The Risks of Simulation

That night when he was six became a bloody turning point in the script of fate.

Under the moonlight, his uncle Yashamaru, who had always cared for him, raised a blade against him.

Gaara's heart instantly sank into an abyss. He recognized the man before him. He wanted to suppress the violent power within his body—the monster known as One-Tails Shukaku.

Yet his will was like a fragile dam, and that power burst free like a mountain flood.

Blood sprayed through the air. Yashamaru collapsed onto the freezing ground, his life rapidly fading away.

Gaara stood blankly in the pool of blood, his relative's corpse reflected in his pupils. Beneath his grief, a sharper, colder confusion seized him.

Why? He had not lost control in rage. In that moment, his heart had even been calm. Why had that power still broken free so violently?

Yashamaru's dying accusations blamed him for taking his mother's life, claiming he had never been loved...

He knew clearly that they were all lies.

He remembered—vividly remembered—the word "love" his mother had spoken before her death.

Yet when that lie struck his ears once more, the power erupted out of control again!

At that moment, a terrifying thought coiled around his heart like a venomous snake. He became certain of one thing.

His life did not seem to be written by himself. It was controlled by an invisible giant hand, following a predetermined script step by step toward the abyss.

Resist? If fate had already written the ending, what meaning was there in struggling?

After he turned seven, darkness completely devoured the daylight.

Assassination attempts became a daily "greeting," while peaceful sleep became an unattainable luxury.

Imprisoned within Shukaku's cage, he had long since become numb to the so-called fear that a Jinchuriki's rampage would endanger