A warm breeze brushed gently against his cheek.
Kaito slowly opened his eyes. Above him, the ceiling was made of rough wood, aged and cracked by time. Sunlight filtered through the small gaps in the planks, drawing golden lines across his face. He blinked, dazed.
This… wasn't his room.
He bolted upright.
The blanket on him was coarse and heavy. The walls surrounding him were made of stone, with a few modest shelves holding scrolls and pottery. No TV, no phone, no laptop. Only silence, broken by distant birdsong and the occasional whistle of the wind.
His heart pounded in his chest.
"This has to be a dream," he muttered.
The last thing he remembered was lying on his bed, exhausted but satisfied after rewatching the final battle of Naruto. He had dozed off with a smile, thinking about how different things might have been if someone had intervened earlier in the story—before the wars, before the deaths.
And now… he was here.
He stepped outside. The air was fresh, crisp. Children ran barefoot in the streets, some playing with wooden kunai, others racing each other down a dirt path. In the distance, he saw mountains—and nestled at their base, a small village surrounded by mist.
Kaito froze.
He knew that view.
It was the Village Hidden in the Rain—Amegakure.
But not the one from the series. This was before the devastation, before the wars turned it into a battlefield. This Amegakure was… alive. Vibrant. Innocent.
His legs gave out and he sat on the porch, hands trembling.
"This is real," he whispered. "Somehow… I'm here. In the world of Naruto."
Panic welled up in his chest. He had no chakra, no training, no allies. Just memories—memories of a world that hadn't unfolded yet.
He stood up, forcing himself to breathe deeply.
"Okay. Think, Kaito. Think."
He estimated his age here to be around fourteen. That gave him some advantages—he wasn't too young to be helpless, nor too old to be ignored. And if his knowledge of the timeline was accurate, he had roughly four years before the Second Great Ninja War would erupt—starting with skirmishes between Konoha and Kumo, and spreading across the five great nations.
And Amegakure would be caught in the middle.
Its people would be slaughtered. Rain would fall endlessly. And three war orphans would rise from the ashes—Nagato, Yahiko, and Konan.
But they weren't here yet.
He had time.
He had a chance to change everything.
But he couldn't act recklessly. If he showed knowledge of events yet to come, he might be seen as a spy… or worse. And without chakra, without techniques, he was just another civilian.
Yet he couldn't ignore the truth.
He was here for a reason.
In the days that followed, Kaito kept a low profile. He learned the rhythm of the village—the markets, the patrols, the training grounds. He observed the shinobi with awe and a tinge of envy. He noticed how people spoke in hushed tones about the growing tensions between the great nations.
He heard rumors of the Raikage arming his forces.
Of the Hokage sending envoys to minor countries.
And of Amegakure's leader, an enigmatic man named Hanzo, preparing defenses in case war reached their borders.
Kaito's mind raced each night as he scribbled on old parchment—maps, strategies, lists of future events. He planned, analyzed, revised. If he couldn't fight now, he would prepare.
And then, one morning, it happened.
He was fetching water when a nearby child tripped and spilled the entire bucket. Reflexively, Kaito reached out to help him—and something… shifted.
The bucket didn't hit the ground. It stopped mid-air.
Frozen.
Weightless.
Everyone around them stared in shock.
Kaito's hand trembled. The bucket slowly descended, gently resting on the earth.
No one said a word.
Later that night, heart still racing, Kaito sat alone in his small room.
"What… was that?"
He closed his eyes and focused.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
It wasn't chakra, not in the way the others used it. It didn't feel like ninjutsu or genjutsu. It was subtle—internal. Like a pull from within, bending space itself for a brief moment.
Was this his power?
He had once read stories of gravitational forces—of planets tugging on each other across the void. Could he… manipulate gravity?
It had only lasted a second. And he was certain no one would understand. So, he swore to keep it a secret—for now.
The next days were filled with quiet experimentation. He practiced lifting pebbles, shifting dust in the air. The more he tried, the more he realized that this power wasn't activated by hand signs, but by will—by concentration and emotion.
He began training his body too—running laps around the village, strengthening his endurance. He'd seen too many heroes rely on powers alone, forgetting that battle demanded more than just strength.
He couldn't risk that mistake.
Each night, he reminded himself of what was coming.
The Five Great Nations would descend into chaos.
Amegakure would be the battleground.
And he… had four years to prepare.
He wasn't a ninja.
Not yet.
He wasn't a hero.
Not yet.
But he had knowledge. And now, a budding power. He would become a shadow in the mist, watching, learning, preparing.
He would protect this village.
Even if it meant changing the story itself.