Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Still half-asleep, Eric fumbled around his cluttered nightstand, smacking the alarm clock until it finally went silent. The dim light of dawn seeped through his window, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air.
For a few blissful seconds, he lay there, hoping time would stop. His bed was warm, his blanket soft, and the world outside—cold, loud, and full of problems—could wait.
Then reality hit him like a kunai to the gut.
"Damn," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Why did I stay up until three a.m. watching anime and playing Naruto Mobile again?"
His voice was groggy, his tone resigned. But he already knew the answer. Escaping into the worlds of anime and games was the only time he felt alive.
A quick glance at his phone shattered the illusion of peace.
6:30 a.m.
Eric's heart stopped."IT'S ALREADY SIX-THIRTY?! I'M GONNA BE LATE, GOD DAMN IT!"
In record time, he stumbled into the bathroom, brushing his teeth with the desperation of a man racing fate. Water splashed onto his wrinkled work shirt, toothpaste dripped onto the floor, and he nearly tripped pulling on his pants.
By the time he ran out of his apartment, his tie was crooked, his hair a mess, and his coffee cup still sitting empty on the counter.
The streets were already alive with morning commuters, each person wearing the same weary expression that mirrored his own. The city was loud, suffocating—filled with honking cars, the distant hum of chatter, and the faint smell of fried dough from the nearby stalls.
As he jogged toward the bus stop, his phone rang.
The caller ID made his stomach twist."Boss."
Suppressing a groan, he answered, "Hello, boss, why are you calling?"
A greasy voice came through the receiver."Hey Eric, listen. We just picked up an extra contract, and I need someone reliable to handle the workload. Congratulations—you're the lucky one. Sounds great, right?"
Eric's face paled. "Oh… yeah, great," he said flatly, forcing fake enthusiasm. "I'll handle it."
He hung up and sighed. The words "lucky one" tasted bitter.Everyone at work knew his boss—a lazy parasite who only kept his position because his father owned the company. He'd dump his responsibilities on others, then take credit for their work.
Still, Eric needed the job. With no family, no safety net, and barely enough savings to survive a month, quitting wasn't an option.
By the time he reached the office, he was drenched in sweat. He grabbed a paper cup of lukewarm coffee from the café downstairs and slipped quietly into his cubicle.
The day crawled by in endless monotony.
Typing reports. Checking data. Updating spreadsheets. Smiling politely at people who didn't care.
At lunch, he overheard a few coworkers gossiping—apparently, the cute brunette in the cubicle across from his was newly single.He considered asking her out. But then he thought about his empty wallet, his tiny apartment, and the mountain of work waiting on his desk.
"Maybe tomorrow," he told himself. "If tomorrow ever gets better."
When 5 p.m. came, the office emptied. Chairs creaked as people packed up, some wishing him goodnight with sympathetic eyes. Eric stayed behind, alone, his screen's blue glow reflecting off his tired face.
By 8 p.m., he finally hit "Save" on the last document. His eyes burned, his shoulders ached, but at least the work was done. He stood up, stretching, ready to leave.
Then the door creaked open.
"Eric," came that familiar oily voice. "Come to my office for a minute."
A chill ran down his spine. He followed reluctantly, feeling like a prisoner heading for judgment.
His boss sat behind his desk, smirking like a cat who had cornered a mouse."The thing is, Eric," he said slowly, "I just got promoted."
Eric forced a smile. "Congratulations, sir."
"Ah, but there's a problem," his boss continued, pretending to look concerned. "My cousin's been looking for work, and I promised him your position. So, unfortunately, you're out."
The words hit harder than a Rasengan."W-what? You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious," the man sneered. "HR already processed it. Clean your desk and leave before I call security."
"Please," Eric pleaded, voice trembling. "Don't do this. I've worked hard for years—this is the only job I have!"
"Not my problem," the man said, turning his chair away. "Get out of my sight."
And just like that, everything crumbled.
Outside, the city lights blurred through his tears as he walked aimlessly.
His thoughts spiraled.Why me?Was it because I was born an orphan? Because I wasn't smart enough? Strong enough? Lucky enough?
The air was cold, the streets quiet.
Then—a child's scream.
He snapped his head up. A little girl was crossing the road, a ball bouncing away from her hands. Her mother shouted, frozen in fear.
A truck roared around the corner.
Eric didn't think. He ran.
The girl's terrified eyes met his as he pushed her out of the way.
"Heh… life really is troublesome," he murmured with a weak smile as the truck's headlights swallowed him.
The impact never came.
When Eric opened his eyes, he was lying face-down on grass.
His head throbbed. The air smelled… clean. Fresh. The sky was impossibly blue, with no city smog, no horns, no chaos.
"Huh?" He pushed himself up, confused. "Where… am I?"
Then, a child's voice."Hey, Mizuki! You okay?"
"Mizu—what?" Eric blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just—wait… what did you call me?"
"Mizuki," the boy repeated, trotting over with a worried look. He had tan skin, brown hair tied up in a pineapple-style ponytail, and a scarless, youthful face Eric recognized instantly.
"Iruka?" Eric whispered, stunned.
The boy tilted his head. "Uh, yeah? Did you hit your head or something?"
Eric's heart raced. His reflection in a nearby pond confirmed the impossible—a young boy stared back, with long silver hair and pale blue eyes.
It was Mizuki.Not the adult traitor who tried to steal the Scroll of Seals—but a child, no older than seven or eight.
Pain exploded in his skull as fragments of memories—Mizuki's memories—flooded in.The orphanage. The academy. The loneliness. The desperate need to prove himself.
He gasped, clutching his head until the visions faded.
So I… I died saving that girl… and now I'm Mizuki? In Konoha? Before the events of Naruto?
"Hey, Mizuki," Iruka said, voice full of concern, "you sure you're okay? The ball hit you pretty hard."
Eric—now Mizuki—forced a weak laugh. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just… a little dizzy."
"Maybe you should go home and rest," Iruka said.
"Good idea." He smiled faintly. "See you tomorrow, Iruka."
Iruka hesitated, guilt in his eyes. "Sorry about the ball."
Mizuki flicked him lightly on the forehead. "Don't sweat it. It's nothing."
Iruka blinked, then grinned. "See you at the academy!"
As Iruka ran off with his parents, Mizuki let out a deep sigh and turned toward the village.
The streets of Konoha stretched before him—warm lanterns, bustling markets, laughter of children. A living, breathing world he'd only seen in anime, now real under his feet.
Back "home," he found himself in a small government-supplied apartment. It was filthy—clothes everywhere, stale food on the table, the air thick with the smell of mold.
"So even in this world, I'm still an orphan, huh?" he muttered with a bitter laugh.
But something stirred inside him.This wasn't the corporate prison he'd left behind. This was a world of chakra, of shinobi, of adventure. A world where effort actually mattered.
"I guess this is my reset button," he said softly.
He rolled up his sleeves. For the next two hours, he scrubbed, swept, and cleaned until the place was spotless. The physical work made him sweat, but it also felt… freeing.
After washing up, his stomach growled.
"Guess even reincarnations don't come with free meals."
He wandered through the streets until he saw it—a small, humble stand with a red curtain and the familiar words painted across the front:
Ichiraku Ramen.
He froze."Wait… Ichiraku already exists? But it's supposed to be before Naruto's generation. This must be decades earlier."
Still, the smell of pork broth was irresistible. He walked in and sat at the counter.
The man behind it, younger but unmistakably Teuchi, was wiping down a pot.
"Oi, kid, what'll it be?" Teuchi asked, grinning.
Mizuki hesitated. "Uh… one pork miso ramen, please."
"Coming right up!"
Minutes later, the bowl was placed before him. The rich aroma filled his senses—the warmth of the broth, the glisten of the noodles. He took a bite. Then another. And another.
Before he knew it, he'd devoured the entire bowl and drank the broth dry.
"Man… that was the best ramen I've ever had," he said with a grin. "How much do I owe you, Uncle?"
Teuchi laughed. "On the house. First-time customer's special."
"Really? Thanks, Uncle Teuchi," Mizuki said, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.
He stayed for a while, chatting about trivial things—the weather, the academy, the Hokage Monument visible from the stand. For the first time in years, he laughed without bitterness.
When he finally left, the village was bathed in silver moonlight.
Children's laughter echoed in the distance. The Hokage faces stood proudly on the mountain, freshly carved and full of hope.
Mizuki looked up, his reflection shimmering faintly in a puddle at his feet.
"This world… is real. I'm actually here."
He clenched his small hands into fists. "If I'm Mizuki now, then I won't follow his path. I won't become that bitter loser who betrays everyone. I'll rewrite my own story."
He reached home and collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion finally catching up.
As his eyes grew heavy, he whispered to himself,"Do I really have to go to the academy tomorrow? So troublesome… but maybe this time, it'll be worth it."
Sleep claimed him, and for the first time in his two lives, his dreams were peaceful.