Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Academy
Gun Park opened his eyes to noise. Not the steady hum of traffic in Seoul, not the muffled music bleeding through the walls of his apartment, but the sharp chorus of children yelling at each other. The air smelled of wood and dust, and when he sat up, his chair scraped against the floor in a way that was all wrong.
The classroom was too bright, too clean. Rows of wooden desks stretched ahead, sunlight pouring in through wide paper-covered windows. At the front, a scar-nosed man was lecturing, chalk in his hand. And everywhere, kids—children younger than Gun remembered being for a long time—watched him with curiosity.
Gun's first thought was simple, clipped, instinctive.
Where the hell am I?
He stood slowly, ignoring the questions in the teacher's eyes. His limbs felt strange—shorter, lighter. He looked down at his hands and froze. His knuckles weren't broad, scarred by years of fights; they were slim, almost delicate, the hands of a twelve-year-old boy.
"Gun, are you alright?" the teacher asked.
Gun's eyes flicked toward him. The name came out naturally, as though it belonged here. The scarred man tilted his head, watching carefully.
Gun didn't answer. His body shifted into a stance automatically—feet apart, weight balanced. Not because he meant to fight, but because it grounded him in something familiar.
Then he noticed the boy a few desks over. Blond hair sticking out at impossible angles, an orange jumpsuit far too bright for the room. The kid was grinning, whispering to the dark-haired boy beside him. The second one had sharp, black eyes and carried himself with quiet arrogance.
The sight jarred something loose in Gun's memory. A voice from years ago, cocky and teasing.
"Gun, you're hopeless. You don't know Naruto? It's a classic, man. Blond kid, loud as hell, wants to be Hokage. The emo rival's Sasuke. And then there's the useless pink-haired girl—what was her name again? Sakura. Yeah, that's the squad. It's hilarious, you'd love it."
Goo. His old partner, his shadow, his headache of a friend. Goo had rambled about anime and comics while Gun mostly ignored him. But the names had stuck, if only because Goo wouldn't shut up about them. Naruto. Sasuke. Sakura.
Gun looked again at the blond kid bouncing in his chair, at the dark-haired one staring daggers at the blackboard. His chest tightened with the impossible realization.
No. This isn't real. Goo was talking about a story. Fiction.
And yet—here they were. Flesh and blood.
Gun sank back into his seat slowly, hiding the tension in his shoulders. He didn't like mysteries he couldn't punch answers out of. This world wasn't Seoul, and he wasn't twenty-two anymore. He was trapped in the body of a boy surrounded by faces he recognized only because Goo had been obsessed with them.
The rest of the lesson passed in a blur. The teacher—Iruka, if Gun's memory was right—drilled them on substitution jutsu and transformation techniques. Gun heard the words but didn't bother pretending to follow. Chakra. Seals. Jutsu. All nonsense to him. His body held no strange energy, no second reservoir of power. He could feel that instinctively.
Still, he paid attention to details. The way Sasuke's hands formed seals with practiced precision. The way Naruto's clumsy attempts exploded in smoke and failure. The way Iruka balanced patience with discipline.
It was training, in its own way. But not the kind Gun respected.
By the time the bell rang and the kids rushed outside, Gun's mind was still circling the same question. Why here? Why me?
He stepped into the courtyard, the sun warm on his face. His reflection caught in a nearby window—short black hair, sharp eyes, younger features, but the same expression he always wore: unreadable, detached. Gun Park, but stripped of years of experience and dropped into a story that shouldn't exist.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
If Goo were here, he'd be laughing his ass off.
The day of the final exam arrived.
Gun sat in the back row, listening as Iruka explained the procedure. "Each student will perform the Clone Jutsu. If you succeed, you pass and become genin. If you fail, you'll repeat the year."
The room buzzed with nervous energy. Students whispered, some confident, others trembling. Naruto was biting his nail while Sasuke remained silent, as though this was beneath him.
Gun kept still, watching. He remembered enough from Goo's rambling to know how this would play out. Naruto would fail. Sasuke would pass. And the pink-haired girl—Sakura—would squeal over Sasuke.
But there was no Sakura. There was only him.
Iruka called names one by one. Students walked up, performed their clones, received their results. When Sasuke's turn came, the girls in class erupted into squeals. He executed the jutsu flawlessly, three perfect copies standing beside him. Iruka nodded, impressed.
Then came Naruto's turn. The blond boy bit his lip, hands forming seals with awkward determination. Smoke filled the room. When it cleared, his clone was pale, deflated, barely breathing. The class erupted in laughter.
"Failed," Iruka sighed.
Naruto slumped, devastated.
Finally, Iruka called, "Gun Park."
The room grew quiet. Gun stood and walked to the front, his steps unhurried. Iruka gave him an encouraging look. "Alright, Gun. Clone Jutsu."
Gun didn't move. He stared at Iruka for a long moment, then at the class behind him. He could feel Sasuke's eyes narrowing, Naruto's wide with curiosity.
"I can't," Gun said simply.
Iruka blinked. "What do you mean, you can't? You've been—"
"I don't have chakra," Gun interrupted. His tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "So no clones."
The class gasped. Iruka frowned. "Don't joke about that. Everyone has chakra."
Gun shrugged. "Then mine doesn't work. But if you want proof of ability, I can give you that."
Before Iruka could object, Gun moved. He dashed to the far wall, grabbed a piece of chalk from the ledge, and returned to the front before most students could track his movement. In one smooth motion, he twirled the chalk between his fingers, then flicked it into the air and caught it again.
He dropped it onto the table.
"Speed. Precision. That's real."
The room buzzed with shocked whispers. Even Sasuke looked unsettled, his cool mask cracking for a heartbeat. Naruto's eyes lit up like firecrackers.
Iruka exhaled slowly, torn between frustration and awe. "Gun… the test is the Clone Jutsu. If you can't perform it, I can't pass you."
Gun's expression didn't change. "Then fail me."
The silence that followed was deafening. Mizuki, who had been watching from the corner, smirked.
Naruto sat up straighter, eyes burning with determination. Sasuke's glare sharpened, as though silently demanding an explanation.
Iruka rubbed his forehead. "Fine. Sit down."
Gun returned to his seat, unbothered. Passing their exam didn't matter. What mattered was figuring out why he was here—and how to survive in a world of monsters without the tools they took for granted.
That evening, Gun stayed long after the Academy emptied. He sat on the roof, watching the village glow with lantern light. People moved through the streets, guards patrolled the walls, laughter spilled from homes.
It was too real to dismiss. Too detailed to be a dream.
If this is a story, Gun thought, then why am I in it?
He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms tense despite his smaller frame. Fighting was all he knew, but fighting wouldn't give him answers here.
"Gun!"
The shout came from below. He looked down to see Naruto grinning up at him, waving wildly.
"You were amazing today! Who cares about clones, right? You're way cooler than Sasuke!"
Gun studied him, the boy Goo had once described as a loudmouth underdog. Seeing him in the flesh was surreal. Naruto's grin was genuine, his energy infectious.
"Go home," Gun said quietly.
Naruto blinked. "Huh?"
"Strength isn't about showing off. You'll figure that out someday."
Naruto scowled, then puffed out his chest. "Then I'll prove it to you! I'm gonna be Hokage, you'll see!"
Gun turned back toward the horizon, voice calm but firm. "We'll see."
Naruto's laughter echoed as he ran off into the night.
Gun stayed where he was, eyes hard, mind racing. Goo's voice whispered again in his memory, teasing, mocking.
"You don't care about stories, Gun, but one day they'll matter. Mark my words."
Gun clenched his fists. For the first time in years, he wished Goo were here—not to laugh, but to explain.
Because Gun Park didn't like being lost. And right now, he was more lost than ever.