CH: 1.1- New Starting.
A sharp gasp shattered the silence of a dimly lit room.
Golden lashes trembled as a boy with sun-bright hair opened his eyes, his chest heaving as though he had just escaped from the grip of a dream too vivid to be real. His gaze darted across the space, restless and sharp, betraying a flicker of panic beneath the surface. Yet, even as unease clawed at him, he forced it down, burying it beneath a composed stillness.
The room around him felt strange. Wooden walls, a narrow bed, a cracked ceiling—unfamiliar, yet carrying a trace of warmth he could not place. He sat up slowly, his movements deliberate, testing the weight of this body that felt both his and not his. A heavy silence pressed in, broken only by the faint creak of the floor as he rose to his feet.
Drawn by instinct, he staggered toward the washroom. The dull mirror on the wall reflected him, and in that single glance the world seemed to tilt.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Whisker-like marks etched onto his cheeks.
It was a face he had seen countless times—but never expected to wear.
His breath caught. The wild idea slammed into him, absurd yet undeniable. I've… reincarnated.
The thought dragged up memories of his past life. A comrade in his battalion—grinning even in the face of death—used to joke about reincarnation. "If we fall out here, maybe we'll get a second chance, eh? Maybe even in some manga world—better than rotting six feet under!"
He had always laughed it off, dismissing it as gallows humor, the kind of joke soldiers made to make life at the edge of death bearable. But now… standing here, staring into a mirror at a boy whose story he knew too well, the joke had become reality.
And he was living it.
His eyes lingered on the reflection a moment longer before he finally tore himself away, stepping back into the small room.
Now that he looked more carefully, the place fit exactly what one would expect from Naruto Uzumaki's home. A cluttered table piled with instant ramen cups. A battered futon that looked as if it had been through more battles than its owner. Cracked walls, paint peeling in the corners, and a window that let in more dust than sunlight.
He let out a quiet sigh. So this is how he lived.
There was no real warmth here—no family photos, no mementos, no traces of a parent's touch. Just the bare necessities thrown together to keep a child alive. It wasn't miserable enough to break someone, but it was lonely. Like a hollow shell pretending to be a home.
As fragments of memory trickled in—Naruto's loud laughter, his endless pranks, the constant glares of the villagers—the boy felt a strange heaviness settle in his chest. This life wasn't just difficult; it was empty in ways words could barely capture.
Yet, rather than despair, he found himself smiling faintly. He really pushed through all of this, huh?
Naruto had lived in shadows, unwanted and overlooked, and still managed to shine brighter than anyone else. That resilience had inspired him in his past life. But now, standing in the middle of that very room, he realized it wasn't just inspiration. It was a challenge.
"Dark, yeah," he muttered under his breath, brushing a hand over the dusty tabletop. "But not unbearable. Not for me."
The thought steadied him. Life in the barracks had been worse in some ways—at least here, he had four walls to himself and no bullets whizzing past his ears. Hardship wasn't new. Loneliness wasn't new. What was new was this chance.
And for the first time, he felt the stirrings of excitement.
The silence of the room stretched on until his eyes flicked to the small clock on the wall. The faint hands pointed to just past four in the morning.
He couldn't help but chuckle. Even here, I wake up with the dawn. Some habits really did survive death.
The unease still clung to him, the strangeness of his new reality pressing against his skin. Sitting still wasn't going to help. He needed air, space, movement—something to steady his restless thoughts. A run would do.
His gaze fell to the bundle of orange fabric folded in the corner, Naruto's trademark jumpsuit. He winced. "No wonder everyone stared at him like he was a festival mascot," he muttered. Loud, impractical, and—he wrinkled his nose—smelling faintly of sweat and dust. Not exactly fit for a fresh start.
Still, he tugged the clothes on. They were what he had, after all. He could deal with appearances later. Maybe even today.
As he bent to pick up a small frog-shaped pouch lying near the bed, a smile tugged at his lips. The goofy design, with its wide, stitched grin, was oddly charming. Somehow, this suits him, he thought, running a thumb across its worn fabric.
"Alright, Gamachan," he whispered to the pouch, amused at himself for talking to it. "Let's go for a little trip."
Clothes first. If he was going to walk a different path, he didn't need to drag around the baggage of this clownish outfit.
But he knew the truth of this village. The civilian shopkeepers, already whispering behind his back, would refuse him at the counter with forced smiles and thin excuses. It had been Naruto's life since childhood—treated like a stain best ignored.
He exhaled through his nose, not angry, just resigned. "No point wasting time there."
Instead, a thought surfaced. A small weapons shop run by a girl in his class—Tenten. Bright, hardworking, and more importantly, fair. She wouldn't sneer or turn him away. If anyone would sell him a few simple clothes and supplies without fuss, it would be her.
His lips curved in a quiet, almost playful smile. "Looks like I've got my first errand in this new life."
With that, he pushed the door open, stepping into the cool pre-dawn air.
With those thoughts lingering in his mind, Naruto stretched his arms once, rolled his shoulders, and made a dash into the still-sleeping village.
The streets of Konoha at dawn were empty, washed in pale silver light. Lanterns still flickered faintly in a few windows, but most homes lay silent, wrapped in the comfort of dreams. His footsteps echoed against the cobbled paths, rhythmic and steady, carrying him past shuttered stalls, training grounds, and quiet courtyards.
The cool morning air filled his lungs, crisp and refreshing. He pushed himself harder, running a full circuit around the village—once, then twice. Sweat beaded on his forehead, sliding down his temples, but his breathing remained steady.
His body felt lighter, stronger, and more resilient than the one he'd known before. This wasn't the strain of a soldier pushing against exhaustion—it was the raw potential of youth, burning bright in every muscle and every step.
By the time he slowed to a jog, his heart was racing, not just from the exertion but from exhilaration. This body… it really can reach heights I never could before.
As he caught his breath, his eyes drifted toward the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon.
The village stirred faintly in the distance—shinobi moving toward early training, a baker lighting his ovens, and a farmer guiding his cart into the market.
Konoha felt alive in a way no battlefield ever could.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he adjusted the frog pouch at his side. His lips curved into a small smile. "Alright. Enough running around."
He turned down a quieter street, heading toward a certain little weapons shop. The one owned by a kunoichi whose straightforward kindness might just give him the chance he needed.
Tenten's shop.
The shop's entrance was small, marked only by a wooden sign and a modest awning. Naruto slid the door aside with a light tap, the chime above the frame ringing softly.
Inside, the faint smell of oiled steel and clean wood lingered in the air. Racks of weapons gleamed under the morning light filtering through the window, while shelves of gear lined the walls—kunai holsters, ninja pouches, and even folded sets of clothing.
At the counter, a girl was sweeping, her hair tied neatly in twin buns. She looked up in surprise at the sound of the chime.
"Oh! Good morning." Tenten said, blinking. The expression on her face was polite but curious—it wasn't every day someone showed up this early.
Naruto returned her greeting with a small, respectful smile. "Morning. Sorry for the intrusion this early."
Tenten tilted her head, studying him for a moment. His voice wasn't loud or brash like she remembered from the Academy halls. She couldn't quite place what was different, but it tugged faintly at her attention.
"I was hoping to get some clothing," Naruto said directly. "Something shinobi-standard. I know many ninja wear light gear that still offers some protection against weapons. If you have something like that, I'd like to see it."
For a second, Tenten just blinked at him. Of all the things she'd expected Naruto Uzumaki to ask for, practical gear was not one of them. A small, amused thought crossed her mind: 'He's not going to demand a custom bright orange outfit, is he?'
But when she turned to fetch the stock, she caught him scanning the shelves seriously, his eyes thoughtful. Not once did he glance at the garish colors stacked on the lower racks. Instead, his gaze lingered on darker tones—deep navy blues, muted greys, and even a forest green.
Practical colors.
Colors that blended with shadow and earth.
Naruto reached out and touched the sleeve of a dark navy set, the fabric smooth but reinforced, sturdy enough to turn a glancing cut. He nodded slightly to himself. "This should do."
When he looked back up, Tenten was watching him with faint surprise, broom still in hand. He smiled lightly, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Don't worry. Anything but bright orange."
Her lips twitched, caught between amusement and curiosity. Maybe she'd misjudged him.
CH: 1.2- Tenten and School.
"Yes, this set will cost around three thousand five hundred ryō," Tenten said after checking the tag, her voice carrying the practiced ease of someone used to handling customers. She folded the navy-blue gear with neat, careful hands before glancing at him again, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "So… what's the plan today? Another prank to keep the guards on edge?"
It was half-teasing, half-expectant. That was the Naruto she knew—always up to mischief, always grinning like the world couldn't touch him.
Naruto chuckled softly, slipping his hands into the frog-shaped pouch at his waist. "Heh, I think I've toyed with them enough. Those poor shinobi never stood a chance against my sneaking. I'll let them rest for a while."
The words carried a boyish mischief, but there was a touch of restraint in his tone, as though pranks were no longer the sum of his world.
Then, almost seamlessly, his expression shifted. The grin lingered, but his eyes sharpened, holding a weight that startled her.
"Instead," he continued, voice quieter and more deliberate, "I was thinking of working on taijutsu. It's a weak spot for me… one I can't afford to ignore."
For a moment, she studied him in silence, caught off guard by the sudden maturity in his words. The morning light filtered through the window, falling across his blond hair, and for the briefest instant she wondered if she was looking at a different boy entirely.
Her lips curved in a softer smile this time, not amused, but faintly approving. "Taijutsu, huh? That's a good choice."
Naruto accepted the folded clothes with a nod, gratitude flickering in his eyes. "Thanks. This time… I'll take it seriously."
With his new clothes tucked safely under his arm, Naruto left Tenten's shop and made his way toward another storefront.
This one was smaller and less crowded but catered to shinobi with practical supplies—dried rations, protein-packed staples, and fresh produce delivered before dawn.
He spent a careful handful of coins, choosing not the sweets and snacks his classmates would have expected of him, but vegetables, eggs, and a loaf of bread.
The weight of the bag in his hand felt strangely satisfying. It wasn't much, but it was his choice, his step forward.
By the time he returned home with a small dash through the awakening village, the sun had just begun to spill golden light across the rooftops. Naruto set the bag on the counter, rolled up his sleeves, and looked around the small kitchen.
Cooking, in this body, felt unfamiliar—these hands had never really handled knives or pans before. But his soul carried muscle memory of its own.
In his past life, he had taken quiet pleasure in cooking, finding solace in it between the chaos of duty. A hobby, yes, but one born from necessity and discipline.
He worked with a natural rhythm, cracking eggs into a pan, tossing chopped vegetables into a light sizzle, the faint aroma filling the lonely apartment. Bread toasted slowly over the pan's edge, turning golden and crisp. By the time the eggs set and the vegetables softened, the modest meal was ready.
Two glasses of milk completed the table.
Naruto sat down, hands clasped briefly in thanks, and ate with a quiet hunger.
The food wasn't extravagant, but it was filling, nourishing, and alive with warmth that instant ramen could never provide. For the first time, this tiny apartment felt less like an empty room and more like a home.
When the plates were clean, he stood, still humming faintly with satisfaction.
A quick shower washed away the sweat of his morning run, and he changed into the new navy-blue outfit, the fabric sitting comfortably against his skin. Two other sets hung neatly on the line nearby, waiting their turn.
Straightening his pouch, Naruto gave his reflection one last glance. No longer a boy in ragged orange shouting for attention, but someone who could stand a little taller, a little prouder.
Then, with purposeful steps, he headed out—toward the Academy, where a different kind of day awaited him.
When Naruto stepped out into the streets again, the change was immediate.
The villagers who caught sight of him froze mid-step, eyes widening as though they'd seen a stranger wearing a familiar face. Gone was the garish orange that screamed for attention. In its place, a dark navy set that lent him a sharper silhouette, his hair tidier, his expression calm rather than wild.
Mothers tugged their children closer out of old habit, but their suspicion faltered. Shopkeepers paused with hands halfway through their morning chores. Even the shinobi who shadowed him from the rooftops exchanged uneasy glances.
What is he plotting now? The thought echoed among them. Surely Naruto Uzumaki, the village prankster, couldn't walk past without painting walls, tying laundry together, or somehow causing chaos.
But he did. He walked quietly, evenly, with not so much as a sideways glance at the stalls or alleys that once tempted him. By the time he vanished into the distance, leaving behind no trouble, the silence among the hidden watchers was heavy.
"…What's wrong with Naruto?" one muttered at last, breaking the stillness.
No one had an answer.
At the Academy, Naruto arrived earlier than anyone expected. The classrooms were still empty, sunlight slanting across rows of desks. For once, he didn't slump in the back corner or doodle while waiting. Instead, his steps carried him toward the library, a quiet corner of the building that most students ignored unless forced.
As he ran his fingers along the spines of well-worn books, a strange clarity settled over him. 'In the old memories, I never understood these words… as if the letters themselves mocked me. But now…'
He plucked a volume free and flipped it open. Lines of text swam before him—except they didn't blur, and they didn't twist into nonsense. He could read. Every sentence. Every concept. As though someone had taken the time, patiently, to teach him how this world's language flowed.
His lips curved faintly. 'So that's another gift I've brought with me.'
The past life's discipline, the habit of learning, and an instinctive grasp of letters that the old Naruto never had—it was all there, waiting to be used.