Chapter 1: Awake in the Wrong World
POV: Kole
The first thing Kole noticed wasn't the unfamiliar ceiling or the foreign smells—it was the wrongness of his own breathing. Too shallow. Too fast. Like his lungs belonged to someone else.
What the hell?
He sat up, and the movement sent vertigo spiraling through his skull. The room around him was small, cramped, nothing like the sterile hospital where he'd—
The memory hit like a sledgehammer. The truck. The screech of brakes. His body flying through the air, then darkness, then... something else. Something impossible.
The Entity had appeared in that space between death and whatever came next—not human, not divine, just presence speaking in a voice like grinding galaxies.
"Your story ends," it had said. "But stories can be rewritten."
Kole had laughed, bitter and broken. "What's the point? I'm dead."
"Death is a transition. I offer another."
"To where?"
"A world where the dead walk and the living struggle to survive."
The Walking Dead. Of course. Because his luck couldn't get any worse. "And what would I need to survive in a zombie apocalypse?"
"What would you choose?"
He'd barely thought before the words spilled out: "Something to fight them. Something to fix things. Something to escape when everything goes to hell."
The Entity had smiled—or what passed for a smile in that impossible space. "Granted. Three gifts for a new world. But be warned—equivalent exchange governs all things. Nothing comes without cost."
The world had dissolved, and now—
Now he was staring at his reflection in a cracked mirror across the room, and the face looking back wasn't his own.
Twenty-two years old, maybe. Dark hair that flopped over hazel eyes he'd never seen before. Lean build, calloused hands that spoke of manual labor. The face was handsome enough, but it was wrong. This wasn't his body. This wasn't his life.
But the memories flooding his mind said otherwise. Kole Sato, orphan, odd-job worker, resident of Konohagakure. No family. No friends. No chakra.
No chakra.
The words hit him like ice water. He looked around the cramped apartment with fresh horror. Wooden walls. Paper screens. The scent of ramen and tea drifting through thin walls. This wasn't a zombie apocalypse.
This was the Naruto universe.
And he was a civilian.
Panic clawed up his throat as canon knowledge crashed through his mind like a tsunami. Gaara's kidnapping—three days from now. Asuma's death in six months. Pain's assault in two years. The Fourth Great Ninja War. Madara. Kaguya. Gods and monsters and the end of the world, and he was nothing. Less than nothing. A background character without even a name in the story.
His hands shook as he rifled through the documents on his desk. Employment records. Medical files showing zero chakra network development. Rental agreements for this shoebox apartment. A life of poverty and irrelevance, and somewhere out there, children his age were throwing around jutsu that could level mountains.
"What would you choose?"
The Entity's words echoed mockingly. He'd asked for abilities to survive zombies, not ninjas who could move faster than sound and reshape reality with their minds.
A knock thundered against his door, making him jump.
"Sato! Open up! Rent's due!"
The voice was gravelly, impatient. Kole's new memories supplied a name—Takeshi, the landlord. A man who'd shown exactly zero sympathy for late payments in the past.
"I—just a minute!" Kole called, his voice cracking. He needed time to think, to plan, to figure out how to survive in a world where he was utterly outclassed.
"Now, boy! I don't have all day!"
Kole stumbled to the door, mind racing. Maybe he could explain, somehow. Tell the truth about what happened to him, get help—
He opened the door to reveal a balding man in his fifties, wearing a stained apron and the expression of someone who'd run out of patience years ago.
"Look, Takeshi-san, I know this sounds crazy, but I'm not—I mean, something's happened to me. I woke up and I don't remember—"
The words twisted in his mouth like living things, syllables scrambling into nonsense. What came out was: "PURPLE MONKEY DISHWASHER!"
Takeshi's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
Kole tried again, panic rising. "I'm from another world! I need help understanding—"
"BANANA HAMMOCK TUESDAY!"
What the hell? He was thinking clearly, forming coherent sentences in his mind, but the moment he tried to explain his situation, gibberish poured out instead.
"Are you having a stroke, boy?" Takeshi stepped back, eyeing him warily.
"No, I—" Kole slammed his hand against the doorframe in frustration.
The wood rippled under his palm like water, grain flowing and reshaping. In seconds, the old, cracked frame became smooth and perfect, joints seamlessly fused, surface polished to a warm glow.
Both men stared.
Takeshi's face went white. "Demon," he whispered.
"Wait, I can explain—"
But the landlord was already fleeing down the hallway, shouting about spirits and evil magic.
Kole stood in his doorway, staring at his hand. The one that had just performed impossible alchemy without a transmutation circle, without any understanding of how it worked. One of the Entity's gifts, apparently. Something to fix things.
He closed the door and leaned against it, heart hammering. When he looked up, there was a box on his small table that definitely hadn't been there before.
Ornate brass corners. Dark wood polished to mirror brightness. No lock, but it radiated the kind of presence that made the hair on his arms stand up. He approached it like it might explode, then carefully lifted the lid.
Red cloth gloves lay nestled in black silk, golden threads forming intricate patterns across the fabric. Arrays. Alchemical transmutation circles, stitched with impossible precision. Beneath them, a note in elegant script:
"Equivalent Exchange requires a foundation. —The Entity"
His hands trembled as he lifted the gloves. The material felt warm, almost alive, and the moment his fingers touched the fabric, knowledge flooded his mind. Not complete understanding—just enough to know what they were. Ignition Cloth Gloves. Flame alchemy. Roy Mustang's signature weapon.
Something to fight with.
Kole sank into his chair, staring at the gloves. The Entity had given him what he'd asked for, just not in the way he'd expected. Alchemy to fix things. Flame alchemy to fight. And something else—he could feel it lurking at the edge of his consciousness, waiting to be discovered. Something for escape.
But the speech curse made it clear: he was on his own. No explanations. No help. No way to warn anyone about what was coming.
"PURPLE MONKEY DISHWASHER!" he said aloud, just to confirm. The gibberish curse was absolute.
Fine. He'd wanted a new life, a chance to matter. The Entity had delivered, along with a healthy dose of cosmic irony. He was stuck in a world of ninjas as a powerless civilian, but he had tools. Knowledge. And apparently, alchemy.
Gaara would be kidnapped in three days. Kole couldn't stop it—he had no authority, no allies, no way to convince anyone he knew what was coming. But maybe he could be ready for what followed. Maybe he could save someone, somewhere down the line.
He pulled out a notebook and began to write. Training schedules. Alchemy theory. Timeline of major events. If he was going to be the ninja world's weakest link, he'd be a prepared one.
Outside his window, Konoha buzzed with life. Somewhere out there, Team 7 was training. The Akatsuki were moving. And Kole Sato, orphan and nobody, was about to become something else entirely.
He just had to figure out what.
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