Konoha Year 46
It was a year destined to be etched into the annals of Shinobi history. The Kazekage had vanished without a trace, triggering a brutal conflict between the Land of Fire and the Land of Wind—one that quickly escalated into a full-scale war. Konoha and Sunagakure were now officially at war.
And finally, after years of bloodshed, the end was in sight.
But for Takane Renjiro, it was more than just a turning point in history. For him, this was the single most absurd day of his life.
Because until just yesterday, Renjiro had been an ordinary man living in the year 2300. A citizen of a future built on the foundations of hyper-advanced technology, artificial intelligence, and interlinked neural networks. And now?
Now he had awakened in a world that felt like it had been torn straight from the pages of a comics book.
"...Arkain, confirm it one more time. This really is the Naruto Universe?" His voice trembled with disbelief. His expression was a blend of shock and surreal awe.
Just yesterday, Renjiro had been an ordinary otaku, spending most of his time glued to a computer screen. Today, he was standing in a world surrounded by chakra-filled shinobi.
How could such an impossible transition occur?
[Beep! Data Synchronization Complete!
Scanning: Language... Sociocultural Framework... Environmental Patterns... Supernatural Phenomena...
Conclusion: 99% probability match with the world depicted in the Japanese manga series Naruto, authored by Masashi Kishimoto.]
Renjiro's knees nearly buckled: "Why did this happen to me? Damn it!"
Renjiro nearly broke down then and there. As a seasoned New-Age otaku, he had rewatched Naruto during the global content drought of his teen years—back when AI-generated content had replaced all traditional media. He knew exactly what kind of hellhole he had landed in.
This was a world where children were trained to kill, where death lurked behind every mission, and where war was as natural as breathing.
"Is there any way back, Arkain?" He asked softly in weak and trembling voice.
Arkain, also known as the Central Core, was his personal Generation-7 Cellular Neural AI—a bio-powered system fully integrated into his cellular structure. It was capable of hyper-speed processing, real-time predictive modeling, adaptive evolution, and even housed a complete entertainment suite. Renjiro had spent nearly a decade's savings to install it in his brain.
[Beep! Initiating Mission Protocol: Dimensional Information Retrieval…
Launching Simulation...
Error: Insufficient data... Simulation failed!
Conclusion based on current parameters:
Return to the original world is impossible!]
Renjiro's breath caught in his throat: "Impossible... to return?"
Arkain's answer hit him like a plunge into freezing water—his mind started recoiling from the cold slap of reality. Panic set in, confusion, and despair.
---
His next priority was clear: figure out who he was in this world.
That thought had barely formed when a sharp, searing pain sliced through his skull. A tidal wave of unfamiliar memories crashed down on him, disorienting and violent. His eyes rolled back—and everything went black.
How much time passed after that, he couldn't say.
But when his eyes opened again, the confusion was gone. In its place: clarity, and a quiet, unwavering resolve.
"Renjiro Takane… huh. That's a poetic name."
---
[A/N: Renjiro = "Lotus, Second Son" (symbolizing growth and resilience).
Takane = "High Peak / Mountain" (signifying strength and ambition).
Sounds like the name of a noble clan descendant or a hidden prodigy.]
---
That was the name of the boy whose body he now inhabited. And from this moment on—it was his name.
The memories were flowing freely now. He truly was in the world of Naruto, and his new identity was a citizen of Konoha Village. Not a famous clan member. Not a jinchūriki. Just… a perfectly ordinary Genin.
Renjiro's parents had been low-ranking shinobi—civilian-class—and they had died while he was still young. He'd been raised by elderly grandparents, both of whom had passed away over the past year.
Today had marked his graduation from the Ninja Academy.
To celebrate, the original Renjiro—young, curious, and reckless—had purchased a bottle of cheap sake. A symbolic toast to manhood. His first step into "The Romance of Adulthood."
Unfortunately… he had a severe, undiagnosed allergy to alcohol, one cup and he was dead.
"Talk about bad luck." The new Renjiro muttered, offering a silent prayer for his predecessor.
"No offense, buddy. But I'm never touching alcohol again." Renjiro took a deep breath, letting the memories settle. It was still surreal—but it was reality now.
"Wait… Arkain, how the hell did you come with me? This wasn't physical time travel—it was soul transmigration. How did you follow me into this world?" A realization suddenly hit Renjiro.
[Beep! Mission Established… Simulation in Progress… Insufficient Data for Accurate Model!
Conclusion: Unknown!]
"Figures." Renjiro muttered, another mystery to shelve for later.
Despite its incredible abilities, Arkain wasn't a true AI. It was a Generation-7 command-based neural system—incredibly advanced, but ultimately bound to protocols and pre-programmed functions.
"Alright, Arkain. Run a full system check. I need to know what's still operational." Renjiro gave a new order.
[Beep! Mission Established! Diagnostic Sequence Initiated…
1%... 29%... 57%... 88%... 99%…
Diagnostic Complete.]
"Report."
[Networking Functions: Fully Disabled.]
[Limited Offline Entertainment Suite: Operational.]
[Information Retrieval, Predictive Computation, and Memory Storage: Operational.]
"Phew…"
Renjiro exhaled in genuine relief. As long as he still had Arkain's data processing, simulation engine, and memory modules, he had a real shot at surviving in this brutal, terrifying world.
"Arkain, scan this body and its memories. Build me a full data profile." Taking a deep breath, Renjiro said.
[Beep! Initiating Bio-Neural Scan…
Scan Complete!
Data Model Established. Projecting Interface—]
Before his eyes, a sleek, translucent holographic panel appeared in front of him—visible only to him, just like a game system menu.
---
[Name: Takane Renjiro
Age: 13
Occupation: Ninja, Novelist
Rank: Genin
Skills: Clone Jutsu, Transformation Jutsu, Substitution Jutsu, Escape Technique, Basic Taijutsu
Chakra Affinity: Lightning]
---
"As expected of a newly graduated civilian-class shinobi… everything's below the minimum standard." Renjiro sighed deeply as he examined the projected status panel.
His attributes, skills, and chakra levels were all painfully mediocre. In fact, they barely met the threshold for graduation.
But now it made sense.
This was Konoha Year 46, right in the heart of the Third Great Shinobi War—a far cry from the semi-peaceful beginnings shown in the anime's early arcs. With losses mounting and the demand for manpower growing, the village had likely lowered its standards. They needed bodies on the battlefield—trained or not as long as they fill the gaps.
"They passed him through because they needed fresh blood." Renjiro muttered bitterly: "A Cannon fodder."
At this level, stepping onto the battlefield was practically a death sentence. His stats didn't just scream average—they screamed liability.
Then something caught his eye: "...Novelist?"
Buried at the bottom of the profile was a harmless-looking label. Curious, Renjiro dug into the inherited memories—and quickly discovered the absurd truth.
The previous Renjiro had been… a dreamer.
A quiet boy who loved books. Not shinobi scrolls or tactical manuals—no, stories. He had grown up in a wartime era where literature was scarce and distractions even scarcer. So, he had taken matters into his own hands: he started writing his own stories.
"Unbelievable..." Renjiro said, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief: "In an era of death and bloodshed, this guy was writing fiction?"
Renjiro didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Why enroll in the Ninja Academy if all you wanted was to become an author? It was as if the poor kid had enrolled in a battlefield boot camp just to daydream about plot twists.
And worst of all? He hadn't been good at either pursuit.
Every story he wrote had either a nonsensical plot or weak structure. He had tried submitting them to local bookstores in hopes of being published—even if just once—but all his manuscripts had been swiftly rejected.
All but one, an old writer, owner of a modest bookstore on the edge of the commercial district, had quietly bought a few of his stories. Not because they were good—they weren't—but maybe out of kindness. Maybe he pitied the poor, lonely orphan. Or perhaps he simply wanted to nurture the spark of creativity in a world consumed by war.
Whatever the reason, Renjiro felt an unexpected warmth stir in his chest.
"He knew they were worthless." Renjiro thought: "But he bought them anyway."
In Renjiro's eyes it wasn't exploitation, it was mercy, or maybe a sort of encouragement.
And thanks to that, the original Renjiro had managed to save a small amount of money—nothing extravagant, but enough to matter. Enough to survive for a little while. And now, that money was his.
"I will survive." Renjiro swore silently: "Not for glory. Not for recognition. Just to make sure this insane, second chance doesn't go to waste."
This wasn't some anime he used to watch on his TV—this was his new reality, and he wasn't the protagonist. But luckily, he had Arkain and future knowledge about the story of this world. Renjiro felt he could see a small glimmer of hope for survival.