The Academy doors loomed before me, filled with children who'd become legends. Itachi Uchiha, age five—the same as me. His dark eyes swept the crowd with unsettling intelligence. Our eyes met for a moment. Something flickered in his gaze. Recognition? Impossible. Unless... he wasn't the only one.
I stood at the gates with my parents, dressed in simple civilian clothes. Around us, dozens of other families gathered—some civilian like us, others clearly from ninja clans. The differences were stark.
Clan children wore their family crests proudly. Uchiha with their fan symbol, Hyuga with their subtle elegance, Akimichi with their confident bulk, Aburame with their high collars hiding their insect companions. They moved with confidence, knowing they belonged here.
Civilian children clustered together nervously, parents giving last-minute advice, reassurances, worried looks.
I scanned the crowd systematically, cataloging faces, identifying key players.
There—Itachi Uchiha. Five years old, already carrying himself with the poise of someone much older. Black hair, obsidian eyes that missed nothing. He stood slightly apart from his family, observing the crowd with the same analytical intensity I was using.
Our eyes met across the courtyard.
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just that connection. His gaze was knowing, assessing, recognizing something in me that made him pause.
Then his mother called to him, and the moment broke.
"That's the Uchiha heir," my father whispered. "Itachi. They say he's a prodigy."
You have no idea, I thought.
Near the Uchiha group, I spotted Izumi Uchiha—a girl with kind eyes and dark hair, watching Itachi with obvious admiration. She'd be his closest friend, would awaken her Sharingan for him, would die in the massacre believing she'd lived a happy life with him thanks to his genjutsu.
Not if I could help it.
I also spotted Tenma Izumo—an enthusiastic civilian boy with spiky hair, already trying to make friends with everyone around him. He'd die young in the original timeline, killed on a mission. Another tragedy to prevent.
Several Hyuga children clustered together, already displaying their clan's trademark superiority complex. An Aburame child stood silent and still. Three Akimichi kids were comparing lunches their mothers had packed.
This was the generation that would see the Uchiha massacre, would become chunin during Orochimaru's invasion, would fight in the Fourth Shinobi War.
And I was about to become part of it.
"You'll do great, Kenji," my mother said, hugging me tightly. "We're so proud of you."
"Remember what I taught you," my father added. "Work hard, be humble, help others."
"I will," I promised.
They left reluctantly, my mother looking back three times before finally disappearing around the corner.
I was on my own.
"New students, form up!" a chunin instructor called. "Find your classroom assignments on the board!"
I pushed through the crowd to check the lists. My name was in Class 3-A, along with approximately thirty other students. And there, three names down from mine: Uchiha Itachi.
Of course we'd be in the same class.
The classroom was traditional—rows of desks facing a blackboard, large windows providing natural light, training dummies and equipment stored along one wall. I chose a seat in the middle—not front row where overachievers sat, not back row where troublemakers congregated. Unremarkable. Strategic.
Students filed in gradually. Itachi entered and immediately chose a window seat in the second row, positioning himself where he could observe both the teacher and the entire class. Smart.
Izumi Uchiha sat near him, shooting him shy glances he pretended not to notice.
Tenma bounded in with characteristic enthusiasm, scanning for friendly faces. His eyes landed on me.
"Hey! You're new too, right? I'm Tenma Izumo!" He plopped down in the seat next to me without waiting for an invitation.
"Kenji Yamamoto," I replied with a smile. "Nice to meet you."
"Yamamoto... you're civilian, right? Me too! My parents run a shop near the market. What do your parents do?"
"My father's a carpenter, my mother's a seamstress."
"Cool! Hey, we should stick together. Us civilians gotta have each other's backs, right?"
I nodded. "Definitely."
Tenma's approach was refreshingly straightforward. No political maneuvering, no clan pride, just genuine enthusiasm. I could work with that.
Our instructor entered—a chunin named Takeda-sensei, probably in his thirties, with a scar across his cheek and the tired eyes of someone who'd seen combat. He carried himself like a veteran.
"Settle down," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter instantly. "Welcome to the Ninja Academy. For the next several years, this will be your home away from home. Some of you will succeed. Some will drop out. Some will graduate and become genin. A few—a very few—will become truly exceptional ninja."
He let that sink in.
"Today, we begin with fundamentals. The history of Konoha. The Will of Fire. What it means to be a ninja of the Hidden Leaf Village."
The lecture that followed was pure propaganda, though not entirely false. The story of the First and Second Hokage, the founding of the village system, the ideal that villages protected nations and ninja protected villages.
I'd heard it all before in the anime, but I pretended to listen attentively, taking mental notes. Around me, reactions varied. Clan children looked bored—they'd heard these stories since birth. Civilian children listened with rapt attention, absorbing this new world.
Itachi looked neither bored nor interested. He simply observed, processing, analyzing.
At lunch, I made a strategic decision. While most students clustered with their own kind—clans with clans, civilians with civilians—I approached Izumi Uchiha.
She was sitting alone, watching Itachi from across the courtyard. He'd been surrounded by other Uchiha children, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the attention.
"Hi," I said casually. "Mind if I sit here?"
Izumi looked up, surprised. "Oh. Sure."
I sat, unpacking the lunch my mother had prepared. "I'm Kenji. You're Izumi, right?"
"How did you know?"
"I heard someone say your name earlier. You're Uchiha, right?"
She nodded, and I saw her brace slightly—expecting judgment, rivalry, or sycophantic behavior.
"That's cool," I said neutrally. "My family's civilian. It must be interesting, being part of such a famous clan."
"It's... complicated," she admitted. "There are expectations."
"I bet. Everyone probably expects you to be amazing at everything."
"Something like that." She picked at her lunch. "What about you? Do your parents expect you to become a great ninja?"
"They just want me to be happy and safe," I said honestly. "Though I think they worry about the 'safe' part."
Izumi smiled slightly. "That's nice. Having parents who don't push too hard."
We talked through lunch—casual conversation, nothing deep, but establishing rapport. I learned she liked flowers, was nervous about training, and was trying to live up to her clan's standards. I shared carefully curated information about myself: bright civilian kid, eager to learn, no grand ambitions.
By the end of lunch, we were friendly. Not close friends, but a connection established.
Tenma approached as the break ended. "Hey Kenji! Making friends with the Uchiha? Bold move!"
Izumi flushed slightly. "I should go. See you in class, Kenji-kun."
After she left, Tenma grinned. "You work fast. Most people are too intimidated to talk to clan heirs."
"She's just a person," I said with a shrug. "Same as us."
"Yeah, but she can probably shoot fireballs or something."
"Not yet. We're all starting from the same place."
That afternoon, we had our first practical assessment. Takeda-sensei took us to a training field to evaluate our baseline abilities.
"Physical fitness first," he announced. "Let's see what you're working with. Laps around the field. Go until I tell you to stop."
Most kids managed three or four laps before dropping out. Clan children generally did better—better nutrition, some preliminary training. Itachi ran eight laps without showing strain, then stopped voluntarily when it became clear he was far ahead of everyone else.
I ran seven laps, then deliberately slowed to a jog, letting myself appear winded. I could have matched Itachi easily, but that would defeat the purpose of staying under the radar.
[Performance Assessment: 5th Place - Acceptable]
Takeda noted results on his clipboard, eyes lingering on Itachi and a few others.
Next came agility drills—weaving between posts, jumping over obstacles. Again, I performed well but not exceptionally. Solidly above average.
Then came the shuriken throwing assessment.
We lined up at throwing stations, each given five practice shuriken. Target dummies stood twenty feet away.
"Show me what you've got," Takeda said.
Most students missed entirely or hit the outer rings. A few clan children showed they'd received coaching—hits in the middle zones.
Then Itachi stepped up.
He took his stance—perfectly balanced, completely relaxed. Five shuriken left his hand in rapid succession.
All five hit dead center, clustered within inches of each other.
The class went silent.
"Excellent form, Uchiha," Takeda said, though he didn't sound surprised. "As expected from your clan."
Itachi nodded but said nothing, looking faintly uncomfortable with the attention.
My turn came. I'd practiced with Suzume extensively, and my aim was actually better than what I was about to show. But I couldn't compete directly with Itachi on day one.
I threw five shuriken. Three hit the target's middle ring. Two hit the outer ring. Good performance for a civilian, nothing exceptional.
[Performance Assessment: Approximately 5th Place - Maintaining Cover]
Takeda nodded approvingly. "Not bad, Yamamoto. Better than most first-day students. Keep practicing."
As I collected my shuriken, I felt eyes on me. I turned to find Itachi watching me with an unreadable expression.
After class, as students dispersed, Itachi approached me directly.
"You held back," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"
"Your shuriken form was perfect. The stance, the grip, the follow-through. But you deliberately adjusted your aim. Why hide your ability?"
I met his gaze, mind racing. How had he noticed? I'd been careful, made it look natural.
"I just wanted to fit in," I said carefully. "Not stand out too much on the first day."
Itachi studied me for a long moment. "Fitting in is for those with nothing to hide."
Then he walked away, leaving me standing there with a racing heart.
That evening, the System nearly gave me a heart attack:
[ALERT: POTENTIAL REINCARNATOR DETECTED]
[SUBJECT: Uchiha Itachi]
[BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS: 87% MATCH FOR TRANSMIGRATOR/REINCARNATOR]
[EVIDENCE:]
Advanced knowledge beyond age parameters
Strategic behavior inconsistent with child psychology
Awareness of deception/power suppression techniques
Interest in other potential anomalies (YOU)
[RECOMMENDATION: Investigate immediately]
[WARNING: If confirmed, Timeline Stability may decrease significantly]
I stared at Itachi's name on the screen. Either he was just a prodigy as canon suggested, or the System was right.
And if it was right, I wasn't the only person from another world in Konoha.