Sat slouched behind his cubicle, the hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet clatter of keyboards pressing down like a weight on his shoulders was a man with dead eyes. He skimmed over the endless spreadsheets, each row a small reminder that the day wasn't done yet. Every tick of the clock made him sink further into his chair, imagining the moment he could finally leave, kick off his shoes, and just collapse into bed. The work was tedious, the hours stretched too long, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt any real satisfaction from any of it.
His fingers tapped absently on the keyboard, mind wandering to more pleasant thoughts: a warm bed, the freedom to do whatever he pleased, even if it was nothing at all. The fluorescent lights blurred, numbers and charts melting together as exhaustion seeped into his bones. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and leaned forward. Without realizing it, he let himself drift away, sinking into the deep, welcome embrace of sleep right there at his desk.
A sudden thud against the side of his head jolted him awake. He blinked rapidly, squinting against the sunlight streaming through a classroom window. The hum of students murmuring and the faint scratch of pencils on paper replaced the monotonous office hum he had been drowning in just moments ago. The smell of chalk dust and ink was sharp in his nose. He shifted uncomfortably in the small wooden desk, trying to reconcile the scene before him with the memory of his cubicle, spreadsheets, and fluorescent lights.
"Jin!" The voice was sharp, urgent, and an eraser smacked his head as if to punctuate the demand. He flinched, hand snapping up instinctively. The teacher stood at the front of the room, headband of the Hidden Leaf Village shining in the sunlight, pointer raised, eyes narrowing at him. "What period did the First Hokage serve as leader?"
Blank. His mind went completely empty. Names, dates, any sort of historical detail — nothing surfaced. He opened his mouth to answer and closed it again, paralyzed. The teacher's scowl deepened. "Pay attention, Jin! Answer me!"
He forced a nod, trying to steady his racing heart, but internally panic had set in. What's happening? Where am I? Every instinct told him to bolt, to scream, to run, but he remained frozen, scanning the classroom for some clue that would explain the impossibility of the situation.
Then he heard laughter — low and sharp, distinct. His eyes darted toward the sound, and he froze. A boy, sitting across the room, grinned at something one of his friends had said. Two bright red fang marks streaked across his cheeks. Kiba. The realization hit him slowly, then all at once. The boy from his childhood memories of the anime, the one who had been brash and wild, was sitting there, alive, in the flesh. Jin's gaze snapped toward the teacher for confirmation, and the leaf headband on the man's forehead made his heart stop.
He was here. In the Naruto world.
Pieces of memories began to return — not the scattered chaos of dreams, but real recollections of watching Naruto, of knowing the events, the characters, the flow of the ninja world. His panic didn't abate, but it sharpened into clarity. This body wasn't his own, not really — it was a child's, belonging to someone named Jin. Yet here he was, occupying it, and the reality of it demanded immediate attention.
The teacher's pointer jabbed at the board again, snapping him back. "Jin! Do you know the answer?"
He shook his head subtly. The words felt strange on his tongue, alien and disconnected from the mind that had only moments ago belonged entirely to the adult he had been. Another reprimand followed, and he found himself nodding, trying to appear attentive even as confusion churned inside him.
Around him, life continued as usual. Students whispered, wrote, and glanced at him curiously. Kiba's laughter echoed intermittently, a jarring reminder of the world's reality. Jin's attention drifted briefly from the board to the boy, taking note of his posture, the casual confidence in his movements. His eyes flicked back to the teacher and then to the leaf symbol on the headband again. There it was. The undeniable proof.
Slowly, the pieces fell into place. The world he had only known from screens and stories was real. He wasn't dreaming. And he wasn't invisible — he was an active participant in it now, inhabiting the body of a child whose future he did not yet know.
The rest of the class passed in a blur. When the teacher asked questions, he could only shake his head or mumble something unintelligible. Inside, a storm of thoughts raged: how had this happened, what powers did he now have, how strong was this body, and what dangers lurked around every corner?
Despite the panic, a single thought anchored him: he would live, and he would live on his own terms. No one could constrain him here. The freedom he had always desired, freedom from tedious office work, endless responsibility, and meaningless routines, was finally within reach. He would make choices for himself, explore, experiment, and enjoy life in a way he never could before.
His attention snapped back briefly as Kiba's voice rang out, joking with a classmate. The vivid red fang marks on the boy's cheeks, the confident posture, the playful energy — it all felt surreal yet grounding at the same time. Jin's gaze moved toward the teacher again, noting every movement, every subtle cue, cataloging them quietly.
By the end of class, the bell rang and students shuffled out, chattering and laughing. Jin remained in his seat, letting the room empty around him while he processed the reality of the situation. He experimented subtly with the body, flexing fingers, testing sensations, and noting the differences. Movement felt lighter, senses sharper, reflexes quicker. He was alive in a world he had only dreamed of, and for the first time, the limitations of his former life — the monotonous cubicle, the meaningless spreadsheets, the endless fatigue — were gone.
Packing his things carefully, he kept his expression calm, blank to anyone who might glance at him, but inside, a spark of satisfaction flickered. He had survived the shock, observed his surroundings, and processed the truth: this was his life now. This was a second chance. The possibilities were vast, and the dangers real, but one thing was certain — he would live however he wanted.
As he left the classroom, stepping into the hallway alive with other students, the sounds of movement and chatter washing over him, Jin's mind was quiet for the first time since waking. Observation and calculation replaced panic. The world was new, unfamiliar, but it was his. For the first time in his life, he could finally choose.
And he would.