The sun had barely begun to crest over the towering, cloud-shrouded peaks of Kumogakure when Ichigo awoke. The crisp, clean air of the mountains filled his lungs as he stretched, his body already humming with a low, potent energy. The first order of business was his daily physical training, the brutal regimen he had adopted to temper his new body and unlock its latent potential.
He started with a ten-kilometer run, his small legs pumping tirelessly as he navigated the winding bridges that connected the mountains. He ran until he reached his mark, his muscles burning with a familiar ache. He then moved on to the core of his workout: a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, and a hundred squats.
As he trained, his mind wandered. He knew the broad strokes of this world, the key plot points and major events. But the intricate details, the little things that could mean the difference between life and death, were lost to him. He was a spectator who had been dropped onto the stage with no script. If I had known I was going to transmigrate here, I would have paid more attention to the filler episodes, he thought with a wry smile, remembering the hours he had skipped.
After his workout, he made his way back to the orphanage for breakfast. The meal was simple but nourishing: a small bowl of rice with pickled fish. It was enough to sustain him, but his growing appetite—a direct result of his rigorous training—demanded more.
He found Amanai, the orphanage's kind-hearted matron, and approached her. "Ma'am, is there any way I can earn some money?"
Amanai looked at him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Is the food not enough? I can arrange for more if you'd like."
"No, ma'am, it's not that," Ichigo replied quickly. "My appetite has grown because I've started some physical training. I just want to earn some extra money to supplement my meals and save for the future." I'll need money to buy tools and equipment later on, he thought. Might as well start saving now.
Amanai's face softened. "I'll look into some opportunities for you. If you're in need, though, you can always come to me. I can lend you some money."
"Thank you, but there's no need," Ichigo said with a polite shake of his head. He appreciated her kindness, but he wanted to earn his own way. Amanai nodded and went about her work, a quiet pride in her eyes.
With the morning's tasks complete, Ichigo decided to explore the village's markets. The streets were filled with a vibrant energy, the air thick with the aroma of spices and grilled seafood. The houses and shops, carved into the mountainside, gave the village a rustic, elevated feel. They built all this with fewer resources than Konoha, he thought, impressed. Their infrastructure is incredible.
After his tour of the town, he returned to the orphanage to rest. As he walked in, a silver-haired boy named Yasu approached him. "Ichigo, Amanai-san was looking for you."
He found Amanai in her small office, sifting through files. She looked up and smiled when she saw him. "Ichigo, come in. I found a list of jobs that are available. Before I show you, though, I have a question. Are you set on becoming a shinobi?"
"Yes, ma'am," Ichigo answered without hesitation. "I want to be a ninja."
Amanai sighed, a hint of concern in her expression. "I would prefer you choose a different profession, but since you are so set on it, I've compiled a list of jobs that might give you an edge in the Ninja Academy."
Why ask if you're just going to give me the list anyway? he thought, but a quick glance at the papers in her hand wiped away his cynicism. The list wasn't just a random assortment of tasks; it was a carefully curated selection of jobs that directly related to shinobi life.
The list included:
Weapon Manufacturing
Kumogakure Hospital
Herb Plantation
Summoning Beast Stables
She put a lot of effort into this, he realized, a warmth spreading through his chest. These were all jobs that would provide him with skills that would be invaluable in the future. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll take Weapon Manufacturing."
Amanai's eyes widened slightly. "That's a dangerous path, son. Be careful." This kid is drawn to danger, she thought. I hope he'll be alright.
A month passed in a blur of training, meditation, and work. Ichigo's days had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. The Weapon Manufacturing plant was a massive operation, a place where kunai, shuriken, and swords were forged and sharpened. He was assigned a simple but physically demanding job: transporting goods from the top of one of the mountains to the bottom. It was a job typically given to older children who were not yet old enough to be fully-fledged laborers.
He loved it. The constant movement, the opportunity to train his stamina while working, was a blessing. He noticed that the swords and weapons were not generic. They were designed with unique patterns and styles, clearly tailored for specific shinobi. He knew that the legendary sword masters of the Land of Iron were involved in their production, reviewing and approving each blade.
I need to talk to one of them, he thought as he began his descent. The original Ichigo was a master swordsman. I must have a talent for Kenjutsu, even if it's a different world. Maybe I can find a role model. Like Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang of Konoha.
He reached the designated drop-off point, a clearing near the base of the mountain, but the vehicle that was supposed to receive the goods was nowhere in sight. The goods were supposed to be here, he thought, a sense of unease creeping up on him.
Suddenly, a cry cut through the silence. "Help! Help me, please!"
Without a second thought, Ichigo dropped the packages and ran toward the source of the voice. He burst into a small clearing and saw a family: a mother, a little girl, and a boy who looked to be about his age. All three had fiery red hair.
An Uzumaki family? he thought, his heart pounding in his chest.