"Great things often have small beginnings."
Life at the orphanage was simple. It had to be. We lived in the sleepy town of Matsushiro, nestled in the Nagano Prefecture of Japan. The town was a blend of old traditions and quiet modernity. Our orphanage, run by a kind but strict matron named Ms. Kuroda, was a modest home for about twenty children. Most of the kids were under ten, and while everyone had their own share of hardships, the bonds we formed helped us endure.
"Nagato, dinner's ready!" called Ayumi, one of the older girls who acted as a de facto big sister to everyone. Her bright smile and constant energy were infectious. She was the heart of our little family, always making sure the younger kids were cared for.
"Coming!" I shouted back, shaking myself from my thoughts.
During the day, I attended Maple Leaf Kindergarten, a small, cheerful school nestled in the heart of Matsushiro. This was where my body had spent much of its pre-reincarnation life, going through the basic routines of a child's early education. Back then, I had learned the language slowly, picking up words and phrases while playing simple games with other kids. Finger painting, songs, and chasing each other around the playground had been the norm. But now, with my memories back, the environment felt... awkward. Interacting with other kids, despite the body I was in, felt strange. My mind was still that of a grown adult. Their games and jokes, though innocent, were hard for me to engage with.
"Nagato doesn't talk much," a boy named Hiroki muttered during a break, his hands clutching a toy car.
"Yeah, he's weird," replied another kid, Rika, with a small pout. "He just watches us like a teacher."
I didn't blame them. It was hard to lower myself to their level of excitement and energy. Still, I made attempts to fit in, even if it felt unnatural. My teacher, Ms. Yamamoto, had noticed my odd behavior even before my memories returned. "Nagato is such a quiet child," she often remarked to Ms. Kuroda. "He observes so much for someone his age."
Ms. Kuroda, pragmatic as ever, brushed it off. "He's probably just thoughtful. Every child is different."
While I tried to blend in, there were times when my patience wore thin. It wasn't just the simplicity of their games but the contrast between my mind, brimming with complex knowledge, and the innocence of their world. Despite this, I couldn't blame them; they were children being children. Still, I could tell that my demeanor, cautious and reserved, set me apart. Even Ms. Yamamoto once commented, "Nagato seems so much older than his years. Almost like he's holding back from fully being a child." Her words lingered, but I brushed them aside.
Throughout the four years that this body had been in this world (before my reincarnation), I had accumulated 48 charges of Inspired Inventor. I had used six charges so far. The first had been for the basics of magecraft—the theory of magic circuits, activation, and od. The second was for circuit activation itself, as practical understanding took precedence. The third was for magical concealment. By the end of my first month, I had begun perfecting the art of suppressing my aura. It was slow and grueling, requiring focus and visualization to dim the light of my circuits.
In the second month, I used a charge to delve into the fundamentals of bounded fields. They were versatile and essential tools for any magus, capable of shielding areas or altering environments. The theory was fascinating, but the practical applications would take time.
The sixth charge was spent on learning the basics of chakra control, starting with the leaf-sticking exercise. Placing a leaf on my forehead and channeling chakra to hold it there sounded simple, but maintaining the balance required intense focus. It took days to make any meaningful progress, and the effort left me exhausted yet exhilarated.
Chakra, however, was a revelation. The moment it flowed through me, it was as if I had discovered a missing piece of myself. It was warm, alive, and utterly freeing. Unlike magecraft, which felt like wrestling against the weight of the world, chakra was natural, unrestricted by Gaia's influence. It felt like something I had never had but now couldn't live without. The sensation was addictive, filling me with a sense of completeness I hadn't known I was missing.
Ayumi's POV
Nagato was always a mystery to me. For a four-year-old, he carried himself with a quiet seriousness that felt out of place among the other children. The younger kids adored him, but I could see their confusion too. They didn't understand why Nagato didn't join in their silliness, why he didn't laugh as freely as the rest.
Watching over the children was something I loved doing, and Nagato always caught my eye. He wasn't troublesome; far from it. In fact, he was too mature for his age. Sometimes I'd catch him staring into the distance, lost in thought like someone far older. It worried me. Kids shouldn't have the weight of the world on their shoulders.
I tried to pull him into games and activities, but he always gave me that polite smile and a soft, "I'm okay." Still, I saw the effort he made. He didn't reject anyone outright, and he had a calming presence that drew the other kids to him. Even when he wasn't speaking, they gravitated toward him, like he was some sort of quiet protector.
One evening, after another long day of stories and games, I found him sitting by himself, staring at the sunset. "You've been spacing out a lot lately," I said, brushing a lock of hair from his face. "Are you okay, Nagato?"
He looked up at me with those big, thoughtful eyes, and for a moment, I felt like I was looking at someone much older. "Yeah," he replied with a small smile. "Just thinking."
I didn't press further. I didn't know what went on in his head, but I hoped, whatever it was, he would share it one day. Until then, I'd do my best to keep him from carrying that strange loneliness I often saw in him.
Nagato's POV
Ayumi often fussed over me, her perceptive eyes catching the signs of my exhaustion. "You've been spacing out a lot lately," she said one evening, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "Are you okay, Nagato?"
"Yeah," I replied, offering a small smile. "Just thinking."
Ms. Kuroda was a stern but caring presence, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Though she never voiced her suspicions, I caught her glancing at me thoughtfully on several occasions. "He's such a quiet one," she murmured to herself once, shaking her head as if dismissing the thought.
The month passed in a blur of practice and routine. I spent hours each day honing my abilities, alternating between chakra exercises and magecraft. Every small victory felt monumental. The Rinnegan, dormant in my normal state, responded to chakra, its iconic pattern emerging when I focused energy into my eyes. It was a stark reminder of the potential and danger I carried.
As the sun set on another day, I stood at the edge of the orphanage grounds, gazing at the horizon. The world felt vast and full of challenges, but a thought crystallized in my mind: if I wanted to progress in both magecraft and chakra training, I couldn't afford to waste time. I needed to fast-track my education, learn as much as possible as quickly as I could, and free up time to dedicate to mastering my abilities. With resolve hardening in my chest, I decided: school was just another stepping stone to my goals, and I would master it on my terms.