Chapter 23 — I Want to Become That Light Too
The air was heavy — grief weighing down on everyone like fog.
From the edge of the crowd, Jūgo hesitated, then took a step forward. His fists clenched, his eyes flicking toward Uzumaki Shion's dying form.
Jūgo was not a normal shinobi. Not even a normal man. From birth, he had been different — cursed, perhaps blessed — with the power to absorb natural energy directly into his body.
But that power came at a cost. When his control slipped, that same energy twisted him into a monster — his second self, a berserk beast driven only by violence and destruction. Villages had burned. People had died. And Jūgo, horrified by what he had done, had fled deep into the wilderness, living among animals to protect the world from himself.
Yet not all of that cursed gift was darkness. Within it, there was also the power to heal.
His body could manipulate life-force in ways beyond medical ninjutsu's comprehension — a talent he called Cell Regeneration Emission.
A nonsensical ability, really. It ignored all logic. As long as the soul hadn't left the body, no matter how torn the flesh or shattered the organs, Jūgo could restore it in an instant.
And now, as he saw Shion's fading breath and her daughter's sobs, something in his heart refused to stand still.
He stepped forward.
But just as he was about to break through the crowd, a pale hand landed on his arm. Kimimaro.
"What are you doing?" the bone-user asked quietly, his cold eyes unreadable.
"I… want to save her."
Jūgo froze for a moment, his voice trembling. Kimimaro — his anchor, his reason — was the one person he didn't want to defy. To him, Kimimaro was not just a comrade, but the embodiment of the peace he sought — the first person who saw him not as a beast but as a man.
And yet, the thought of letting Shion die here, after sacrificing everything for her daughter, felt unbearable.
He couldn't let death win again.
Kimimaro's fingers loosened. "Go," he said simply.
Jūgo blinked in surprise. He'd expected a reprimand, perhaps even a fight to stop him. He'd even prepared an awkward, fumbling explanation. But instead, Kimimaro stepped aside — silent approval in his gaze.
For a long moment, Jūgo just stared at him — then nodded, relief softening his monstrous frame. He was doing the right thing. And Kimimaro, his guiding star, had acknowledged it.
That alone filled his heart with warmth.
"Let me try," he said softly as he knelt beside Uzumaki Karin, who was clinging to Nobunaga and sobbing uncontrollably. Gently, he placed a hand on Shion's frail, cold wrist.
"Can I?" he asked, looking up at Nobunaga.
The daimyō's reaction caught him off guard. Jūgo had expected suspicion — after all, he was one of Orochimaru's subordinates, a spy planted by the Serpent himself. Left Horseman had reminded Nobunaga of that more than once.
Under normal circumstances, any leader would hesitate before trusting such a man to touch a dying ally.
But Nobunaga only met Jūgo's gaze, calm and unwavering — and nodded once.
There was no fear, no doubt, only quiet belief.
In that instant, something in Jūgo's chest cracked open — a strange, fragile feeling he hadn't known in years.
He trusts me.
For the first time in his life, Jūgo wanted — no, needed — to be worthy of that trust.
He wanted to become the kind of person Nobunaga believed he already was.
He wanted… to be that light too.
Chapter 23 — I Want to Become That Light Too (Part II)
This time, when Oda Nobunaga looked at Jūgo, there was no suspicion, no hostility — only trust and quiet encouragement.
"Don't be nervous," Nobunaga said softly. "Even if you can't save Lady Uzumaki Shion, it doesn't matter. You're doing your best. And I believe she would thank you for trying, not blame you for failing. The same goes for Karin."
As he spoke, Nobunaga gently comforted the sobbing girl in his arms, his tone calm and patient.
Jūgo froze. No one — not since his earliest memories — had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever considered his feelings, or lifted the burden from his shoulders.
He stared at Nobunaga's eyes — eyes filled not with fear, but warmth.
Different from the cold reverence he'd once shown Orochimaru through Kimimaro, this warmth stirred something deep within him — a fragile, forgotten emotion.
So this… is kindness?
"Thank you, Jūgo-kun."
Karin's voice trembled through her tears. Hearing that he wanted to save her mother, and hearing Nobunaga's reassurance, she suddenly lifted her head, her eyes red and glassy.
"Thank you… for helping her."
Her voice cracked, but it was sincere — painfully sincere.
Jūgo nodded slowly, his throat dry. Then he placed his palm beside the dying woman's frail body.
His movements were hesitant — not out of doubt in his ability, but because now, more than ever, he wanted to succeed.
He wanted to prove himself worthy of their trust.
"Cell Regeneration — Release."
Dark markings slithered up his face and neck — the cursed seal Orochimaru had devised to help him regulate the uncontrollable natural energy within.
The gentle giant's features twisted into something monstrous, demonic — black lines, pulsing veins, eyes glowing faintly gold.
The others tensed instinctively, but before panic could spread, something miraculous happened.
Shion's gray, lifeless skin began to regain color. Her breathing deepened. The faint pulse at her neck grew steadier.
It was working.
A spark of hope flared in Jūgo's chest. For the first time, his cursed power wasn't destroying — it was saving.
He poured his energy into her, focusing with all he had. In moments, the color returned to her cheeks, the tension eased from her body.
When it was done, Jūgo exhaled a long, shaky breath. The transformation faded — his form shrinking, his body reverting, until he looked like a small child once more.
"...It worked."
He smiled faintly, exhausted but relieved. Then the thought struck him — what would they think now?
He had saved her, yes — but they had seen what he became to do it. The demon. The monster.
The memories came rushing back — the screams, the stones, the faces twisted in fear and disgust.
Every time he'd revealed his true form, the world had shown him only hatred.
He lowered his gaze, waiting for the rejection to come.
And then —
A hand, warm and steady, ruffled his hair.
"Well done," Nobunaga said with a gentle smile. "Thank you… for saving Lady Shion."
Jūgo froze. Slowly, he looked up — and saw that same light in Nobunaga's eyes.
No fear. No revulsion.
Only gratitude.
He's… thanking me?
He's not afraid of me?
Jūgo's vision blurred. His chest ached — but not from pain. For the first time, he felt it — the warmth of light reaching into a heart long buried in darkness.
Around him, others smiled too — the soldiers, the medics, even Karin. Not one of them looked at him with disgust. Not one stepped away.
Only joy.
Only kindness.
"Thank you!"
Two more hands reached for him — one trembling with age, the other soft and youthful.
Uzumaki Shion, newly conscious, clasped his hand weakly, her daughter beside her.
"I thought… I would never see her grow up," she whispered. "Thank you, truly."
Karin's tears fell freely. Her mother was alive — how could she ever repay that?
Jūgo's lips parted, but words failed him. Overwhelmed, he simply nodded and stepped back, retreating to Kimimaro's side.
He stared down at his own hands — the same hands that had once taken lives — and for the first time, he saw something different.
If my power can heal… if it can bring smiles instead of screams…
He looked up again, watching the Uzumaki mother and daughter embrace, surrounded by laughter and relief.
"Kimimaro," he said quietly, his voice trembling, "do you think… I can help people? Do you think I can become… that light too?"
Kimimaro didn't answer immediately. He, too, was watching the joyous crowd — a sight he had never truly experienced. Even when serving Orochimaru, even when calling him "lord," there had never been warmth like this.
The silence stretched — deep, aching, yet full of meaning.
"...Perhaps."
That was all he said. But his eyes — faintly wistful, faintly alive — said far more.
Both men fell silent, watching from the edges of the light they could not yet touch.
Between them and the laughter stretched a quiet, invisible chasm — the distance between hope and belief.
But Nobunaga saw it all. He saw their hesitation, their doubt, their fragile yearning.
He closed his eyes, a faint smile curving his lips.
Patience, he thought. Even the toughest hearts must simmer slowly.
A gentle fire… makes the richest broth.