Chapter 2
He awoke to pressure, darkness, and a violent, involuntary gasp.
Light assaulted his senses.
He was being held, swaddled. A woman's exhausted, smiling face swam into view, framed by chestnut hair stuck to her sweaty forehead.
"My son," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with love. "My little Itama."
*Itama?*
The name echoed through his newborn mind.
*Senju Itama? The brother who died young? The Warring Clans Era?*
Panic, sharp and cold, cut through the infantile fog.
He tried to speak, but only a wail emerged.
The memories of Haruto—the modern shinobi knowledge, the techniques, the war—collided with the instinctual awareness of this new body.
He was in the past.
Over half a century before his own birth, reborn as a child of the very clan he had served.
*No.*
His tiny fingers curled into fists.
*This can't be happening.*
But the woman's warmth was undeniable. Her heartbeat thudded steadily against his cheek as she pulled him closer.
"Shh..." she whispered. "Mama is here."
Haruto froze.
Mama.
The word struck something buried beneath his memories.
He had never known a mother's embrace for long. His childhood had been defined by missions, training, bloodshed, and the endless struggle between villages and clans. He had learned to sleep beneath trees, eat cold rations, and treat wounds before they became fatal.
Now he was being held by someone who looked at him as though he were the most precious thing in the world.
His panic slowly faded.
Not completely.
But enough.
*I'm alive.*
That realization was almost more terrifying than death.
Haruto remembered everything.
The Third Shinobi War.
The border.
The Iwa-nin ambush.
The poisoned kunai that had pierced his lung.
The rain.
The cold.
His final thought.
*So this is it... another name on the Memorial Stone.*
Then darkness.
And now—
*Itama.*
His new name.
Senju Itama.
The younger brother of Hashirama and Tobirama Senju.
A boy whose fate was already written.
A boy who, according to the history Haruto knew, would die young during the Warring States Era.
His stomach twisted.
*I'm supposed to die.*
That thought immediately transformed his fear into determination.
*No.*
Haruto's mind was still that of a seasoned shinobi.
He had spent decades surviving situations that should have killed him. He had studied medical ninjutsu, battlefield tactics, chakra theory, sealing techniques, and countless combat styles.
He had survived because he prepared.
Because he adapted.
Because he refused to surrender.
And now he had something he had never possessed during his first life.
Time.
Decades of it.
If his memories were correct, he had been reborn long before the founding of Konohagakure.
Hashirama and Madara were still children.
The Senju and Uchiha were still locked in their endless cycle of bloodshed.
And Itama...
Itama was destined to become another casualty of that cycle.
*Not this time.*
His tiny hand twitched.
The woman smiled.
"Look at you," she murmured. "Already so strong."
Haruto almost laughed.
*Strong? I can't even control my neck.*
His infant body betrayed him completely.
His arms flailed.
His legs kicked.
A pathetic cry escaped his throat.
The woman chuckled softly.
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
Haruto stared at her.
*This is humiliating.*
Yet beneath his embarrassment was something warmer.
Something unfamiliar.
Security.
He allowed himself to relax.
For the first time in years, there was no battlefield beneath his feet.
No enemy hidden in the trees.
No commander barking orders.
No mission requiring him to kill before he was killed.
Just warmth.
Just family.
Then the door opened.
A deep male voice filled the room.
"Is he awake?"
The woman looked up.
Her smile widened.
"Yes."
Footsteps approached.
Haruto's newborn eyes struggled to focus.
A tall man entered the room, his expression exhausted but proud. His dark hair fell around his shoulders, and his clothing bore the unmistakable symbol of the Senju.
Haruto recognized him instantly.
*Butsuma Senju.*
The father of Hashirama, Tobirama, Kawarama, Itama, and later siblings.
The patriarch of one of the most powerful clans in history.
Butsuma approached slowly.
His stern expression softened when he saw the infant.
"Let me see him."
The woman carefully passed Itama into his arms.
Haruto's instincts screamed.
Being transferred by an unknown person was terrifying.
But Butsuma held him securely.
The man's large hand supported his head while he studied his face.
"He's healthy."
"He cried loudly," the woman said.
Butsuma gave a faint smile.
"That's good."
Haruto stared upward.
*So this is my father.*
He had never imagined meeting him.
History described Butsuma as ruthless. A hardened clan leader who believed survival required strength and sacrifice.
Haruto could already see why.
There were shadows beneath the man's eyes.
Years of grief.
Years of war.
His expression carried the weight of too many funerals.
Butsuma looked toward his wife.
"We should name him properly."
She smiled.
"Itama."
Butsuma repeated the name.
"Itama."
Haruto's heart sank.
*So it really is happening.*
His new identity was becoming real.
The woman touched his tiny cheek.
"Itama Senju."
The name settled over him.
For several seconds, Haruto simply stared at the ceiling.
Then a strange sensation moved through his body.
A faint warmth.
Deep inside his stomach.
His instincts immediately recognized it.
*Chakra.*
His eyes widened.
Even as an infant, his body possessed a chakra network.
Haruto focused.
He attempted to circulate energy.
Nothing happened.
His body was too immature.
Still, he could feel it.
A tiny reservoir.
A faint current flowing through pathways that had barely begun developing.
His mind raced.
*Senju blood.*
The possibilities were enormous.
Hashirama would eventually possess Wood Release, extraordinary vitality, monstrous chakra reserves, and the ability to heal without hand seals.
But Hashirama's abilities were legendary even among the Senju.
Could Itama inherit similar potential?
Haruto didn't know.
But he knew one thing.
He had been given a second chance.
And he would not waste it.
He remembered every lesson his former life had taught him.
Strength alone was insufficient.
Information mattered.
Preparation mattered.
Allies mattered.
And most importantly—
*The future can change.*
His memories were not an unbreakable prophecy.
They were knowledge.
A map.
And maps could be rewritten.
The door opened again.
This time, a little boy stumbled inside.
He had wild brown hair and bright eyes.
Haruto recognized him immediately.
*Hashirama.*
His older brother.
The future God of Shinobi.
Hashirama approached cautiously.
"Is that him?"
Butsuma looked down.
"Yes. This is your younger brother."
Hashirama's face lit up.
"He's so small!"
The woman laughed.
"Of course he is."
Hashirama leaned closer.
Haruto stared back.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Hashirama smiled.
"I'll protect him."
Haruto's heart stopped.
Those words were simple.
But they carried enormous weight.
Haruto knew what would happen to Hashirama's family.
He knew how much suffering awaited them.
He knew Hashirama would lose brothers.
He knew the clan would continue fighting.
He knew Madara would eventually become his greatest rival.
And he knew Itama was supposed to die.
But as Hashirama reached out and gently touched his tiny hand, Haruto made a silent vow.
*This time, I will survive.*
His fingers curled around Hashirama's.
*And I'll make sure my brothers survive too.*
The future had already been written.
Haruto intended to tear it apart.
And somewhere beyond the walls of the Senju compound, the Warring Clans Era continued its bloody march.