Kazuki Arata dies.
Not a slow, gentle death—but one filled with fire, blood, and a smile on his face.
The battlefield around him was an apocalypse—crimson skies, charred earth, and rivers of molten stone carving through what once was a proud kingdom. The demonic horde descended like locusts, black wings blotting out the last rays of sun. And yet, Kazuki stood, unmoving. His body was broken. Burned. Bones cracked like splintered wood beneath the weight of his own collapsing power.
But he was not afraid.
Atop a shattered cliff, lightning wove through his hair like threads of silver. Water spiraled around his arms in ethereal ribbons, turning to mist under the searing heat. His storm element—lightning fused with water—was screaming for release. His last weapon. His final stand.
Behind him, his comrades lay dead or dying. Ahead, the demonic general laughed—jagged teeth and blood-dripping claws, eyes like black holes. And around them, the world was ending.
Kazuki raised his hand.
The sky split open.
And with a roar that shook heaven itself, he unleashed everything.
The storm obliterated mountains.
It shattered the demon king's armor, ripped flesh from bone, erased sky and stone alike. For one blinding moment, all was light—then silence.
His body crumbled.
Piece by piece, atom by atom, he disintegrated into threads of pure energy. The air shimmered with his fading presence. And as the wind took the last of him, a whisper echoed across the void.
"Let me live again… in a world where my strength can protect instead of destroy."
Darkness. Cold. A ceiling of cracked paint and water stains.
Kazuki gasped, lungs drinking stale air. His heart pounded like a war drum—then faltered. This body was small. Weak. Each breath rattled in his chest like broken glass.
He blinked, trying to sit up, and pain wracked his limbs. Thin arms. Bruises. He touched his face—sunken cheeks, a swollen lip, a healing gash on his temple. He was… five?
He dragged himself across the wooden floor to a shard of mirror leaning in the corner. The reflection stared back at him: storm-gray eyes, a white streak in tangled black hair, skin clinging to bone. The eyes, though… the eyes were his.
Reincarnation.
The word hit him like lightning. Not a fantasy. Not a dream. It was real.
And the moment he stepped to the window, it hit him again—so much harder.
A giant mountain carved with faces.
Red rooftops.
Konoha.
The Hidden Leaf Village.
"No way…" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
This was the world of Naruto. A place he had once known through stories and screens. A world of chakra, of bloodlines and beasts and battles for peace. But it was more than fiction now. The air buzzed with danger. Power. Life.
And death.
As he stumbled back from the window, his mind reeled. The timeline. Where was he? The Nine-Tails attack had already happened—he could feel it in the weight of the silence, the sorrow hanging over the village like fog. That meant Naruto was just a baby. The real story hadn't started yet.
This was a beginning.
His beginning.
The days passed in a blur of hunger, pain, and training. He learned how to move again. How to breathe, walk, jump, balance. Chakra was different here—more raw, more alive—but it obeyed him. Deep inside, a storm still churned. Lightning danced at his fingertips. Water formed from air.
He kept it hidden.
On purpose.
The orphanage was filled with other children, most too broken or busy to notice the quiet boy who never spoke unless necessary. When the Academy entrance test came, he failed the Clone Jutsu intentionally, watching out of the corner of his eye as a pair of instructors exchanged confused glances.
He could do more—so much more—but showing it now would be foolish.
Not yet.
But not everyone was blind.
A certain shy girl with lavender eyes watched him during training. Hinata Hyuga. Just a child now, nervous and soft-spoken. She caught him practicing water manipulation behind the dormitory late one night. Their eyes met. She said nothing.
She never told anyone.
Still, whispers had started. Kazuki could feel it in the way some teachers lingered too long when he passed. He wasn't in any records before age five. No family. No clan. Yet his chakra signature—wild and overwhelming—had triggered alerts.
The Third Hokage noticed.
Kazuki saw the ANBU first during a walk home from the Academy. Just a flicker in the trees. Another time, he found a feather on his windowsill—one that hadn't been there before. Someone was watching.
Fine.
Let them watch.
He would stay quiet. He would stay low. He would grow strong.
One night, the storm inside him stirred too fiercely to ignore. He climbed to the roof of the orphanage, sat cross-legged beneath the stars. He let his chakra rise—just enough to feel it surge through his veins. Water coalesced at his palm. Lightning crackled silently across his fingers.
He remembered power.
He craved it.
But he would not use it to destroy. Not anymore.
"You're not like the others."
The voice was soft, deadly. Kazuki didn't turn.
A masked ninja stood behind him—ANBU. The porcelain mask painted with a fox's grin. Cold eyes behind the slits.
"You don't belong," the ANBU said.
Kazuki didn't answer. What would he say? You're right?
They stared at one another for a long moment. Then the ANBU vanished, leaving nothing but wind in his place.
Kazuki exhaled.
They knew. But they didn't understand.
Yet.
That night, he dreamed.
He stood high above the clouds, the air thin and vibrating with energy. A storm raged below him, but above—only stars.
And then it came.
A massive red eye opened in the heavens.
It watched him. Through him.
His breath caught in his throat as a voice—neither male nor female—spoke his name.
Kazuki… Arata…
Then a word he didn't recognize, yet somehow understood with bone-deep certainty.
"Ōtsutsuki."
Kazuki woke with a start, lightning sparking from his skin.
And he smiled.
Because something had just changed.
And whatever was coming next, he would meet it—head-on.
Just like always.
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Hey Guys just want to let u know that this is not translation
I am writing this fanfiction