Thinking About Translating a Naruto Fanfic!
Lately, I've been considering starting a Naruto fanfiction translation as well. The only catch? It has to include the romance tag—no exceptions. Call me sentimental, but that's just how I am when it comes to reading. 🥲
That said, it's been tough to find one I truly like…
So if you have any suggestions, feel free to share them! I'm totally open to recommendations. 💌
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Fujiwara Yoshinaga sprang up from the sofa, his hand instinctively reaching into the crevice between the cushions.
With a swift motion, he pulled out a Yukimura smart pistol, his fingers wrapping tightly around the grip.
At the same time, he frantically tried to contact his security team and sync with his biomechanical guard dog—yet, no response came.
Silence.
An unnatural silence.
Something was wrong.
No…
Something is very wrong.
What the hell happened?
Why was every connection cut?
Why wasn't his security team responding?
Was the signal being jammed?
He checked—no disruptions detected.
His comms were functional.
Which meant…
It wasn't interference.
They simply weren't there anymore.
His mind suddenly flashed back to the terminated Tiger Claws security contract.
A sharp, suffocating feeling gripped his chest.
He was in danger.
Desperate, he switched to his last available option—
Emergency Services.
NCPD Emergency Line
"NCPD! My estate has been breached! Possible intruders! I need immediate assistance—my address is—"
A calm, youthful male voice cut him off.
"We'll be there as soon as possible, Mr. Fujiwara Yoshinaga."
Click.
The line went dead.
Fujiwara Yoshinaga froze.
His blood ran cold.
How did he…
How did the dispatcher know his name before he even said it?
How did he know it was him calling?
An overwhelming sense of dread sank into his gut.
His fingers tightened around the Yukimura.
Then—
A sound.
A soft creak from the left side of the room.
The door opened.
The absolute silence of the villa was shattered by the gentle groan of hinges.
Fujiwara Yoshinaga spun on his heels, the barrel of his Yukimura snapping up to aim.
His cybernetic eyes adjusted instantly—
☑ Infrared scan → Nothing
☑ Night vision → Nothing
☑ Smart targeting → No hostiles detected
The room was empty.
The door had simply…
Opened on its own.
Fujiwara broke into a cold sweat.
That door…
It leads to the inner hallway.
There are no windows nearby.
No drafts.
And most importantly—
He locked that door himself.
Every fiber of his being screamed: "RUN."
But he couldn't move.
He stood, rooted in place, as his breathing grew ragged.
His left eye locked onto the open doorway.
His right eye flicked to the floor-to-ceiling window on the opposite side of the room.
Outside was his darkened garden, shrouded in shadows.
Slowly, step by step, he backed away—
Until his shoulders pressed against the solid concrete wall.
A thin sense of relief flickered through him.
At least now, no one could sneak up behind him.
If anyone dared to move, his cybernetic optics and smart targeting system would lock onto them instantly.
All he had to do was pull the trigger.
Click.
His gun snapped to the right.
The floor-to-ceiling window had just unlocked.
It slid open.
By itself.
No one was there.
His breathing hitched.
His hands trembled.
His mind screamed at him to get out.
But his legs wouldn't move.
No.
No, no, no…
Stay calm. Stay rational.
Think.
Then—
CRACK.
A sound.
Right behind him.
Too late.
His body jerked as he tried to turn—
But before he could even react—
BOOM.
The wall behind him exploded.
A hand shot through the concrete, gripping his wrist in an unbreakable vice.
Before Fujiwara could scream, he heard it—
A sharp crunch.
His smart pistol—his Yukimura—was being crushed.
His cybernetic fingers—shattering within the grip of an unseen force.
Bone and metal—cracking together—mangled beyond repair.
The pressure was unbearable.
Pain shot through his entire nervous system.
His mind could no longer process what was happening.
Then, through the splintering concrete—
Through the crimson haze of agony—
He heard a voice.
A voice dripping with amusement.
A voice that mocked his fear.
"So, Fujiwara…"
"Do you feel it now?"
"You like breaking things so much…"
"Why not try feeling what it's like to be broken yourself, Fujiwara Yoshinaga?"
The exact same voice from his NCPD distress call echoed behind him.
In that instant—
A second hand shot out from the shattered wall—
And clamped around his throat.
Fujiwara couldn't even scream.
All he could do was gasp as his body was yanked backward—
His skull cracking hard against the jagged concrete.
Pain exploded through his head.
His vision blurred as he was dragged through the collapsed hole.
For a brief moment, his mind teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.
Then—
THUD.
Fujiwara hit the ground hard.
The iron grip around his throat vanished.
"Gah— cough— cough—!"
He doubled over, choking violently—
Saliva splattered onto the floor as his entire body convulsed.
It felt like his lungs were being forcibly ripped from his chest.
"Ahh… choking is pretty unpleasant, isn't it?"
The voice was mocking.
Footsteps approached.
Then—
A quadrupedal machine padded softly to his side.
A biomechanical guard dog—its metallic eyes glowing in the dim light.
"A Giraffe Co. cybernetic hound? Damn… you really splurged on security."
"Took me a bit of effort to hack into it, y'know."
The voice's owner finally stepped into view.
One hand idly petted the machine's head—
The other casually tucked into his pocket.
"I used to laugh at Oliver for never seeing a real dog before…"
"Guess this fancy toy will be a nice introduction for him."
Fujiwara curled into himself.
Like a wounded animal, he trembled on the ground.
It was fear.
A deep, paralyzing fear.
His mind raced—
His breathing hitched—
But his right hand subtly reached toward his coat.
"Hiding a gun, huh?"
The voice was amused.
"Smart move. You're hoping I'll drop my guard, right?"
"Go ahead. Draw it."
"I'll give you one shot."
NOW!
Fujiwara lunged, his left hand yanking a Kenshin pistol from his coat.
He barely got the barrel halfway up—
CRUNCH.
A boot slammed down onto his wrist.
CRACK.
His fingers twisted—
His bones and cybernetics snapping under grinding pressure.
"AAAAAHHHHHHH—!"
Fujiwara screamed in agony—
But the pain didn't stop.
SWISH.
A thin, glowing filament flashed in the darkness—
Fujiwara fell silent.
His voice was gone.
His vocal cords severed—
Precise. Surgical.
Not a single unnecessary organ was damaged—
Just enough to ensure he would never speak again.
Fujiwara writhed on the ground, gasping—
But no sound came.
Only dry, rasping wheezes.
As he rolled over, his vision finally cleared—
And he saw his attacker.
A young man with jet-black hair.
Cold eyes stared down at him.
No anger.
No hatred.
Just pure indifference.
"So?"
"Do you feel it now?"
"The suffocation?"
"The silence?"
"That moment of helplessness—where you sink into the darkness and realize no one's coming to save you?"
"Maybe—just maybe—you're starting to understand…"
"What those people you killed felt in their final moments."
Fujiwara's pupils shrank.
His breathing quickened.
His mind reeled in disbelief.
He knew that face.
He knew that name.
KK.
Impossible.
This is impossible.
We have no history. No connection.
Why is he here?
Why is he doing this to me?!
.
.
.
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