You ever get the feeling the universe put a hit out on you?
Not a polite warning, not fate nudging you toward self-improvement — I'm talking full John Wick contract, neon-lit vendetta, the cosmos slipping on its gloves and saying, "Yeah, you."
I used to think nature was neutral. That the world ran on balance — a kind of blind justice where good and bad just… evened out. But gods, if they exist — and trust me, they do — are just soap opera villains with better lighting. Petty, theatrical, and spectacularly vindictive. One of them must've circled my name in crimson and thought, let's see what happens if I tilt the board a little.
The morning started quiet. Sunlight on wet pavement, pigeons pretending they owned the street, and me clutching a coffee like it was sacred. Just a walk for bread — something small, human, grounding. Then the world decided subtlety was overrated.
The sidewalk cracked open with a noise like the earth was laughing at me. Concrete buckled upward, and an eighteen-wheeler — a goddamn eighteen-wheeler — used it like a ramp. It launched into the air like some half-baked Fast & Furious stunt. I dropped the coffee, rolled instinctively, and the truck came down on its roof two car lengths behind me. The impact screamed metal and chaos. Smoke hissed from its seams like the wreck itself was exhaling.
I sat there, heart doing its best drum solo, coffee soaking into the dust. "Freak accident," I muttered. "Bad luck."
That was the first lie I told myself.
By noon, the lie had teeth.
My little refuge — a strip of woods where the city's noise thinned out and you could almost hear yourself think — turned into something apocalyptic. The air went sharp, cold, alive. The kind of cold that feels personal, like it's trying to carve you into something smaller. Lightning stitched the sky three times, each bolt slamming into the ground close enough to raise the hair on my arms. Trees went up like torches. Birds scattered in a panic of wings, their cries turning the air into a storm of sound. The wind whispered one word, low and stretched thin.
"Run."
So I did.
By the time I stumbled out onto the road, lungs burning, the world had gone absurd again. A gas station. Fluorescent lights buzzing like dying flies. I bought an apple juice because—hell, when you're running from divine hitmen, sugar helps. I sat on the curb, trying to laugh it off, when the sky tore open again.
A satellite. An actual satellite.
It screamed through the clouds and slammed into the parking lot three feet from my knees. The blast threw me into a dumpster hard enough to leave a me-shaped dent. The smell of oil and burning metal wrapped around me like a blanket made in hell.
Somehow, I got up. Limped home. Muttered about needing a drink, maybe a priest. When I reached the porch, I met the final act of this cosmic joke: Mr. Harrow.
He was my neighbor — retired, cologne like a chemical weapon, pigeons his only friends. He looked up, smiled through the haze of his afternoon whiskey, and said, "Evenin', kid. Damn pigeons are multiplying."
Then he sneezed, flinched, and accidentally pulled the trigger on his revolver.
The bang was small. Polite.
The bullet wasn't.
I remember thinking, Figures.
Then everything went dark.
No light, no gravity, no pain — just a vast, ringing black. The kind of silence that feels like it's staring back. I floated in it, or maybe I fell. Hard to say when time has no edges. My thoughts started to fray, so I did the only thing that made sense: I talked to myself. Recited mantras, nonsense, jutsu names I'd memorized as a kid. "Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu," "Chidori," "Breath of the Sun, First Form." It was stupid, but it gave shape to the nothing.
Eventually, the dark sprouted stars. Tiny pinpricks of light, drifting like fireflies in tar. I reached for one. It pulsed, and when I touched it, a memory bloomed — not mine. A life: a shinobi born in 1475, forged in blade and loss. I drank it in like cold water, and when it settled, something inside me shifted.
I wasn't nowhere anymore.
I stood in a frozen mountain range carved from black ice. A red waterfall tore down the cliffs like bleeding glass, hissing steam into the air. The sky was eclipsed, an eternal dusk painted in the colors of dying copper. At the summit, one red spider lily bowed in the storm. I knew it meant something — memory, death, rebirth — but it didn't matter. I felt alive.
More lights drifted toward me. More souls. I took them in. Not all were human. Some carried the taste of worlds I'd only read about on subway rides — galaxies far, far away, comic-book dreams, ancient wars. Each one opened another lily. My mountain bloomed in crimson.
Then the world shifted again. The mountains cracked and fell away, leaving behind a desert of statues — human, beast, divine — all frozen mid-scream. In the distance rose a colossal tree whose branches blurred into infinity.
And from that horizon, she walked.
"Well, damn," she said, voice like silk dragged over iron. "Didn't think you'd last this long."
She wore black like it was her birthright. Hair dark as smoke, eyes lined with indifference, skin pale enough to make the shadows jealous.
"Death?" I asked, because who else walks out of oblivion with that kind of confidence?
"Death of the Endless, technically," she said, glancing at the silver stopwatch in her palm. "Thirteen billion, three hundred fifty-nine million, and some odd seconds. You did okay." She smiled. "Mostly."
She explained — briefly, like she was reading from a script she'd grown tired of — that I'd been collateral damage. Gods arguing. Power spilling. Wrong place, wrong time. Then she offered a deal. Reincarnation, with perks.
A cosmic roulette spun behind her. The lights flashed names and symbols: Conqueror's Haki. Supreme-Grade Blade. Indra Bloodline. Shrine Technique. Two Traits. One Devil Fruit. The fruit spun in midair, fox-tail stem glinting blue-white.
"You want it?" she asked.
I didn't even hesitate. I bit into it.
It tasted like frostbite and heartbreak. The power crawled through my veins like cold fire, burning everything that wasn't necessary. For one second, I was infinite. Then Death snapped her fingers.
Black.
When I woke, the world screamed.
A blade sliced toward my face — instinct roared louder. Time shattered into shards. Every memory I'd stolen flared behind my eyes. Steel met reflex.
And then a name rose above it all — mine.
Jinx Uchiha.
I knew where I was. The First Great Ninja War, its dying embers painting the sky gray. The bodies around me smelled of ash and iron. And I knew whose blood ran through my veins — Kagami Uchiha's younger brother.
The realization hit like a shuriken to the gut.
A rogue Iwa-nin stepped from the rubble, blade loose in his hand, smirk cruel and practiced. "The little Uchiha finally shows fangs," he said. "The Raikage will pay handsomely for your head. That fan of yours? Might look good over my fireplace."
My hands moved before thought caught up. Two fans — black lacquer, purple veins — snapped open at my sides. The air sharpened.
"Ice Release," I said, voice calm, alien to my own ears. "Frozen Lotus."
I swung.
The air screamed. Mist turned to frost mid-spin, petals of violet-edged ice blooming where my fans cut. The rogue charged straight into beauty weaponized. Ice lotuses spread across the battlefield, each petal spinning, slashing, carving. The mist rolled low, freezing soil and shadow alike. The Iwa-nin's grin faltered as a petal brushed his arm — and blood steamed against the cold.
I stood among it, the world humming with frost. For the first time since Harrow's shaky aim, I felt control. Like the universe had tried to erase me and only succeeded in refining the edges.
I didn't have long to enjoy the thought.
The rogue flicked three kunai. My Sharingan caught them mid-flight, the world slowing to syrup. I stomped, ice shooting up in a curved wall. The kunai embedded harmlessly. But the ninja vaulted over it, hands flying through seals.
"Earth Release: Triple Earth Tiger!"
Mud tigers erupted from the ground, jaws snapping, claws like stone spears. They roared forward. My fans moved on instinct.
"Ice Release: Freezing Clouds."
A storm of cold wind burst outward. The tigers froze mid-lunge, statues of mud and frost. The rogue's shock was brief — fear flickered in his eyes, and I seized it.
"Ice Release: Lotus Vines."
From the mist, lotus blooms cracked open, birthing whips of glass-edged ice. They lashed toward him. He slammed his hands into the ground.
"Earth Release: Earth Wall!"
A wall of rock surged up — half a meter thick. It lasted maybe two seconds before my vines sliced it into ribbons. His eyes widened. He dodged left — too slow.
Five slashes painted his body red. He stumbled, gasping, hand clutching his chest. I saw the tremor hit him — the cold spreading inward.
That was the hidden trick. My mist didn't just freeze the world; it stole breath. Each inhale turned the lungs to winter. Each exhale, slower. Each movement, weaker.
He tried to speak — maybe a curse, maybe a plea — but the sound crystallized in the air.
I exhaled once, steady and cold enough to frost the ground beneath me. "You should've run when the wind told you to."
The vines closed in.
And for the first time in what felt like several lifetimes, I smiled.
The vines should've finished him.
By now, his body should've been trembling on the edge of hypothermia, lungs seizing from the cold mist I'd turned the air into. Yet, when the frost cleared, I saw him still standing—barely, but upright. His hands shook as he formed another string of seals, lips cracked and bleeding from the cold, but there was something in his eyes that refused to die.
"You—" he rasped, steam ghosting from his mouth, "—Uchiha bastard…"
A small flame sparked between his fingers. Then it bloomed into a roaring fireball that painted the ice orange.
My eyes widened. Fire Release.
The blast melted the closest lotuses into puddles that hissed and spat on the frozen ground. The air shimmered with heat. I stumbled back, throwing a hand up to shield my face. The sudden warmth clawed at my skin like it wanted revenge.
That's when it hit me—my ice wasn't perfect. My Sharingan tracked the chakra in his body, pulsing like red threads under his skin. The fire spread through his bloodstream, pushing back against my cold. It was… ingenious. His chakra wasn't just resisting—it was neutralizing the frost inside him.
"So that's the flaw," I muttered under my breath, half in awe, half in irritation. "Anyone who can flood their body with fire or maybe lightning could fight off the freeze."
He smirked through chattering teeth. "Figured it out too late, didn't you?"
He launched another fireball, larger this time. I pivoted, my fans snapping open. Ice flared, countering the wave of heat in a hiss of steam. The explosion sent a gust of fog spiraling between us, heat and cold fighting for dominance.
Something in me thrilled at the clash—the danger, the precision. But another part of me blinked and thought: What the hell am I doing?
I'd reincarnated maybe twenty minutes ago. My muscles shouldn't move like this. My instincts shouldn't be this sharp. I wasn't supposed to feel like a veteran. But the movements flowed too easily, the chakra control too steady. I didn't even have to think about the seals or the breathing—it was just there.
I caught my reflection in a shard of ice: my eyes glowing red, one tomoe spinning lazily. There was arrogance there, old as the blood I now carried. The Uchiha kind of arrogance. The kind that made men smile in the face of death because they believed it couldn't touch them.
I laughed under my breath. "Guess that theory about Uchiha being born cocky wasn't bullshit after all."
The rogue growled and started another string of seals, blood dripping from his nose. "You talk too much!"
"Yeah," I said, stepping forward. "That's what my last therapist said too."
My fans moved on instinct. The mist spun outward in concentric rings.
"Ice Release: Barren Hanging Garden."
The air fractured with sound. I swung again, faster—eight, nine, ten times—each slash birthing expanding circles of razor ice. The shards danced outward like a halo of death, slicing the air, cutting through everything they touched. Trees fell apart in perfect symmetry, their trunks turning to white dust before they hit the ground.
The Iwa-nin dove, rolled, barely missing a cluster of shards that turned the dirt behind him into glass. Blood streaked his face. He was panting, desperate, but not done.
"You're a monster," he spat.
I shrugged. "You started it."
He lunged, sword dragging through the dirt. I met him head-on, spinning both fans.
"Cold White Princesses."
Two lotus flowers burst open on either side of me, sculpted from translucent ice. Their petals unfurled, and from the center rose two figures—women, their torsos beautifully carved, their expressions cold and eternal. They opened their mouths and exhaled.
The wind they breathed froze everything in its path. The bridge of roots beneath us turned to brittle frost in seconds. The air crackled, snapping branches like brittle bones.
The rogue screamed as frost crawled up his legs. His movements slowed, sword arm locking up mid-swing. His chakra flared again—fire trying to burn through the cold—but the effort cost him. His breath came out ragged, smoke and frost mixing.
I could feel my own chakra thinning, the familiar dizziness of overuse edging in. My breath grew shallow. I hadn't been in this body long enough to test its limits, and already I was scraping the bottom.
"Alright," I muttered, "last trick, then nap time."
My hands moved slower this time, deliberate. I pressed them together and closed my eyes, centering what was left of my energy. The mist thickened, heavy and wet, the world going silent in anticipation.
"Ice Release: Wintry Icicles."
The ground shuddered. From the earth around the rogue, giant icicles erupted upward—each one as thick as a tree trunk, sharp as guilt. They pierced through the fog like silver lances. The rogue tried to dodge, but his body was betraying him. One spear grazed his shoulder; another slammed into his thigh. He dropped to one knee, sword clattering beside him.
I should've ended it there. But something in me—the part that remembered dying once already—wanted to make it count.
"Alright," I whispered, "no holding back."
I lifted my fans one last time. Every drop of chakra left in me burned white-hot through my veins. The air thickened, heavy with pressure. Frost spiraled upward, forming intricate symbols in the mist.
"Rime — Water Lily Bodhisattva."
The ground beneath us split open. Ice surged, sculpting itself into a massive statue—a towering Bodhisattva of frozen light and wrath, lotus blooms circling its base like halos. I leapt up, landing on its shoulder. The thing exhaled, and the world howled.
The breath it released wasn't mere cold—it was a living storm. The rogue raised his arms in vain as the Bodhisattva's icy gale tore through the clearing, erasing heat, color, and sound. The statue's massive hand came down, crushing what was left of the battlefield in a thunderclap of frost.
When the wind died, the rogue was gone. Only a frozen crater remained, rimmed with shards of glassy earth.
I exhaled, trembling. The fans slipped from my fingers and fell, embedding in the ice below. My vision flickered, Sharingan dimming back to black.
For a moment, I just stood there, catching my breath. The world was silent again. Snow drifted down from nowhere, gentle and indifferent.
"Twenty minutes in a new body," I said aloud, voice hoarse, "and I already killed a guy with a Buddhist ice statue."
I laughed once, low and humorless. "Yeah, that tracks."
The wind shifted. The Bodhisattva cracked, slowly collapsing into glittering dust. I felt the chakra drain hit me like a wave. My legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees, watching the remnants of my power scatter into the breeze like falling petals.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat slow. The warmth of life felt foreign, heavy.
"If the gods are watching," I muttered, eyes half-lidded, "I hope they're taking notes."
Then everything went quiet—just snow, breath, and the faint sound of my own pulse echoing in the distance.
The silence after battle is a strange kind of mercy.
The world holds its breath like it's afraid to move, afraid to disturb what's left of the dead. My body screamed for rest, but my mind was still riding the edge — half-drunk on adrenaline, half-dizzy from chakra loss.
The cold around me was absolute. Every breath fogged, every sound muffled. I started to tilt forward, thinking maybe I'd just lie down and let the frost have me for a while, when something caught my eye — a bit of parchment sticking out from the snow near where the rogue had fallen.
It fluttered weakly, edges charred from the fire release he'd used.
Curiosity is a disease I've never cured.
Groaning, I crawled toward it, palms numb against the ice. My body felt like someone had replaced my blood with wet cement, but I kept moving. Inch by inch. By the time I reached it, my arms were trembling so bad I nearly faceplanted into the snow.
The parchment was heavier than it looked — thick, sealed with a cracked red stamp. I tore it open with my teeth and unrolled it.
A scroll.
Ink still fresh.
The kanji scrawled across the top made my heart skip. Iwagakure Operations — Field Division North.
It was intel.
I forced my vision to focus, eyes scanning the map drawn across the inner page. It showed a stretch of forest and a series of mountains—familiar ones. And there, marked with a crude gold symbol, was a location note: Twenty miles south of the Uchiha compound.
My lips parted in a slow, disbelieving laugh. "A gold mine. Of course."
According to the half-remembered fragments in my new head — the knowledge this body carried — that area still fell under Uchiha jurisdiction. Technically ours. But clearly, someone from Iwa thought it was up for grabs.
I felt the exhaustion clawing up my spine, whispering that I should pass out and deal with it later. But greed — or maybe just curiosity — kept me awake a little longer.
"Gold," I muttered, my breath fogging the parchment. "And here I am, broke and freezing in my first twenty minutes of reincarnation."
My hand twitched. Ice crawled down my arm on instinct, spreading from my palm across the scroll. The parchment stiffened, frost crackling across the surface until it turned pure white. I stared at it for a second — at the frozen lines of ink, the perfect stillness.
Then I closed my fist.
The scroll shattered. Tiny shards of ice and paper drifted away like snowflakes, scattering across the ground until there was nothing left but dust.
"Can't have anyone else finding that," I whispered, the words barely making it out before the weight of exhaustion finally broke me.
My vision dimmed, edges fading to gray. The snow felt soft now, almost kind. I let my body sag into it, cheek pressing against the frost.
Somewhere above me, the wind whispered again — that same quiet voice from earlier.
This time, it didn't say run.
It just said rest.
And I did.
(3rd pov)
Daigo Uchiha had seen plenty of corpses in his time, but the sight before him gave him pause.
The forest looked like a god had decided to erase a mistake. Trees bowed inward, their trunks splintered into glassy shards. The ground was sheathed in a thin, perfect layer of frost, and at the center of it all — a crater big enough to swallow a house. The snow there shimmered faintly under the dying light, catching what little sun broke through the clouded sky.
Daigo crouched, gloved fingers brushing a melted patch of earth that still steamed faintly. "This isn't natural," he muttered. "Not just chakra residue. This is… something else."
Behind him, three younger Uchiha fanned out — Renji, Katsuro, and Yuna — each silent, their breath misting in the cold. The usual arrogance that came with the clan's crest was gone, replaced by unease.
Renji broke the silence first. "Sir… look."
He pointed toward a dark figure half-buried near the crater's edge. A body.
Daigo motioned them forward, hand instinctively hovering near his sword. As they got closer, the details sharpened — black hair, blood frozen into his clothes, faint traces of chakra still flickering like dying embers under his skin.
Yuna knelt beside him, her Sharingan spinning once before fading. "He's alive," she said, disbelief threading her tone. "Barely. His chakra's almost gone, but he's still breathing."
Daigo leaned in, scanning the man's face — pale, familiar. Recognition hit him like a punch to the gut. "By the gods… that's Jinx Uchiha."
Renji blinked. "The Jinx? Kagami's little brother? The disgrace they said left the village?"
"The same." Daigo's voice dropped lower, more measured. "But if that's true, what the hell happened here?"
They looked around — at the frozen trees, the shattered bridge, the faint scorch marks mingling with ice. Opposites clashed and coexisted in eerie silence.
Katsuro kicked at a chunk of ice, only to reveal something half-buried beneath it — metal glinting in the frost. He knelt and dug it out.
"Captain," he called, holding it up.
An Iwa headband, scratched clean through the village symbol. Rogue.
Daigo's frown deepened. "So there was a fight." He turned the headband in his hand, feeling the weight of what that meant. "A rogue from Iwa… this close to our borders? That's bad enough. But if he fought this Uchiha…" He let the thought hang.
The others understood. The battlefield didn't just look like a fight — it looked like annihilation.
"Sir," Yuna said softly, glancing at Jinx's still form, "should we… take him back?"
Daigo hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Whatever happened here, he's the only witness. And if he's Kagami's blood, the clan will want answers before the elders start spreading their own version."
Renji slung his sword over his back and crouched. "He doesn't look like much of a disgrace anymore."
"No," Daigo murmured, watching the frost glint faintly under Jinx's hands, "he doesn't."
They lifted him carefully, wrapping him in a cloak before moving through the shattered clearing. As they passed the crater, Daigo looked down one last time.
The snow within had settled into an odd shape — almost like a flower, each petal rimmed with glassy frost. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Daigo exhaled, a long white breath in the cold. "Whatever this is," he muttered under his breath, "it's above my pay grade."
He turned to his team. "Let's move. The compound's half a day north. And someone tell the medics to prepare for frostbite… and maybe a miracle."
(timeskip)
Word traveled fast in the Uchiha compound — faster than common sense. By the time Daigo finished his written report, the clan head himself had arrived.
Lord Tatsuma Uchiha, father of Fugaku, was a man who carried silence like a weapon. He stood tall despite his age, his black hair streaked silver at the temples, his presence commanding without raising a word. His eyes, however — dark and sharp as obsidian — saw everything.
He entered the medical hall without announcement. Everyone straightened instantly.
"Report," he said. His voice was soft but carried the weight of an order.
Daigo stepped forward and bowed. "My team discovered him near the western ridge, sir. There was a crater — massive, frozen solid. Evidence of Fire and Ice Release both, but no other survivors. We recovered a scratched Iwa headband nearby. Rogue."
Tatsuma's brow furrowed. "A rogue Iwa-nin… this deep into Uchiha territory?"
"Yes, sir. The ground was scorched and frozen in equal measure. It's hard to tell which element came first."
Tatsuma's gaze shifted to the stretcher where Jinx lay motionless, pale as marble. "And him?"
The lead medic swallowed. "Chakra exhaustion. Severe, but recoverable. What confounds us is his condition — his body temperature is abnormally low, yet his organs are functioning perfectly. By every medical measure, he should be dead."
Tatsuma approached the bed, stopping beside Jinx. The frost had already crept across the sheet where his hand rested, small white veins spreading outward. He studied it for a moment, then reached out, hovering his hand over Jinx's chest. The cold radiating from him was unnatural — not biting, not painful, just… ancient.
"Cold like this," Tatsuma murmured, "and yet the heart beats steady."
He straightened, expression unreadable. "Keep him under guard. No word of this leaves the compound for now. If the other clans catch wind of a man surviving in that state, we'll have more questions than answers."
Daigo nodded sharply. "Understood, sir."
Tatsuma turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "And Daigo," he added without looking back, "you said the crater was frozen and burned. Are you certain there was only one enemy?"
Daigo hesitated. "We found only one headband, sir. But…" He glanced toward Jinx. "If that was all the work of a single shinobi, then the rest probably didn't live long enough to leave a trace."
The clan head's eyes lingered on Jinx's still form a moment longer. Then he gave a quiet nod. "Notify me when he wakes. Kagami's brother or not, I want to know what kind of man crawls out of a battlefield like that."
The door slid shut behind him.
For a long while, the medics worked in near silence. Only Daigo remained behind, standing near the wall, arms crossed. He watched as Jinx's breath fogged faintly in the cold air, steady and calm, like the rhythm of a man dreaming through a storm.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a ceiling I didn't recognize but somehow knew. Smooth white plaster, faint cracks from years of repairs, and a familiar warmth in the air — not from heat, but from the smell of disinfectant and camellia oil.
The Uchiha private medical building.
Technically it wasn't a hospital — more like a massive house reserved for the handful of medics the clan actually had. It sat near the clan head's residence, an old structure of polished wood and quiet hallways. I'd read about it in this body's memories. The Uchiha never had many medical-nin; healing demanded Yang Release, and that, unlike our natural gift for Yin, was a rarity in our bloodline.
Most of the clan saw it as a waste of talent. "Leave the healing to the Senju," they used to say, centuries ago. And yet, the few who did master it were revered almost like prophets — soft-spoken warriors with hands that could knit flesh as easily as they could break bones.
I exhaled slowly, my breath curling white in the air. The room wasn't warm — if anything, it felt like I was lying in a freezer that someone had politely decorated with tatami mats.
Then, just above my chest, light flickered.
A translucent screen snapped into existence with a faint ping.
[Quest Complete: Survive Your First Battle]
Objective: Defeat your first real opponent without dying.
Bonus Objective: Win within 30 minutes.
Rewards:
A-Rank Jutsu Card C-Rank Water Release Jutsu Card
Bonus Rewards:
Intermediate Haki Upgrade Card Genjutsu Card
Failure Consequence:
Death.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"...What the hell?" I muttered.
My heartbeat jumped, thudding in my ears. Of all the things I expected to see after reincarnating — medics, clan elders, maybe Death tapping her watch — a floating RPG interface wasn't one of them.
"Death, you sly bastard," I whispered, dragging a hand down my face. "You gave me a system and didn't even mention it."
For a moment, I considered being angry — then laughed instead. I couldn't stay mad. Not when this screen meant exactly one thing: I wasn't completely screwed. A system meant rules. Rules meant structure. And structure meant survival — especially in a world where half the population could kill you with a hand sign.
Still, the "Failure Consequence" section didn't exactly inspire comfort.
Death.
Yeah, that tracks.
I let out a slow breath and sank back into the pillow. My body felt heavy, but not weak — like something inside was recharging, thawing from the fight.
As the adrenaline faded, I let my thoughts wander — to the new memories stitched into my head. They came in flashes: classrooms, training grounds, voices calling my name that weren't mine. I knew where I was now — when I was.
Not Naruto's timeline.
Earlier.
Minato's generation.
That realization sobered me. Most reincarnations dropped into the chaos of Naruto's era, when the plot armor was thick enough to surf on. This wasn't that. This was the war-torn generation that shaped legends — the one that burned bright and died young.
Minato Namikaze was in this body's class. The so-called "once-in-a-generation genius." Except, back then, no one paid him much mind. Civilian background. No clan name to hide behind. Just quiet determination and absurd talent no one had the sense to notice yet.
A small smile tugged at my lips. "I wonder what would happen if he had Uchiha resources behind him."
The idea rolled through my mind, tempting and dangerous. A friendship with Minato could shift entire tides — future alliances, outcomes, destinies. The man who'd become the Fourth Hokage, molded early by someone who knew how this story really went? That could change everything.
And then there was Kushina.
In these memories, she'd only joined the academy a month ago. Red hair, temper like wildfire, compassion buried under fists. I remembered — or rather, he remembered — her beating up three older boys who mocked her for her hair. Minato had watched, eyes wide, admiration blooming quietly where she couldn't see. She, of course, couldn't stand him.
At least, not yet.
"History's funny like that," I murmured. "People destined for each other usually start by wanting to kill each other."
I turned my head slightly, watching the frost creeping across the wooden tray beside me. The medics must have realized it by now — that my body temperature wasn't normal, that by all rights I should've been a corpse. But here I was, talking to invisible screens and planning hypothetical friendships with future Hokage.
My lips curved into a faint smirk. "Guess Death gave me a head start."
Somewhere outside, I could hear the faint echo of footsteps — voices speaking in hushed tones, the unmistakable weight of clan politics moving closer. Probably elders. Maybe the clan head himself.
I sighed. "Right. Time to meet the family again."
The frost spread a little further up the wall, whispering softly as it grew.
I closed my eyes for a second and steadied my breathing. Whatever came next, I'd need to play it smart. If I was going to survive this world — this timeline — I had to be more than an Uchiha reborn.
The sliding door opened with that distinctive wooden hiss, and the air in the room seemed to stiffen.
Two shadows entered — one familiar from the memory fragments that weren't entirely mine, the other new but unmistakably important.
Daigo Uchiha stood at the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression calm but guarded — the look of a man who didn't yet know whether he was escorting a miracle or a threat. Beside him was a taller, older man dressed in dark robes lined with silver thread. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, but his posture was sharp, his gaze sharper.
Lord Tatsuma Uchiha — the clan head, Fugaku's father.
The temperature in the room dropped another few degrees, but this time it wasn't my doing. His presence just had that effect.
"Jinx Uchiha," Tatsuma said, his tone controlled and quiet — too quiet. "I trust you're awake enough to answer questions."
Before I could even sit up properly, a new translucent screen flickered into existence right in front of my face.
[New Quest: Questioning the Clan Head]
Objective: Respond to Tatsuma Uchiha's inquiry about the incident.
Options:
Tell the truth.
Reward: Random Mid-Grade Summoning Scroll
Consequence: Risk being labeled insane or experimented on.
Lie convincingly.
Reward: Random Mid-Grade Summoning Scroll
Consequence: Risk clan distrust if caught.
I stared at the glowing box and muttered under my breath, "Oh sure, tell the truth and end up dissected in a backroom. That'll go great."
Tatsuma's eyebrow twitched. "Did you say something?"
I coughed. "Ah—no, sir. Just… clearing my throat."
Internally, I sighed. Alright, system. Truth it is — just not your version of it.
I straightened up slightly, feigning discomfort, and met Tatsuma's gaze. His eyes were black as obsidian, and I could tell he was measuring every breath I took.
"I suppose you're wondering what happened," I began, keeping my tone calm, almost tired. "It's simple, really. I left the village yesterday morning — I know, I should've filed a report, but it wasn't supposed to be a mission or anything serious."
Tatsuma's expression didn't change, but I could feel the irritation brewing behind it.
"I went out to pick up something for my niece, Haname," I continued. "She's been pestering me for weeks about that plum-sugar candy they only sell in Kinegawa — the village about a day and a half away. I figured it'd be an easy errand. I'd go, grab the sweets, come back before anyone noticed I was gone."
Daigo's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Tatsuma, however, exhaled through his nose — not loudly, but enough to tell me I'd hit a nerve.
"You left the village," he said, voice even, "without authorization. Without informing the guard. While still an academy student."
"Technically, yes," I admitted, raising a hand slightly, "but I thought—"
"The protocol," he cut in, "exists so we don't lose more Uchiha children to stupidity or abduction." His tone never rose, but the weight of it pressed like iron. "You are not a shinobi yet. You are required to file notice before crossing Konoha's border. Were you unaware of that?"
"No, sir. I was aware. I just didn't think anyone would—"
He looked like he wanted to interrupt again, but something in his own patience kept him still. Then his tone shifted — from scolding to something heavier, almost wary.
"Then let's move on," Tatsuma said quietly. "Tell me, Jinx — how did you do it?"
I blinked. "Do what, sir?"
His gaze sharpened. "Don't play ignorant. My men found that battlefield. The frost, the crater. The earth was scarred by both fire and ice. You have four chakra natures — fire, water, wind, lightning — but ice has never existed within our clan's history. Not once. So tell me—"
He leaned forward slightly. "How does an ungraduated academy student from the Uchiha clan perform Ice Release?"
The room went very still. Daigo glanced between us, clearly as curious as his lord but far more uneasy.
I inhaled slowly and pretended to hesitate, like I was weighing how much to admit. Then I gave him my "truth."
"When my brother Kagami was still active during the War," I began carefully, "he fought several shinobi from the Yuki Clan — the Ice Release users from the Land of Water. He studied them. Analyzed how their chakra nature combined to create ice, and kept notes on it. He wanted to find a way to counter it, maybe even replicate it for tactical use."
Tatsuma's eyes narrowed slightly. I had his attention now.
"I found one of his notebooks a while back," I continued, "buried in one of the old archives. I thought it was just a theory. So I started trying to replicate the chakra molding process in secret. I wasn't expecting it to work — it never did, actually, until…"
"Until?"
"Until that rogue Iwa-nin attacked me," I said. "When I saw his jutsu forming, something in me snapped — or clicked, I don't know which. My Sharingan activated for the first time, and… the rest just happened. The ice responded. Like it had been waiting."
The silence that followed could've cut stone.
Tatsuma stared at me for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, very slowly, he said, "Your Sharingan… activated?"
I nodded once. "Yes, sir."
He straightened, skeptical. "That's impossible. The medics examined you — they said you haven't awakened it yet."
"Guess they missed a spot," I muttered.
And then I let it happen.
The tomoe spun into life in my eyes— a single red ring gleaming against the sterile white of the room. Daigo's eyes widened slightly; Tatsuma's composure cracked for half a heartbeat.
The air in the room felt heavier.
Tatsuma stepped closer, studying it, his expression flickering between curiosity and caution. "One tomoe… and yet your chakra control exceeds what most achieve with two. You're either lying through your teeth, or…" He trailed off, voice dropping lower. "Or you're something this clan hasn't seen before."
I let the Sharingan fade, blinking as the color drained back to black. "Maybe a bit of both, sir."
That earned me the faintest twitch of his lip — not quite amusement, not quite annoyance.
He turned to Daigo. "Keep him under observation for now. Restricted compound access until further notice. I'll review his brother's archives myself."
Then, to me: "You may rest for tonight, Jinx. But understand — power without discipline is just another weapon waiting to be buried with its wielder. Don't make me bury you."
He turned to leave, robes whispering softly behind him.
As the door slid shut, a quiet ping appeared in the corner of my vision.
[Quest Complete: Questioning the Clan Head]
Reward Received: Mid-Grade Summoning Scroll (Random).
Reputation Change: +5 (Clan Neutrality Improved).
I leaned back against the pillow, exhaling through a smirk. "Lie just enough to be believable," I murmured. "Guess I'm learning."
Outside, the snow began to fall again — slow, soft, and cold as truth.
When Tatsuma and Daigo finally left, the room exhaled with them.
The air felt lighter, though still carrying that sterile chill of antiseptic and authority. I stared at the door for a while, half-expecting someone to barge back in and drag me off for "further questions." When that didn't happen, I let my head fall back against the pillow and finally allowed myself a breath that didn't taste like tension.
Then the screen flickered again.
[Quest Reward Received]
Item: Mid-Grade Summoning Scroll (Random)
Status: Unidentified.
Would you like to open now?
[Yes / No]
I snorted. "Yeah, why not. Let's see what cosmic joke Death left me this time."
I tapped Yes.
The air shimmered faintly. A puff of chakra smoke rose from my right hand, and when it cleared, I was holding a worn scroll bound in black twine and sealed with a wax imprint — a single feather pressed into it.
I blinked.
Then groaned.
"...You've gotta be kidding me."
Crow Summoning.
Of course it was the damn crow scroll. The Uchiha Clan's resident party trick.
Every other cousin and their uncle had used it at some point — infiltration, scouting, distraction. The clan practically treated crows like distant relatives. Hell, there were probably more crows in the district than people.
I turned the scroll over in my hands, muttering, "Great. I reincarnate into the world's most dangerous ninja clan, survive my first battle, and my big divine reward is... the one summoning contract I was going to inherit anyway."
Still, the seal work was beautiful — old, precise, written in elegant brushstrokes that predated even Tobirama's era. The ink shimmered faintly with residual chakra, like it had been used recently. The wax bore faint scratches, the kind left by claws.
Curiosity beat out disappointment.
I bit my thumb, pressed it to the center seal, and whispered, "Kuchiyose no Jutsu."
A plume of black smoke filled the room. The temperature dipped another few degrees as feathers scattered like ash. When the smoke cleared, a single crow stood perched on the bedpost — sleek, sharp-eyed, and clearly unimpressed.
It cocked its head at me. "Caw."
I stared back. "Don't look at me like that. You're the prize, apparently."
"Caw."
"I know, I know," I muttered. "You were expecting someone with more seniority. Welcome to disappointment."
The bird hopped down onto my arm, claws digging lightly into my sleeve. It wasn't aggressive — more curious, like it was sizing me up. Its chakra signature felt faintly familiar, probably connected to the clan's general summoning contract. But there was something… different about this one. Its chakra wasn't pure black or gray — there was a faint blue tint, like moonlight on obsidian.
I frowned. "You're not a regular one, are you?"
The crow blinked, then leaned forward until its beak nearly touched my face. "Caw."
I sighed. "Of course, you're cryptic too."
The bird fluttered back to the bedpost and began preening its feathers, clearly done with the conversation.
"Fine. Be mysterious," I said, lying back down. "I've got enough questions in this life already."
Still, as I watched it through half-lidded eyes, I couldn't help but think the summoning wasn't entirely useless. Crows were clever. Observant. Silent when they needed to be. They could go where humans couldn't.
And more importantly — they were patient.
Just like me.
I closed my eyes, feeling the frost that always lingered under my skin hum faintly in rhythm with my heartbeat. The crow gave one last quiet caw, then vanished into a swirl of feathers, leaving the faint scent of wind and snow behind.
"Guess we're partners now," I murmured. "Welcome to the family."
The room went still again. The medics outside had quieted. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint sound of temple bells marking midnight.
My vision flickered one last time with another faint notification.
[Passive Skill Unlocked: Familiar Link – Crow Kin]
Your connection with the Crow Summoning Contract strengthens chakra resonance and observation awareness.
+10% Chakra Control +5% Sensory Range Future Crow Contracts may evolve.
"Not bad," I whispered, smiling faintly. "Still wish it was something cool, though. Like snakes. Or dragons."
The smile lingered as sleep crept in. My body finally relaxed, the exhaustion from the day's insanity catching up.
Tomorrow would bring new questions, new politics, new lies to tell.
But for tonight, I had survived.
And survival, for now, was enough.