The rain hammered against the windshield, each droplet a bullet against the thin glass. The wipers swished desperately, but Keiji Nakamura could still barely see. Tokyo nights in the monsoon season always looked like this—murky neon lights blurred into smeared watercolors, car horns and chatter muffled under the storm's roar.
Another late night. Another shift that should've ended hours ago.
At thirty-two, Keiji had long since accepted his life's cycle: commute, work, microwave curry, binge anime reruns, collapse into bed, then repeat. He was an IT grunt—an invisible gear in Japan's endless corporate machine.
His friends online knew him for two things: his half-Indian, half-Japanese heritage (which always sparked curiosity), and his obsession with anime, especially Naruto. To them, he was the "Indian Japanese Otaku"—a joke nickname he wore proudly.
Tonight, earbuds blasting Blue Bird from Naruto Shippuden, he trudged across the pedestrian lane, mind replaying old arguments about whether Madara Uchiha had been right all along.
That was when it happened.
A blinding horn.
Headlights like burning suns.
A truck.
The cliché of clichés. Truck-kun.
Keiji had joked about it for years. Now, in a heartbeat, it became real.
The vehicle bore down on him, merciless steel and momentum. For a split second, he chuckled.
"So this… really is Truck-kun?"
The impact snapped his world apart. Bones shattered. His body rolled like a broken doll across the asphalt. Pain—white-hot, searing—lasted only an instant before everything dimmed, drained, and finally vanished into nothingness.
---
The Drift Between Worlds
He expected death. Silence. A void without thought.
Instead, he floated.
Weightless. Shapeless. Consciousness itself had been peeled from flesh, reduced to a drifting flame.
In that abyss, a whisper reached him. Not divine, not mechanical like some RPG system prompt. It was older. Wiser.
"Your wish for another chance has been heard. But in this life, your ties will bind you to both blade… and spirit."
Keiji tried to respond, but his voice—his very body—no longer existed. Before he could grasp the meaning, the void twisted. Time, memory, and light folded inward. His soul was dragged forward, funneled through something unseen.
---
The Birth of a Child
The cry of a woman tore through the candlelit chamber.
"Push, Retsu! One more push!" urged the midwife.
On the futon lay a pale, sweat-drenched woman, her dark hair plastered against her face. Her hands clenched the bedding, nails digging into fabric as her body strained.
Retsu Unohana.
Once, she had been Yachiru Unohana—an infamous swordswoman whispered of in campfires and taverns across the war-torn Sengoku Era. A healer, yes, but also a killer whose blade once painted the fields crimson.
But now? Now she was just a woman giving birth.
Her teeth grit as pain wracked her body. And yet, her mind wandered—unbidden—to the past.
---
Unohana's Past
She remembered the day she met him.
The man who had broken her.
Steel clashed against the swirling inferno of Susanoo. Her blade—sharp enough to cut down warlords—snapped like brittle glass beneath his gaze.
Madara Uchiha.
He had spared her, not from mercy but from amusement. A predator acknowledging another predator, but dismissing her as unworthy prey.
Yet in the humiliation, she found something else. His eyes, burning with unyielding conviction, carved themselves into her heart. Against all reason, she fell for him.
Their paths crossed again, fleetingly. Nights spent under starlight. Words exchanged not as warrior and warlord, but as man and woman. She bore his child. Then he was gone—perhaps claimed by his clan, perhaps by ambition.
She did not chase him. Instead, she shed her old name. No longer Yachiru, the demon. She became Retsu, the healer, choosing to raise her child in secret, away from blood-soaked battlefields.
And now, in this very moment, that child came into the world.
---
The Infant
Keiji's drifting soul crashed into fragile flesh.
A wail tore from tiny lungs. His body trembled, unsteady, weak.
He gasped. He breathed. He lived.
Through blurred vision, he felt warmth. Hands cradled him, trembling but steady.
"My son… my beautiful boy…" Retsu whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Her voice was velvet, though beneath it Keiji sensed a hard edge—born from years of killing and survival.
And in that moment of newborn confusion, clarity struck.
I… I've been reborn.
Reborn… in Naruto's world.
Sleep overtook him before he could process more. The infant's body demanded it, dragging him down into oblivion.
---
Life in the Capital
The Land of Fire's capital bustled with life. Samurai patrolled the markets, merchants hawked their wares, and whispers of clan wars spread like distant thunder.
Retsu raised her son in a modest home on the market's edge. Money was scarce, but her skills as a healer bought her respect. She could mend wounds that defeated other doctors, and though she never revealed her clanless past, people whispered all the same.
"Lady Retsu's hands cure where others fail."
"Her eyes are too sharp… too old for her age."
She ignored them.
Her world was her son.
Sometimes, rocking the infant to sleep, she wondered: did Madara even know? Would he care? Or would the Uchiha Clan hunt this boy if they ever learned the truth?
Looking at his tiny hands, she swore silently.
I will protect you, no matter what. Even if the world itself turns its blade against you.
---
Foreshadowing:
But peace was never permanent.
One night, as storms lashed the city, Retsu dozed lightly with her son in her arms. A sword lay by her bedside, instinct never dulled.
Then—she felt it.
A chill. Not from the storm. Not from wind. From him.
The baby stirred. His breaths grew uneven. The air thickened, heavy as if unseen spirits crowded the chamber.
Retsu snapped awake, clutching him tighter.
Her heart pounded. What is this aura?
Then she saw it.
His tiny eyes flickered open.
Not the unformed gaze of a newborn, but glowing faintly—unnatural, ghostly light blooming from within.
Her breath caught. A healer, a killer, a mother—yet nothing prepared her for this.
The baby's gaze shifted. Not toward her, but into the corner of the darkened room.
Something unseen. Something waiting.
Then the flicker vanished. His eyes shut again, leaving behind only soft breathing.
Retsu sat rigid, unable to calm her racing heart. Her son was not ordinary. He carried something within him—something not of the Uchiha, nor of healers. Something otherworldly.
Something that might one day shake the foundations of the world.
That night, as the storm reached its peak, the candle beside them snuffed out.
Darkness swallowed the chamber.
And unseen by his mother, the infant's eyes opened once more.
This time, the unnatural light did not fade.
It lingered. Watching. Waiting.
---
End of the Chapter
---