I. A Boy from Okayama
My name is Masashi Kishimoto, and my story begins far from the neon lights and fast pulse of Tokyo. I was born on November 8, 1974, in Nagi, a quiet rural town in Okayama Prefecture. My early world was small yet comforting—fields stretching to the horizon, the smell of countryside soil, the rhythm of cicadas, and the gentle hum of a place where time itself seemed to move more slowly.
I grew up with my younger twin brother, Seishi. Being twins gave us a competitive energy from the start. Anything I tried, he tried. Anything he tried, I felt challenged to match. In a strange way, that rivalry became one of the earliest driving forces of my creativity.
Our family was not wealthy, but it was warm. My parents valued discipline, kindness, and sincerity—qualities I would later rely on through the long nights of manga creation. But as a child, I hardly dreamed of becoming a manga artist. Instead, I spent most of my time outside playing sports, exploring forests, climbing trees, and pretending to be heroes from the anime we watched on TV.
Everything changed the day I encountered Dragon Ball.
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II. Discovering Manga
I still remember vividly the moment I first opened Akira Toriyama's Dragon Ball. I was in elementary school. The panels exploded with energy—bold lines, wild movements, humor, and a charm unlike anything I had seen. The characters felt alive, the world limitless. It wasn't just a story; it was a universe.
For the first time, I realized that pages could become worlds.
I began drawing obsessively. My notebooks—math, science, anything—were filled with sketches of characters doing high kicks, firing energy blasts, screaming with determination. I didn't yet know the word for it, but I was experiencing a calling.
My twin brother Seishi was also drawn to manga, and our rivalry deepened. We competed over who could draw better characters, who could come up with cooler stories. Our room became a battlefield of ideas.
Despite this, I was still just a child who loved drawing—not someone who saw manga as a career. That idea seemed distant, almost impossible. Manga artists were geniuses, legends. I was just a kid from Nagi.
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III. The Struggles of Adolescence
As I grew older, my love for drawing never disappeared, but my confidence did. In middle school and high school, I drifted away from manga. Society pushed us toward "practical careers," and everyone around me seemed to know their place—engineering, teaching, business. Becoming a mangaka felt unrealistic, even childish.
Still, I felt an emptiness whenever I considered a different path.
Around this time, I became deeply fascinated with movies, especially those by Akira Kurosawa. The samurai aesthetics, emotional storytelling, and visual drama of his work captivated me. I didn't know it then, but Kurosawa's films would later shape many scenes in Naruto—its themes of friendship, duty, betrayal, and courage.
I entered Kyushu Sangyo University with a focus on visual arts, unsure of where life would take me. During those years, the manga world remained a distant dream—until my final year in university, when I rediscovered that early passion.
One afternoon, out of nowhere, a thought struck me:
"If I don't try now, I'll regret it forever."
That was all the push I needed.
I picked up my pencils again.
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IV. The Difficult Beginning
To become a professional manga artist in Japan is to choose suffering.
Long hours, brutal deadlines, steep competition—nothing is guaranteed. I began submitting one-shots to Shueisha's legendary Weekly Shonen Jump, but one after another, I was rejected.
My early works—Karaku, Michikusa, and others—earned small mentions and awards, but not enough to serialize. Editors at Jump saw potential, but nothing stood out. I spent entire nights drawing only to wake up doubting everything I made.
There were moments I questioned my talent. While my brother Seishi debuted earlier and began gaining recognition, I was still struggling. Our friendly rivalry became a quiet shadow over me. I wondered if perhaps he was meant for this world and I was not.
But somewhere in that struggle, an idea began to form—a story about a boy who feels different, isolated, and underestimated; a boy who dreams of being recognized; a boy who carries a hidden power inside him.
That boy was Naruto Uzumaki, long before he had a name.
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V. Birth of Naruto
The earliest idea of Naruto was not exactly what readers later saw. He began as a rough character—a ramen-loving, mischievous ninja with fox-like qualities. But the heart of the story came from my own feelings of insecurity, of being overlooked, of wanting to prove myself.
I poured everything I had into the one-shot Naruto in 1997. It was different from the final version, but it captured something my editors noticed: emotion.
In 1999, when Shueisha accepted Naruto for serialization, I felt as though my life had finally begun.
Little did I know just how drastically it would change everything.
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VI. The Life of a Mangaka
When Naruto launched in Weekly Shonen Jump, I had no time to celebrate. The life of a serialized mangaka is merciless. I slept perhaps three hours a night. My desk became a battlefield of ink, paper, scripts, and coffee cups. I developed health issues, exhaustion, stress—but I pressed on.
Naruto was more than a manga to me. He represented my own struggle. Every week, as I wrote, I was not simply creating his story—I was living alongside him.
His growth mirrored mine.
His failures were my failures.
His determination reflected my own desperation to succeed.
As readership grew, I received letters from fans who saw themselves in Naruto—the outcasts, the dreamers, the students who felt invisible. They told me that Naruto gave them courage.
For the first time, I felt that my work meant something.
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VII. Building the Shinobi World
Creating the world of Naruto was an enormous task. I had to build not only characters but clans, histories, conflicts, political systems, jutsu mechanics, and emotional arcs.
On Characters
Naruto embodied my younger self—energetic, insecure, determined.
Sasuke expressed my admiration and rivalry—powered by jealousy and respect.
Sakura represented the struggles of youth finding identity.
Kakashi was modeled after the calm, mysterious mentors I admired.
The antagonists, too, carried philosophical weight—Pain, Obito, Madara—each reflecting war, grief, and human complexity.
On Themes
Two themes shaped everything:
1. Loneliness
2. The desire for acknowledgement
These were feelings I understood deeply.
On Inspirations
Ninja lore fascinated me, but so did real-world politics, mythology, and spirituality. I wanted a universe that felt both magical and grounded in human emotion.
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VIII. The Burden of Success
By the mid-2000s, Naruto had become one of the biggest manga series in the world. The anime adaptation amplified everything. Suddenly, Naruto was everywhere: TV, movies, games, toys, cards—my creation had become a global phenomenon.
People think success feels like victory. In truth, it brought immense pressure.
Readers expected perfection. Editors demanded weekly consistency. The story expanded faster than I could manage. Each character deserved development, each arc demanded depth.
There were nights I worked until dawn, fell asleep at my desk, and woke up with ink stains on my face. Moments where I could not tell which day of the week it was. Times when I feared I could not continue.
But whenever I felt overwhelmed, I looked at Naruto—the boy who never gave up—and I kept going.
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IX. Pain, War, and the Turn of the Story
The Pain arc was one of the most emotional periods of my career. The themes of hatred, war, revenge, and peace were not fiction—they reflected my feelings about the world. I wanted readers to think deeply about violence and human cycles.
The war arc was even more challenging. With so many characters on the page, writing became a complex puzzle. Fans debated each decision; critics questioned the direction. I rewrote scenes repeatedly, searching for the right emotional truth.
But when Naruto finally confronted his darkness—Kurama, loneliness, destiny—I felt something shift inside me. I realized I was no longer the struggling young artist who created him; I had grown too.
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X. The Final Stretch
As the series approached its end, I faced a storm of emotions. How do you say goodbye to characters who are your children? To a world you built from nothing?
I agonized over every decision:
Who would end up with whom?
Who would live? Who would die?
How would Naruto achieve peace?
How could I honor every reader who invested years into the story?
Finally, in 2014, after 15 years of serialization, I completed the final chapter.
When I sent the last page to my editor, I cried—not from sadness, but from relief, gratitude, and the overwhelming feeling of completing the greatest journey of my life.
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XI. After Naruto
After Naruto, life changed dramatically. I had time, finally, to breathe. To sleep. To rest.
But creativity never sleeps.
I worked on:
Boruto (as supervisor and later writer for the movie)
Samurai 8: The Tale of Hachimaru (a new manga project blending sci-fi and samurai themes)
Various art, story consultations, and projects at Shueisha
Samurai 8 did not achieve the success I had hoped for. Some would call it a failure. I call it a lesson. Failure, after all, is what shaped Naruto—and it shapes me too.
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XII. Reflections on Life, Art, and Naruto
As I look back on my life, I see how manga shaped everything—my childhood, my relationships, my struggles, my triumphs.
On Art
Drawing is not simply a skill; it is a language. Every line expresses emotion, intention, humanity. Manga allowed me to communicate with millions of people across cultures and continents.
On Naruto
Naruto is not just a character. He is:
my younger self
my fears
my hopes
my failures
my dreams
He taught me perseverance. He taught me courage. He taught me that even someone who feels invisible can change the world.
On Success
Success came not because I was gifted, but because I kept pushing despite fear and doubt. If Naruto had a lesson, it was this:
Hard work beats talent when talent stops working hard.
On My Brother
Seishi and I both pursued manga. Sometimes our works were compared; sometimes fans created rumors. But he has always been my brother first, competitor second. Our journey is intertwined, each pushing the other forward.
On Fans
Every fan who read Naruto—in Japan or in distant countries I've never visited—gave my life purpose. Your excitement, your theories, your letters, your passion gave me the strength to draw each week.
For that, I am forever grateful.
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XIII. Legacy and Future
I don't know how people will remember me—perhaps as a manga artist, perhaps as the creator of Naruto, perhaps as someone who once wrote about a ninja boy who dreamed big.
But here is my truth:
I was just a child from a small town who loved drawing.
I had insecurities, failures, doubts.
I struggled, I fell, I stood up again.
And through my pencil, I found my voice.
If my work leaves any legacy, I hope it is this:
No matter where you come from, no matter what others say, you can create your own world—one page at a time.
And if you ever feel lonely, remember Naruto—the boy who was once alone but became a hero not because of destiny, but because he never gave up.