In a bright city blanketed in neon lights, the streets buzzed with the hum of life. Billboards flickered against the skyline, advertisements reflecting off the glossy surfaces of countless vehicles crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic. The distant sound of sirens, honking horns, and the occasional curse shouted out a window blended into the symphony of urban frustration.
Inside a dark, slightly dented sedan, a man sat slouched against his seat, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. His eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion sinking into the wrinkles forming at the corners. He had just finished a grueling nine-hour shift at a job that drained more of his soul than his energy. Normally, that would've been fine—routine even—but this week, life had decided to turn into one long, merciless punchline.
Yesterday, his childhood girlfriend—his one steady piece of happiness—dumped him without warning. No fight, no closure, just a message and silence. The day after, he totaled his car in a stupid fender bender, forcing him into the rental he sat in now, one that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. To make matters worse, he'd just gotten an eviction notice, meaning he'd have to swallow his pride and move back in with his parents.
Life, as far as he was concerned, was a burning dumpster.
But the real tragedy? The absolute nail in the coffin?
No anime had been good for years.
As an OG watcher, he'd grown up during the golden era—Dragon Ball, Bleach, Naruto. He remembered racing home from school just to catch the next episode, eyes glued to the screen as Goku went Super Saiyan or Ichigo clashed blades with a Hollow. Now? Everything felt soulless. Overproduced. "Generic protagonist gets overpowered system" nonsense like Solo Leveling.
"God, everything sucks," he muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "Work sucks, life sucks, and anime's trash."
He sighed deeply, glaring at the red light ahead as rain began to drizzle against the windshield. The rhythmic patter of droplets mixed with the hum of engines, his mind drowning in static.
'Fuck, I hate my life right now,' he thought bitterly, inching forward as the light turned green.
Up on a hill in the distance, another driver—an older man in a rusty pickup—had dozed off at the wheel. His head slumped to the side, breathing steady, as gravity slowly took hold. The truck began to roll, first gently, then faster, gaining speed as it barreled down the slope. Its headlights cut through the mist, gleaming like the eyes of a charging beast.
Back in the sedan, the man glanced to his left, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion. His eyes widened.
"What the—"
He slammed his hand on the horn, the sharp sound blaring through the chaos of traffic. Nobody moved. No one even looked. To everyone else, he was just another angry commuter losing his patience in rush hour.
But he knew better. He saw the truck hurtling toward him.
Time seemed to slow. His heart hammered against his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins. He reached for the gearshift, tried to turn the wheel—but there was nowhere to go. Cars boxed him in from every side.
The last thing he saw was the blinding glare of headlights and the reflection of his own terrified face in the mirror.
CRASH!
The impact was instant. Metal folded like paper. Glass shattered. The dark sedan twisted under the weight of the truck as the sound of crunching steel filled the intersection.
And just like that—his miserable, unlucky life ended in a single, deafening heartbeat.
...
In a small town nestled deep within the Land of Fire, the evening air was thick with the smell of grilled pork and soy broth. Lanterns swayed gently outside the humble ramen stall, their warm orange glow spilling onto the empty street. The night had fully crept in, painting the world in deep shades of indigo. Above, the moon hung bright and round, bathing the village rooftops in soft silver light.
Inside the shop, only a few customers lingered. The rhythmic clatter of chopsticks and the hiss of boiling water filled the silence.
At the far corner of the counter sat a young blond teen—spiky hair wild as always, headband tilted just slightly off-center. He stared at his untouched bowl of ramen, steam curling lazily into the air.
For a long moment, he didn't move. His eyes were vacant, unfocused—like someone lost in a dream. Then, suddenly, his pupils shrank, his breath hitched, and he blinked rapidly as if snapping back to consciousness.
"Huh?"
He looked around the stall in confusion, eyes darting from the steaming bowls to the red counter to the quiet chef behind the bar. Everything felt too real, too vivid.
Then he looked down at his hands—young, smaller than they should've been—and his expression froze.
'The… fuck?' he thought, pulse quickening. 'Where am I?'
The shock hit him like a wave. His last memory was of headlights—bright, blinding—followed by pain and darkness. Then nothing.
Now he was here.
He turned his head toward the small window beside the counter, and that's when his stomach dropped.
Staring back at him from the glass was a teenage boy with spiky blond hair, bright blue eyes, and three distinct whisker marks etched on each cheek.
His reflection smirked.
"No way…" he whispered under his breath.
Then, slowly, his lips curled upward, disbelief giving way to excitement.
'I'm… Naruto Uzumaki,' he thought, the realization hitting him like a lightning bolt.
The unpredictable ninja of the Leaf. The number one knucklehead destined to save the world.
A grin spread across his face as he leaned back in his seat, barely containing his laughter. His heart raced—not with fear, but pure, childlike thrill.
"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath. "I actually became Naruto."
Before he could celebrate too long, a rush of memories hit him like a dam bursting. Flashes of Naruto's life—the misty bridge with Zabuza, the chaos of the Chunin Exams, the heartbreak at the Valley of the End—all streamed through his mind at once. Every wound, every joy, every failure burned vividly in his skull until he could barely breathe.
When it was over, he slumped forward, exhaling shakily.
'Okay… okay. So I'm him. I'm really him,' he thought, resting his chin on his hand.
From what he could gather, he was in the middle of Naruto's training journey with Jiraiya. Apparently, the old pervert had kicked him out of their inn tonight so he could "entertain company."
'This man really told me to go grab dinner while he's probably playing catch the kunai with some random lady,' he thought dryly, rubbing his temples. 'Bro, if Roshi pulled this shit in Dragon Ball, he'd be cancelled in two minutes.'
He sighed, shaking his head before finally picking up his chopsticks. The ramen was still hot, rich with flavor. He took a bite, his eyes widening slightly as the taste hit him.
"Damn… this is actually good," he muttered between slurps.
A few minutes later, he placed some coins on the counter, gave the chef a polite nod, and stepped out into the quiet street. The night air was cool and refreshing, the faint chirping of crickets filling the silence.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, gazing down the moonlit road that stretched through the sleepy town.
Nothing ever happened here. Jiraiya and he had been wandering around for weeks—no major battles, no real training breakthroughs, just the same old "research trips."
'Man, no wonder time skips in anime feel so damn useless,' he thought with a scoff. 'Naruto trained for three years and learned how to make his Rasengan bigger. That's it. Man didn't even figure out his chakra nature or anything. Bro, Jiraiya might be a legend, but as a teacher? Mid.'
He cracked a small smile, looking up at the moon.
'Alright then. If I'm stuck here, I'm not wasting this second chance. I'm gonna do what Naruto should've done—train, grow strong, and get serious.'
His eyes gleamed with determination as the wind rustled through his hair.
'Time to lock in.'
TO BE CONTINUED