When Ishiki finally stepped out of the dilapidated house he called home, the morning sunlight washed over him like a forgotten warmth. He had walked out of this doorway countless times, seen this same broken village every day of his young life… but today, it felt different.
Today, he walked forward not as a starving, hopeless orphan,but as someone reborn.
Someone who now carried the weight of two lives.Someone who had seen death once… and refused to walk toward it again.
The chaos of memories from his former world had finally stopped crashing inside his skull. What remained was a strange, quiet clarity, a settled awareness, as if his mind had been sharpened into something far older than the body it inhabited.
He had been nobody once.A forgotten man in a forgotten corner of modern Japan.Now he was a forgotten boy in a forgotten village.
But this time, something was different.
He wasn't empty anymore.
He carried knowledge.Structure.Understanding.A perspective that no child in this era could possess.
His feet moved slowly along the familiar dirt path toward the river, guided by instinct and memory woven together.
The village came into view.
And it was… worse than he remembered.
Buildings leaned like tired elders on their last breath.Walls were cracked, patched, or half-collapsed.Trash and weeds choked the uneven pathways.Windows hung broken; roofs sagged.
This village is barely functioning.
A fading settlement collapsing under the weight of wars it had never asked to be part of. Ishiki's expression tightened.
"Why is it always the civilians who lose everything?" he whispered, his voice too tired for a child.
No answer came, only the rustle of distant wind.
As he walked, villagers noticed him. Their hollow eyes widened, then quickly dropped. They shuffled aside. Some turned their backs. Others hurried into their homes.
Avoiding him.
Avoiding his gaze.
Avoiding the possibility that he might ask for food they didn't have.
Once, these same people had been kind. When his parents were alive, they had shared meals, clothes, and warmth. When tragedy struck, they had left leftovers at his door.
But that was before war came like a plague.
Now, every grain of rice was life itself.No one could spare even a spoonful.Not for a neighbour.Not for a child.Not even for an orphan with no one left to care for him.
He didn't blame them.
War didn't just destroy bodies; it destroyed communities. It stripped good people bare until kindness became a luxury.
Ishiki offered them a soft, understanding smile as he walked past.
Humans weren't cruel.They were starving.
And yet, this sight awakened something inside him.A spark.A purpose.
He didn't have chakra.He didn't have fearsome talent.He didn't have a clan, bloodline, or birthright.And he certainly didn't have the monstrous power the shinobi of this era wielded like toys.
But what he did have was something rare in this world:
Knowledge.
The systematic, structured, technological knowledge of an advanced society.
Machines.Mechanisms.Tools.Physics.Engineering.Processes that could change lives, if he could find ways to apply them here.
He paused mid-step, clenching his fists.
"I will help this village," he vowed silently."I will make it normal again. I will protect them."
Power wasn't only chakra.Power was understanding.
And he had more understanding than anyone else in this era.
The vow settled in his heart like a seed waiting to sprout.
Soon, the murmur of flowing water greeted him. The river shimmered between the trees, sunlight dancing across its surface. Ishiki approached the bank and crouched down, drawn to the reflection staring back at him.
A boy's face, young, thin, more tired than it should ever be.White hair like untouched snow.Eyes even stranger: pure white, glasslike, almost luminous.
He tilted his head slightly, studying himself.
"…I look kind of handsome," he admitted with a fragile chuckle.
At least something turned out well in this life.
He touched the water, letting the image ripple away.
But reality snapped back quickly, harsh and intrusive.
His stomach roared like a beast.
"Alright, alright, I get it," Ishiki muttered. "Food first. Philosophy later."
He scanned the ground, spotting a fallen branch thick enough to use. Gathering a smooth river stone, he chipped and ground one end of the branch into a sharp, crude point—slowly shaping it into a primitive spear.
A simple tool.One more thing, he didn't know how to use it well.
But he didn't have the luxury of choice.
He stepped into the shallow edge of the river, icy water biting at his toes. He stilled his breath, eyes scanning the darting flashes beneath the surface.
Fish.
Fast.Slick.Unforgiving.
He raised the spear and missed.
And missed again.
And again.
Time blurred. His arms ached. His feet numbed. Hunger clawed at his stomach.
Finally,A flash of silver.A perfect angle.
He thrust.
The spear struck true.
A small fish wriggled on the end of the stick, and Ishiki exhaled shakily. A tiny victory… but a victory.
"I'll take it," he whispered.
He gathered two dry sticks, cradling them between trembling fingers. Past-life knowledge guided him, heat generated by friction, oxygen feeding flame, ignition point, accelerants.
Rub.Pressure.Faster.Controlled.Again,
Smoke.
Again,
A spark.
Again,
Flame.
A little fire bloomed in front of him, warm and steady. He threaded the fish on a stick and set it above the flames.
The aroma of roasting meat filled the air, rich and intoxicating. His eyes stung, not from the smoke, but from the overwhelming relief.
He ate fast.Too fast.
Each bite replenished him, each swallow reminding him how close he had been to collapse.
Warmth returned to his limbs.Clarity to his mind.
He breathed out slowly, savouring the fullness.
For the first time in days, he felt alive.
Then,
Shouts.
Shrill, angry.The thundering of feet.
Ishiki turned toward the trees just in time to see two boys, maybe his age, burst into the clearing, fists flying in a furious brawl.
He blinked.
Ah. Village kids.Or so he thought.
Their punches were clumsy.Their footwork is sloppy.
But then,
One boy stepped back, raised his hands, and formed signs.
A chill stabbed through Ishiki's spine.
"No…"
A swirling mass of flame burst into existence,
Katon: Fireball Jutsu.
And it was aimed directly at him.
His body froze.His breath died.His heart slammed against his ribs.
His mind flashed back,The market.The fireball.His parents' screams.The heat.The light.The smell.
Not again…Not again—!"I'm dying," he whispered. "Just like them…"
The fire roared closer.
Heat seared his skin.
His legs wouldn't move.
His throat locked.
His vision narrowed,
And then something impossible happened.
A ripple of deep crimson appeared between his trembling hands, soft, flowing fabric materialising out of thin air.
A cape.A banner.A cloth glowing with otherworldly energy.
Instinct, not logic, took over.
He swung it wildly.
The fireball struck the fabric,
And folded.
Bent.
Redirected.
The flames rebounded in a violent arc, screaming past the two stunned boys before exploding harmlessly against a distant tree.
Silence.
Smoke drifted.Ash fell.The forest held its breath.
Ishiki stared at his empty hands.
The cloth, gone.
His vision blurred.His knees buckled.His consciousness drained away like water slipping through cracked stone.
The last thing he saw was the gentle river flowing beside him, reflecting the blue of the sky.
Then,
Darkness.