Chapter 1: Awakening in the Hidden Leaf

[Shinji's Perspective]

A voice called out to me—a distant whisper on the edge of my consciousness. Yet, as I strained to hear it, the murmur twisted into a cacophony, an unrelenting tide of voices merging into screams. The chaos jolted me awake.

I gasped, my breath uneven. The air around me was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the sharp sting of antiseptics. Before me, an unfamiliar sight—a vast hall, makeshift beds crammed together, filled with the injured and dying. The groans of the wounded, the frantic shouts of medics, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows—it was like a scene straight out of a shinobi war documentary.

My gaze fell upon my hands. Small. Frail. Childlike.

Panic surged within me. My hands were supposed to be bigger, calloused from years of kendo practice. Instead, they were tiny, soft, barely capable of holding a wooden training sword, let alone the real thing.

A chill crept up my spine as realization settled upon me—I was no longer myself.

[Hours Before: A Memory of another Life]

"Shinji, hurry up! The tournament is coming, and you still owe me a match!"

The voice of my friend echoed from the street below. With an exasperated sigh, I descended the stairs of my apartment, ready to scold them for disturbing the neighbourhood. But as I met their grinning faces, my words died on my lips. Instead, I simply followed, my steps light with the anticipation of battle.

The kendo hall was alive with the sound of practice. The rhythmic clatter of bamboo swords meeting in combat filled the air. But something was off. A commotion had gathered at the centre of the hall, drawing the eyes of every student.

Two men stood upon the stage, blades of cold steel glinting in their hands—not practice weapons, but real swords. Their eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something reckless. My stomach twisted in warning.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded as I stepped forward.

One of them smirked. "Just a friendly match."

"With real swords? Ah, yes. That sounds completely reasonable" I deadpanned. "Get out before I call the police."

They exchanged glances, amusement flickering in their eyes. Then, without warning, one of them threw a sword toward me. Instinct took over—I caught it mid-air, the weight familiar in my grip, even as my pulse pounded like a war drum.

"Senpai, get back!" a voice cried out.

Too late. The man lunged, blade slicing toward me. I raised my sword, steel meeting steel in a resounding clash. The force of it vibrated through my arms.

This wasn't kendo. There were no rules here, no referees to stop things from getting out of hand. This was a fight for survival.

I barely had time to react as he swung again, his blade slashing dangerously close to my ribs. I twisted, narrowly avoiding the attack, my mind racing. My opponent wasn't just some lunatic with a sword—he knew what he was doing. His footwork was precise, his movements calculated.

"Damn it! This was supposed to be a warning, not a killing!" his partner growled.

"If I kill him, the tournament is ours!" His laughter rang wild and unhinged as he pressed forward, slashing at me with reckless abandon.

I parried another blow, feeling the sheer force behind his attacks. My arms ached, my stance faltered. I wasn't used to real combat—every instinct in my body screamed at me to retreat, to get away. But there was nowhere to go.

He lunged again, his blade aiming straight for my chest. I barely managed to sidestep, pivoting on my heel. In that split second, I saw my opening.

Gritting my teeth, I swung upward with all my might.

Steel met flesh.

A scream.

His severed hand hit the ground, his sword tumbling beside it. Blood sprayed across the wooden floor, a crimson arc painted by fate's cruel hand. His eyes widened in horror, mouth agape as he stumbled back, clutching the stump where his hand had been.

My own sword slipped from my grasp. My breath came ragged, my vision blurred, my mind unable to reconcile what had just happened.

Everything felt unreal, like I was trapped in some twisted nightmare. But the pain in my arms, the metallic scent of blood—it was all too real.

"Shinji!"

The shout barely registered before I felt the cold bite of steel. A second blade, slicing through my throat.

Pain. Unimaginable pain. My breath hitched, a gurgle escaping my lips as warmth trickled down my chest. The world tilted, growing dim.

They say that in death, your life flashes before your eyes.

I saw my parents, their loving smiles. I saw my father guiding my hands upon a practice sword. I saw my mother, scolding me with eyes that gleamed with hidden affection. I saw them leave for their final journey, never to return. I saw my grief, my loneliness.

I saw my friends. Their laughter, their challenges, their unwavering belief in me.

And then—I saw nothing.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

[A Second Life]

The darkness did not last.

"Shinji Murakami. How many fingers am I holding up?"

The voice was unfamiliar. I opened my eyes, vision swimming, and breath shaky. A boy stood before me, his expression one of concern. He wore a plain t-shirt beneath a white coat, a headband with a metal plate gleaming on his forehead.

My breath caught in my throat. The symbol upon it—a leaf, swirling at its end—I knew it. An impossible recognition surged through me.

I struggled to find my voice. "F-Four..."

Pain, sharp and blinding, ripped through my skull. Memories flooded my mind—memories that were not my own. A young boy named Shinji, living in the Hidden Leaf Village. The son of a renowned swordsmith and a kunoichi mother. A happy life, a loving family.

And then—fire. Destruction. A monstrous fox, its nine tails lashing, its presence suffocating. Screams. Death.

His—no, my—parents, their bodies shielding me from the falling debris. Their warmth turning to lifeless cold. A final gift—a sword, resting before me as the world burned but it was not enough as the demon swung one of his tail in my direction striking a building behind me, as the debris from the building was falling on me I saw two blurs emerged from my shadow black and white that grabs him as he falls unconscious saving his life.

My breath hitched as I tumbled from the bed, gasping.

Why? Why was I here? Who had thrown me from one death into another tragedy?

"Even after rebirth I still lose my family, is this really necessary, I am asking you who send me here" I said aloud but no one responded in the darkness.

I sigh, as I waited for something to happen, after some time, I turned my gaze to the man who had just entered the room—an elder, adorned in robes, and a top hat with symbol, his presence commanding. A pipe rested between his lips, his eyes filled with experience and sorrow.

"How are you feeling, young Shinji?" asked the Third Hokage.

I blinked at him shocked as reality him me I really was in the Naruto world.