to erupt. With a sharp jolt, it fell from the shelf and headed toward the ground. Ren’s reflexes immediately kicked in, grabbing the picture frame before it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

A smile sneaked its way on his lips. “Is this your way of reminding me, grandpa? As always, I’m not yet giving up.”

He then motioned to return the picture frame, but then, a glint on the wall caught his attention. It was just behind where the frame was originally on. Curious, he gently placed Ryu’s picture on the table and inched forward. He browsed the shelf, his eyes fixed on the light.

Indeed, there was something on it; some kind of groove. He reached in, trying to feel the groove, when he heard a muffled buzz. The entire shelf rattled, and Ren quickly jumped back, hands on the floor and ready to fight or flee; whichever would be necessary. Lights that formed mysterious symbols suddenly appeared on— no, hovered in front of the shelf. The moment the symbols seemed to have covered the entire shelf, there was a bright flash and the entire shelf moved sideways, revealing what seemed to be a room.

Curiously, that wall was supposed to be connected to his room. However, the new room seemed darker… and had walls of stone.

Ren didn’t move, his eyes watching for any signs of movement. After a few seconds of stillness, he finally decided to stand up. Still, he was waiting for someone or something to jump out of the room, but alas, there was only an eerie silence. He took a step forward, then another, until he found his feet touching a cobblestone floor.

The cold was a sharp contrast to the warmth his house’s tatami mat offered. The stench of musk also filled the room, as if it hadn’t been visited for months or even years.

Ren looked around, noticing how the room was lit with an orange hue. Sure enough, he saw where they were coming from — more glowing symbols. But what caught his eye more was the items below the symbols. There were racks of weapons from shuriken to katana. There were even what seemed to be bombs… old bombs. They looked a lot like the ones he saw on scrolls and pictures, used by his ancestors. Some, even unfamiliar to him.

He picked one up, making sure not to undo any seal or trigger any fuse. He looked closer, then realized it was in tip-top condition. He checked the next one, and then, the other. All of them seemed brand new. It was as if they were made just the day before. His eyes then turned to the weapons. The blades were sharp and shining, and the hilt showed no sign of age. Just then, Ren’s gaze fell on a wooden chest sitting on a corner, blending with the shadows. It was as if it was purposefully hidden.

He placed the paper-wrapped bomb down. He inched toward the chest, inspecting every nook and canny. It was wooden with what seemed to be a golden lock on the front. He tried knocking on it, and there didn’t seem to be any sort of damage. It was as good as the other items in the room.

He browsed the room for a key, checking all the racks, but he couldn’t find anything. What he did find, however, were two metallic tools: one the shaped of an L and the other similar to a scoop. They were the Kazama’s signature lockpicks.

Ren immediately grabbed the set and went to work. In just a few seconds, he heard a click. He grabbed the chest’s lid and pried it open, revealing a rolled-up scroll tied with a red rope and a wax seal stamped by the Kazama emblem.

That confirmed it. Indeed, it was his clan’s storeroom. At least, it seemed to be that way.

Heart racing, he removed the seal and unrolled the scroll. Another glyph glowed, but this time, the light enveloped his entire body. Warmth surged through his veins, but it wasn’t painful. It was surprisingly comforting. However, the same couldn’t be said for his head. It swirled, as if it was being contorted in weird ways. His vision blurred, and his hearing muffled. He wanted to vomit, but he held it in.

When he opened his eyes, he was seated on the stone-cold floor, his back against rugged stones.

What happened? Ren thought as he clutched his head, trying to recover from the experience.

But before he could gather himself, a quack-y voice chirped above him, “Aha! Finally, you’ve arrived! Alas, it was a long wait, but pay it no mind. What’s important is you’re here. And thus, let me welcome you, young Kazama, to the world of Hiraya!”