Paved With Good Intentions

Chapter 1

She should've known really. She was stupid to have thought this life would be better than her last. She should have known something was wrong, but she preferred to sit in her blissful ignorance.

Her first clue for what was amiss was the Edo-era-esque hut she was living in (because it wasn't a house, to say so would be an insult to everything she remembered).

But she brushed it off as it being an old building in a small town on the outskirts of Japan. It was a logical conclusion to come to given the language that was spoken (she already knew how to speak it but pretended to learn anyway). To think this place was anything but Japan would be stupid.

The hut she lived in was very humble, barely warm enough in the frigid coastal town it resided in. She didn't remember much of her early childhood days, probably because it was spent eating, pooping, and napping if she had to guess. In which case she didn't want to remember it anyway.

She had a mother, obviously, but she wasn't much of a mother. She only did the bare minimum to care for her. Though she had a sneaking suspicion that she was a prostitute or did some other work of ill repute. But whatever paid the bill was fine with her.

There was never any talk about a father. She was likely the product of a one-night stand or a failed marriage where he left/died. If she was being honest, she couldn't care less either way since he wasn't in her life right now. She didn't have much luck with fathers in her past life, she wouldn't be surprised if it followed her into this one.

Her second clue should've been the lifestyle she was forced to live.

The currency, Ryo?, the old-styled clothing, Kimono? Seriously? In a fishin' town?, and the food, which wasn't all that weird if only lacking in amount. But she brushed those off too. She supposed there could be some remote town on an island in northern Japan that wanted to preserve tradition, even if that meant using squat toilets.

The one clue that she couldn't brush off, however―the one event she couldn't ignore―was slammed into her life when she was four.

She and her mother were sleeping when the first shouts were heard. Her mother groggily woke up and went to the door. One look outside and she came running back in, yelling at her to Get up! We gotta go! Now! She saw mother frantically open up the wooden flooring and pull out some cash and jewelry.

She started smelling smoke coming from the neighbouring huts and saw the fires raging from the windows. Were she a regular 4-year-old, she would've been terrified. But she wasn't. However, she was confused.

Even if this was a remote town, wouldn't there be some kind of fire department? Or even just a neighbourhood watch to put the fire out? There was no need to grab your mother's pearls and skip town.

She got up from her futon and went to look outside for herself. She saw the villagers running about, children crying in the street and men with swords.

Men with swords?

"No, child! Come back!" she heard her mother yell. And before she could turn around, a foot collided with her stomach. The air left her lungs and she skidded backwards into the house. She heard her mother shriek and gather her body.

"Tch, nothing of value," claimed the owner of the foot after he stepped in and looked around the hut. He was one of those men with swords.

"What are you talking about? There's a woman and a child," said another walking in behind him.

"S-shinobi," she heard her mother whisper above her.

Shinobi? Did she hear that right?