Muffled whispers gnawed at his mind. Seated at a study table, a young man clutched his head, repeatedly slamming it against the wooden surface. The searing pain was unbearable, his skull feeling as though it were aflame.
Blood trickled from his ears, tainting the already corrupted world around him. His lifeless eyes stared vacantly, devoid of light or recognition. "It hurts… Where am I? Why does my head feel like it's splitting apart?"—his thoughts were fragmented, lost amidst the agony.
He collapsed onto the floor, writhing as the pain gradually subsided. Desperate for clarity, he scanned his surroundings, only to find himself in a bloodstained room, his own garments soaked in crimson. He couldn't recall his reflection, but as luck would have it, a mirror stood before him, urging him forward.
Staggering forward, he clutched the edges of the cracked porcelain sink, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His vision swam, distorted by the crimson rivulets streaming down his face. Bracing himself for the worst, he forced his gaze upward—and froze.
The stranger in the mirror stares back, eyes wide with disbelief. A gaping wound marred his forehead, a grotesque chasm where flesh had been torn apart. Thick, white membranes wriggled and pulsed like living tendrils, methodically weaving the wound shut. The sight was sickening, unnatural. Blood clung to his skin in dark, congealing streaks, painting his reflection in shades of horror.
His stomach churned. His fingers ghosted over his face, warm wetness coating his fingertips. A shudder racked his body.
"So this is why it hurt so much," he whispered, voice hollow, barely more than breath.
Yet the pain was fading. And the wound was closing.
But something was even more unsettling—his reflection did not belong to him. Alan Fors—that was his name, his true identity—yet the man in the mirror was someone else entirely. His memories remained intact, but his body did not.
Then, the pieces of understanding began to fall into place. Yuta Wall—sixteen years old, a scholar and the son of a civilian ninja. His father was dead, his mother's whereabouts unknown. He had lived in the Hidden Leaf Village, and nurtured a profound fascination with mystery.
"So, I am Yuta Wall… or rather, I am someone whose mind has been forcibly molded into his." Alan lampooned inwardly, a helpless smile creeping onto his face.
As Yuta sorted through the fragments of his scattered memories, a deep, unsettling realization began to take shape within him. It was an epiphany that grew sharper with every passing moment—this world, with all its complexities and peculiarities, was not his own. It was a place unlike Earth, a realm that defied all expectations. Here, the very fabric of reality seemed to pulse with an energy that was foreign to him, and yet, inexplicably familiar.
The people in this world were not bound by the limitations of the human body as he knew it. Their physical forms had been altered, subtly but profoundly, by an enigmatic force known as Chakra. This energy was their lifeblood, the source of their strength, but it was not an energy that everyone could wield consciously. Even those who lacked the ability to manipulate it directly still derived its benefits, as their bodies absorbed its passive influence. This unseen force permeated everything, shaping the very essence of life in ways that Yuta could not yet fully comprehend.
The society around him was an amalgamation of contradictions. The technology, while oddly familiar, was also strikingly inconsistent. There were no firearms—no weapons of mass destruction—yet commonplace appliances such as refrigerators, radios, and other household items existed with the same ease as in his old world. The disparity was impossible to ignore. Yuta's mind raced with questions, pondering the reason for such technological dissonance. Why, in a world so steeped in a power beyond the scope of modern science, had certain aspects of technology advanced while others stagnated?
He mused that perhaps the explanation lay in the overwhelming focus on energy—on Chakra. It seemed that the pursuit of knowledge here had diverged from the scientific principles Yuta had once known. The development of technology, he surmised, had been sidelined in favor of harnessing and understanding this strange force. It was a world where the mysteries of science were obscured by the pervasive influence of energy, and where the boundaries of human potential were no longer defined by the physical but by something far more elusive and intangible.
Regardless, he forced his trembling mind to focus on his surroundings. The air was thick with decay, the room suffocating in its oppressive stillness. He was in an unfamiliar room, the bed nothing more than a crude frame of old wood, its sagging mattress stained dark, the faint scent of mildew rising from its depths. His study table—if it could even be called that—was a mess of disheveled papers, overturned books, and the grotesque smear of crimson that painted it all. Blood. His blood. The faint rustle of the pages seemed to echo through the silence, each turn of the paper an agonizing reminder of his own suffering.
It was then that he noticed it—the cover of the diary, soaked through with the sticky red liquid, now rendered unreadable by the grotesque, violent splashes that marred its surface. His own diary. His heart pounded in his chest as his trembling fingers opened it, revealing the scrawled, disjointed entries of his predecessor. His eyes darted to the last page, the ink smeared, barely legible.
His breath caught in his throat as the words pierced through the fog of his thoughts like a dagger, written in blood: "Everyone will die, including me."
The room around him seemed to warp, twisting and bending as his eyes widened in disbelief.
This…
The air turned colder, suffused with the scent of death itself, and the blood on the pages seemed to pulse, as if alive. His body jerked in reflex, throwing himself away from the table, his legs tangled in the twisted sheets of the bed as he scrambled backwards, his chest heaving with panic.
The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, clawing at his sanity. He whispered them, his voice hoarse, trembling, each syllable scraping against his dry throat. "Everyone will die, including me."
His breath became erratic, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes.
Surely something strange had happened to the original body's owner, Yuta thought, the weight of the realization settling heavily upon his chest. The more he reflected on the situation, the more it became evident that his transmigration was no simple accident. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn, and in its wake, his consciousness had been forcibly placed in the body of another. The circumstances surrounding the original owner's fate remained unclear, but Yuta felt an overwhelming sense of urgency. It would be best if all matters were already resolved, but deep down, he knew better than to assume things would unfold that easily. I must prepare for the worst, he reasoned, forcing himself to focus despite the unsettling nature of his predicament.
His eyes fell on the room, its disarray a grim reflection of the chaos that had consumed his life. His hands moved automatically as his mind raced with a singular thought: Remove the evidence. He quickly assessed the situation, looking for anything that could betray his presence—his actions—anything that could link him to the bloodshed. Yuta set to work. He grabbed a nearby rag, dabbing at the bloodstains on the floor. It was a futile attempt to undo the damage, but it was all he could do for now. With quick, deliberate movements, he wiped away the crimson streaks that marred the wooden surface. It was a futile effort—he knew the blood would never truly come out—but it was essential. He couldn't leave a trace. If someone finds out what happened here, everything will be over.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with the stench of blood and decay. His mind raced as he moved to the next task, his hands shaking as he grabbed a bucket of water and began to rinse the stained walls. The stains ran deeper than the surface, and Yuta felt a sickening sense of helplessness as he scrubbed at the walls, each stroke of the rag only smearing the blood further. The more he tried to clean, the more the stains seemed to mock him. But he couldn't stop—he had no choice. There was no turning back.
His eyes darted to the desk, where the diary lay. The words on its pages—the final, chilling message—had sent a cold shiver down his spine. The blood had soaked into the pages, making the ink run, but it was still legible. "Everyone will die, including me." The words seemed to echo in his mind, reverberating through the walls of the small room. He knew what they meant, even if he didn't fully understand the context. They were a warning, a prophecy, a reminder that he was not the only one who had suffered in this place. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was getting rid of it. He had to destroy everything.
With trembling hands, Yuta picked up the diary, carefully tearing out the page with the blood-soaked words. He held the paper in his hands for a moment, staring at the inscription. The blood still glistened, the words taunting him. No, he thought, his mind desperate. I can't leave this behind. Without hesitation, he crumpled the page and threw it into the small stove in the corner of the room. The fire crackled as the paper burned, the flames licking at the edges and turning the message into ash. He watched it burn, his chest tight with anxiety, knowing that even this was not enough. The room, the house, the very place where this tragedy had unfolded—he needed to erase it all.
The shop he lived in, the very foundation of his predecessor's life, had once been a place of normalcy. It had been a weapon-selling business, run by the Wall family—a modest but steady operation. His parents had been well-respected members of the community, their shop a cornerstone of the village's economy. The walls of this house had once echoed with laughter, the clink of metal on metal, and the sound of steady work. But that was before everything fell apart.
His thoughts briefly flickered to the memories of his family, but he quickly shoved them aside. They were gone, and it didn't matter. What mattered now was survival. He could not afford to be sentimental. His heart pounded as he gathered up the remaining pieces of evidence—books, papers, objects that could tie him to the violence. Every trace of the previous owner's life had to be erased. There could be no connection between his transmigration and this place.
He moved with frantic urgency, gathering everything into a pile. Yuta's hands, now slick with sweat and blood, moved quickly as he worked to clear the space. He was drowning in the task, but there was no other choice.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the room was as clean as it was going to get. The blood had been wiped away, the evidence destroyed, and the remnants of the past erased. Yuta stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. There was a moment of silence, a stillness that seemed to settle over him like a shroud. He had done it. For now, at least, he had removed the evidence.
But even as he stood there, his mind could not help but wonder: How long can I keep this up? There were too many questions, too many unknowns. What had happened to his family? What had happened to the original owner of this body? And most importantly, why had he been forced into this situation? But those questions would have to wait. For now, he had done what needed to be done. He had erased the evidence.
Yuta stood amidst the remnants of his actions, the task of erasing the evidence temporarily complete, yet his mind was elsewhere. The silence of the room seemed to press against him, and an uncomfortable realization began to settle deep within him. I long to return, he thought, his focus shifting inward. His mind drifted to the life he had once known on Earth. Although he had lived in solitude, without family or lasting companionship, there had always been one constant in his life—the people of the Foodaholic Empire. Despite his isolation, they had ensured that he was cared for, providing him with sustenance, comfort, and a sense of belonging that he had never truly understood until now. In many ways, they had been the family he never had, looking after his needs when no one else did. The memory of that care, of being valued, overwhelmed him. I want that back.
The thought of returning to that life, to the simplicity and familiarity of Earth, was like a beacon in the dark. However, Yuta knew that the reality of his situation was far more complicated. This world, with its strange energy, its peculiar rules, and its inherent dangers, was not one where he could simply wish for a return. He needed more than just a desire to go home—he needed strength. I must become stronger, he resolved. This world, despite its foreignness and its threats, held the key to his escape, but he could not access it without power. He would need to understand this strange force called Chakra, to harness its energy and make it his own. He had no choice but to learn how to wield this power, to push himself beyond his limits, to grow into someone capable of confronting the unknowns of this world.
The weight of this realization pressed heavily on him, but it also gave him a sense of purpose. If he were to return to the life he longed for, he would first need to master the art of survival in this unfamiliar realm. Strength, knowledge, and perseverance—these are what will lead me back, he thought, determination rising in him like a flame. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, Yuta knew that he would stop at nothing to achieve the power he needed to return to his true home.
The house Yuta lived in was small, nestled quietly at the edge of the village like a forgotten relic of a time long past. Its wooden walls, weathered by years of rain and sun, creaked softly in the evening breeze. Inside, the scent of aged timber mixed with the faint aroma of parchment and ink, remnants of his solitary existence. It was a humble abode, filled with only the essentials—crude furniture, a modest hearth, and shelves lined with books that had seen better days. The small structure wasn't something to be admired, but neither was it shabby. It stood as a symbol of a life lived simply, a life that had never been graced by wealth or excess. Yuta's inheritance was meager at best, and the Wall family's name had once been rich with history, but now it seemed to have withered away like the house itself. The only thing left of the family's legacy was him—and the meager savings he had scraped together.
This was no longer Yuta's life, but Alan's—a reality where everything felt both strange and achingly familiar. He saw the life Yuta had lived, and the constraints it had imposed: a life of writing, of surviving from one book sale to the next, of struggling with the little money he had left. The world was harsh, and yet, there was an untapped potential that Alan couldn't ignore.
His thoughts drifted to the knowledge he now possessed, memories of Earth's novels and entertainment—stories, characters, worlds all within reach. It was like holding the keys to a treasure chest, but knowing nothing of its value. Yuta had never known true wealth, but Alan? Alan saw opportunity where Yuta had seen only hardship. If he could sell the vast treasure trove of stories in his mind, the knowledge of Earth's literary and entertainment history, he could easily make a fortune. His heart quickened at the thought—this could be his ticket to a life of ease, to wealth beyond Yuta's wildest dreams. But money, while enticing, was only part of the puzzle.
There was something far more intriguing, something that tugged at the edges of his thoughts. Chakra. It was a word that had appeared in the whispers of the world around him, a power so foreign, yet so captivating. He could feel its presence, its potential, but it eluded his grasp. To understand it, to harness it, Alan knew there was only one place to turn: the local library. It was a quiet building at the heart of the village, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, public knowledge waiting to be uncovered. It was there that he would begin his search, pouring over whatever books were available to the public, piecing together the mystery of chakra—its secrets, its power, its origins. Alan wasn't just looking for answers; he was seeking something more, something that could transform his new life into something extraordinary.
Yuta's preparations were deliberate, though there was an odd sense of detachment to them—like a man acting out a role he had only half-learned. He donned a heavy, black coat that clung to his frame, the fabric rustling faintly as he adjusted the collar. A monocle, perched delicately over his right eye, caught the morning light, and he felt the weight of the strange object on his face—a symbol of this world's oddities. His fingers brushed the rim of the monocle absentmindedly, as if still unsure how to wear it with grace. The black hat he found in the corner of his home sat snugly atop his head, its brim casting a soft shadow over his features, and in his hand, he gripped an old wooden cane, its surface worn smooth by years of neglect. It felt like an antique relic, yet somehow it suited the moment.
As Yuta stepped outside, the cool breeze of the village rushed to greet him, tousling his hair and sending a shiver down his spine. The world around him was alive, vibrant, and strangely harmonious. His eyes were drawn instinctively to the giant statues carved into the side of the enormous cliff that loomed over the village—a silent watchful presence that seemed to gaze down with an eternal wisdom. The sight left him momentarily breathless, as if he were standing at the edge of some great mystery.
The streets, cobbled and uneven, were filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life. Wooden houses, each unique but crafted with the same old-world charm, lined the roads like sentinels of the past. The air smelled of fresh bread, incense, and the earthy scent of wet stone, mingling with the warmth of the day. The wind carried the soft murmur of voices—conversations and laughter, a symphony of mundane moments. Women in kimonos gathered in small groups, their laughter rippling through the air, while children, their faces flushed with the innocence of play, darted around the park in a dance of joy.
The village was alive in a way that felt almost surreal to him. Ninjas, clad in the traditional garb of shadowed figures, leapt effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, their movements swift and fluid, like the wind itself. To Yuta, it was a blur of colors and sounds—too much to absorb in a single moment, too overwhelming to process fully. Yet amidst the chaos, he felt the pull of something deeper. His gaze, once captivated by the spectacle of life around him, drifted toward his destination. The library.
His mind, heavy with the thirst for knowledge, refused to let him be distracted. The mysteries of chakra, the unfamiliar power that seemed to surge beneath the surface of everything, burned brighter than any of the distractions that surrounded him. He had to know—he had to understand. His heart beat faster, anticipation and desire coursing through him like a current, as he quickened his pace. The street, with its life and noise, seemed to fade into the background. The chatter, the children's laughter, the swift movement of the ninjas—all became distant echoes as Yuta's purpose sharpened with every step.
As he walked, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the humble silhouette of the library awaited him. It stood like a quiet sentinel amidst the clamor of the village, its wooden beams and aged stone a symbol of knowledge that had withstood time. His breath caught in his throat. He was so close now, so close to the answers he sought. His emotions, a mixture of hope, anxiety, and a deep, almost desperate need for discovery, clung to him like a second skin. The world around him, once an overwhelming rush of sights and sounds, seemed to fade as he approached the library's doors. There, beyond the threshold, lay the possibility of answers—and with them, the chance to unlock the mysteries of this world and the energy that pulsed just out of his reach.
Yuta's hand rested on the door handle, his pulse quickening. Every inch of him seemed to hum with the promise of something greater. He was ready.
From what he read, chakra is the combination of physical and mental energy, its origins are still a mystery. This world has been using it for decades, though it seems like a place built on war, hatred, and general bad vibes. People kill each other for fun, apparently. The village has a tight grip on Jutsus—only the fancy clans get free reign. Civilian ninjas? Well, They are stuck begging for scraps from the library, depending on their rank to get anything useful.
As an ordinary civilian, I'm out of luck. My best bet is to become a ninja and bow to the organization. But there's a problem with that: ninjas are trained from childhood, and, surprise surprise, I wasn't raised in a ninja village. That would probably get me on the suspect list faster than I can say 'chakra.' Funny thing is, medical knowledge and some chakra info are free for all, like the village's version of open-source software. I guess the sick people get the perks, Yuta
Lampooned inwardly thinking about his future routes.
The current head honcho of this village is Hiruzen Sarutobi, or as he's known around here, the Professor of Ninjutsu. This place has a strange history, like a medieval theme park where feudalism is still the thing. The books around here? They give off major 'trust me, bro' energy. And let's not forget the ANBU, the Hokage's personal bodyguards, who look like they're one ninja away from an action movie. Oh, and the big three—the Uchiha, Hyuga, and Senju clans. They're the cool kids, each with their own flashy skills. Meanwhile, the village's cultural trends feel like they're stuck in the past.
So, yeah, joining the ninjas here is a no-go, unless I want to be the village's next 'most wanted.' Looks like my only option is to use my imagination to figure out this chakra thing. Not ideal, but hey, at least it's a lot safer than ninja training. If I could get some help along the way, though, that would be fantastic.