A full-moon night.
Konoha—Uchiha District.
"Itachi… why are you doing this?!"
An Uchiha clansman cried out in despair. Uchiha Itachi gave no reply. Within his dark pupils, the Mangekyō Sharingan flared to life.
Shhk!
A blade of cold light pierced straight through the man's heart. He collapsed, dead on the spot.
When it was over, Itachi wiped the tears from his eyes and vanished into the depths of the night.
Not long after, something strange occurred.
The slain clansman's body suddenly healed—then he jolted back to life, staring around in confusion.
"Huh… where am I?"
Two minutes earlier, Ruoza had been on Earth, lazily scrolling through short videos, laughing so hard he nearly choked—
And then he actually did.
"What the hell… is going on?"
As Ruoza struggled to process the situation, a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into his mind, leaving him completely stunned.
"Don't tell me… I transmigrated?"
"And into the Naruto world, of all places?!"
"This isn't even remotely scientific!"
Horror set in as he realized the truth—he had been reborn into the Naruto world, inside the body of an Uchiha clansman.
Worse still, the original owner of this body had just been killed by Uchiha Itachi.
Killed by Itachi?!
"Wait—this timing…"
"Don't tell me this is the night of the Uchiha massacre?!"
He quickly sorted through the inherited memories.
Unfortunately, that was exactly the case.
"Holy crap… thank goodness I watched Naruto."
Ruoza felt a bitter sense of relief.
Getting tossed into an anime world without knowing the plot would be a nightmare. This only reinforced one universal truth: read more novels, watch more shows, build your knowledge base—your future transmigrated self will thank you.
"Huh… the original owner even had the same name as me?"
realising his identity, Ruoza discovered that he wasn't just any Uchiha—he was Sasuke's older cousin.
The Uchiha were a top-tier clan in the shinobi world, famous for their exceptional talent.
Uchiha Madara.
Uchiha Obito.
Uchiha Shisui.
Uchiha Itachi.
Every one of them was a legend.
Of course, there were also the more ordinary members—like Ruoza.
Sixteen years old.
Chūnin-level strength.
A two-tomoe Sharingan.
Within the Uchiha Clan, that was… mediocre at best.
"Tch. Still, a Sharingan is a Sharingan. Beats being a civilian ninja."
Ruoza knew this world valued bloodlines above all else. Without a kekkei genkai or backing from a great clan, you were basically cannon fodder.
As he was planning his next move, faint footsteps reached his ears.
Crap—someone's coming.
Please don't be Itachi.
Please don't be Obito.
Panic surged through him.
In the original story, the true executioners of the massacre were Itachi and Obito—both monsters at the very top of the shinobi world.
Either one could kill him effortlessly.
Thud.
Without hesitation, Ruoza collapsed to the ground, holding his breath—playing dead.
"Please… not those two."
He peeked through barely opened eyes.
Three figures approached—two men and one woman. Tall, slender, dressed in standard black combat uniforms. Masks covered their faces, and short swords were strapped to their backs.
"Those are… Anbu?"
Ruoza relaxed slightly—until one of them spoke.
"Carry out Lord Danzō's orders."
"Understood."
The three drew their blades and began stabbing every Uchiha corpse they passed.
"Damn it—these aren't Anbu. They're Root!"
The true masterminds behind the massacre were the Third Hokage and Danzō—and Root was Danzō's personal assassination force.
"Danzō… you heartless bastard."
Ruoza cursed inwardly.
"They won't even spare the dead—making sure every body is truly lifeless!"
Cunning, ruthless, and utterly unscrupulous—Danzō would do anything to achieve his ambitions.
The three Root operatives moved efficiently, each strike aimed at vital points, ensuring no one could possibly survive.
"I'm screwed…"
Ruoza's heart tightened.
They were almost upon him.
One more step—and he'd be carved apart.
"Damn it… what do I do?!"
Each of these Root shinobi was a Special Jōnin, personally selected by Danzō. Their attacks targeted hearts and heads—one hit meant instant death.
With his current strength, Ruoza had no chance.
But if he didn't act, he would die for sure.
"To hell with it—fight!"
Gritting his teeth, Ruoza sprang into action.
Shhk!
Seizing the moment while one operative stabbed a corpse, Ruoza shot up and hurled a shuriken straight at the man's skull.
Clang!
The Root ninja reacted instantly, snapping his blade up to block and leaping backward more than ten meters.
The attack failed.
Ruoza roared in frustration.
"Sharingan!"
His two-tomoe Sharingan spun to life, locking onto every movement of the three enemies.
"There's actually a survivor?"
"That's impossible—he escaped from him?"
All three were visibly shocked.
They knew Itachi's reputation—widely considered the strongest Anbu operative in history. No one had ever survived once he made his move.
And yet… someone had slipped through.
"Tch. Poor bastard. Your clan's dead—time for you to join them!"
They sneered and charged together.
"Smoke bomb!"
Ruoza threw down a pellet. It detonated instantly, thick white smoke swallowing his figure.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
A barrage of shuriken tore into the smoke.
"No good!"
Even with his Sharingan, the attacks were too fast, too dense—there was nowhere to dodge.
In a split second of miscalculation, three shuriken flew straight toward his heart.
"So this is it…"
Just as despair closed in, a clear, melodious voice echoed in his mind.
[A lone crow rises among phoenixes beneath drifting clouds.]
[Greetings, esteemed host. The Ultimate Prestige System is now online. Would you like to bind?]