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Immediately Haruto felt his echo sense kick in…

The room seemed to stretch around him, endless and black, but Haruto's enhanced hearing had begun to awaken, revealing dimensions he hadn't imagined. The system had called this new power "Echo Sense," but what it truly meant was only beginning to sink in. The sounds weren't just noise anymore; they were touchstones, points in the void that allowed him to sketch the world around him.

Whenever a sound was loud enough—a distant bang, a sharp clang—it would ripple outward, bouncing against the walls and filling the space with a dim awareness. The echoes resonated in the blackness like ripples on water, each one imprinting itself on his photographic memory. He could almost see the edges of his surroundings, blurry and imperfect, but tangible in a way that wasn't quite sight. They mapped out a world he couldn't see but could begin to feel in his mind—a form of vision born from sound.

But the limitations of this sense were immediately clear. Only louder noises would trigger the effect; softer sounds barely registered, their echoes weak, swallowed up by the silence. Still, he trained himself to recognize them, to let his memory build a framework. With each passing day, the creaks and rumbles, the subtle shifts, started to piece together an internal blueprint, faint outlines that faded without warning, yet returned with every boom or hum. The experience was exhausting but empowering, and each sound became a guide through the emptiness.

He felt like a worse version of daredevil he thought.

He wondered if he closed off another sense wokld he get another hidden upgrade?

He would just have to attempt it and find out.

As he continued is regimen preparing to cut off a other one of us senses

Days bled into weeks, and Haruto found himself alone in his sprawling estate, a place now layered in seals and security to keep the world out as he shut himself in. The echoes of Sakumo's death haunted every corner, gnawing at his resolve, and pushing him further toward the edge. He'd once thought he could escape into solitude, shut out the world, and build his strength without entanglements, without the risk of attachment. He thought he could turtle away, reemerge when he was ready, wielding strength powerful enough to protect everything he held dear. But that belief shattered the day Sakumo died.

Sakumo's death had left him exposed in a way he hadn't anticipated. He tried to bury the guilt, to turn his thoughts to the system's next reward, to his ruthless pursuit of strength. But every moment he sat alone in the dark, he saw Sakumo's face, the warmth he had shown, his unwavering dedication. The one person who'd saved him, who'd risked everything. And now, he was gone. Haruto knew deep down it was no accident. He could sense the web of lies, feel the shadowy manipulations of Danzo and others who had profited from Sakumo's fall. It tore at him, clawed at his mind until he was restless, trapped within his own silence.

He tried to tell himself vengeance would be enough, that he could strip away his bonds, burn the weakness from his soul, and let vengeance fill the void left by Sakumo's absence. But it wasn't that simple. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself, the faces of those he cared about returned to him—Daichi, with his unbreakable loyalty; Katsume, with her fiery spirit; Shizune, bringing groceries and lingering in the silence; Tsunade, who had seen his potential and tried to pull him from the edge. These people, his comrades, had become part of him in a way he hadn't realized. They were the anchor keeping him grounded, yet now, with Sakumo gone, he felt that anchor slipping away.

The memories from his past life haunted him, too. The moment he had thrown himself into the line of fire to save an innocent, only to be left broken and helpless. He had told himself he was different now, stronger, more ruthless, but the fear was still there—a fear of weakness, of being vulnerable again, of risking everything and ending up powerless. Every day, he felt it eating away at him, the weight of his old life seeping into this one, intertwining with his memories of Sakumo, and tearing at his resolve.

In his dreams, he saw Sakumo's face, worn and weary but kind, as if urging him to break free from the darkness consuming him. Haruto would wake in a cold sweat, staring blindly at the ceiling, fists clenched until his knuckles ached, and the pain was the only real thing grounding him. Why couldn't he shake this feeling? Why couldn't he find clarity, break free of this inner turmoil, and simply focus on what needed to be done?

"Dammit," he whispered to the darkness.

In his desperation, he turned once more to the system's interface. The idea of another upgrade lingered in his mind, an escape route, a way to channel his frustration and grief into something concrete. Just one sense at first, he reasoned—an upgrade to hearing, an amplified strength in one area. But as he scrolled through, his heart pounding, a darker thought crept into his mind.

What if he shut it all out? Every sense, all at once?

It would be quicker.. he could get all his upgrades all at once… if the system would reward him at all.

It was madness. To strip away all his senses would be nothing short of torture. But maybe that's what he needed. He'd failed Sakumo, failed his comrades by being too weak, too cautious. If he was truly going to be strong enough, he had to break down every barrier within himself, test his limits in ways he never had before.

He thought of his comrades, the friends who were still out there, preparing for war. He knew he wouldn't reach them, wouldn't be worthy of standing beside them until he was no longer afraid of his own weakness. If it took plunging himself into a self-imposed void, a black nothingness where only his resolve would carry him through, then so be it. He would pay the price. He had already lost too much.

With a shuddering breath, he made the decision. He would step into the void, shutting down every last sense in pursuit of the strength.

And even if the system didn't reward him… he would deserve this.