The woman—her name was still a mystery to him—looked like she was about to cry.
"You… don't remember anything?" she asked for the third time, voice barely above a whisper.
Satoru—Ren, really, though that name now felt oddly distant—looked away, eyes tracing the pattern of cracks along the wooden walls of the room. He inhaled through his nose and gave her the most apologetic look he could muster.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't remember… anything. Not even my name, until you said it."
Her shoulders sagged.
There was something deeply uncomfortable about lying to someone so sincere, but he reminded himself that honesty wasn't an option—not now.
He wasn't the Satoru she'd known. Whoever that kid had been—assuming he even existed—was either gone or had been replaced when he came crashing into this body.
But the woman didn't know that.
To her, he was a hurt child, one who had taken a terrible fall and forgotten everything. It was easier this way, wasn't it? The amnesia card gave him time and space.
He needed both if he had any hope of surviving in this world. This wasn't Earth. This wasn't even a regular isekai fantasy. This was Naruto—a world of bloodlines, betrayal, and war.
"Maybe it's temporary," he added, trying to sound hopeful.
The woman nodded, but the look in her eyes told him she wasn't entirely convinced. Her lips were pinched tight, the worry in her expression carved deep like grooves on a weathered table.
"You've had a rough few days," she said softly, brushing damp bangs from his forehead. "I was starting to worry you wouldn't wake up at all."
Satoru's body tensed at the gesture, but he didn't flinch. She wasn't hostile—just concerned.
"I… appreciate you looking after me," he said, and meant it. "Even if I can't remember who you are."
The woman managed a smile, though it was brittle at the edges. "I'm Akari. I've looked after you ever since your father… well since he left. You've always been a bit of a stubborn climber—rooftops, trees, fences, you name it. I should've known you'd fall off something eventually."
'So the real Satoru was a troublemaker or at least an adventurous one.'
That tracked.
Akari dabbed at his forehead gently with the towel, careful not to press too hard on the bandages. Her movements were slow and practised, as though she'd done this dozens of times before. When she was done, she sighed, looking at him with sad eyes.
"You don't feel anything at all? No memories? Not even a face?"
Satoru shook his head slowly. "It's all… blank."
Akari's mouth twitched, and for a moment he thought she might cry. Instead, she stood up and wrung the towel again, then placed it back in the bowl. "Well, maybe they'll come back. In the meantime, you should rest. Don't push yourself too hard."
He gave her a grateful nod. "Thanks, Akari-san. Really."
She hesitated by the door. "Call me Oba-san if it feels more natural. You always used to."
That hit him like a small pang. Oba-san. Aunt.
"I'll try," he said with a small, forced smile.
Finally, with a last glance back, she stepped out and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Silence.
The moment she left, the smile dropped from his face.
He slumped back against the rough futon mattress, arms limp at his sides, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
For the first time since waking up, he felt the weight of solitude press down on him like a thick blanket.
And in that moment of stillness, his thoughts returned—flooding his mind like a tidal wave breaching a dam.
'Okay. Breathe. You're alive. That's a good thing. You have a body—even if it's not yours. You can eat, sleep, talk. That's better than being dead. That's—'
His fingers clenched the blanket, knuckles pale.
'But why here? Why this world?'
Anger prickled in his chest, sharp and hot like a coal beneath the surface. It crept up his spine and pulsed behind his temples. This wasn't fair. Of all the fictional worlds, of all the possible afterlives or reincarnations he could have landed in, it had to be this one.
'This one.'
He'd been a fan, sure. Like millions of others, he'd grown up with Naruto. He remembered summer evenings spent binging arc after arc, the emotional gut punches of loss and sacrifice, the triumphant music swelling when Naruto finally delivered his Talk-no-jutsu. He had debated power scaling on forums, scoffed at filler, cried during Jiraiya's death, and memorized the timeline like scripture.
But that was fiction. It had always been safely tucked behind a screen or a page.
This? This was real.
Too real.
The world of Naruto was not just chakra and heroism. It was bloodshed. It was genocide. It was children raised for war, entire clans erased in the name of balance, and peace paid for with lives. There was no peaceful corner untouched by conflict. Everyone bled. Everyone killed or was killed.
And now he was a part of it.
He sat up slowly, every movement a jolt against the dull ache in his skull. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the bandages felt hot against his skin.
'I'm not from a clan,' he thought bitterly. 'No Uzumaki red hair. No Hyūga eyes. No Uchiha glare. No Senju ties. There's no crest on my clothes.'
Akari-san hadn't said anything about training. No mention of a ninja academy, nothing about him learning jutsu or wielding weapons.
He was probably civilian-born. An orphan maybe. That—or his fall wiped more than just his memories. But given that he wasn't the real Satoru to begin with, he doubted any power came with the package.
'Just some kid with a cracked skull and no status. No chakra training. No protection.'
He gritted his teeth.
'Great. Just great. Welcome to your second life, Ren Kitamura—new name, new body, and zero plot armour.'
His eyes drifted toward the window again, to the faint light creeping in through the cracks in the old wooden frame. Outside, the world waited. And looming above it all—etched into the mountainside like gods carved into stone—were the Hokage faces.
Ancient, stern, monumental.
He counted them carefully, heart pounding in his chest like a drum.
No fourth face. No Minato Namikaze.
No gentle smile. No Yondaime.
His breath caught in his throat.
That meant one thing—he was somewhere before the start of the anime. Before Naruto's birth. Before the Nine-Tails attack. Before the world even knew the name of the boy who would one day save it.
That gave him a window. A terrifying one.
Hiruzen had served as Hokage across multiple eras. He took the mantle after Tobirama fell in the First Great Ninja War. He only relinquished it decades later, after Minato took over after the Third.
Which meant…
'Worst-case scenario,' he thought, dread pooling in his stomach, 'I'm stuck just before either the Second or Third Great Ninja Wars.'
He let out a breath through clenched teeth, the sound shaky and strained.
'Shit.'
There was no worse time to be weak. War could erupt at any moment. Hidden Rain, Hidden Mist, Stone, Cloud—all of them were threats. The bloodiest conflicts in history were either just ending or just beginning.
And he? He couldn't even remember how to stand properly without swaying.
'I need to survive.'
That much was obvious. But survival here wasn't about hiding in a corner. Civilians weren't safe. Not in this world. Especially not if you were a child without family or influence.
'If I want to live, I need power. And knowledge. And a plan.'
He needed to know who Satoru had been. What connections he might've had? What resources he could still claim. If any.
But more importantly—he needed to know if he had chakra.
The thought had hovered at the edge of his mind since waking. Because everything in this world—every form of defence, advancement, survival—came down to that one resource.
Chakra.
The life energy that fueled everything from a simple substitution technique to world-shattering jutsu.
If he didn't have chakra…
Well, then this second chance at life would end in a shallow grave.
He straightened, forcing himself to sit upright. His body protested—muscles weak, coordination clumsy—but he made it work. Slowly, he crossed his legs into something resembling a meditative pose, knees wide, hands resting palm-up on his thighs.
The futon rustled beneath him.
The walls creaked faintly in the wind.
He inhaled deeply, letting the stale room air fill his lungs, and exhaled slowly through his nose.
'Come on,' he thought. 'If I have chakra, I should be able to feel it. Right?'
He closed his eyes.
The world outside disappeared.