Mighty strength, immense power, immeasurable riches, and the most beautiful women—is that not what all people strive for? Hypocrites condemn such desires, preaching humility from their pulpits while secretly coveting the very things they denounce. But peel back the layers of pretense, strip away the societal masks, and you will find that every pursuit is a selfish path toward the same destination: peace of the soul. Everyone, in their own way, wants to stand at the summit, looking down upon the world. Yet life is cruel; it shifts so suddenly that you don't even have time to look back before you've reached your final destination, often leaving you with nothing but regret.
In my past life, I understood my own nature but never truly acted upon it. That was my greatest mistake. I lived within the safety of mediocrity, watching others climb while I stayed within the confines of rules. Perhaps that regret is the only reason I have been given this second chance, this unlimited future. My thoughts, ambitions, and unfulfilled dreams once towered over me like an endless mountain peak, mocking my inaction. It seemed I was destined to lose, to surrender and remain a greedy, unsatisfied man who only tasted glory in his dreams.
But now... the universe has a strange sense of humor. My wish came true after so long. Albeit, a little differently than I had imagined.
One moment, I was a passenger, a mere whisper in the back of a blonde skull, and the next, I was the pilot. The heavy, suffocating silence of the void was replaced by the thumping rhythm of a heart—'my' heart.
The spacious office was a testament to organized chaos, a physical manifestation of a mind running a mile a minute. Towering stacks of documents threatened to collapse like unstable Jenga towers, their edges yellowing with age. A musty smell—the scent of old parchment, dry ink, and neglected corners—mingled with the stale, salty air of a complete mess. This is what anyone who entered would have witnessed in the office of the legendary shinobi, the man who now held the title of the Strongest Hokage in history.
He found himself sitting in an armchair by the window, his eyes scanning the room with discontent, yet underlying it was a fierce possessiveness. A desk that cost more than a civilian house, a computer monitor humming with a screensaver, a pull-out keyboard tray, and a nearby cup of instant ramen, long gone cold. Against one wall stood a wardrobe overflowing with books and scrolls, titles ranging from 'Advanced Chakra Theory' to 'Icha Icha Tactics'. On the opposite wall hung six portraits—mostly older men, with the striking exception of one voluptuous young beauty. The blonde's gaze lingered on her painted form for a full minute, dissecting the brushstrokes, as the shocking reality of his situation began to sink in.
The entire office felt neglected, lived-in, and wonderfully mundane. Strange wires snaked across the floor, which was littered with crumpled pieces of paper and other rubbish. Perhaps one of the old ramen cups was the source of the disgusting stench. Naruto never really gave up on ramen even after all my pestering him during our shared existence. He was stubborn like that. I didn't really care about his health or anything, but I did know that someday this would be *my* body, so I insisted and made him consume it way less than he would have. It was a long-term investment.
He placed his hands flat on the desk, not to steady himself, but to simply 'feel' with his touch.
He pressed his palms down, watching the skin whiten under the pressure. His fingertips grazed the mahogany surface, registering the microscopic grains of dust and the cool, varnished texture of the wood. It was electric. He slid his hand further, encountering the rough, fibrous surface of a scattered mission report. He picked up a heavy metal paperweight, the cold steel biting into his palm, its weight undeniable and grounding. He traced the sharp edge of a kunai left carelessly on the desk, pressing just hard enough to break the skin. A tiny bead of blood welled up—a sharp, stinging pain that felt more euphoric than painful. It was proof. In the mindscape, existence was abstract—thoughts without form, watching a movie screen you couldn't touch. But here, the friction of paper against skin, the resistance of the chair's upholstery, the very gravity pulling at his limbs... it was an intoxication of the senses.
'You only appreciate things when they are taken from you.' I remembered that quote and it fit perfectly here. But I had taken them back.
"This time I will live to my fullest."
Leaning back into the soft upholstery of the chair, the man let out a long breath, listening to the sound of his own exhalation filling the room. He realized that he had changed in time and he was not the same man who transmigrated years ago. He was a selfish man, and he would do whatever he liked. The hero complex was for the old Naruto.
"It's still impossible to believe, but this doesn't feel like a dream... I'm really Naruto!" He began to examine his new body, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulders to feel the powerful muscles shift beneath the orange fabric. He spotted a large mirror nearby and quickly scrambled over to it. He stumbled, his center of gravity shifting in ways he hadn't anticipated, but he corrected himself with an instinctive grace that didn't belong to his old self.
Standing before the glass was a twenty-one year-old Naruto, with spiky yellow hair that seemed to defy gravity, piercing blue eyes that held a storm within them, and sharp features carved by his trained body. He was quite attractive, if not for the way he acted silly in the past to disarm people. But that silliness was gone from his eyes now, replaced by a cold calculation.
One difference from the original timeline was that Naruto became Hokage this early because of his meddling and making decisions for him. He helped Naruto with the theoretical part of his studies a lot, effectively acting as a super-tutor in his head. Naruto was dumb with books but with his help he made jonin at 16 years of age. Kakashi was all too happy to give up the hassle of all the paperwork after Naruto showed his ability to handle anything Hokage work-related—with my help, of course. Unlike the canon where Naruto gets the mantle at twenty-eight, here he becomes Hokage at 21. It got easier for people to accept because Sunagakure also had a Kage of Naruto's age, so there wasn't much argument against it considering Naruto saved the world.
"From now on I am Naruto." The voice decided to name himself after Naruto to respect the guy and help himself connect to the real world and since he didn't remember his real name.
"These are actually real, too. I always wanted to touch these," he mused, touching the three whisker-like marks on each cheek. The skin was slightly raised there, distinct and feral. "I look a little sharper than the Naruto I remember from the anime. And judging by these portraits, everyone is more realistic. They're similar to the art, but still so different." He swallowed, his eyes drawn back to the portrait of the beautiful woman on the wall. "How are they even natural..." He found himself thinking of burying his face in that heavenly valley, a hedonistic thought that he didn't bother to suppress.
Returning to his seat, he sniffed the cold ramen in the plastic cup. The broth had congealed into a gelatinous mess.
"Well, it's tolerable." Grabbing the disposable chopsticks, he fumbled with the solidified noodles. It was difficult at first, his fine motor skills still calibrating, but he became surprisingly proficient after a few clumsy minutes.
"Fuck yeah. This is delicious," Naruto exclaimed after eating something after so long. The salt, the broth, the texture of the soggy noodles—it exploded on his tongue. Experiencing taste again was like seeing color after a lifetime of black and white. It might not be the best meal but it was his first after almost two decades.
After his small meal, the man leaned back in his chair and threw his legs onto the cluttered desk, crossing his ankles. He decided to ponder his situation; everything seemed clearer on a full stomach.
"I am Naruto Uzumaki, the famous Hero of the Shinobi World... Sounds wonderful... But what do I do now? On top of that, I have got to regain my abilities." With a heavy sigh, the man rubbed his tired eyes. He clenched his fist and felt his chakra—a roaring ocean beneath his skin—but his control was not there. It was like trying to steer a hurricane with a spoon.
"I cannot let anyone be suspicious of me," he decided. Naruto knew he needed space to train and get used to his body. Even now at his base, Naruto could feel the raw strength in his arms where he could destroy the furniture around him just by touch because he was still getting used to his body. But he was also rapidly acclimating.
Naruto spent half an hour moving around the office—lifting heavy stacks of books, doing pushups against the desk, and making small jumps to calibrate his leg strength before he was confident to walk around not looking suspicious. Naruto knew that he had to get all his abilities under control and get his jutsu and chakra control back. For that, he needed space. So Naruto decided to go for a walk and left his office.
But an ANBU suddenly got in front of him near instantly, appearing from the shadows like a phantom. Naruto could actually see that movement, the speed of the shushin was something he could see because of his enhanced reflexes, which marveled him.
"Hokage-sama?" The ANBU asked, awaiting his orders, body language tense and ready. But Naruto dismissed him with a charming, disarming smile.
"Going for a walk around the village. Don't follow. That's an order," Naruto ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument, and the ANBU complied, clearly respecting the chain of command.
---
Stepping out onto the observation deck, Naruto finally saw his village with his own eyes, not through the foggy lens of a mindscape. The sensory overload was immediate and breathtaking. It wasn't just a static background; Konoha was a living, breathing entity. He could feel the vibration of the village life humming through the soles of his feet—people going about their lives, smiling, and the murmur of thousands of voices blending into a single, vibrant chord. The air smelled of ozone, dust, and blooming cherry blossoms. Below him, civilians moved through the arteries of the village like blood cells, while shinobi bounded across slate rooftops in flashes of motion that his eyes could now track effortlessly. He looked up, craning his neck to see his own face carved into the mountain—stone eyes watching over a dominion that was now truly his. A surge of possessive pride swelled in his chest. This wasn't just a setting in a story anymore; it was his kingdom, and it was magnificent.
He made his way to an isolated private training ground for hokage only, knowing no one would disturb him there. The silence of the forest was heavy, broken only by the skittering of insects.
Naruto stood in the clearing and started running with full strength, attempting to channel chakra. At first, it was crude. When he tried to run up a tree, his foot simply blasted through the bark, sending wood chips flying like shrapnel. He was blown backward, landing on his feet with a skid. "Too much," he gritted out. "Subtlety, not power."
He tried again. And again. The muscle memory of the body began to sync with the intent of his mind. The chakra pathways burned, remembering their old routes. Soon, he was running vertically up the trunks, gravity feeling like nothing more than a suggestion. He moved to the river, sinking like a stone on the first attempt, spitting water and grinning at the challenge. By the sixth attempt, he was gliding across the surface, the water rippling gently beneath his soles rather than splashing.
Then came the Ninjutsu. He formed the cross seal. *Poof.* A single, deformed clone appeared, looking like a melted candle, and immediately dissolved. "Focus the visualization," he muttered. He tried again. *Poof!* Two hundred perfect clones filled the clearing, all staring back at him with his own blue eyes. A collective grin spread across their faces. He raised a hand, and a swirling sphere of blue energy formed—crude and wobbling at first, threatening to destabilize—before tightening into a perfect, humming sphere. The Rasengan. He slammed it into a boulder, vaporizing the rock in a spiraling drill of force. By the time he was done, the training ground looked like a war zone, trees splintered and earth churned. Panting but exhilarated, he realized the sun was setting.