Warmth
Soft rays of the sun shined upon a village, a place that was supposed to be the epicenter of the world.
Its buildings, made of metal and cement, glimmered under the gaze of the sun. Structures held up by dreams and hard work proudly stood their ground.
The air chimed like a thousand bells, the leaves drifted as if given purpose.And amongst it all… where thousands of citizens walked carefree, where might made right… where children were born to fight and old men were scarce.
In such a tenacious land, stood one single man.His strands mirrored the sun, bright blond with streaks of red. His physique, sculpted by years of hard work, was worked down to the bone.
The man.
Kyojiro ran like his life depended on it… because for him, it did.
He panted, "How… even after seventeen years in this godforsaken world… why am I still a Chunin?"
He gazed down at his body—six-pack abs and an athletic frame presented itself to him. Sweat pooled around him.After all, the man had been running straight for two hours.
"Finally, I'm done," he panted, exhaling a large breath of air.He lightly clenched his fist, brows furrowed. Seventeen years… I've been in the world of Naruto for seventeen years.
After all, Kyojiro wasn't a normal person.
In his past life, he had been a simple boxer… a man with an unshakable love for Naruto. The world, its bonds and struggles—it all fascinated him.
What he didn't know was that an unfortunate punch to the back of his head would end his life… and from that end, birth a new beginning.
He calmly walked to the tree where he had left his belongings. A simple shirt lay with his ninja tools and his sleek yet stubborn katana.
Dressing up, he couldn't help but think, 'It took me two months to even realize I had been reborn… The real shock came when I saw people shooting huge plumes of fire.'
He chuckled to himself as he remembered how excited he had been. After all, being reborn in the world of Naruto was an opportunity unlike anything else.
Yet reality hit him when he least expected it.
Kyojiro walked toward the pond beside him. The water, calm and untouched, reflected back the very same face he had carried for years.
The strands of his hair were cut short across his forehead, yet he couldn't help but focus on his eyes.
SHING
As if a hidden switch had been clicked, his eyes suddenly turned crimson red, a single tomoe revolving around them.
Yet that didn't bring him joy. Kyojiro clenched his fist as he remembered how he got it.
'Lack of talent… I knew how talentless I was when it took me two years to master the Fireball Jutsu. And that too at the age of twelve.' He shook his head.
His hands subconsciously went up to his eyes, the crimson Sharingan staring back at him through the water.
'The thing about the Sharingan is its photographic memory… its curse.' He remembered their screams, the way a Kiri ninja cut through their bodies like a knife through paper.
He remembered how his hand trembled as he stayed hidden, shaking… A simple espionage mission at the age of thirteen had killed all of his teammates. Including his sensei.
Shaking his head, he calmly walked toward the Hokage's office.
This world… this accursed world had taught Kyojiro a very simple lesson that day—
Strength.Is what truly matters.
.
.
.
The Hokage's office was a simple blend between a professional workplace and a ninja market. Shinobi stood in lines while others roamed around without a care.
The diversity was striking… there were thirty-year-old veterans and even genin fresh out of the academy.
Yet Kyojiro shook his head, calmly gazing at the attendant in front of him. He spoke, "A C-rank mission. Priority, extermination." His voice was indifferent and calm.
The attendant was a simple man. A retired ninja. His gray hair and sagging chin were things quite rare in the shinobi world.
He slowly looked at Kyojiro, his eyes softening. He was the same man who had once assigned that mission to Kyojiro's team… and death—
death was something all ninjas remembered.
For the sake of professionalism, he dug through the archives, eyes lighting up at a simple bandit mission.
"Here," he spoke in a gruff tone, voice hardened by years of killing.
Kyojiro simply took the file, opening it. His eyes darted through the text. 'Bandit extermination… near the border, so a long walk, huh. Good thing a single shinobi can take it. The last thing I want are teammates.'
He nodded, signing off the document.
The attendant did his job as well, procuring an official statement that registered Kyojiro's name.
"While you are an experienced shinobi, it is my duty to tell the rules. This is a maximum ten-day mission. Any delay will have to be personally recorded and attested for." Moving closer, he whispered, "With the recent activities near our border… the higher-ups are already suspicious. So don't be late, Kyojiro."
Kyojiro let out a weak smile. "Sure, old man… I'll try to be as quick as possible."
With his official seal done, it took him seconds to exit the office. The fresh air of the Hidden Leaf hit him with a nostalgic rhythm.'So long, Leaf Village… I'll see you again in ten days.'
He reached the village gates by the end of the hour, his back straight—his purpose clear.Bandits—the ones who preyed on the weak.
Kyojiro hated them.Even in his past life, one thing was clear—the strong were meant to protect the weak.
His ideal. And Kyojiro might have been weak in talent… but he had a heart of gold.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, the attendant couldn't help but go through Kyojiro's shinobi profile.
Age – Seventeen.
Missions undertaken – Seventy-eight.
Five failed.
Seventy-three successful.
Success rate – 93.6 percent.
The attendant couldn't help but whistle to himself. 'Poor bandits.'
............
Hello guys, Mr Immortal this side.
I have started another fanfic this time, The Idea is simple.. Fire breathing with Uchiha genetics..
I hope you all join me on this journey, Read the book and tell me how is it :).