Do you like Naruto?
Well, I think for most people, the answer is yes.
I mean, I liked it a lot.
I still remember, every time I watched Naruto—especially near the finale—the comment section was always filled with one particular line:
> "No regrets entering the world of Naruto in this life. In the next, may I be born in Konoha."
This line showed up everywhere in Naruto fanfics. From before the manga ended, and even now—five years after the conclusion—it's still a wildly popular genre.
But to be honest, I haven't read all that many fanfics.
I've only written two myself.
Neither of them were very famous or particularly impressive, so there's really not much worth mentioning.
But now... I've found myself in the most cliché scenario you'll ever see on a fanfiction site.
I transmigrated.
As for how it happened? I'm not exactly sure.
All I remember is that on the day that Itachi-sama's final arc ended, I planned to treat myself to some spicy chicken stew to celebrate...
---
Inside a tent-like shelter.
The sky outside was still dark. Starlight shimmered under the night sky.
A young boy sat up suddenly from his floor bedding.
His face was strikingly handsome, but his skin wasn't as smooth as one would expect for someone his age—in fact, it was a bit rough.
Hashirama threw off his blanket, braced himself for the cold, and quickly slipped out of bed.
He lifted the fabric curtain and glanced outside, muttering softly to himself:
> "It's been… what, a full year since I got here?"
The night was still pitch-black, but the outlines of densely packed tents could still be clearly seen.
Naturally—this was the temporary camp of one of the most powerful ninja clans in the world:
The Senju of the Forest.
That's right.
As a transmigrator, the world I landed in was the very shinobi world of Naruto.
But technically speaking, that label isn't entirely accurate just yet.
Because the shinobi world as most people know it hasn't fully taken shape.
The five great nations—Fire, Lightning, Wind, Earth, and Water—still don't have their hidden villages. The entire one country, one village system hasn't been established. After all, the person who would go on to create that system is currently… barely three years old.
> "Sigh…"
Hashirama let out a soft sigh and mumbled,
> "I mean, becoming the First Hokage isn't the worst thing that could've happened… but if I could've chosen, I would've picked Minato for sure."
As a die-hard Minato fan, if he had any say in the matter, the soul now living in Hashirama's body would've much preferred a different era.
Personal preferences aside, this era—the Warring States period, before the formation of the Great Nations—was a time when the average ninja didn't live past thirty. It was a brutally dangerous time.
Granted, he was lucky in one sense.
The soul had ended up in the body of a boy who would one day become world-renowned—the man known to all as the God of Shinobi.
But no matter how great someone's future might be, a two- or three-year-old simply isn't capable of godlike power.
And that included Hashirama.
> "I wonder how much time has passed in the real world… If I could, I'd rather go back and keep writing my fanfics," Hashirama thought with a touch of melancholy.
Before transmigrating, he had only been a low-tier webnovel author under the "Anime & Manga" section of a certain Chinese platform. But even as a humble otaku from the modern world… he still would've preferred staying there.
> "Could it be that some unknown force dragged me into this world just because I left my story unfinished? But the timeline doesn't even make sense…"
Over the past year, Hashirama had mostly adjusted to life in this world—but his mind would still drift off like this from time to time.
> "After being gone so long, my series is probably dead anyway."
That thought was really the only thing that gave him a little comfort—just a way to settle down and accept this strange new life.
Still… his emotions were a tangled mess.
Since he hadn't read many fanfics himself, he never really understood how those other transmigrators could so easily let go of their old lives.
Their parents… friends… maybe even lovers?
Sure, most of them were stereotypical chūni types—probably the kind who couldn't get a girlfriend anyway—but he still couldn't help being curious about their resolve.
But he didn't want to forget.
Even if he never made it back.
Beneath the cold night sky, in the silent darkness, the boy's eyes grew faintly wet.
His tiny fists slowly clenched.
If you had the choice…
Would you really abandon everything in your life, no matter how imperfect, messy, or even miserable it was—just to start all over again in an unfamiliar world?
To dominate the shinobi world?
If given the option, this current version of Hashirama definitely wouldn't want that.
His little body trembled slightly.
Choice had been stripped away from him. "Make the best of it" was nothing more than a hollow self-consolation.
But what else could he do?
> "The original Hashirama probably wasn't this emotional," he muttered quietly after calming himself down.
His arrival here was bound to send shockwaves through the established timeline of this world.
After all, in the Naruto story, the First Hokage didn't appear often, but he was undeniably a character who shaped the entire plot.
Maybe—just maybe—his presence could completely rewrite history.
Having written two Naruto fanfics himself, Hashirama wouldn't claim to know every detail of the original story, but he was well-versed in the majority of it.
Usually, transmigrators had some kind of system backing them up—like built-in cheats—but he hadn't discovered anything like that on himself.
Then again, maybe he didn't need one.
After all, the First Hokage was basically a walking cheat code.
Senju bloodline, Wood Release kekkei genkai, the reincarnation of Asura…
And above all—he knew the story.
Even though the Warring States era was barely described in canon, as long as he stayed alert and avoided a certain "filial son" who had spent a thousand years trying to resurrect his mother… things should be fine.
Of course, all of that only mattered if he became strong enough.
Because in this war-torn era, death was just an everyday occurrence.
Even as a member of the Senju clan—even as Hashirama Senju himself—he couldn't afford to be careless.
Based on every fanfic trope he had ever written, the first thing a kid his age needed to do… was build a solid foundation.
And that wasn't wrong.
All real strength was built on the basics. For a shinobi, that meant chakra, reaction time, and mastering various techniques.
Hashirama sat cross-legged on his bedding and slowly settled his mind.
Then—swiftly and with practiced ease—he formed several hand signs.
A warm sensation began to flow naturally from within, gradually circulating through his entire body like a gentle current.
This was chakra refining training—the most fundamental training for a ninja.
Yes, he was born with a powerful physique as a Senju, but that was like owning a hidden treasure. It still had to be mined.
This kind of training was dull and repetitive—but Hashirama didn't dare slack off.
The reason was simple:
He needed strength to survive in this world.
With his innate potential, one year of effort had already brought his chakra development to the upper limits for a child his age.
But at this time of night, he couldn't train anything else.
He couldn't practice ninjutsu.
He couldn't work on his reflexes.
None of that could be done indoors.
And outside?
He wasn't allowed to move freely yet—not even within the area surrounding their clan's temporary encampment.
Because in this era, danger lurked in every shadow.
A single careless move could get you killed before you even hit puberty.
Hashirama understood one thing very clearly:
Just because you transmigrated doesn't mean you get a protagonist's plot armor.