Tsunade had a secret: she suffered from hemophobia.
She harbored a deep fear of blood.
The only reason she could play "Return Home," a genjutsu-based game, was because the public version was censored. For the sake of user comfort, it included a harmony mode where the blood was tinted green, and organs were pixelated.
So at first, Tsunade had no adverse reaction while playing.
But as the story progressed, Tsunade began to feel worse.
Through exploration and narrative revelations, she learned that the ninja she played wasn't simply encountering corpses—the character was already dead, lingering in the world due to unfulfilled desire.
That desire: to return home, to see loved ones one last time.
The horrifying scenes, the twisted female spirit, and all the symbols of death and negative emotion—were remnants of the protagonist's life. Nightmares twisted from memories. The world itself was trying to pull the protagonist back to the Pure Land, where the dead belong.
And all of this tragedy had its root in the Great Ninja War.
The brutal wars had taken countless lives, leaving survivors in pain. The protagonist was one of those who had suffered and died.
All that death, all that grief—it was simply what the protagonist had endured during the war.
But driven by that lingering desire, the protagonist kept walking forward, just to see their loved ones once more.
The grief, the longing, the fear of war—it all struck Tsunade at her core.
Though she appeared loud and strong on the surface, her heart was long scarred by loss—of loved ones and the man she cherished. She was far less resilient than she seemed.
And this game's narrative was like stepping on a landmine—ripping open her deepest wounds and exposing them completely.
She began to tremble.
But as this was a genjutsu environment, her real body showed no reaction.
Still, Tsunade's heart was shaking. She instinctively wanted to end the game and return to reality.
But…
She couldn't bring herself to quit.
She wanted to see the ending—to know if the protagonist could return home and reunite with family.
Especially—
As the game progressed, the protagonist's age changed, growing younger.
When there was only a quarter of the game left, Tsunade looked into a mirror and saw that her character had become a sixteen-year-old boy.
In that moment, she saw someone else through him.
"Nawaki…"
Her body shook, breath rapid. She clenched her teeth and continued forward.
The female spirit attacked again, trying to drag the protagonist away.
It spoke in a ghostly voice:
"Give up… you no longer belong to the world of the living…"
"You… are a sinner, a corpse… your family… can never be with you again…"
"You… can't go back…"
Those bitter words tore at Tsunade's heart. But the more she heard, the more she refused to accept failure. The protagonist *had* to make it home. They *had* to see their family again.
Grief and sorrow surged, merging with Tsunade's own heartbreak from the past. A strong desire to undo regrets filled her chest. She refused to stop.
Again and again, she faced setbacks, challenged the odds, and finally broke through the ghost's grip in the game's final stage.
Then, she saw it—the protagonist was now just an eleven or twelve-year-old boy, dressed in plain, humble clothes.
The path ahead was shrouded in mist, winding toward a small, lamplit wooden cabin in the distance.
This was the final part. A melancholic yet hopeful background theme, "Key Sounds Label -潮鳴り," played, enhancing the mood.
As Tsunade advanced, ghostly blue flames lit the path, illuminating the way forward.
The road behind her disappeared as she walked—there was no turning back.
Children's laughter and cheerful voices echoed around her, representing the happiest moments of the protagonist's life—time spent with the only family they had left: their sister.
Yes, the protagonist had only one surviving sibling. Their parents and relatives had all been killed by the cruel ninja world.
They had joined the war only to protect their final loved one—and had died for it.
At the wooden door, Tsunade could hear a voice—a beloved presence waiting behind it, calling for "her" return.
She raised her hand to push the door open.
But at the last second, she hesitated, fear blooming deep inside.
Still, she pushed forward.
Suddenly, the room's light overwhelmed her view.
Then—a clear voice called out, "Sister!"
It was the voice of the character Tsunade played.
Then her perspective changed. She jolted awake and found herself lying on a straw mat stacked over wood in a dim, rundown house.
She had become a girl of about seventeen or eighteen.
Though the place was dilapidated, it was undeniably part of the world of the living. The morning sun filtered through the cracks.
Confused, the girl got up and walked toward the open door. Looking around, she saw a worn-out protective charm lying at the doorstep.
Her pupils shrank. She trembled and slowly picked it up.
Then, she collapsed to the floor, clutching the charm, sobbing loudly in grief.
That charm had been a gift to her younger brother. Its return alone meant he was gone. The charm had returned in his place—for one last farewell.
But the two siblings, separated by life and death, would never again embrace.
The story ended there.
Sure, there were plot holes—like how she knew her brother had died just from the charm—but they were glossed over by symbolism. The game leaned into emotional logic, not realism.
And for players who had personally experienced the game, it all felt natural. They accepted its rules, accepted the sorrowful tale of familial love.
To most, it was a deeply moving and heartbreaking story.
But for Tsunade, it was a devastating emotional blow.
When she returned to the real world, this top-tier shinobi, one of the Legendary Sannin, sat dazed as if her soul had left her.
Her eyes were blank. Her face pale. Her expression—on the verge of tears—shocked Shizune, who rushed forward to support her, asking what happened and performing a quick examination in panic.
Shizune's concern seemed to finally rouse Tsunade. Her body trembled. She stared at Shizune's moving lips, but her mind buzzed—unable to hear a word.
Then, unexpectedly, the bold, unrestrained Tsunade Senju threw herself into Shizune's arms and burst into tears.
Her cries were full of grief and pain—a sorrowful lament for lost family, as if she had just relived that moment when her younger brother Nawaki died.
And at that very moment, Uchiha Kei gained a surge of emotional value—along with two full "Golden Spirits."