Chapter 1: The frog
The first light of dawn was a pale, reluctant grey, but by the time Takahashi dragged his weary body through the gates of the Ninja Academy, the sun had climbed high enough to cast long, sharp shadows. The morning air was cool and carried the scent of damp earth from the training grounds. He had hoped the early hour would grant him a moment of solitude, a chance to steel himself for another day of measured failure. That hope was short-lived.
The rhythmic, powerful thump-thump-thump of feet against wood echoed from the central courtyard. There, a blur of green moved with relentless, almost violent, energy. It was a sight as constant as the sunrise itself: Might Guy and his protégé, Rock Lee, already deep into their morning regimen, their passionate cries punctuating the air.
Swallowing a sigh, Takahashi approached, his own footsteps quiet in comparison. He offered a respectful bow. "Good morning, Guy-sensei. Your passion is… unwavering."
Might Guy stopped mid-kick, turning a brilliant, tearful smile onto Takahashi. "The flames of youth burn brightest in the morning, Takahashi! That's the spirit! You may not possess the innate genius of a Neji, but remember! Perseverance is a power all its own! Look at Lee! His springtime of youth knows no bounds!"
From behind Guy, Lee gave a determined, thumbs-up, his wide eyes shining with unwavering conviction. "Takahashi-kun! Let us strive together!"
Takahashi could only manage a weak, wry smile in return. Three years. Three years since he'd woken up in this world, a soul from another place stuffed into the body of a Konoha genin. In that time, he had achieved nothing remarkable. His chakra reserves were average, his taijutsu passable, his ninjutsu repertoire limited. His only notable trait was a dogged persistence, but even that paled next to Lee's fanatical dedication. Lee was a marvel of pure will; Takahashi was just… stubborn.
He hadn't been good enough for the elite jonin-led squads. While he'd scraped through the Genin Exams, his performance was forgettable. It was only through sheer, relentless petitioning that Might Guy had accepted him as a fourth, unofficial addition to his team. Being the "fourth man" in a three-man cell was a title that spoke volumes about his place. As for being assigned to someone like Kakashi Hatake? That was a dream for the truly gifted.
The quiet of the morning was broken as other students began to trickle in. Among them, one figure moved with a grace and silence that commanded attention. His long, dark hair was impeccably styled, and his pupil-less white eyes swept over the courtyard with an air of detached superiority. Hinata Neji.
Forcing his expression into one of neutral amiability, Takahashi offered a greeting as the Hyuga heir passed. "Morning, Neji."
The words might as well have been spoken to the wind. Neji didn't break his stride, his gaze sliding over Takahashi as if he were a ghost, a mere smudge on the landscape. A familiar, hot prickle of irritation flared in Takahashi's chest, but he was well-practiced in smothering it.
"Don't let it get to you," a soft voice murmured from his side. Tenten offered him a sympathetic look, her own expression tinged with familiar resignation. "Neji's just… like that."
Takahashi took a deep, steadying breath. In his previous life, he'd been a man in his forties. The arrogance of a twelve-year-old boy, no matter how prodigious, shouldn't be able to rattle him. He let the breath out slowly, his practiced, kind smile returning to his face. It was a mask he wore well.
In Neji's world, there were only two types of people: rivals like Sasuke Uchiha, and strategic minds like Shikamaru Nara. The rest—the vast, untalented majority to which Takahashi belonged—were simply beneath his notice. Might Guy watched the exchange, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He dreamed of a team united by the fires of youth, but Neji's walls, built from the bitter stones of the Hyuga's main and branch family divide, were high and thick. And the boy's genius made any criticism of his attitude a complicated matter.
The day's training was simple, yet brutally revealing: shurikenjutsu. Takahashi had focused on this, on the Replacement Technique, on the fundamentals. They were skills that didn't demand genius, only repetition. They were the refuge of the untalented.
When Neji stepped up to the line, it wasn't just practice; it was a performance. His movements were fluid, effortless. Swish. Swish. Swish. Three shuriken buried themselves in the dead center of the target in the space of a heartbeat, their handles vibrating in unison. There was no wasted motion, no hint of strain. It was perfection, cold and absolute.
Might Guy nodded, his arms crossed. "Excellent form, Neji! A true display of precision!"
Then it was Takahashi's turn. He focused, his mind replaying the motions he had practiced a thousand times. He threw. The shuriken flew straight and true, embedding itself with a solid thunk… a clean, respectable hit in the second ring, just outside the bullseye. It was good. It was competent. And next to Neji's display, it was utterly forgettable. Guy's face showed no particular emotion, offering only a simple, "Good effort, Takahashi."
When the lunch bell finally rang, Takahashi sought his usual refuge—a secluded spot on the academy roof, shaded by the giant stone Hokage faces. He unwrapped his simple meal, the silence a welcome blanket. This had been his habit in his old life, too: the quiet outsider. Here, the stakes were just infinitely higher. He leaned back, staring up at the endless blue sky, a vast and uncaring canvas.
"Will I even survive this world like this?" he whispered to the wind, the question tasting of dust and fear. The Chunin Exams were looming. If he couldn't prove his worth, couldn't advance, he'd be relegated to the endless, dangerous C-rank missions that bordered on B-rank. He would become cannon fodder. The thought was a cold stone in his gut.
Just then, a sudden, soft weight landed on his head. Startled, he reached up and found a small, vibrantly green frog staring down at him with unblinking eyes. Before he could react, a mechanical, disembodied voice echoed directly in his mind.
[Welcome, User. The Traveling Frog System is now initialized.]
[You may dispatch your frog to traverse the myriad worlds. The frog will return with gifts. The quality and duration of its journeys are influenced by the provisions and tools you provide. Be warned: higher-grade destinations carry higher risks. Your frog may return injured. We wish you a pleasant journey.]
A transparent, blue-tinted interface shimmered into existence before his eyes. It was simple, displaying only a few options: [Cottage], [Garden]. The garden was overflowing with patches of lush, four-leaf clovers. His heart hammered against his ribs. He knew this interface. It was from a mundane mobile game he'd idly played in his previous life—Tabikaeru: Travel Frog. How was this here? Now?
With a thought born of muscle memory, he willed the clovers to be harvested. A count in the corner of his vision updated: [Clover: 102]. He navigated to the [Store] and, with his meager funds, purchased the most basic bento box and a simple, handwoven scarf. The process was instinctual.
A new prompt appeared: [Name your frog.]
A hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat. He thought for a second, then input the name with a mental command: [Gama Sennin]. The Toad Sage. A little audacious, perhaps, but he needed all the luck he could get.
He equipped the simple bento and the scarf onto the pixelated image of the frog. "Alright, Gama Sennin," he muttered, a desperate, hopeful prayer. "My future, whether it's ramen or ration bars, is in your webbed feet now. Bring me back something good."
He selected [Dispatch].
The frog on his head gave a cheerful "Ribbit!" and, in a flash of soft light, vanished.
A new line of text scrolled across the interface.
[Gama Sennin has begun its journey to the world of "One Piece." It will return in few days. Please wait patiently.]
One Piece. The name alone sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated excitement through him. A world of oceans, adventure, and incredible powers. What could it bring back? A Devil Fruit? A scroll on Haki? The principles of Rokushiki?
The possibilities swirled in his mind, a dizzying torrent of hope. But just as quickly, he forced them down. Hope was a dangerous thing. It made the inevitable fall back to reality so much harder.
And the reality was this: the Chunin Exams were coming. If he didn't show drastic improvement, he wouldn't need to worry about a future of ramen or ration bars. He'd have no future at all.
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