A towering skyscraper pierced the sky, casting its shadow over the modest buildings around it like a giant watching silently from above. Inside one of its upper floors, a pale, frail boy—no older than fifteen—sat propped against a pillow, staring out the hospital window with hollow eyes. His gaze held no light, only a heavy, buried longing. A longing that never left, only sank deeper each day.
This boy had spent his entire life confined to this hospital room. Born with a rare and incurable cancer, his existence had always been a quiet countdown to the end. Machines hummed softly beside his bed, tubes snaked from his arms, and a breathing mask clung tightly to his face. That was normal for him. That was all he'd ever known.
Happiness was a foreign concept. Most people crumbled after a few weeks in a hospital. He'd been here since birth.
He stared out at the sprawling city below—cars, lights, people. All so close, yet impossibly distant. He imagined walking down the sidewalk, holding an ice cream cone, laughing with friends, maybe sneaking into a movie or having dinner with someone special. A life. A normal one. But he had been denied even that.
"When people are born, it's like drawing sticks," he muttered bitterly in his head. "And I got the short one."
He slowly lifted his bony hand, shaking with the effort. An IV line ran from the back of it, delivering nutrients, medications—life itself. His skin looked translucent under the fluorescent lights, and the breathing mask hissed gently with each inhale. He hated it all. The wires, the beeping machines, the constant dependence.
Sometimes, he dreamed of ripping it all off and just ending it. But he didn't. Somewhere deep inside, despite it all, he still hoped. Hoped for a miracle. For a cure. For something—anything—that would let him live, truly live.
It was that hope, however small, that held the pieces of his sanity together.
He had no real friends. The nurses were kind, and distant relatives visited on holidays—or when they remembered he existed. But what he wanted wasn't pity. He wanted freedom. He wanted to feel the sun on his skin without glass in the way.
As the day dimmed into twilight, his heavy eyes drifted shut, carrying with them one last silent wish:
"Let me live… just once."
What he didn't know—what he couldn't know—was that this would be the last time he'd ever close his eyes in that world.
—
A dry, cracked ceiling greeted him.
Sorai Uzumaki blinked slowly, groggily, and then smiled. Not because of anything he saw—just because he could. His body didn't ache. His breath didn't rattle. The silence wasn't filled with machines. It was just quiet.
It had been five years since he'd died. Five years since he opened his eyes not in a hospital bed, but in a cradle.
Reborn.
The memory of that moment was still vivid. One second, he was drifting into sleep. The next, he woke up to wide, curious eyes staring down at him—red-haired men and women examining him like he was some strange gem. A baby again. His tiny limbs flailed helplessly, but inside, his soul screamed with questions.
Where am I? What is this place?
But over time, the fear faded. Curiosity took its place. He had always been observant, and that habit helped him adapt. Five years passed, and Sorai had learned a lot.
First of all—he had a sister.
A real, living, breathing sibling. Her name was Kushina. And though she claimed to be older by seconds, Sorai always insisted he was the big brother. She was loud, wild, and bright like fire. He adored her. She was easily the best part of his new life—well, second best.
The best part?
He was healthy.
Actually, he was more than healthy—he was bursting with energy. He could run, jump, roll, laugh, and breathe freely. Running was a miracle to him. The feel of wind on his face, the burn in his muscles, the pounding of his heart—he relished every second.
But he wasn't like the others in the Uzumaki clan.
While most were known for their striking red hair, Sorai was… different. He had short, silky silver-white hair with streaks of glowing gold that shimmered from his roots like threads of sunlight. In the daylight, it almost looked like his hair was alive—radiating light. His eyes, a clear silver, reflected everything around him, sharp and mysterious.
He stood taller than most five-year-olds, earning odd looks from other children. His skin was pale and smooth, and his features were… delicate, beautiful even. Too beautiful. Some villagers whispered behind his back. Mutant. Cursed. Not a real Uzumaki.
He noticed. He always noticed.
But he didn't care. Not much, anyway. Not when he could run and breathe and eat real food. Not when he could wake up beside his sister and hear her snore like a baby bear every morning.
Speaking of—
He turned to the other side of the room where a small bed sat. A girl with vivid red hair slept peacefully under a tangle of blankets.
Kushina.
His best friend. His only friend, really.
With a quiet stretch, he sat up and gently slid off his covers.
WHACK!
A pillow smacked him straight in the face, knocking him backward with a yelp.
"Hey!" he cried. "What was that for?! That hurt!"
Rubbing his nose, he peeked up to see his sister already sitting upright, arms crossed and face puffed in mock anger.
"You were rolling around and mumbling all night like a weirdo! I couldn't sleep!" she scolded, pointing accusingly.
"Hehe… sorry," Sorai chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess I was just too excited. Today we're finally learning about chakra from the elders!"
Kushina's scowl disappeared in an instant, replaced by a radiant grin. She jumped up on her bed, standing proudly like a ninja on a mountaintop.
"Of course we are! It's gonna be awesome! You can't become a shinobi without chakra, y'know!" she declared.
Sorai laughed quietly, watching her bounce around like an overcharged battery. He couldn't help it—she was hilarious. Loud, ridiculous, and kind of amazing.
But he felt it too. That buzz in his chest. That same wild curiosity.
Chakra.
Some kind of mysterious energy that let people do the impossible. His new world was full of shinobi—warriors who used chakra to leap through trees, walk on water, spit fire, and bend nature to their will.
And today, he'd finally begin to understand what made them so powerful.
What made this world so… alive.