POV-
"You died."
That was the first thought I had when I opened my eyes.
Not "Where am I?" or "What happened?"
Just those two words—calm, resigned, factual.
Because I'd seen this before. In fanfiction, in anime, in dreams.
And now it was real.
Everything was too big. The ceiling, the walls, the hands that gently cradled my newborn body. I couldn't move properly. Couldn't talk. Couldn't even cry on command.
A woman with silver hair and tired eyes held me close. Her eyes were the color of seawater, and she was sobbing—relief, maybe. Or grief. I was too dazed to tell
Then I heard it. The one word that confirmed it all.
"Riku," she whispered. "My little Riku…"
I'd died at 20 years old. Car crash, if I remember right. I was rewatching Naruto—the Pain arc, no less—when it happened. Irony, right? The guy who spent his teenage years obsessing over shinobi, now reborn in the one village I never wanted to step foot in.
-Kirigakure. The Village Hidden in the Mist.
I knew the stories. The blood-soaked academy. Graduation exams where kids killed each other to pass. The puppet Mizukage, controlled by Madara or Obito or… whatever twist of fate that made Kirigakure hell on earth.
And now, apparently, it was home.
[Scene Cut – Age 4, Kirigakure Slums]
Most ninja stories start with a bang. Mine started with mildew.
The apartment we lived in was barely more than a moldy box stacked on others just like it. Mist clung to everything like a second skin. My mother—Kaede—worked long hours cleaning gear for shinobi, and I rarely saw her. My father… didn't exist. I was what this world called "a mistake." Or more generously, a "civilian bastard."
But I knew better. I was a reincarnated anime fan with a cheat code no one else had:Knowledge.
I knew who the real villains were. I knew about the Akatsuki. I knew about the Bijuu, the Uchiha Massacre, the entire shinobi world war. I had a mental encyclopedia of techniques, clans, weaknesses. I could recite hand seals for a fireball jutsu before I could even read in this world.
And yet, at age 4, my greatest accomplishment was shaping mud into a vaguely crystal-shaped rock and passing out from chakra exhaustion.
Pathetic.
[Scene Cut – Age 6, Academy Entrance Exam]
They didn't test for chakra control.
They tested for resolve. Or, more accurately, bloodlust.
The first time I saw a child kill another, I almost vomited. The second time, I understood it. The third time, I looked away.
When it was my turn, the proctor sneered. "Another civilian brat. Hope you can at least scream well."
I didn't scream.
I activated my chakra.
The room filled with light as pink, jagged crystal erupted from the ground around me. The proctor jumped back, wide-eyed. The kid they'd put me up against fainted before I even touched him.
"Crystal Release," someone whispered.
"Thought that was extinct."
"Or fake…"
"No… That's real."
And just like that, everything changed.
END