The first thing I saw in this world was a small, motionless body. A baby, lying in a crib, pale and lifeless. My soul surged, drawn to it like a magnet, and without resistance, I slipped inside. In an instant, I became him — a one-year-old boy named Rey Hozuki, born into the Hozuki clan of Mist Village, a clan whose very essence was water, hidden behind fog and peace.
Memories of my past life came rushing back — unbidden, unstoppable. Madara. Obito. Hashirama. The senseless bloodshed, the manipulation, the deaths that could have been prevented. People on forums praised Hashirama as a paragon of peace, a man who built villages through cooperation. Hah. They don't know. They never knew.
Ashura's soul may have influenced him, sure. But without overwhelming power, without the ability to make threats a reality, who would have listened? Words alone are meaningless. Strength decides everything. Madara crushed villages without a second thought — but Hashirama? He acted no differently. Behind his "smile for peace" lay the same iron fist. Countless lives were collateral, pawns in his ambition.
If Madara had Hashirama's power, he would have burned Konoha and Hashirama alike to dust — and Hashirama did the same whenever it suited him. The Sage of Six Paths, favoring Ashura, might have believed in mutual understanding and peace, but what did that bring the ordinary people? Blood. Suffering. Villages torn apart. Those who simply wanted a quiet life bore the brunt of so-called ideals.
Everything came down to this simple truth: with power, you can shape the world. Without it, your words are empty.
I clenched my tiny fists. This life will be different.
The room was warm, decorated modestly with delicate paintings and a faint scent of incense. But something was wrong. My senses, sharpened even in this fragile form, detected it immediately — the woman lying on the bed was dead. I could feel her life had left her body. Her spirit had fled, leaving only flesh behind.
I tried to cry, a small, quivering sound that drew attention. People rushed in — villagers, medics — performing quick rituals, healing jutsus, shaking their heads in quiet sorrow. Silence fell like a thick fog after they realized nothing could be done.
Then an old man entered. His presence was commanding, his aura calm yet unshakable. He looked at me and smiled faintly, though his eyes were sharp, knowing more than he let on.
"Bury her properly," he said in a voice deep and steady, echoing authority. "This child will stay with me. I will take care of him."
The villagers bowed, murmuring in unison, "Yes, Clan Head." They carried the woman's body out for the burial ritual, leaving me cradled in the old man's arms.
I gazed out the window as he carried me outside. Mist Village lay spread before me, shrouded in a delicate, gray fog. Children laughed as they played in the streets. Young ninja practiced basic techniques, throwing kunai, running, leaping over small training dummies. Merchants and farmers moved about their work. Life here was calm, ordinary, peaceful — yet beneath that calm, I sensed potential. Mist could hide strength. Mist could hide death.
But I remembered the Blood Mist Era. The screams. The betrayal. The endless cycle of manipulation and killing. My soul, even in this small body, burned with the memory. My first instinct as Rey Hozuki surged: protect this village. Not this time.
"Madara… Hashirama… Obito… all of you," I thought, teeth clenching, "I'll destroy every threat, one by one. Nobody will harm this village while I live."
Then it happened. A voice, deep and eternal, resonated inside my mind — not my own, but something far greater.
[Host, sudden desire to protect village detected. System reboot initiated.]
[Prestige System activating…]
[Adjusting to host world parameters…]
[Host, wait. The strongest system is now at your service. No tasks assigned; your ambition will guide you.]
A countdown began, echoing in my consciousness.
10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
The game has begun.
I squeezed my tiny fists tighter, feeling the rush of potential, the thrill of power that would be mine to command. My first thought was clear, absolute: this village, shrouded in mist, peaceful and hidden, would never fall again. Every shadow, every enemy, every manipulator — they would pay.
The old man looked down at me, his face calm, eyes glinting with secret knowledge. "You will be strong, little one," he murmured. "Stronger than anyone can imagine."
I smiled, though no one could see it yet. I, Rey Hozuki, reborn with knowledge, with hatred, with the memory of blood, had a mission. Protect this village. Rise. And when the time came, take everything from those who once destroyed my world.
Mist swirled outside, wrapping the village in silver-gray secrecy. And in that mist, a child's vow solidified: I will rise. And I will make the world tremble.