Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Kenji sat frozen before the water basin, staring at the impossible reflection that gazed back at him. The face of Muzan Kibutsuchi—pale, aristocratic, and undeniably demonic—remained stubbornly real no matter how many times he blinked or rubbed his eyes. The crimson irises seemed to mock him with their serpentine pupils, a constant reminder that this nightmare had somehow become his reality.
*This can't be happening,* he told himself for the hundredth time. *People don't just wake up in the bodies of fictional characters. There has to be a rational explanation.*
But rationality seemed to have abandoned him the moment he'd opened his eyes in this strange place. Nothing about his situation made sense, from the traditional Japanese architecture surrounding him to the archaic feel of everything he touched. Even the air felt different—thinner somehow, carrying scents of wood smoke and something else he couldn't quite identify.
A sudden wave of claustrophobia crashed over him. The small room felt like a prison, its paper walls closing in with each labored breath. He needed to get out, needed fresh air, needed to see something—anything—that might help him understand where he was and what had happened to him.
Kenji pushed himself to his feet, his legs still trembling with weakness. Each step toward the door felt monumental, his unfamiliar body protesting every movement. Whatever had happened to him, it had left him in a severely weakened state. The simple act of sliding open the door required all his remaining strength.
Cool night air hit his face like a physical blow, and he stumbled forward onto what appeared to be a wooden veranda. The fresh oxygen filled his lungs, providing momentary relief from the nausea that had been plaguing him. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, relief quickly gave way to fresh confusion.
The world beyond the building was nothing like the modern Japan he knew. Instead of concrete streets and electric lights, he found himself looking out over a collection of traditional wooden structures that seemed to belong to a bygone era. Paper lanterns cast flickering pools of warm light along dirt pathways, and the architecture was distinctly feudal—all curved rooflines and sliding doors that belonged in a history textbook rather than contemporary reality.
*The darkness must be playing tricks on me,* he thought desperately. *This can't be real.*
But even as he tried to rationalize what he was seeing, a deeper part of him recognized the truth. This wasn't modern Japan. This wasn't even modern anything. Somehow, impossibly, he appeared to have been transported not just into a different body, but into an entirely different time period.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn. Three figures were walking along the path below, their silhouettes clearly visible in the lantern light. As they drew closer, Kenji's breath caught in his throat. The men were dressed in traditional samurai garb—flowing hakama, elaborate haori jackets, and most tellingly, katana at their sides. Their bearing was proud and martial, exactly what he would have expected from warriors of feudal Japan.
One of them looked up and spotted him standing on the veranda. The man's eyes widened in what appeared to be recognition, and he immediately began hurrying up the path toward the building, his companions following close behind.
"Lord Kibutsuchi!" the lead samurai called out, his voice filled with concern. "My lord, you should not be out of bed in your condition!"
Kenji opened his mouth to respond, but what came out instead was a violent coughing fit that doubled him over. The coughs were deep and painful, as if something was clawing at his throat from the inside. He could taste that metallic flavor again, stronger now, coating his tongue with its bitter presence.
The three samurai reached him in moments, their faces etched with worry. They surrounded him with a deference that felt both foreign and strangely natural, as if his body remembered being treated this way even if his mind didn't.
"My lord, please," the eldest of the three pleaded. "You must return to bed. Shall we summon the physician? Your condition has been—"
"Where..." Kenji managed to rasp between coughs. "Where am I?"
The question seemed to shock all three men. They exchanged glances of confusion and growing alarm before the eldest stepped forward, his weathered face creased with concern.
"My lord, you are in the Land of Iron," he said carefully, as if speaking to someone who might not understand. "In your estate, as you have been for the past month during your... recovery."
The Land of Iron.
The words hit Kenji like a physical blow, causing him to stagger backward against the veranda's railing. He knew that name. Had heard it countless times in discussions about geography and politics in one very specific fictional universe. The Land of Iron—the neutral territory ruled by samurai, located between the great ninja villages in the world of Naruto.
*No,* his mind rebelled against the implications. *That's impossible. The Land of Iron is fictional. It exists in an anime, not in real life.*
But even as he tried to deny what he was hearing, other details began to fall into place with sickening clarity. The samurai's clothing, their weapons, their formal manner of address—it all fit perfectly with what he remembered from the series. Even their concern for his health aligned with what he knew of the Land of Iron's values, their emphasis on honor and loyalty.
The realization was too much for his already weakened body to handle. The world began to spin around him, the flickering lantern light blurring into streaks of gold and shadow. He felt his knees give out just as strong hands caught him, preventing his fall.
"My lord!" The voices of the samurai seemed to come from very far away. "Quickly, help me carry him inside!"
Darkness claimed him once again.
---
When consciousness returned, Kenji found himself back on the thin futon, though this time he wasn't alone. A young man in simple servant's clothing knelt nearby, his face filled with anxious concern.
"My lord," the servant said softly upon seeing his eyes open. "Are you feeling better? You collapsed outside and have been unconscious for several hours."
Kenji's throat felt like sandpaper, but he managed a weak nod. "I'm... I'm alright."
Relief washed over the servant's features. "I'm so glad to hear that, my lord. I will inform the household that you are awake, and summon Dr. Kurogami immediately. He specifically requested to be notified the moment you regained consciousness."
The servant bowed deeply and hurried from the room, leaving Kenji alone with his thoughts once again. But this time, as he lay staring at the smoke-stained ceiling, something extraordinary happened.
A translucent blue interface materialized in the air before him, floating at eye level like something out of a video game. The text was crisp and clear, unmistakably real despite its ethereal appearance:
**TEMPLATE SYSTEM ACTIVATED**
**Host: Kenji Nakamura**
**Template: Muzan Kibutsuchi (1%)**
**Twelve Kizuki: Locked**
**Primary Abilities: Locked**
**Special Traits: Locked**
**Ultimate Technique: Perfect Demon Physiology (Currently Ineffective)**
Kenji stared at the interface in stunned silence, his mind racing to process what he was seeing. A system interface—the hallmark of countless light novels and web novels he'd read during his secret otaku binges. The kind of supernatural aid that protagonists received when they were transported to other worlds.
He tried to reach out and touch it, but his hand passed through the display without resistance. The interface remained stubbornly intangible, responding neither to physical contact nor to his mental commands. All he could do was read the information it presented, and that information raised more questions than it answered.
Template: Muzan Kibutsuchi (1%). Did that mean he was somehow becoming the Demon King? The thought was both terrifying and strangely exciting. Muzan's power had been absolute in his original world—immortality, regeneration, the ability to create and control demons. But at only 1% completion, it seemed those abilities remained frustratingly out of reach.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted his contemplation. The door slid open to reveal a middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and traditional physician's robes. He carried a leather bag that looked well-worn from years of medical practice.
"Lord Kibutsuchi," the man said with a respectful bow. "I am Dr. Seiji Kurogami. I'm relieved to see you conscious again."
The doctor's arrival presented Kenji with an immediate dilemma. The interface still floated clearly in his field of vision, its blue glow seemingly impossible to miss. He had to know if others could see it.
"Doctor," Kenji said hesitantly, gesturing toward where the system display hovered. "Can you see... that? The interface in front of me?"
Dr. Kurogami followed his gesture with confused eyes, looking directly through the display as if it didn't exist. His expression grew concerned as he stepped closer to examine Kenji more carefully.
"I'm afraid I don't see anything there, my lord," he said gently. "Visual hallucinations can be a common symptom of the condition you've been experiencing. Your body has been through tremendous trauma, and your mind may still be recovering."
Kenji fell silent, processing this confirmation that the system was visible only to him. It made sense, in a way—most isekai protagonists kept their supernatural advantages secret from the inhabitants of their new worlds.
Dr. Kurogami approached with professional efficiency, pulling various tools from his bag. "How are you feeling physically, my lord? Any nausea, dizziness, or disorientation?"
"All of the above," Kenji admitted truthfully. "And there's this strange taste in my mouth—metallic, like copper."
The doctor nodded knowingly. "That's to be expected given your condition. Your body is still adapting to... certain changes. The hallucinations you're experiencing are likely another symptom of this adjustment period."
Kenji wanted to ask what kind of changes the doctor was referring to, but something in the man's tone suggested it wasn't a conversation for his current state of health. Instead, he simply nodded and allowed the examination to continue.
After several minutes of checking his pulse, looking into his eyes with a small light, and asking various questions about his symptoms, Dr. Kurogami seemed satisfied with what he found.
"Your vital signs are stabilizing," he announced, packing his tools back into his bag. "But you're still in a very delicate state. I'm going to prescribe some medicine to help with the nausea and to aid your body's recovery process."
He turned to address the servant, who had been waiting quietly in the corner. "Please obtain these herbs from the apothecary immediately," he said, handing over a written prescription. "Brew them into a tea and have Lord Kibutsuchi drink it twice daily."
The servant bowed and hurried from the room with the prescription in hand.
Dr. Kurogami turned back to Kenji with a serious expression. "Lord Kibutsuchi, I cannot stress enough how important it is that you rest. Your body has undergone... significant changes recently, and pushing yourself too hard could have serious consequences. The hallucinations should fade as you recover, but only if you allow yourself proper time to heal."
"Thank you, Doctor," Kenji managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The physician gathered his belongings and moved toward the door. "I'll return tomorrow to check on your progress. Until then, please try to sleep and avoid any strenuous activity."
With that, he was gone, leaving Kenji alone with the impossible interface still floating before his eyes.
As the reality of his situation finally began to sink in, Kenji found himself experiencing an unexpected emotion: excitement. Yes, waking up in the body of a fictional villain was terrifying, and being transported to the dangerous world of Naruto was potentially fatal. But for the first time in his adult life, he was free.
No more wearing masks to please others. No more suppressing his true interests and passions. No more pretending to be someone he wasn't just to meet society's expectations. In this world, he could finally be himself—whatever that meant in the context of his new existence.
The template system suggested he would eventually gain Muzan's abilities, though at 1% completion, that seemed a distant goal. Still, the very existence of such a system implied he wasn't powerless in this new world. He had been given a chance not just to survive, but potentially to thrive.
As exhaustion began to claim him once again, Kenji allowed himself a small smile. His old life was gone, perhaps forever. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn't entirely a bad thing.
The interface faded as sleep took him, leaving him with dreams of crimson eyes and infinite possibilities.