Boruto When he opened his eyes, he saw a strange luxury.
This is not a medical room that smells of disinfectant, nor is it his humble dormitory. The room is large and empty, with complicated crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and several puzzlingly abstract paintings hanging on the walls. The colors are distorted, as if they are screaming silently. The carpet under your feet is so thick that half of your foot can sink in with every step, as if it is swallowing you into a soft abyss.
He sat up leaning on the edge of the bed. His whole body ached as if he had been run over by a truck, and every bone was protesting.
The door was pushed open silently.
A middle-aged man wearing a crisp black suit came in with a stern face and a silver tray in his hand. On the tray was a steaming bowl of ramen, and the rich aroma of tonkotsu soup instantly filled the room.
"Are you awake?" The man gently placed the tray on the bedside table, his movements as standard as if he were executing some kind of procedure, "Yamada-sama expected that you would be hungry, and specially ordered it to be delivered."
Boruto stared at the bowl of ramen, and his stomach made a loud noise.
He hadn't eaten for two days. During those three days in the forest, he relied solely on willpower and the remaining Chakra to hold on.
"Eat." The man turned to leave and paused when he put his hand on the door handle. "By the way, the promotion list has been announced. You are in seventh place. As for the girl... she also left the forest safely and is now resting in a special medical room. She is not seriously injured."
Boruto was stunned for a moment, and the chopsticks in his hand stopped in mid-air.
"Is... is she really okay?"
"It's okay." The man turned back, his eyes calm and calm, "Yamada Master always keeps his word. Now that he has promised, he will not break his promise."
After saying that, he closed the door, leaving Boruto sitting alone on the large bed in a daze.
Boruto looked down at his left hand.
The skin is fair and intact, and the white lines that once spread crazily have completely disappeared, as if everything last night was just a nightmare.
But he knew that it was not a dream.
That power was still sleeping in his body, dormant deep in his blood, like a temporarily appeased beast that could wake up at any time and tear him into pieces.
Boruto picked up the ramen and ate it with big mouthfuls.
The hot soup slid down his throat, and finally there was a hint of warmth in his stomach, but it couldn't warm his cold heart.
After eating, he got out of bed and walked to the window.
Outside the window is a huge courtyard, with lawns neatly trimmed like geometric shapes, exquisite rockeries and flowing water, and several guards in golden uniforms patrolling back and forth, scanning the surroundings vigilantly.
This should be the private residence of Yamada, one of the core areas of family power.
Boruto took a deep breath, opened the door and walked out.
The corridor was very long, and the walls on both sides were covered with photos of family members from past generations. The golden frames shone coldly under the light. Boruto looked over one by one. Most of those faces were serious and indifferent, with a sense of superiority and alienation.
Suddenly, he saw a familiar face in an inconspicuous corner.
That's his father, Uzumaki Naruto.
Naruto in the photo is very young, about seventeen or eighteen years old, wearing a slightly old ninja uniform, with a bright and dazzling smile that seems to light up the entire dark corridor. There are several peers standing next to him, among which a tall blond girl is particularly conspicuous, holding Naruto's shoulder, smiling heartlessly.
Boruto stared at the photo for a long time, and unconsciously touched the glass of the photo frame with his fingers.
"That's a photo of your father when he participated in the family trial for the first time."
Yamada's voice suddenly came from behind, with a hint of distant nostalgia.
Boruto turned around sharply. Yamada was standing at the end of the corridor, holding a cup of steaming tea in his hand, with his signature gentle smile on his face, which was unpredictable.
"He was also seventh that year." Yamada walked over slowly, stopped next to Boruto, and his eyes fell on the photo, "But he was luckier than you, at least at that time he was not burdened with the curse of "Karma Seal"."
Boruto pursed his lips and said nothing.
"Do you want to know how your father climbed from seventh place to Clan Head position step by step?" Yamada asked, his tone seemed to be telling an interesting story.
"I don't want to." Boruto replied coldly, turned around and left.
"He killed many people." Yamada's voice sounded behind him, not loud, but every word was like a hammer, "Including his best friend."
Boruto's steps suddenly stopped, and his back became stiff.
"You don't believe it?" Yamada chuckled, walked up to him, and looked at him condescendingly, "What do you think your father relied on to become Clan Head? By strength? By popularity? Or by his ridiculous "Nindo"? None. He relied on ruthlessness, unscrupulous means, and stepping on other people's corpses to get to the top."
"You're talking nonsense!" Boruto turned around suddenly, his voice trembling with anger, "My dad is definitely not that kind of person!"
"I'm not talking nonsense." Yamada's eyes became sharp, "When your father was young, in order to advance and survive, he personally killed his teammates. That blond girl was his best friend and was sent to hell by his own hands."
Boruto's face instantly turned pale and his breathing became rapid.
"No way... this is absolutely impossible..."
"You can go check it out." Yamada shrugged, looking indifferent, "There are detailed records in the top-secret files in the family archives. In that trial, four people from your father's team entered, and only one of him came out alive. The other three people were all dead. The cause of death... was all "accidental" or "death at the hands of an opponent," but you and I know the truth."
Boruto clenched his fists tightly, his nails dug into his flesh, and blood oozed out.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked hoarsely.
"Because I want you to understand one thing." Yamada approached him, his voice was low and full of temptation, "In this family, if you want to survive, you must learn to be ruthless. Be ruthless to your enemies, ruthless to your friends, and even more ruthless to yourself. Your father understands this truth, so he succeeded and became Clan Head. And you..."
Yamada pointed at Bo Xin's chest, "You are still hesitating, still naively fantasizing about friendship and justice. If this continues, you will only become the next victim."
"I won't become that kind of person." Boruto gritted his teeth and said word by word.
"Really?" Yamada smiled, with deep sarcasm in the smile, "Then why did you accept my help just now? To save that girl? Or to advance yourself? Isn't this a kind of compromise? For the purpose, you will not hesitate to make a deal with the devil."
Boruto opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"You have begun to compromise." Yamada patted his shoulder, not lightly nor hard, but like a brand, "This is good. Compromise is the first step of growth, and it is also the beginning of decadence."
After saying that, Yamada turned and left. The sound of footsteps echoed in the empty corridor and gradually disappeared.
Boruto stood alone and looked at his father's photo again.