On the Third Training Ground of Konoha, under the scorching rays of the midday sun, a skinny, exhausted figure darted back and forth.
It was the peak of the heat; the sun mercilessly baked the scorched earth, but the black-haired boy, as if forged from tempered steel, stubbornly continued his endless run. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, streams of which flowed down his face and neck, and on his back, weighing down his shoulders, was a heavy sack stuffed with stones.
A fine tremor ran through the young runner's body, his breath bursting from his chest in hoarse, ragged gasps. Anyone else in his place, under such harsh conditions, would have long since collapsed from exhaustion, unable to withstand the monstrous load.
Yet deep in this boy's eyes blazed an indomitable will, a spark of unyielding spirit that wouldn't let him give up. Clenching his teeth, he kept dragging his leaden legs forward, heading into what seemed like another endless lap. With every new step, every overcoming of himself, he forged and tempered his spirit, turning it into an unbreakable blade.
This young man's name was Satoru. Not long ago, he had ended up in another world, finding himself in a place that had only appeared to him in fleeting dreams before.
That place was the legendary Hidden Leaf Village, Konoha, the jewel of the shinobi world known as "Naruto."
And after this incredible translocation, his name hadn't changed—Satoru.
Fate hadn't blessed him with rebirth into one of Konoha's famed clans, like the Uchiha or Hyuga. No, he was just an orphan, a boy without kin or lineage, not even possessing a surname.
Everyone simply called him Satoru, and he himself never agonized over his roots or origins.
Though his orphan status sometimes stung, the foolish kids his age often took pleasure in bullying and insulting him.
"Hey! Bastard whose mom birthed him but whose dad forgot to raise him!"
"What are you doing here in this heat, messing around?"
"Are you a masochist, torturing yourself? Ha-ha-ha!"
Ordinary kids his age only indulged in carefree play, and in their free time from mischief, they turned Satoru into the target of their cruel mockery.
But the transmigrator himself paid almost no attention to the taunts of these little punks. Before arriving in this world, he had already turned nearly thirty, so naturally, he wasn't about to take the antics of some snot-nosed brats seriously. Though outwardly he was a boy, his soul had long crossed the threshold of youth, approaching the thirty-year mark.
As he pushed through the pain and fatigue, continuing his grueling run, a stone suddenly whistled toward him out of nowhere.
*Sh-whoosh!*
The transmigrator, bent under the excessive weight of the stone-filled sack and utterly drained, of course, didn't manage to react or dodge.
*Thud!*
The stone hit him in the head with a dull smack, splitting the skin. Blood immediately stained his black hair. The young man struggled to lift his heavy head and saw that it was those same petty thugs, who now, seeing his wound, burst into even louder, malicious laughter.
"Wa-ha-ha! What a show! Look, that guy's bleeding!"
"Ha-ha! No one's gonna help you—you're not needed by anyone in the world! No dad, no mom! And you torture yourself like this every day—what a total freak!"
These three or four scoundrels were dressed in the traditional attire of the Hyuga clan. That meant they belonged to one of Konoha's most powerful and prestigious clans. Used to bullying the weak with impunity, they showed not a shred of remorse or regret even now, after seriously injuring someone.
But this time, the boy didn't silently take the offense. Slowly, overcoming dizziness, he bent down, picked up the very stone that had just hit him, and hurled it back with force—straight at the Hyuga clan boy who had started it all.
*Wham!*
Though Satoru was exhausted to the limit, his daily grueling workouts hadn't been in vain. The stone he threw, like a slingshot projectile, whistled through the air and struck the little Hyuga squarely in the stomach.
The Hyuga boy doubled over immediately, clutching his gut and grimacing from the sharp pain.
"Bastard!" he squealed. When had the offspring of the great Hyuga clan ever tolerated such treatment from some orphan? He jabbed a finger at the Earth native and roared furiously at his buddies. "Come on, finish off this filthy mongrel! Beat him to death!"
The little Hyuga punks, obeying the order, immediately surrounded their victim in a tight ring.
He swept them with a heavy, icy gaze. The little Hyugas exchanged frightened glances, clearly intimidated, and none dared to attack first, faced with such unexpected resistance.
"What the hell are you waiting for?! Attack him, now!" their leader couldn't hold back—the very Hyuga their victim had hit with the stone. Spurred by his shout, the pack of boys charged at the lone opponent with yells.
"Hmph! Bunch of snot-nosed brats! Already at such a tender age, strutting your power and bullying others? What will you grow up to be? Nothing. Today, I'll teach you some manners!" Satoru had no intention of holding back or showing mercy. From the moment he arrived in this world, he had trained relentlessly, day and night, and his physical conditioning, endurance, and strength far surpassed those of his peers.
Not even half a minute passed before the transmigrator laid all these underage Hyugas out on the dusty training ground with powerful blows and swift sweeps.
This time, the Hyuga boys were truly terrified, knees shaking. Scrambling to their feet somehow, they bolted like their heels had been greased with turpentine, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Hey, you cowardly little punks! Scram home to mommy's skirt and suckle milk!" the orphan sneered contemptuously after them, though he didn't attach any special importance to the minor incident.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan