A sliver of sunlight pierced through the cracked window, landing squarely on Kaito's closed eyelids. The warmth stirred him from sleep, but it wasn't the light that truly woke him.
It was the blue light from a screen.
A translucent panel hovered silently in his vision, pulsing with a soft, ethereal glow.
[Progression Panel Activated]
___________________________________
Name: Kaito Arata
Age: 6
Chakra: —
Power Level: —
Skills: —
___________________________________
He stared at it, confused.
Suddenly, a memory slammed into him like a wave.
The screech of tires. The blinding headlights. The sickening crunch of metal folding in on itself. His body had been thrown—weightless for a moment—before pain exploded through his chest, his ribs, his skull. Glass shattered around him like falling stars. The world spun. Cold pavement. Blood in his mouth. Sirens in the distance.
He remembered the panic. The fading light. The helplessness.
And then—nothing.
Kaito sat frozen, breath shallow.
"I died," he whispered, voice barely audible. His body still shaking from the phantom-like pain.
The panel hovered in front of him, silent and patient. Waiting.
__________________________________________________________
No bottlenecks.
All effort yields progress.
Experience gains scale with knowledge and intent.
Progress is recorded and can be reviewed at any time.
__________________________________________________________
He sat up slowly, the tatami mat beneath him groaning with age. The orphanage room was dim, lit only by the morning sun filtering through dusty air. The scent of old wood and damp straw lingered. Around him, some other children still slept, curled under thin blankets, their dreams untouched by the storm that had just awakened inside him.
Kaito Arata. Son of a Genin who died in the Third Great Ninja War. His mother passed from illness when he was three. No clan. No inheritance.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"I guess no parents here either, huh…"
In his previous life, he'd been an orphan too. His parents had died when he was barely old enough to remember their faces. Raised in foster care, shuffled between homes, he'd learned early how to be alone. No siblings. No lasting friendships. Just textbooks, quiet nights, and the hum of a computer screen.
Few ties. Fewer goodbyes.
And now, in this world, it was the same.
But this time, he had something different.
A second chance.
His eyes, excited and bright, drifted to the panel still hovering in his mind. Chakra. Jutsu. Shinobi. A world of magic and monsters. Of bloodline limits and tailed beasts. Of legends walking among mortals.
Despite everything, his heart stirred uncontrollably.
This world was dangerous. Brutal. Unforgiving.
But it was also extraordinary.
And for the first time in both lives… he felt real excitement
As he was excited, he saw that outside the door, there were many other kids his age who were getting ready. Then he remembered...
Today was the first day of the Ninja Academy!
He dressed quickly, pulling on a navy-blue tunic and beige pants. His sandals were worn, the straps frayed. He tied them with practiced ease, then paused at the mirror above the washbasin. It was cracked, the glass fogged with age, but his reflection was clear.
Black hair. Calm eyes. A face too composed for a child.
This world was filled with chakra, jutsu, and shinobi who could split mountains and summon storms. He wasn't the protagonist of some grand tale. He didn't have a legendary bloodline or a monstrous beast sealed inside him.
But he had the panel.
And with it, every ounce of effort would count. Every step forward would be real.
As long as he worked hard enough… anything was possible.
The academy awaited. A place where children learned to mold chakra, cast jutsu, and become weapons of the village. A place where magic-like abilities weren't fantasy—they were the curriculum.
Kaito's lips curled into a quiet smile.
He couldn't wait to begin.
Outside, the village was also waking up.
The streets were still scarred. A year had passed since the Nine-Tails attack, but the damage lingered. Craters had been filled, but the earth still bore the trauma. Scaffolding clung to half-rebuilt homes. Burned-out storefronts stood like ghosts of the past.
He remembered that day: October 10th.
The sky had turned crimson. The Nine-Tails roared, its chakra shaking the heavens. Buildings collapsed like paper. Tailed beast bombs carved deep wounds into the land. Ninja fought in the streets—flames, lightning, earth. The Third Hokage and the Fourth Hokage had stood against the god-like beast, like two suns holding up the sky.
Kaito had watched it all from the orphanage window. Frozen. Powerless. Shocked. Scared.
Even now, the village whispered of that night.
He passed a group of workers, sweating, stacking lumber near a half-rebuilt wall. One glanced at him, nodded, then returned to his task. No words. Just a nod.
Kaito nodded back.
The academy loomed ahead, its stone walls sturdy and proud. He stepped through the archway, climbed the stairs, and entered his assigned classroom—Class 9.
There were eighteen classes per year, each holding thirty-six students. The lower the class number, the higher the strength and potential of its students. Class 1 was where the prodigies went—clan heirs, bloodline holders, and those with exceptional talent. Class 18 was the bottom rung.
Right now, assignments were random.
But in two months, everything would change.
He remembered what the orphanage matron had told him just last night, her voice low and tired as she folded his uniform. "After the entrance examination, they'll sort you properly. You'll be placed where you belong. The village needs strong shinobi now more than ever."
It made sense. The Nine-Tails attack had left deep wounds. Hundreds of ninja had died. The village was rebuilding—not just its walls, but its future.
The room buzzed with chatter. Children filled the seats, some in clan attire, others in plain clothes. Kaito chose the back row, closest to the window. From here, he could see the training fields beyond the academy walls.
Ten minutes later, two students sat beside him.
"Hey," said the boy on his left, grinning. "I'm Daiki. My dad runs a ramen shop. You?"
"Kaito," he replied simply.
The girl on his right had sharp eyes and a confident posture. "I'm Reina. My mom's a kunoichi. She says I'm gonna be better than her someday."
Kaito nodded. "Nice to meet you."
Daiki leaned in. "Did you hear about Itachi Uchiha? He graduated in one year. One year! I wanna do that too."
Reina scoffed. "You? You can't even sit still."
Kaito listened quietly. Itachi. A prodigy. One year older. Already a genin.
He scanned the room. Clan kids were easy to spot—Hyuga, Inuzuka, Nara, Uchiha, .... Some wore their pride like armor. Others, like him, were orphans or civilians. There were eighteen classes per year, each with thirty-six students. Class 1 was the elite. Right now, assignments are random. But in two months, the entrance examination would sort them by strength and potential.
The door slid open.
A tall man with a scar across his cheek entered, wearing a standard chunin vest. His eyes were sharp, but not unkind.
"Good morning, class. I'm your instructor. You can call me Takeshi-sensei. Let's begin with introductions."
One by one, students stood and spoke. Names, dreams, clan affiliations. Some were loud. Some shy. Kaito remained still, thinking.
He had no clan. No bloodline. No flashy jutsu.
But he had something else.
A panel.
He wouldn't be worse than anyone else in the future.
His journey had begun.
And he would climb, step by step.
As the last student finished speaking, Takeshi-sensei clapped his hands. "Alright. Let's begin."
Kaito looked out the window once more. The sun was rising higher now, casting long shadows across the training fields.
He was ready.