The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting soft beams of gold across the polished wooden floor. The house was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds outside and the muffled hum of life awakening beyond the windowpanes. Inside, nestled beneath a sky-blue blanket, Jun stirred.

  Today was his seventh birthday.

  He blinked slowly, letting the early morning haze settle as he sat up in bed. His small room was simple but cozy—shelves filled with picture books, a corner with scattered wooden toys, and a desk with neatly arranged school supplies. The framed photo of his family on the wall caught his eye: his father, strong and smiling; his mother, warm and bright; and his baby sister, Hina, giggling in his arms.

  He smiled to himself, a mix of peace and excitement buzzing in his chest. Seven. It sounded more grown-up somehow. A small age, yet today felt like a quiet milestone.

  Downstairs, the clatter of dishes and the delicious scent of something sweet wafted up the stairs. Jun jumped out of bed, bare feet padding softly over the floor, and quickly changed into his favorite blue shirt and dark shorts. He ran downstairs, excitement lighting up his face.

  The living room was decorated with handmade paper garlands—simple yet charming. A small cake sat on the table, candles still unlit, and beside it were three small boxes wrapped in different colors.

  “Happy birthday, Jun!” his mother beamed, kneeling down and wrapping her arms around him as he entered the room.

  “Happy birthday, champ,” his father said warmly, placing a gentle hand on Jun’s head, ruffling his already messy black hair.

  “Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad!” Jun said, eyes shining. He turned to his sister, and she ran to her big brother and sat on his lap. Her small arms looped loosely around his waist, her tiny head resting against his chest as if it were her favorite pillow in the world.

  His mother chuckled. “Come say happy birthday to your big brother.”

  She looked confused. “Mama,” she whispered loudly, “why Onii-chan get boxes? Is it his toy day?”

  His parents laughed.

  “It’s his birthday, sweetheart,” his father explained, kneeling beside her. “Remember? It’s the day he was born, so we give him gifts to celebrate.”

  Hina beamed and wrapped her tiny arms around his waist.

  “Mama,” she murmured in a sing-song voice, “can we eat the cake now?”

  She chuckled softly, ruffling her soft brown hair. “Not yet, Hina. We haven’t done presents.”

  Hina pouted adorably, her tiny lips puffing out as she looked up at her with huge, innocent eyes. “But I want cake now…”

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  “Hina, let your brother open his gifts first. It’s his special day.”

  Their father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a gentle smile, walked in holding a medium-sized gift box wrapped in dark red paper and tied with a gold ribbon. “You’re growing up fast, Jun,” he said with pride in his voice. “Seven years already.”

  Jun looked up at his father, smiling shyly. “Thanks, Dad.”

  His father knelt beside him and handed over the box. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Hina scrambled off his lap and plopped down beside him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What is it? What is it?” she whispered, bouncing on her knees.

  Jun carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside was a sleek, dark-blue sketchbook with a matching mechanical pencil, a set of colored leads, and a beginner’s puzzle set. He stared at it for a moment in awe.

  “You’ve always loved drawing, right?” his father said. “We thought you could use a real artist’s kit. And you can train your mind like a ninja,” he joked.

  Jun felt a warmth bubble up in his chest. “Thank you. I… I really love it.”

  His mother approached next, kneeling beside him with a smaller package wrapped in light pink paper. “Here’s something from me.”

  Inside was a neatly folded, custom-made hoodie—black, with a red lightning pattern embroidered across the sleeves. Jun ran his fingers along the thread, eyes wide. “This is… awesome.”

  Hina suddenly gasped as if remembering something very important. She ran to the table, climbed onto a chair with surprising determination, and plucked a single lily from a small vase. She hopped back down and toddled over, holding the flower behind her back.

  “Onii-chan!” she shouted cheerfully, thrusting the flower forward with both hands. “This is my present!”

  Jun blinked, then laughed. “Hina... did you just steal that from the table?”

  “No!” she protested, cheeks puffing in indignation. “It’s from me. I picked it.”

  He took the flower with a theatrical nod of respect. “Then it’s the best gift.”

  Hina beamed, and in a burst of joy, she leapt onto his lap again, hugging him tightly. “Happy birthday, Onii-chan!”

  Their parents exchanged warm smiles, watching the two siblings with quiet affection. There was something undeniably beautiful about the bond they shared—so natural, so untainted by the world.

  For a while, the family sat together, laughing, telling stories, sharing sweets and cake. It was the kind of afternoon one remembers forever—quiet joy, genuine love, and no shadow in sight.

  But shadows always come. Especially when you don’t expect them.

  That night, as the house grew still and the moonlight filtered through the curtains of Jun’s room, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The sketchbook sat on his desk, untouched. The flower from Hina had been placed carefully in a glass of water on the nightstand.

  He should’ve felt at peace.

  Instead, he felt… odd.

  A strange heaviness had begun to settle in his chest ever since the lights had been turned off. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t sadness. It was something unnameable.

  His eyelids grew heavy, and slowly, he drifted into sleep.

  That was when the dream began.

  He was falling—faster and faster through a swirling void of color and memories that weren’t his.

  Flashes of battles.

  Eyes bleeding red.

  A name whispered in fragments—“Sasuke.”

  A figure with his face, older and battle-worn, fighting against a woman with pale skin and horns, against blond boys who screamed with pain and love, against a world that tore itself apart.

  Sword strikes. Lightning. Fire. Genjutsu. Blood.

  A terrible loneliness. A burning desire for revenge. Regret. Love. Pain.

  Jun jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in sweat.

  He stumbled out of bed, hands gripping the edge of his desk for support as a pounding headache clawed at his skull. The memories still floated in his mind—not like a dream, but like a memory that had always been buried deep inside him.

  He looked around wildly, panic rising. His room was the same. His family was the same. He was Jun. This was his home.

  So why… why had he seen all that?

  With shaking legs, he stumbled to the bathroom and flicked on the light.

  He stared at his reflection.

  The boy in the mirror had dark, spiky hair. Pale skin. A face sharp and composed far beyond his years. Eyes dark and deep, filled with the uncertainty of a soul older than seven years.

  And then, a terrifying realization dawned on him.

  “This is… Sasuke’s face,” he whispered.

  The memories had shown a child—the same face. The same dark eyes. That same intensity.

  No. No—this face had always been his, hadn’t it?

  It didn’t become Sasuke’s. It had always looked like that.

  He simply hadn’t realized.

  Before tonight, he hadn’t remembered.

  Gripping the sink, he stared harder, searching for some flaw, some deviation—anything that could prove he was just Jun.

  But no.

  There was no mistaking it.

  This face… it was the face of that boy. That man.

  That warrior from a world with ninjas, chakra, and blood-stained vengeance.

  But he was Jun.

  He was not Sasuke.

  And yet, those memories—those skills—they were buried in him, like echoes waiting to be drawn out.

  He didn’t know how.

  He didn’t know why.

  But he would find out.

  And to do that… he had to start with what Sasuke used in every fight—chakra.