The early morning sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the village of Konoha. Most of the children in the orphanage were still curled up in their beds, dreaming whatever innocent dreams came to kids their age. But Haruto Takeda had been awake for a while now, his mind buzzing with plans and strategies—things no three-year-old should ever have to worry about.
The problem was simple, but critical: the orphanage wasn't rich. That much had been obvious to Haruto for a while now. Meals were repetitive, lacking in the essential nutrients needed for a child to grow strong and healthy. Rice and vegetables formed the bulk of their diet, with only rare and meager portions of fish or chicken. There was barely enough protein or fats to fuel a growing body—let alone one preparing for the rigors of shinobi training.
For the other kids, this didn't seem to matter much. They ate what they were given, oblivious to the long-term consequences. But for Haruto, who had lived by a disciplined diet in his previous life as a martial artist, this was a serious issue.
I can't rely on rice and broth if I'm going to survive in this world.
And so, Haruto began to lay out a plan. He needed to supplement his diet with better sources of protein and fats—foods that would help him grow strong, sharp, and prepared for the Ninja Academy in three years. That's when he remembered something that might just solve his problem.
The River's Secret
During his short walks with the other children, Haruto had noticed a river not far from the orphanage. It wasn't anything fancy, just a simple stream running through the outskirts of the village. But it was what he saw in that river that caught his attention: fish.
There were plenty of them, swimming lazily in the clear water. Fish, Haruto knew, were an excellent source of protein and healthy fats. If he could catch some on his own, he'd have exactly what he needed to improve his diet.
But there was one small problem: how was a three-year-old supposed to catch fish without attracting attention?
The Great Fishing Rod Disaster
Haruto wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, and the idea of building his own fishing rod seemed like the perfect solution. He couldn't exactly go around asking for one—what would a three-year-old want with a fishing rod, after all? No, he'd have to make one himself.
It started with a branch. Haruto had found a long, thin stick near the riverbank during one of his "play" sessions. It was crooked, a little rough, but sturdy enough. He knew this would be his fishing rod. All he needed now was something to use as a line.
That's when things got a little tricky.
The orphanage, as expected, didn't exactly have fishing supplies lying around. So Haruto spent a few days sneaking around, scavenging for anything that might work. The best he could find was some old thread that had been left out after one of the caregivers mended a child's clothing. It wasn't much, and it wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
Now came the real challenge: attaching the thread to the stick. Haruto had never been the best at arts and crafts, but how hard could it be? He'd seen enough survival shows in his past life to know the basics.
After an hour of trial and error, Haruto sat in the corner of the yard, staring at the tangled mess of thread and branch in front of him. The "rod" looked like something a drunken squirrel might have put together. The thread was knotted in ways that defied the laws of physics, and the branch… well, it had split in half after he'd tried to bend it too far.
Great. This is going well.
Haruto had to suppress the urge to laugh at himself. Here he was, a grown man in the body of a three-year-old, struggling to put together a basic fishing rod. If anyone had been watching, they would have thought he was just a child playing with sticks, but to Haruto, it was a humbling reminder of how far he still had to go in this world.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of fiddling with the materials, Haruto managed to create something that resembled a functional fishing rod. The thread was tied in a crude loop around the top of the branch, and while it wasn't the most elegant piece of equipment, it would have to do.
Well, it's not going to win any awards, but if it catches fish, I won't care.
The Fishing Mission
A few days later, Haruto had his chance. It was early morning, and most of the staff were busy preparing breakfast. Haruto slipped out of the orphanage, his makeshift rod tucked under his arm, and made his way down to the river.
The water was calm, and the fish were out in full force, swimming close to the surface in search of food. Haruto crouched by the riverbank, carefully baiting the hook with a small worm he had found earlier. He cast the line into the water, watching as the thread dipped below the surface.
Now came the hard part: waiting.
Minutes passed, and Haruto found himself staring intently at the thread, willing it to move. He was starting to doubt his skills as a fisherman when, finally, he felt a small tug on the line.
Here we go.
Haruto gripped the rod tightly, carefully pulling the line back. The fish on the other end wasn't huge, but it fought with surprising strength. Haruto kept his movements steady, pulling it toward the shore. After a few tense moments, the fish broke the surface, and Haruto scooped it out of the water.
He stared down at the wriggling creature in his hands, a feeling of triumph washing over him.
This will do.
The Cooking Dilemma
Now that he had the fish, Haruto faced a new challenge: how to cook it without anyone noticing. He couldn't just bring it to the orphanage kitchen and ask for it to be prepared—that would raise too many questions. Fortunately, Haruto had already thought of this.
Behind the orphanage, there was a small outdoor fire pit that was used during festivals or gatherings. It hadn't been used in months, but the embers from the last fire were still there. Haruto had made sure of it during his early morning explorations.
That morning, while the others were distracted, Haruto snuck behind the building, his fish wrapped in cloth. He carefully rekindled the fire using small twigs and dried leaves, just enough to cook the fish without drawing attention. Once the flames were steady, he placed the fish over the heat, watching as it sizzled.
Within minutes, the smell of cooked fish filled the air. Haruto's mouth watered. It wasn't the fancy meals he remembered from his past life, but it was good enough—and more importantly, it was exactly what he needed to fill the gap in his diet.
The Long-Term Plan
Fishing wasn't a one-time solution—it was part of Haruto's long-term plan. He couldn't rely on the orphanage to provide him with the nutrients he needed, so he would have to take matters into his own hands. The fish from the river would be his secret source of protein and fats, and with careful timing, he could supplement his meals without anyone noticing.
As he ate the freshly cooked fish that morning, Haruto's mind was already racing with ideas. This was only the beginning. He had three years until he entered the Ninja Academy, and he would need every ounce of strength, every bit of nutrition, to be ready.
He may not have been able to control every aspect of his life in this new world, but Haruto was nothing if not resourceful. Fishing, training, and patience would be his tools, and with them, he would build the foundation he needed to survive in the world of shinobi.
Haruto smiled to himself, wiping the last bit of fish from his mouth as he snuck back inside the orphanage. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
And in a world like this, every victory counted.