"The winner—Kakashi Hatake."
The teacher's booming voice rang out across the academy training field, bringing the sparring match to an official end.
"Seal it with a handshake."
No complaints, no smack talk. The dark-haired boy, bangs nearly covering his face, pushed himself up off the dirt, dusted his clothes, and raised two fingers. Across from him, Kakashi—silver-haired, short blade strapped to his back—matched the motion. Their hands touched briefly before pulling away.
"Kakashi's incredible."
"Of course he is—he's White Fang's son."
"Yeah, and look—he just beat an Uchiha like it was nothing."
"That guy doesn't even act like an Uchiha. He's so gloomy."
The chatter spread fast, most of it praising Kakashi, though a few kids threw jabs at the loser.
"If I were up there, I'd win for sure! Hey, Kakashi, fight me!"
Obito Uchiha shoved up his goggles, puffing himself up as if he was about to redeem the entire clan.
Kakashi didn't react. He glanced at his opponent—same flat, unreadable look as always—then turned and walked back to the line. Obito's challenge never even registered.
"Hey! Bastard Kakashi, don't ignore me!"
Kakashi groaned. "Quiet. Sparring with you is pointless."
"What?! You did not just say that! Fine then—I'll show you the greatness of Uchiha Obito!"
"Cut it out, Obito." A little girl with paint streaks on her cheeks tugged his sleeve. "Sensei's calling the next group. Don't interrupt."
"…Fine, Rin."
Just like that, Obito dropped it, sulking but silent.
The class collectively rolled their eyes. Nobody was surprised. Every sparring lesson, Obito declared he'd beat Kakashi. And every time, Kakashi ignored him or ended the fight in seconds.
The boy who had just lost didn't react to any of it. Head down, he shuffled toward the edge of the group. The kids near him edged away fast, like he carried bad luck.
None of them knew that before the spar even began, the soul inside "Naraku Uchiha" had already been replaced.
Naraku stared at a pebble by his shoe, lost in thought.
Naraku. Twenty years old. Died in a massive car pile-up back in his old world. The Popularity System had plucked him out and dropped him here, inside the body of Naraku Uchiha.
As a hardcore anime fan and professional shitposter, he didn't need long to figure out where he'd landed.
At first, he'd been excited. Baby Kakashi, in the flesh! His eternal silver-haired fave, right in front of him. But the timing was garbage. Less than a day in this body and he'd already been thrown into class sparring—and stomped by Kakashi himself.
"System?" he tried again, mentally calling out for his cheat.
[Greetings, traveler. The Popularity System is now at your service.]
Finally. The flat, mechanical voice echoed in his mind. Relief hit him like air after drowning.
For a minute, he'd thought he didn't even get a cheat. Late arrival or not, at least it was real.
Because let's face it—this world was brutal. Weaklings died fast. And being an Uchiha only made the odds worse. If the Third Ninja War didn't get him, Itachi's little massacre someday definitely would.
…But wait. Popularity System?
He had to get popular to get stronger? In a world where strength was everything? What was he supposed to do—start a boy band?
[Correction. This system does not track your popularity in the ninja world. It tracks your popularity among the audience watching the Naruto anime in another world.]
Naraku blinked. "…What?"
[This world is exactly as you remember, but it has already been linked to another system user—codename: Animator. Animator cannot interfere, but they can observe. Using this world as source material, they edit and broadcast it as anime in their own world.]
So this reality was basically their content farm?
[Correct. Your job is to gain Popularity Points from that audience. Those points can be exchanged in the System Shop for whatever you need.]
"…Feels like I'm hitchhiking."
[That is a fair analogy.]
"Still don't get why Popularity Points matter."
[Other systems harvest arrogance or humiliation. Popularity, like prayer or worship in other worlds, is simply another form of human desire—and that desire fuels power.]
"…Got it. Whatever. Staying alive comes first."
He accepted it faster than he expected. If popularity was the cheat, then fine—he'd farm it.
"…What if I just asked the Animator to make me the main character?"
[Not possible. This system has no authority to contact them.]
Figures. He wasn't even hitchhiking. He was clinging to the back of a train, hoping he didn't get tossed.
Still, he had an advantage. He remembered the story. If he stuck close to the right characters, he'd guarantee screen time. And screen time meant popularity.
Minato's generation was already out of reach. But Kakashi's class? Jackpot. Future jonin sensei of the Hidden Leaf 12, Rin, Obito—they were all here.
By his calculations, only two names guaranteed spotlight: Kakashi Hatake, eternal fan favorite, and Obito Uchiha, the future endgame villain.
Naraku grimaced. No thanks. He wasn't signing up to be collateral in Obito's "burn the world" phase.
Which left Kakashi.
Hell yes. Reborn: Me and My Idol, the Ship of the Century.
Naraku pinched his thigh under the desk to stop himself from laughing out loud and blowing his cover.
Because the original Naraku Uchiha? Moody. Antisocial. Barely even talked to his own clan. If Naraku suddenly flipped into friendly chatterbox mode, people would notice. He had to play the long game.
The class finished sparring, and the teacher called everyone back inside. Naraku dragged his feet at the back of the group, keeping the gloomy act until he slipped into the last row's corner seat.
Still no plan for approaching Kakashi. He frowned at the desk—then remembered. He hadn't even checked all of the system's features yet.
"Oh. System, you got anything else?"
[This system can connect to the Animator's internet. You may track anime progress and audience reactions in real time.]
Perfect. That way he'd know which arcs got adapted, who the fans loved, and exactly what tropes to lean into. All he had to do was steer himself into the spotlight.