The scorching desert wind whipped grains of sand into Sabaku's eyes. But that was nothing new. He didn't even bother wiping them away—it wouldn't help. Seconds later, the next gust struck.
Instead, he pulled his scarf, wrapped around his head like a turban, deeper over his face. Hidden beneath it was the forehead protector of Sunagakure.
For thirteen long years, he had fought against the sand, the desert. But above all, he had fought against hunger and thirst. The village hidden in the sand had little to offer besides sand—endless miles of desert where nothing grew, except for the occasional cactus.
Here, everyone fought for the bare necessities. No wonder there was little left for an orphan like Sabaku. And yet, he kept fighting every day—for a better future. For himself.
At the age of six, he had been drafted into the Academy, which Suna had copied just a few years after Konoha introduced it. At twelve, he was promoted to Genin.
And then—war.
Amegakure, under Hanzo, had started the war. And not long after, the shinobi of Sunagakure had thrown themselves into the fight like ravenous wolves. Sabaku had been there when the Third Kazekage gave his speech of war, and the promise of regular meals from the rich, fertile lands of Konoha had ignited his fighting spirit.
Now, after a year of war, Sabaku could only curse his past self.
War was harsh.
War was bloody.
And for Genin, all too often—deadly.
All of his classmates had already fallen. Sabaku was the only one still standing. But that could change at any moment.
His thoughts wandered as he pushed forward through the desert. Around him, 90 other Suna-nin, none of them faring any better. The mood was grim.
They were heading to the front.
And likely, into battle.
Chiyo, the leading elite Jonin, marched at the front. Her unit was a balanced mix of puppet masters, ninjutsu specialists, and a third group where everyone else was lumped together.
That group consisted of shinobi with specialized skills. Many were special Jonin or experienced Chunin, but there were also some like Sabaku—Genin who had already begun specializing.
Sabaku belonged to the stealth and assassination group. After his genin-team and Jonin-leader died in the first week of the war, he got sorted directly in this group.
His fingers were too clumsy for puppetry, even though his chakra control would be good enough. And his chakra reserves were too low to focus on ninjutsu.
Chiyo came to a halt and looked around.
"Ninjutsu unit! Stabilize the ground and build simple earth-hideouts. We'll wait out the midday sun here!"
Like a well-organized swarm of ants, the shinobi began their tasks. Everyone had a role. Rations had to be prepared, basic wells dug.
Sabaku was assigned first watch. No surprise—he had a talent for sensing chakra signatures. Not every shinobi was naturally a sensor. In theory, anyone could learn the ability, but in practice, a sensor's range was almost entirely limited by talent. If you weren't born with it, you had to train for hours every day just to extend your reach by a few millimeters.
Sabaku spread his chakra like a thin morning mist while watching the camp take shape. Within minutes, it had transformed into a small fortified outpost.
What Sabaku didn't see, was that the moment he spread his chakra Chiyo's eyes turned in his direction and widened.
' I need to report that Shinobi to the Kazegake... have we finally found a second one in the village? Or is it just a jutsu... fuck it... the anbu will find the truth.', she tought and turned her thoughts to more pressing matters.
---
The relentless midday sun beat down on him. Even trained shinobi struggled to endure the desert heat for long. Sabaku reached for his water pouch and let the last few drops trickle into his mouth.
'Shit. My next water ration isn't for another two hours.'
Slowly, he stretched and then formed hand seals. "Sunagakure no Jutsu."
He sank a few meters into the sand and waited there.
The shinobi of Suna had learned this technique from the desert's animals. Many of them buried themselves to escape the merciless sun. Contrary to what one might think, the sand beneath the surface was pleasantly cool.
The Sunagakure no Jutsu was the first technique taught at the Academy in Sunagakure—even before the basic Academy jutsu from Konoha. It made survival in the desert far easier, and since the village's founding, it had been a signature technique of Suna, much like the Hidden Mist Jutsu in Kirigakure.
Two boring hours passed without anything alarming during Sabaku's watch. He was growing drowsy and would have fallen asleep if his thirst hadn't kept him awake.
He released the jutsu and pushed himself up through the sand—when suddenly, an unfamiliar chakra signature entered his range.
It reeked of ozone. Definitely a lightning affinity—something no one in his unit possessed.
But before he could react, the shinobi belonging to that foreign signature was already beside him.
White hair fluttered in the desert wind. A white tanto flashed, stabbing downward at Sabaku—who was still half-buried in the sand.
'Fuck! I can't dodge in time!'
At the last second, he managed to twist his body, shifting his vital points out of the tanto's path.
Then, blood sprayed into the air, and a scream of agony tore from Sabaku's throat.
His left arm flew through the air. His severed limb smoked slightly from the electricity that had coursed through the tanto.
The lightning surged through his stump, shocking him. His body convulsed violently before he collapsed onto the ground.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
Beeep. Beeep. Beeep.
Sabaku awoke to the familiar beeping of his life-support machines.
For three years, he had been confined to this hospital bed. Terminal cancer. Inoperable, according to his doctors.
A hard diagnosis for someone who had just turned twenty-five. To be honest, he didn't want to fight anymore. His life… it wasn't a life at all.
Five years. Five long years of battling cancer. Hope whenever the chemo worked, only to be slapped in the face by God when the cancer spread again.
But the worst part—the part that hurt him more than his own suffering—was what it did to his family. They had been there from day one. Supporting him, enduring with him, doing their best to hold on. But their pain wasn't physical like his. No, their pain was emotional—stronger even than his own. A constant cycle of hope and despair.
It broke even the happiest of souls over time.
Slowly, he became aware of muffled voices around him. But none he recognized.
Probably a new nurse here to help me take a shit, he thought bitterly. Over the years, he had been forced to discard any sense of dignity. His physical condition simply didn't allow for it anymore.
'God… I really don't want to deal with another day. Can't I just sleep a little longer?'
His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, so instead, he focused on listening.
"Name?" asked a deep male voice.
"Sabaku. No family name," came the reply.
'Sabaku?! Did they mix up the rooms? My name is…'
'Wait.'
His name.
What was his real name?
'What the fuck? Why do I think my name is Sabaku? My real name… why can't I remember my real name?!'
Panic crept in. Was the cancer in his brain now? Was he losing his mind?
With all the strength he could muster, he tried to open his eyes. Something was very, very wrong, and he needed to know what was happening in his room.
'Why the hell are my eyelids so damn heavy?!'
"Injuries?" the first voice asked again.
"Severed arm. But the weak one. Severe damage from an encounter with the Lightning Release technique of Konoha's White Fang. Other than the arm, likely no lasting injuries."
Silence.
Sabaku continued fighting with everything he had to regain control over his body, but nothing worked. It was like his mind wasn't fully connected to his flesh. He could feel his breath, smell the air, hear his heartbeat. But the rest of his body…
It didn't feel like his.
He heard the rustling of paper—someone shuffling through files.
Then the first voice again:
"Two months of leave. Then, Genin Corps. Tell him when he wakes up."
'What the hell is going on?! Genin Corps? A severed arm?! Did I miss the memo for a Naruto con at the hospital?!'
Footsteps moved away as the second voice hesitated, then asked, "The Meat Grinder? Is that really necessary, sir?"
"We never have enough meat shields. We need every man. And for an invalid… Genin Corps, after his leave."
Cold. Indifferent.
It sounded like a death sentence, even though he didn't understand why. But then again, at the moment, he didn't understand much at all.
Right now, he was still struggling to take control of his body. And after what felt like an eternity—about a minute—he finally managed to open his eyes.
And immediately regretted it.
Gone was the sterile, cold hospital room.
Instead, he was in what looked like a tent. Everything was sand-colored, and the furnishings were a bizarre mix of modern and almost ancient.
But that wasn't the worst part.
His gaze immediately locked onto the man sitting next to him, seemingly waiting for him to wake up.
But the man didn't matter.
Not compared to the forehead protector he was wearing.
'Fuck. No. Please, not this. Why, Naruto?! Why couldn't it have been some peaceful slice-of-life world?!'
Because the symbol on that headband…
It belonged to Sunagakure.
Sabaku had been reincarnated.