Chapter 269
In games, as in life, fatigue naturally accumulates over time. Whether it's leveling or verification tasks, time flies when you're engrossed in them.
Not just a day or a week—months passed. Every day was a whirlwind of activity, and I remember barely making it to bed after a bath one night.
That's why I knew immediately it was a dream.
The scene was hazy yet strikingly clear.
Perhaps the fatigue from daily verification and Class 7 leveling had built up, or maybe I was unconsciously trying to recall something.
A hill lush with trees under the summer sun. Rice fields visible below.
It was a scene so rich in nature you could only call it the countryside.
But if this was a dream drawn from my memories, this place was far from peaceful.
In the dream, I was frantically scanning my surroundings—either being chased or searching for someone.
Likely the former.
My darting eyes—checking gaps between trees, thick grass, the foot of the hill—made it obvious I was on high alert.
Ah, nostalgia. Looking back calmly, my past self was doing things bordering on child abuse, and recalling what came next—
Suddenly, my vision dropped.
No pain, but the memory of being struck by something.
*"Kakakakaka! Full of openings!!"*
A lively, hoarse laugh I shouldn't have heard but felt I did.
Ah, nostalgic. A voice I thought I'd never hear again, even before reincarnation.
*"That hurts, damn old man!!"*
A young voice, unlike mine now, retorting. Teary-eyed, my vision blurred.
Looking toward the laugh, an elderly man stood with hands on his hips, laughing.
He looked much younger than his age, posture straight, muscles firm. That alone would make him a spry old man, but—
He wore a ninja outfit, something you'd never see today, making him seem utterly out of place.
Holding a ghillie suit in one hand added to the absurdity.
*"Damn old man? How dare you!!! I told you to call me Master!!"**"An old man who gets serious about hide-and-seek is just a damn old man!!"*
Why the outfit? According to my grandpa, our ancestry traced back to a distinguished ninja lineage.
Family trees supposedly connected to the Sarutobi clan or something.
Grandpa was the last of this ninja line. This was when I'd challenged him to hide-and-seek, lured by the promise of a game console if I won, and got utterly crushed.
*"A grandson trying to squeeze money from a pensioner grandpa deserves my full force!! What's with those ridiculous game prices!! Trying to starve me out?!"*
This grandpa wasn't suspicious—he was legitimately my grandfather. My past life's family was... unconventional, to say the least.
*"Latest games are expensive these days!! Maybe because people online say we'll be able to enter game worlds in ten years or something?"*
In this dream, the grandpa I'm arguing with is my maternal grandfather, self-proclaimed descendant of a ninja lineage. Just living with him made me pretty weird.
And I took up ninja training because it seemed fun.
Thanks to that, I had athletic skills unmatched by my peers.
But even with growing physical abilities, as a elementary schooler, I was no match for Grandpa, who seemed like he'd trained in mountains for years.
Despite that power imbalance, kids are reckless. I'd been demanding a game console that would've taken years of allowance to afford. Grandpa kept promises, so he went all out, even against a child.
Childish? Now an adult, I reflect in this dream: that console was too expensive for an adult's wallet, let alone a child's whim.
*"Sigh, why want such things? Just play outside normally."**"Can't use magic in real life. Games let you do that—it's fun."**"Can't use magic, but you can use ninjutsu! Remember me breathing fire before?"*
But back then, I was tired of mountain life and obsessed with cutting-edge games.
Only natural spaces to play in, envious of friends with games—that age.
*"Nah, Grandma got mad last time."**"Well, then. How about training to walk on water?"**"No way, the river's freezing this time of year."*
My grandpa seriously indulged this spoiled kid. If I wanted meat, he'd hunt boar instead of buying it. Sweets? We'd make malt candy together.
He was a grandpa with zero distance.
Walking on water training—nostalgic. We used tools called "mizu gumo" on slow rivers. If you got it right, you could go far, but I usually fell halfway.
Grandpa would finish effortlessly—a difference not in physical ability but years-honed skill.
*"Anyway, if you're broke, Grandpa, let's do that streaming thing I mentioned. Your videos would totally go viral."**"A ninja showing his face to the world? Ninja means 'one who endures'!"**"I know. But enduring led to this countryside life."**"Who says the city's better? The countryside has its own charms."*
The hide-and-seek ended with my loss. The bet was—
*"Alright, time to make my promise-breaking grandson pay up."**"Ugh, you didn't forget."**"Sorry, too early for senility. Come on, shuriken practice."**"Okay, but I want bo shuriken—they look cool when they stick."**"Ho? Then that it is."*
If I won, I got a game console. If Grandpa won, I did ninja training.
He wasn't trying to make me a ninja—no memories of forced training or requests to inherit the legacy.
But whenever I made demands, if I lost, he'd invite me to train together.
It might've been useless, but now I understand.
He wanted me to inherit a bit of his experience.
*"Why can't I throw straight like you, Grandpa?"**"Here, snap your wrist and release your fingers in sync. Like this."**"How do you throw three at once in one motion?"**"Years of experience!!"*
He taught me eagerly, making it fun—walking, hiding, shuriken throwing. When he tried parkour-like moves, we both got scolded by Grandma.
Memories with Grandpa.
It'd been a while since they appeared in dreams.
As I grew older, they faded, but somehow, they remain recallable.
Grandpa's hearty laughter.
As I listened, the scene gradually faded.
Ah, waking up—I thought, but Grandpa suddenly stopped and seemed to look at me.
His face seemed to ask, "Leaving?" I nodded, and he smiled sadly.
*"Come again."*
As I replied to him—
"...Feels like I had quite a nostalgic dream."
Blinking awake, I saw a wooden ceiling different from my countryside grandpa's house.
Slowly sitting up, sunlight streamed through the window—perfect timing to rise.
Thinking it a good time to get up, I stretched.
Then I noticed my body mimicking the bo shuriken throwing motion from the dream.
"Hmm, maybe I'll try it after so long."
Feeling nostalgic, and with time before breakfast, I changed into comfortable clothes and went outside.
Claudia was probably at the training ground—nowhere in sight.
"Any makeshift target will do."
Confirming no one in the courtyard, I took out iron rods about palm-length, sharp enough to be dangerous, and stuck a wooden stake in the ground.
If asked why I had bo shuriken, I'd say they were byproducts of preparing for life after the spirit realm.
Meant for PvP, rarely used against monsters.
Dusty from storage, I'd dug them out.
"First, a light one."
Mimicking the dream, recalling the motion, I threw.
"Hmm, remember better than I thought."
The bo shuriken stuck cleanly—a passing grade for a long hiatus.
"The real challenge starts here."
To do it properly, I'd need consecutive and simultaneous throws.
Checking how rusty my fingers were.
Recalling Grandpa's movements, I took a deep breath.
In one breath, I threw six bo shuriken.
"Hmm, a bit off."
Maybe stat adjustments and throwing skill effects stacked.
They struck with unexpected force and speed, embedding deeply.
But whether due to nostalgia or the dream's vividness—
"Even after getting stronger, why don't I feel I've surpassed Grandpa?"
Grandpa would've been smoother, more accurate.
I threw three consecutively, then three simultaneously, but they were slightly off.
Approaching the stake, examining the results, I could almost hear Grandpa laughing, "Years of experience!" and smiled.
"Well, guess I'll start by catching up to those years."
Having a goal gives purpose.
Fortunately, today's a leveling break.
Lately, I've been obsessed with leveling and material gathering schedules and methods.
A little diversion now and then should be fine.
With each throw, I adjusted my posture.
Hiding large motions in natural gestures, embedding surprise into my fingers, from drawing to throwing to chaining moves—the more I focused, the more engrossed I became.
How to describe it? Like digging out an old retro game and losing track of time.
Just practicing bo shuriken throws, yet it was fun enough to make me smirk.
Until Nell called for breakfast, I honed those motions relentlessly.