The history of the Hidden Leaf Village was written in blood, sealed with ink, and taught to children who had never seen a corpse.
It was a strange dichotomy that Sol found endlessly amusing, and equally boring.
The afternoon sun bled through the windows of the Academy classroom, casting long, dusty beams of light across the wooden desks. Dust motes danced in the air, swirling around the droning voice of Umino Iruka. The Chunin instructor was currently explaining the geopolitical ramifications of the Second Great Ninja War, a topic that was fascinating in reality but was being butchered into a sanitized, propaganda-friendly version for twelve-year-olds.
Sol rested his chin on his palm, his eyes half-lidded. To the casual observer, he looked like he was fighting the urge to sleep. In reality, he was practicing his chakra control, cycling a thin film of energy through his nervous system, stimulating his synapses to fire faster, then slowing them down. Pulse. Rest. Pulse. Rest.
He was an anomaly in this room. He knew that.
He had awoken in this world twelve years ago, screaming in the arms of a nurse as the Kyuubi no Kitsune decimated the village outside. He remembered a life before this one—a world of skyscrapers, internet, and mundane safety. He remembered the story of Naruto. He knew the plot. He knew who the masked man was. He knew about the alien goddess waiting in the moon.
But knowledge wasn't power. Knowledge was just a map. You still had to walk the path.
And Sol had been walking—running—since he could stand.
"Sol-kun?"
The voice broke his concentration. Sol didn't jump; he simply shifted his gaze from the window to the front of the class. Iruka was holding a piece of chalk, looking expectant. The entire class turned to look at him.
The boys looked with a mixture of jealousy and wariness. The girls, however, simply stared. At twelve, Sol was already striking. He possessed a sharp, angular beauty that seemed out of place among the softer, rounder faces of his peers. His hair was jet black, kept in a loose, somewhat messy style that managed to look intentional. But it was his eyes that drew people in—a pale, piercing amber that looked less like a human's and more like a hawk staring down a field mouse.
"Yes, Sensei?" Sol's voice was smooth, lacking the cracking pitch of puberty that plagued the other boys.
"I asked you to name the three primary prohibitions of the Shinobi Code regarding engagement with Iwagakure forces," Iruka said, crossing his arms. He was trying to catch the "lazy" student off guard.
Sol didn't blink. "One: Do not engage in prolonged subterranean combat; their Earth Release mastery is superior in enclosed spaces. Two: prioritize the elimination of command units, as Iwa formations rely heavily on chain-of-command for collaborative jutsu. Three: retreat immediately if the sky turns grey, signaling the Dust Release of the Tsuchikage."
The classroom was silent. That wasn't in the textbook. That was from the Jonin-level bingo book Sol had read in the library three weeks ago.
Iruka cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "That is... more advanced than the textbook answer, but correct. Pay attention, Sol."
"I always am," Sol lied effortlessly, returning his gaze to the window.
Two rows down, Sasuke Uchiha glared at the back of Sol's head. Sol could feel the burning stare. It was delicious. The "Last Uchiha" hated that a nameless orphan from the civilian district was consistently smarter, faster, and more composed than him.
Sol closed his eyes again. Get angry, little Uchiha, he thought. Anger is good fuel, but a terrible engine.
The bell signaled the end of theory. Now came the only part of the day Sol tolerated: Taijutsu.
The Academy training grounds were a expanse of packed dirt, scarred by years of sparring. The students lined up in pairs. The air was filled with the sounds of grunts, the slap of skin on skin, and the occasional shout of "Shannaro!"
Sol leaned against a tree in the shade, his hands in his pockets. He watched Naruto Uzumaki flailing against Kiba Inuzuka. Naruto had stamina, endless amounts of it, but he had zero form. Kiba was winning simply because he knew how to throw a punch.
"Sol."
Sol didn't turn. He knew the chakra signature. Cold. Sharp. Electric.
"Sasuke," Sol acknowledged, looking out at the field. "You're blocking my view."
Sasuke Uchiha stood five feet away, his hands wrapped in white tape. He wore his high-collared blue shirt with the Uchiha fan on the back like a badge of royalty.
"Fight me," Sasuke demanded. It wasn't a question.
"Iruka-sensei hasn't paired us yet," Sol murmured, sounding incredibly bored.
"I don't care about Iruka," Sasuke snapped. "Everyone says you're the top prospect. But you're just a civilian nobody who reads too many books. I want to see if you can actually fight."
The chatter on the training field died down. The students sensed the tension. The girls—Sakura, Ino, and their herd—began to whisper excitedly. The rivalry that wasn't really a rivalry was finally coming to a head.
Iruka walked over, sensing a potential disaster. "Sasuke, wait for your turn—"
"It's fine, Sensei," Sol interrupted. He pushed himself off the tree, rolling his neck. A sickening crack echoed. "If the Prince wants a lesson, I have five minutes to spare."
Sasuke's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to make you eat that arrogance."
They moved to the center of the ring. The contrast was stark. Sasuke dropped into the interceptor stance of the Uchiha Clan—rigid, perfect, disciplined. Sol... just stood there. He stood tall, legs shoulder-width apart, arms hanging loosely by his sides. It was the stance of someone waiting for a bus, not a fight.
"Begin!" Iruka shouted, though he looked ready to intervene.
Sasuke moved instantly. He was fast for a Genin. He closed the gap in a burst of speed, aiming a snap kick to Sol's chin followed by a right hook.
Sol didn't move his feet. He simply tilted his head to the left, letting the kick whistle past his ear. When the hook came, Sol raised his left hand and caught Sasuke's wrist.
He didn't block it. He caught it.
The impact made a dull thud, but Sol's arm didn't waver. Sasuke's eyes widened. He tried to yank his hand back, but Sol's grip was like iron.
"Too much wasted movement," Sol said, his voice quiet enough that only Sasuke could hear. "You telegraph your intent with your eyes. You look where you want to hit."
Sasuke growled and twisted, using his free hand to aim a chop at Sol's neck.
Sol released the wrist and stepped into Sasuke's guard. It was a violation of personal space, a move of supreme confidence. Sol's shoulder checked Sasuke in the chest, knocking the wind out of the Uchiha.
As Sasuke stumbled back, gasping, Sol swept his leg. It was a simple, low sweep, but executed with such blinding speed that Sasuke was horizontal before he realized he had lost his footing.
Thud.
Sasuke hit the dirt hard, dust billowing up around him.
"Get up," Sol said, looking down at him. He hadn't even taken his right hand out of his pocket.
The humiliation hit Sasuke harder than the ground. A roar of rage tore from his throat. He scrambled up, his face flushed. He formed a hand seal—the Tiger seal.
"Sasuke! No Ninjutsu!" Iruka shouted, stepping forward. The Fireball Jutsu could kill a student at this range.
Sasuke ignored him. He inhaled deeply, chakra building in his lungs.
Sol sighed. "Boring."
Before Sasuke could exhale the flame, Sol moved.
It wasn't a shunshin (body flicker), but it was pure, explosive physical torque. One second Sol was five meters away; the next, he was inside Sasuke's guard.
Sol drove a stiff palm into Sasuke's diaphragm, right below the solar plexus.
The breath Sasuke had gathered for the fireball was forcibly expelled in a choked gasp. The jutsu died before it was born. Sasuke doubled over, drooling, his eyes rolling back slightly.
Sol didn't stop. He grabbed the back of Sasuke's head and slammed his face into the dirt—not hard enough to break his skull, but hard enough to end the fight instantly.
Silence descended on the training ground.
Sol crouched over the Uchiha heir. He leaned down, whispering into the ear of the groaning boy.
"You aren't losing to me because I'm a 'nobody,' Sasuke. You're losing because you fight to prove you're strong. I fight to kill. That is the difference between a soldier and a warrior."
Sol stood up and brushed a speck of dust off his pants. He looked at Iruka, who was frozen in shock.
"Winner?" Sol asked dryly.
"Uh... Sol," Iruka stammered.
Sol turned and walked away, not sparing a glance at the girls who were now looking at him with a mixture of terror and awe, nor at Naruto, who was gaping with his mouth wide open.
He walked past a shadowed tree line where Mizuki was watching. Sol felt the man's gaze—slippery and malicious. He met Mizuki's eyes for a fraction of a second and smirked.
I see you, snake, Sol thought.
That evening, the sun set over the village, painting the Hokage Monument in shades of orange and violet.
Sol did not go back to the orphanage. He hated the noise. Instead, he hiked to the edge of the village, to Training Ground 44—The Forest of Death. He didn't go in (the fence was locked), but he stayed near the perimeter where the chakra was dense and wild.
He sat in the lotus position on top of a high rock.
"Status," he whispered to himself.
He didn't have a Game System. He didn't have a magical voice in his head. But he had a mind palace, a visualized library where he organized his growth.
He held out his hand. He focused.
Change in Chakra Nature: Wind. A small, razor-sharp whirlwind formed on his fingertip. It cut a shallow groove into the rock he sat on.
Change in Chakra Nature: Lightning. The wind died, replaced by a crackle of blue static that smelled of ozone.
Fire. Earth. Water.
He cycled through them. It was exhausting. His reserves were growing, but they were still only high-Genin level. He wasn't a chakra battery like Naruto. He couldn't afford to waste a drop.
He pulled a scroll from his pouch and unsealed a generic, steel katana. It was cheap, mass-produced metal. He held it up to the moonlight.
"One day," Sol whispered, his amber eyes glowing in the dark. "One day I will cut the moon itself."
He stood up and began his real training. 1,000 swings. Then 1,000 more.
While Sasuke Uchiha was at home brooding, and Naruto Uzumaki was eating ramen, Sol was sweating blood in the darkness. He wasn't a prodigy because things came easy. He was a prodigy because he was an adult in a child's body who knew that the world was coming to an end in four years, and he refused to be a victim.
Sol swung the blade. The air whistled.
Faster, he told himself. Be the tiger. Be the storm.
The story had begun. And Sol intended to rewrite every single line.