It was a calm, ordinary day in Konohagakure. The streets bustled with life: shopkeepers shouting out prices to lure customers, mothers bargaining over fresh vegetables, children chasing each other through the alleys, and shinobi dashing swiftly across rooftops as they carried out their duties. The warmth of the sun bathed the Hidden Leaf Village, making it seem peaceful—at least on the surface.
But not everyone shared in that peace.
High above, on the tiled rooftop of a building overlooking the main street, lay a small boy no older than seven. His spiky blond hair gleamed under the sunlight, streaked faintly with red undertones that caught the eye. A foxtail grass swayed lazily between his lips as he rested with his hands folded behind his head, staring blankly at the sky as if searching for answers only the heavens could give.
This boy was Uchiha Yagami.
But that wasn't always his name. In his past life, he had been Zig Miyamoto, an ordinary boy from another world. A boy who had devoured manga panels, scrolled endlessly through forums, and dreamed countless nights of what it would be like to live inside his favorite stories. His wish, his foolish fantasy, had somehow been granted: he had reincarnated into the world of Naruto.
At first, he had been ecstatic. He was born into the Uchiha clan, one of the strongest and most feared lineages in the shinobi world. Visions of unlocking the Sharingan, mastering fire-style jutsu, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with legends like Itachi and Shisui filled his mind. With his knowledge of future events, he imagined himself rising above all others, rewriting fate itself.
But reality was cruel.
From the moment he began his training, the dream crumbled. He wasn't a prodigy like Itachi, nor a genius like Shisui. His chakra control was clumsy, his hand seals sloppy, and his learning speed embarrassingly slow. Techniques that other children picked up in weeks took him months, and even then his execution was shaky. He struggled with the simplest jutsu, often exhausting his chakra before even completing them.
The truth hit harder with every failure: he wasn't special.
Despite being an Uchiha, despite knowing the story's timeline, despite carrying the memories of another life—he was painfully average. When he finally entered the Ninja Academy at the age of six, it was not because he impressed anyone, but because he had barely scraped past the requirements.
The only advantage he had in this world was his chakra. It was so massive that even as a child, his reserves dwarfed those of most Jōnin. But what seemed like a blessing was, in truth, more like a curse for his already miserable life.
Why? Why was it hard? Wasn't having a huge chakra pool supposed to be an advantage?
Well, the answer was simple—control.
The Uzumaki clan was famous for their vitality and overwhelming chakra reserves, able to fight longer and harder than most shinobi could dream of. But that came with a hidden drawback—the larger the container, the harder it was to measure the precise drop.
Yagami was no different. Being half-Uzumaki, his chakra reserves naturally surged far beyond the limits of most shinobi. But when he tried to perform even the most basic of techniques, his chakra overflowed, spilling out and destabilizing the jutsu.
Think of it like trying to pour water from a massive tank into a delicate teacup—you spill everywhere unless you're incredibly precise.
The best example, of course, was Naruto Uzumaki himself.
Even without Kurama, Naruto's chakra reserves as a boy were enormous. Kakashi once admitted that Naruto had at least four times more chakra than he did, and Kakashi was no ordinary shinobi—he was an elite jōnin, feared and respected across nations.
Yet despite all that raw potential, Naruto struggled with the simplest of techniques. At twelve years old, he could barely manage a proper Bunshin no Jutsu, and only by accident did he stumble into his signature move, the Shadow Clone Jutsu. His problem wasn't quantity—it was control.
The Shadow Clones were the only reason he managed to learn at all, dividing his massive chakra into smaller, manageable pieces.
But Yagami wasn't Naruto.
Yagami was talentless. No special eyes yet, no hidden genius, no miracle workarounds. Just an ocean of chakra in the body of a boy who couldn't swim. And being a talentless ninja in a world as merciless as this one… was like being a baby thrown into a land of hungry dinosaurs. Survival wasn't just difficult—it was practically impossible.
Seven years had passed since his reincarnation. Seven long years of trial, error, failure, and slow, bitter progress.
And in those seven years, Yagami had learned something shocking. This wasn't Naruto's timeline. No Team 7, no Chūnin Exams, no Sasuke or Sakura to follow. Instead, it was a generation earlier—the time when Minato Namikaze still ran the streets of Konoha as a hopeful academy student.
And fate, in its strange cruelty, had tied their paths together.
It was Minato—bright, kind, and terrifyingly talented—who extended a hand to him. Where others saw Yagami's clumsy chakra control as hopeless, Minato saw possibility. He encouraged Yagami, helped him, guided him.
Exercises like the Leaf Concentration or the Tree-Climbing practice, which had once taken Yagami months of frustration, became manageable under Minato's guidance. Day after day, failure after failure, Minato stood by him with a smile.
"Don't give up. You'll get it next time."
And, slowly but surely, Yagami did.
Now, lying on the rooftop with a foxtail grass dangling lazily from his lips, Yagami let the warm wind sweep over him. His blonde hair with red undertones swayed gently in the breeze, his eyes closed in rare peace.
"Man, it sure feels nice…" he muttered under his breath.
Seven years. Seven years since he'd woken up in this world, trapped in the body of an Uchiha boy named Yagami. Seven years since the name "Zig Miyamoto" had faded into the past.
'Can't believe it's already been seven years since I reincarnated… It still feels like a dream,' he thought, his mind drifting back to the life he had left behind.
The memories came unbidden—the laughter of his old friends, the smell of his home, the bright screens he used to stare at for hours. And then, just as quickly, the moment of his death—the sharp pain, the fading light, and the strange pull that had dragged him here.
A world of ninja. A world of blood. A world where survival itself was a miracle.
And he was supposed to make something of himself in it.
( I'm Re-writing this entire story from the very beginning. When I first started writing it, I honestly didn't know much about story structure, pacing, or even how to properly build up characters. I kind of just wrote whatever came to mind—and while it was fun, it wasn't really the story I wanted to tell.
So this time, I'm starting fresh. I've learned a lot more about writing since then, and I want to create something that feels more detailed, consistent, and immersive. Each chapter will be around 1,000 words long, giving me enough space to properly flesh things out while keeping it easy to read. )