Alive

Konoha, Year 47.

The Third Shinobi World War erupted in full.

The Third Kazekage had been assassinated by Sasori of the Red Sands and gone missing. Sunagakure searched for him like mad, and the battle lines between the Five Great Shinobi Countries opened up overnight.

Konoha sent out everyone it could, even those who should never have been on the battlefield.

Like Genin.

Like cannon fodder.

The border of the Land of Fire.

Drip.

A warm drop struck Kitahara Kaede's face and ran down his cheekbone.

He didn't move or even raise an eyelid.

He kept his breathing to a minimum and deliberately slowed his heartbeat, disguising himself as a genuine corpse.

No one had taught him this trick.

After two missions where every teammate had been wiped out, he'd crawled out of a pile of corpses and learned it by instinct.

Through a narrow slit between his eyelids, he saw where the blood had come from—his captain.

More precisely, it had run down from the half of the man's face beside him.

Half an hour ago, the man had clapped him on the shoulder and said they'd go back to the village and find him a wife after the battle. "I'm twenty-six already. If I don't get married soon, my mom's going to erase me from the family register."

Now the lower half of his body had been blown off by an Explosive Tag. His upper half lay crooked beside Kitahara Kaede, the hand that had clapped him on the shoulder still resting on his arm.

Footsteps drew closer in the distance. Sunagakure shinobi were sweeping the battlefield.

Every few seconds, there was a dull thud, followed by the sound of something being dragged away.

Kitahara Kaede bit his lip and stayed perfectly still.

The footsteps came closer.

Someone stopped beside him for two seconds.

There was only one thought in his head: Don't look down. Don't look at my face.

The person moved on.

Another twenty minutes or so passed. At last, the area was completely silent for hundreds of meters in every direction. Even the birds had stopped calling.

Only then did he dare gently move the captain's hand from his side. He rolled over and lay on his back.

He gasped for air, then lowered his eyes to his hands. They were shaking.

"That's the third time."

The corner of his mouth twitched. He couldn't tell if it counted as a smile.

He'd been in this world for fifteen years.

No Kekkei Genkai, no Sharingan or Byakugan.

His parents had been ordinary Chunin. They'd both died in the line of duty before he was old enough to remember them, leaving behind a rundown apartment and a little savings.

Six years at the Ninja Academy. A seat in the back corner. Grades that were below average. He'd barely passed the graduation exam.

When war broke out, Genin without connections like him were the first to be sent to the front lines.

He'd survived this long with three tricks: play dead quickly, play dead convincingly, and hope his luck didn't run out.

He turned and looked at the captain's half-frozen face.

"Captain, looks like that date isn't happening." He spoke softly. "I'll keep your ninja tools. You won't be needing them anyway."

He opened the ninja tool pouch.

Two Soldier Ration Pills, three Explosive Tags.

He stuffed the pills into his mouth and chewed, then tucked the Explosive Tags into his pocket.

After roughly bandaging the cut on his left leg from a Shuriken, he hobbled toward camp.

More than two hours later.

Konoha's temporary border camp.

The moment Kitahara Kaede lifted the tent flap, the noise inside died away for a beat.

Everyone turned to look at him, then deliberately looked away.

He knew that reaction all too well.

The Special Jōnin in charge of registration looked up and saw him, his brows knitting together.

His expression wasn't one of relief. It was pure annoyance.

"Kitahara... you're the only one again?"

"Our squad was ambushed by Sunagakure. Everyone else died." Kitahara Kaede lowered his head. "The captain covered for me, and I was lu—"

"Lucky?"

The Jonin slammed a palm on the table, his voice rising sharply.

"Three missions! Three full squads! Twelve people! And you're the only one who made it back alive—Kitahara, are you born to bring bad luck to your teammates?!"

The tent fell completely silent.

Several shinobi resting nearby shifted subtly in their seats, moving half a step farther away from him.

No one said a word, but he understood those looks.

They were looking at him like he was the source of a plague.

No one wanted to be the next unlucky soul assigned to his squad.

Kitahara Kaede didn't say anything.

What could he say? That he hadn't meant to survive? That he was just better than the others at playing dead?

A money pouch was tossed onto the corner of the table. The Jonin couldn't even be bothered to hand it to him.

"Your pay. Seven days' leave. You'll be reassigned in seven days. Go."

Kitahara Kaede picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand.

"Thank you, sir."

As he left the tent, hushed whispers rose behind him.

"Third time, right? There's something seriously wrong with that guy."

"Don't put me in a squad with him. Anyone teamed up with him is doomed..."

The flap fell shut, leaving the voices behind.

The first time someone called him a jinx, it had hurt. The second time, it had made him angry.

By the third time, Kitahara Kaede just clenched the pouch and tucked it into his clothes.

Staying alive mattered more than his pride.

It was already dusk by the time he returned to Konoha.

The streets were busy. A line stretched outside the dumpling shop, and a few girls came out of the dessert shop chatting and laughing.

Kitahara Kaede glanced down at himself. He was covered in blood and grime, like a rat that had crawled out of a sewer.

He didn't linger in the street. He went straight back to his apartment.

He took out all his belongings, spread them on the table, and counted them twice.

The pay from three missions, what his parents had left behind, and the odds and ends he'd hidden beneath the floorboards—

Fourteen thousand eight hundred ryō.

On the way back, he'd asked about the price at a ninja tool shop.

A suit of puncture-resistant mail armor from the Land of Iron, the kind that could stop Shuriken, cost one hundred and twenty thousand ryō.

He had less than a tenth of what he needed.

And in four days, he'd be reassigned to the front lines.

This time wouldn't be any better than the last three.

Word had already spread about his survival. Not only did his teammates dislike him, but the Jonin assigning squads probably wished he'd die out there and never come back.

Next time, there was a good chance he'd be sent to the most dangerous part of the front.

Worse, if he ran into a sensor-type shinobi, his trick of playing dead would be useless.

He could slow his heartbeat and hide his breathing, but he couldn't fool anyone who could sense the chakra inside his body.

Then he wouldn't even have the chance to pretend.

He'd just be dead.

Kitahara Kaede stared at the ceiling.

Fifteen years.

No Kekkei Genkai, no lucky encounters, no cheat.

Not one of the good things that were supposed to happen in transmigration novels had come his way.

He closed his eyes.

A chime suddenly rang in his mind.

[Beep—]

[An extremely strong desire to survive has been detected in the host.]

[White Moonlight Simulator activated.]

Kitahara Kaede's eyes snapped open.

A translucent panel appeared before him, its text scrolling down line by line—

[White Moonlight Simulator]

[Core rules: The host will enter special instances and experience entirely different lives. In each instance, you must win over your target and become an unforgettable presence in their heart, someone they will remain devoted to until death—in other words, their "White Moonlight."]

[Completion rewards: After the simulation ends, the host may inherit abilities gained during the simulation according to their evaluation rank. These include, but are not limited to, physical enhancements, Kekkei Genkai, ninjutsu, and chakra reserves.]

[Evaluations come in four ranks: C, B, A, and S. The higher the evaluation, the greater the percentage of abilities inherited and the more generous the bonus rewards.]

[The core evaluation criterion—your importance in the target's heart.]

[One free simulation attempt has been granted. Future simulations will require the corresponding amount of money.]

Kitahara Kaede read every line twice.

His hands were still shaking.

But this time, it wasn't from fear.

It was something he'd almost forgotten, like a drowning man suddenly touching the shore.

A simulator that let him inherit abilities.

Evaluation criterion: your importance in the target's heart.

He froze for a few seconds.

White Moonlight.

He knew exactly what those three words meant.

It wasn't sweet romance or lovers ending up together.

A White Moonlight was someone you longed for but could never have.

The person the other party could never forget or let go of for the rest of their life.

A name that still brought tears to their eyes in the middle of the night.

Someone whose shadow every relationship they had afterward would be compared to.

In other words—

He had to make it hurt.

He had to break their heart in a way that would never heal.

The more heroic and tragic his death, the more it shattered the other person, the higher his evaluation would be.

Kitahara Kaede stayed quiet for a few seconds.

Then he laughed.

In the real world, he'd always been timid, keeping his head down and his tail between his legs.

He had no choice. If he died in reality, he was dead. There wouldn't be another life.

But in the simulator?

It didn't matter if he died.

He could come back with rewards after he died.

He stared at the panel, his gaze shining.

Good heavens.

Wasn't this made for him?