Daiki—now turned Ryuu—was shocked.
Utterly speechless.
His brain had stopped functioning, refusing to form coherent thoughts. And how could it? He had just discovered that he'd ended up in an unbelievably dangerous world—a world where children were sent to the battlefield, where shinobi died young, and where shadowy elders plotted the end of everything from behind closed doors.
"How the fuck am I supposed to survive in this messed-up world?"
The words echoed in his mind, a silent scream of frustration and fear.
He was so wrapped in his spiraling thoughts that he didn't even realize he had company. The brief episode he'd caused moments ago hadn't gone unnoticed—several other orphans, startled by his sudden collapse, had already rushed off to inform the caretakers.
Something shifted in the light around him. He felt it—a shadow falling across his face. Then, a warm presence loomed in front of him, followed by the soft weight of a hand settling gently on his shoulder.
The touch jolted him from his frozen state.
His gaze lifted slowly, his light-blue hair fluttering faintly in the wind. His violet eyes met a pair of deep onyx ones—eyes that brimmed not with suspicion, but with genuine worry. That level of concern almost felt… unnatural.
He recognized her immediately.
Sachiko.
The caretaker of the orphanage.
She was a kind woman in her early forties. Her dark brown hair was neatly tied back, and her civilian clothes—a simple brown shirt emblazoned with the Hidden Leaf emblem and black trousers—fluttered slightly in the breeze. Worn sandals peeked out beneath her hem. Despite not being a ninja, she always carried herself with a quiet authority that made even the most troublesome orphans obey.
Just as Ryuu opened his mouth to reassure her that he was fine, she cut him off.
"No, you're not okay."
Her voice was firm, tinged with restrained frustration. "Do you have any idea how worried your friends were? Ren nearly started crying when he saw you like that."
The sharpness in her tone made it abundantly clear—she was not pleased.
Ryuu lowered his head. What could he say? How could he possibly explain that he'd just realized his life was in danger and he didn't even know when he was—what time period, what arc of the story he was in? That he was stranded in the middle of a brutal ninja world where knowledge could be the difference between life and death?
Thinking hard, he remembered something—the Hokage Rock. He was almost certain it was visible from somewhere in the orphanage grounds. He'd seen it in the fragmented memories of this body, though the images were blurred. He couldn't recall clearly whether there were three faces or four.
Still deep in thought, he didn't even notice that he was being watched.
Sachiko mistook his contemplative silence for something else—regret, maybe. Sadness. After all, he was just three years old. It was far too early for a child to be worrying about anything serious. And now that she was sure he wasn't physically hurt, her expression softened. She gently patted his head, as if that would smooth over the unease she saw in his eyes.
Ryuu, sensing the gesture, blinked and looked up.
She was smiling.
"Don't worry about such little things," she said softly. "It's a hundred years too early for you to be making faces like that."
He stared at her, utterly confused.
What the hell is this lady talking about?
But he didn't say it out loud. He could see where this was going, and he knew better than to ruin it. If he kept quiet and played along, she'd leave him alone soon—and that was exactly what he wanted.
Right on cue, she turned and addressed the crowd of children that had gathered around them in a worried circle.
"Alright, all of you. Go on now—the morning's still young. Play a bit more while you can. And remember, breakfast will be served in an hour."
The children, reassured and now slightly excited at the mention of food, began to scatter, some already arguing over whose turn it was to play tag. A few shot glances back at Ryuu, but they quickly returned to their games.
Sachiko lingered for just a moment longer. She gave Ryuu one last look—a look that hovered somewhere between concern and relief—then turned and walked away.
As she vanished into the building, Ryuu finally sighed in relief.
He hadn't been worried about the kids. But if Sachiko, the woman everyone here called "Mother," had suspected even for a second that something was wrong with him... it could have ended badly.
Now that everyone had dispersed, he got ready to sprint toward the orphanage's backyard—the one spot where the Hokage Rock was clearly visible. He needed to count how many faces were carved into that cliff. It was the only clue he had to figure out just how deep he was in this mess.
But just as he stepped forward, he realized someone was still standing in front of him.
It was Ren.
Now that he looked closely , ren was his age—three years old—with short, slightly messy purple hair and sharp, curious black eyes. He wore a snug-fitting black T-shirt with a kunai imprint on the back, paired with dark blue trousers and little shinobi sandals, like he was already trying to look the part of a ninja. Despite his small size and age, Ren carried himself with an unusual level of awareness, something that had stood out even in Daiki's fragmented memories.
Ryuu felt a faint chill. There was something about Ren's stare that unsettled him. It wasn't overtly aggressive, just... observant. As if the boy knew something didn't quite add up.
"What is it, Ren?" he asked, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt.
Ren tilted his head slightly, still watching him, then gave a small shrug.
"So... do you wanna play ninja now?"
From the inherited memories, Ryuu knew that the child whose body he now inhabited had always been isolated—quiet, somber, withdrawn. The boy had drowned himself in sadness after losing his parents, and even Ren, the only one who tried to approach him, had always been kept at a distance.
Ryuu empathized with that grief. He understood it more than anyone. But he wasn't going to walk the same path. This second life was too valuable to waste in quiet misery.
Still, he wasn't completely free of the original Ryuu's emotions. They lingered in the body—raw and heavy—like old wounds that hadn't healed. That was probably why he'd cried earlier. His new body lacked the emotional armor Daiki had built over years of pain. In his past life, emotions had become a luxury he couldn't afford. After losing his family... and his best friend... all he had left were fake smiles to keep the world away from his broken heart.
He shook that thought away.
"...Nah, man. You know me—I like spending time alone," Ryuu replied, forcing one of those same fake smiles onto his lips.
Ren stared for a moment longer, then nodded and ran off to join the others.
Only once he was gone did Ryuu sprint in the other direction.
Ryuu quickly made his way to the most isolated part of the garden, tucked away near the orphanage's boundary wall. This orphanage wasn't just any building—it had been established during the era of the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju. Because of that, its grounds were extensive. The entire complex spanned nearly 200 square meters, though only a quarter of that was occupied by the main buildings and auxiliary structures. The rest was an open sprawl of grassy fields, trees, and gardens, all surrounded by a sturdy perimeter wall that offered both security and seclusion.
When he finally reached his destination, he looked up.
His eyes landed on the Hokage Rock.
Only three faces were carved into the cliff.
A breath escaped him, long and shaky—a sigh he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
"Thank Kami," he murmured. "At least I have time. Time to prepare myself for the hell I know is coming."
A small voice in the back of his mind warned him not to take anything for granted. Just because the world hadn't yet gone to shit didn't mean it would follow the same timeline as the manga. Still, Ryuu wasn't ready to listen to that voice. What mattered right now was clarity—and he had at least some. He'd landed in the early stages of the Naruto timeline. That alone gave him a crucial edge. And he'd be damned if he wasted it.
Ryuu made his way to one of the many trees scattered along the orphanage's perimeter and sat beneath its shade. He needed a moment—a break to sort through the chaos that had taken root in his mind. His thoughts were still entangled with the trauma of his previous life, but slowly, gently, he began to let them go.
That life was behind him now.
This world—this dangerous, unpredictable world of shinobi—was his new reality.
For thirty minutes, he sat in silence, legs crossed, back straight, meditating beneath the rustling leaves. The wind tugged lightly at his pale-blue hair, the morning sun dappled his skin through the branches, and for the first time since arriving, he began to center himself.
When he finally opened his eyes, he felt different—like something inside him had clicked into place. A resolve had settled in him, one he never knew he possessed. It felt unnatural almost, this sudden sense of purpose. But he embraced it.
Since arriving in this world, he'd noticed something else, too: his mind was sharper. He could recall every detail of the past few days with uncanny clarity—more vividly than anything he remembered from his past life. Perhaps this was the effect of being in a child's body. After all, it was common knowledge that children absorbed and retained information more efficiently than adults.
Still, memory alone wouldn't keep him alive.
Strength would.
"And that's exactly what I need," he whispered. "To become stronger than I ever imagined. There's no other choice."
That's when he felt it again—that strange energy coursing through him.
Chakra.
It swirled within him like a slow-moving current, unmistakable and alive. The sensation was surreal. It was subtle, yet impossible to ignore. He could feel it with a clarity that shocked him. Back in his old world, there had been no such thing as chakra, and that made him hyper-aware of its presence now.
He couldn't sense the chakra of others yet, nor the chakra in nature—but knowing it existed within him was enough for now.
And what surprised him the most?
It was already active.
From what he remembered, people usually had to train to unlock their chakra. For him, it had awakened on its own. He had no idea why, but he wasn't about to complain.
This was a gift.
And it would be foolish to waste it.
He stood up and dusted off his hands. If he wanted to survive in this world, training would have to begin now—not tomorrow, not later, but now.
Step one: figuring out what this body of mine can do.
He dropped to the ground and got into a push-up position. With a grunt, he began pushing himself off the ground. His arms trembled slightly as he pushed through each rep.
One. Two. Three...
By the time he hit ten, his arms were burning and his breathing ragged.
He collapsed onto the grass, panting, and stared up at the leaves swaying overhead.
"Ten pushups... not bad for a three-year-old."
It was more than just impressive—it was abnormal. He wasn't just a little stronger than average. This kind of physical capacity at his age was unheard of.
It had to be the chakra.
Even without consciously focusing it into his limbs, some portion of it must have been reinforcing his body naturally. It made sense—chakra enhanced life force. That meant it could bolster strength, stamina, and durability even passively.
That told him everything he needed to know.
He could get stronger—and faster than any ordinary person.
As long as he didn't waste time doing what other orphans did—playing tag, waiting for adoption, or dreaming of a family—he could carve his own path. One that led to survival.
One that led to power.
A sudden bell rang out across the orphanage grounds, its chime echoing faintly against the walls.
Time for breakfast.
Ryuu didn't move right away.
He stayed seated beneath the tree, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the burn in his arms still lingering. But beneath the physical exhaustion, something stronger had taken root.
Purpose.
This was just the beginning.