Nagato's Past
However, to Nagato, they were nothing more than a pair of pupils, eyes that had recorded too many painful memories.
Those eyes witnessed the horrifying rainy night when his parents were brutally murdered. The endless crimson bloodstains spreading across the floor were like a brand deeply etched into his heart, causing him excruciating pain every time he recalled them.
They also captured the expressions of dissatisfaction and rejection on the faces of villagers when they wandered around seeking help in hunger, only to be coldly abandoned by the world at the very moment they most longed for assistance.
And there was that little dog, barely breathing, lying on the ground, barking anxiously, trying to pull him up.
Don't look at me like that!
He felt like a caged beast, and no matter how much he struggled, the shackles of fate bound him tightly.
Nagato was completely devastated and slammed his head against the mirror. The jarring sound of shattering glass was particularly jarring in the silent room.
The atmosphere was so heavy it was suffocating. The mirror was cracked, and bright red liquid dripped down Nagato's forehead, the striking red gradually spreading across the broken surface.
The mirror shattered into countless fragments, each reflecting his distorted face. Nagato stared at those hideous faces as if he were watching countless souls tormented by suffering.
His reflection in the mirror emitted a sharp, piercing laugh that echoed through the empty room, sending chills down one's spine.
He pressed himself against the mirror, his face contorted in agony, as if he had merged with the demon reflected in it.
He couldn't understand why fate was so cruel to him, why he had to endure such profound suffering.
The laughter abruptly stopped. Nagato, the madness slowly fading, replaced by an eerie tranquility.
Everything seemed as if it had never happened; he was like a detached bystander, calmly observing a farce that had nothing to do with him.
Crystalline tears slid down her hair, dripping onto the wound on her forehead. Blood trickled down her face, flowing from the corner of her eye to her cheek, the bright red stains stark and shocking in the dim light.
Tick-tock—tick-tock—in this deathly silence, the sound of liquid hitting the ground was unusually loud.
Those dark memories hidden in the corners of his heart flashed through his mind like fragments, and for a moment, he seemed to glimpse his childhood in those fragments.
Those innocent eyes, full of curiosity and longing, and that soft sobbing, were the inner self crying out for redemption, hoping someone could lead it out of the endless darkness.
The rustling sounds kept echoing in her ears, Nagato raised her pale hand, pausing for a moment.
Suddenly, he slammed hard against the mirror!
The mirror emitted a mournful wail, its fragments scattering and falling to the ground.
Nagato seemed to have found liberation, his laughter tinged with madness and despair.
The shattering of the mirror seemed to take away his strength. He sat helplessly on the ground and began to pick up the fragments, carefully piecing them together, trying to find his whole self again.
However, no matter how hard he tried, the fragments could never be restored to their original state as a mirror.
The scars on his forehead and arms were like tiny lightning pulses, stimulating Nagato's nerve endings and dragging him out of the chaos.
His gaze fell upon the mess in the bathroom. He forced a bitter smile, a smile tinged with loneliness and helplessness.
With faltering steps, Nagato slowly emerged from the bathroom and entered the quiet living room. He bent down and silently picked up the scattered pills.
With only a few tranquilizers left in his hand, Nagato frowned, as if another nightmare was about to strike, and the pills became his only solace.
He skillfully tended to his wounds, a habit born of suffering. He had long since borne the torment of body and soul alone. Once he was done, Nagato slumped wearily into the sofa, his gaze vacant as he stared at the ceiling.
In the dim light, the texture of the ceiling was faintly visible, and the melody of rain tapping on the window could be heard. Nagato's thoughts drifted away with the wind, lost to the unknown.
After a long silence, a sudden knock on the door broke the stillness of the room, the sound seeming particularly abrupt at this moment.
"Who?!" Nagato sat up abruptly, her tone revealing a barely perceptible tension.
"It's me." Yahiko's voice came through the crack in the door. Hearing this, Nagato visibly relaxed. He got up, opened the door, looked at Yahiko, and asked, "Is there something you need?"
"I heard some noise from your room, so I came to check," Yahiko said, turning on the living room light. "Without the light on, can you see clearly? Move aside, I'm coming in."
"Huh?" The dazzling light instantly stung Nagato's eyes, causing him to involuntarily cover them.
Yahiko had already stepped inside and settled into the soft sofa. Seeing Nagato's embarrassed state, he casually apologized, "Sorry, I'm really sorry."
Nagato gently shook his head, knowing Yahiko's personality well. He lowered his hand, gently massaged his sore eyes, and slowly sat down.
"Are you alright?" Yahiko's gentle voice drifted through the air.
Nagato paused for a moment, then gave a faint smile. "I'm fine, don't worry."
"Don't bear everything alone, just talk about it. We're in this together."
Nagato looked at Yahiko with gentle eyes. "I understand," he replied softly.
"Do you really understand?" Yahiko frowned, his eyes filled with endless worry.
His gaze locked onto Nagato like a sharp arrow, trying to glean the hidden answer from the corner of her lowered eyes. However, Nagato remained silent, her deep eyes seemingly concealing unspeakable sorrow.
As soon as Yahiko entered, he noticed the mess in the bathroom: broken mirrors, scattered items, and faint bloodstains, all testifying to Nagato's pain.
Nagato was naturally withdrawn and taciturn, always immersed in his own world. However, because of their shared experience of wandering together, Yahiko knew his suffering well—he was often troubled by nightmares, and every time he woke up from a nightmare, he was always in tears and emotionally agitated.
During this time, the frequency of his nightmares seemed to increase quietly, for reasons he couldn't understand. Although they no longer lived in the same room, the noises coming from the Nagato house in the dead of night still frequently disturbed his peace.
Nagato lowered his eyes following Yahiko's gaze, remaining silent and unwilling to reveal his vulnerable side.
"Here you go." Yahiko handed over the medicine bag. "This is medicine that Koki had Orochimaru specially prepare for you."
Nagato took the medicine bag offered to her, gently tucking it into her bosom, and whispered, "Thank you."
"You..." Yahiko sighed upon seeing this. Nagato was just like that, unpredictable. No one knew what he had experienced in his childhood, and no one could get into the depths of his heart.
After a moment of silence, Yahiko looked out the window and suggested, "Why don't we go for a walk outside?"
"Okay." Nagato nodded slightly; he also wanted to go out for a walk.
The two walked out of the house side by side and stood under the long corridor. The sky was overcast and the air was filled with a damp smell.