It was early midnight in Konoha. The wind rolled gently through the village, rustling through the leaves of the great trees that bordered the Hidden Leaf, and carrying with it the lingering heat of a warm autumn day. The village slept, peaceful and quiet under the soft golden glow of oil lamps that illuminated the streets. Their flickering light cast long, trembling shadows across cobblestone roads and tiled rooftops. It was beautiful, almost hauntingly so—like the quiet moment before a symphony's first note or the breath held before a storm.
And something was wrong.
Ninjas darted over rooftops, masked and silent, weapons in hand. They moved with practiced precision, spreading out like a web from the Hokage Tower, eyes scanning the night. Whispers echoed among the patrols. Something was off. A tension hung in the air like the thick scent before rain. Birds hadn't sung all day. Dogs were barking for no reason. Several sensors had picked up disturbances—brief flickers of high-level chakra that disappeared too fast to trace.
Then it happened.
BOOM.
A thunderous crack shattered the silence like a drumbeat from the gods. In the blink of an eye, the very air was ripped apart by a pulse of raw malevolence. With a flash of chakra and distortion of space, a monstrous creature—a fox of impossible size, with fur the color of molten fire—was teleported directly into the heart of the village. Its tails whipped and curled like titanic serpents, each movement cracking buildings as though they were nothing more than dried leaves beneath its monstrous paws.
Its eyes gleamed with murderous fury.
The Nine-Tailed Fox—the Kyuubi no Yoko—had returned.
With a roar that shook the heavens, it tore through the center of Konoha. Just the sound of its voice shattered windows, caved in rooftops, and knocked shinobi off their feet. The very presence of it exuded a chakra so dense, so hateful, that it clung to the skin like tar and pressed into lungs like smoke. Killing intent poured from the beast in waves, paralyzing even seasoned jonin where they stood.
Alarms screamed across the village as red lights flared into the sky.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, stood atop a high tower already clad in his battle armor. His staff clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes narrowed not with fear but grim determination.
"All shinobi, suppress and contain the Kyuubi! Evacuate civilians immediately!" he shouted.
Behind him, dozens of ninja flared into motion, leaping into formation and surrounding the beast. But already, chaos had begun.
---
In a small, run-down apartment on the edge of the commercial district, a boy knelt on the floor, drenched in sweat. His breath came in sharp gasps, his chest heaving as though he'd just sprinted a marathon. The thin tatami mat beneath his knees was soaked, and his back trembled uncontrollably.
He stared at his hands—pale, calloused, and unfamiliar.
He was hyperventilating.
"What the f**k," he whispered, the words alien on his tongue, but familiar to his mind. "This can't be real. This—this isn't possible."
His name—no, his former name—had been Alex Schiller. Twenty-one years old. A mechanical engineering student turned factory technician. Born in Germany, raised in Boston. He had died of a heart attack at his desk after three days without sleep. He remembered that vividly. The aching in his left arm. The strange tightness in his chest. Then darkness.
And now, here he was.
In another body.
Another life.
Another world.
His reflection in the dusty mirror across the room confirmed what his mind had already told him. He wasn't Alex Schiller anymore. His face was different—sharper jawline, younger features, unruly black hair and dull green eyes. His name now… was Rinjin Takeda.
The memories weren't his, but they were in his head. Childhood in a weapon shop. Training with academy classmates who mocked him for being a civilian. Late nights learning chakra control in the back room while his mother hammered kunai heads. Pain. Pride. The joy of finally passing the Chunin Exams just three weeks ago.
It was wrong. Horrifying. But undeniable.
"Transmigration," Alex—Rinjin—muttered. "I got Isekai'd. This is… Naruto. This is the world of Naruto. The Nine-Tails... Kyuubi... Minato, Kushina… They're going to die tonight."
He clutched his head as a sharp spike of chakra flared in the distance, like someone had turned on a gas burner in his brain. His whole body shivered.
ROOOOOAAARRRRR!
The second shriek of the Kyuubi tore through the air like a buzzsaw through steel. His breath caught. It wasn't just sound—it was force. Chakra. Rage. Killing intent so massive it swept across the city like a tsunami. His limbs locked up, eyes wide as a tidal wave of terror washed over him. His heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
The building trembled. A framed photo fell from the wall and shattered on the floor.
"Rinjin!!"
The door burst open with a crack. A man stood there—middle-aged, balding slightly at the temples, his face streaked with sweat and soot. His wide brown eyes blazed with panic.
"Get up! We have to go! The village is under attack!"
"Dad—?"
No. Renjiro Takeda. Rinjin's father.
Behind him, a woman's voice cried out—sharp and commanding. "The shelters, Renjiro! We don't have time!"
"Your mother's waiting outside—get your gear and MOVE!"
Instinct took over. Rinjin scrambled up, grabbing the utility pouch by the door. His fingers moved automatically, checking for shuriken, wire, smoke bombs. Even as panic fogged his mind, the ninja training kicked in. Not his, but it didn't matter.
Outside, the sky was orange-red. Smoke billowed across rooftops. Screams echoed in the distance, and the harsh clash of steel-on-steel rang through the air. Rinjin followed his parents out into the street, eyes wide.
Hell. It was hell.
Flames licked at wooden buildings. Civilians screamed and sprinted through alleys, some clutching children or bleeding wounds. A pair of genin ushered people toward a hidden stairwell—one of the emergency bunkers. Medical-nin ran past carrying stretchers. Paper tags exploded in midair as traps activated. Somewhere in the distance, a water dragon jutsu roared to life.
He felt the Kyuubi's chakra again—like standing in front of an active volcano. And then… it happened.
"Look!" someone screamed.
Rinjin turned, and his eyes met god.
The Nine-Tails stood in full view at the far end of the street. It crouched low, monstrous maw glowing with ominous light. Its tails dug into the earth, bracing.
"Dad. Run." Rinjin's voice was low, shaky.
"What?!"
"It's charging a Bijuudama—run, NOW!"
Before anyone could respond, the sphere of swirling black and purple energy in the Kyuubi's mouth condensed to the size of a boulder. The very air warped around it.
Rinjin didn't think. His body moved on its own. He tore free from his father's grasp, chakra flooding to his legs. He vaulted up the nearest wall, bounding to the rooftops like a bird of prey.
But it was too late.
The Nine-Tails roared.
The Biju Bomb launched.
It streaked across the village crushing buildings in its wake headed for the Hokage monument,as it reached it did not explode but was enveloped by black lines that appeared mid air then it disappeared,that was the last thing he saw before passing out.
A Day later*
---
The first thing he felt was pain.
A dull, throbbing ache that pulsed behind his eyes, radiating through his skull with every heartbeat. Then came the sound—quiet at first. Muffled voices, the distant shuffle of feet, the rustle of curtains. The sterile tang of antiseptic filled his nose.
Hospital.
Rinjin blinked, groggy. The ceiling above was white, cracked in places. A slow drip echoed somewhere to his left—IV fluids. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, his left arm was in a sling, and his head was throbbing like a war drum. His vision swam every time he moved.
He groaned, drawing attention.
A young nurse with dark hair poked her head into view. Her expression changed the moment she saw him—relief, then hesitation. Pity.
"You're awake," she said softly. "Don't move too much. You have a concussion, a fractured arm, and severe bruising across your ribs. You were lucky."
Rinjin licked his cracked lips. "What... happened?"
She hesitated.
"You were caught in the shockwave of the tailed beast attack. You were found unconscious under the rubble of a weapons shop... the Takeda residence."
His heart stopped. The fog in his mind e pp in
Devaporated.
"My... my parents—?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes dropped to the chart in her hands. Her silence told him everything.
"I'm sorry," she said, almost a whisper. "They were pronounced dead on the scene. Crushed during the evacuation. The tailed beast bomb destroyed the entire district."
Rinjin stared at the ceiling. The pain in his body became irrelevant.
He should've died with them. He should've—
But he didn't.
The bed creaked slightly as he turned his face away, eyes dry, mouth set in a thin, grim line.
He wasn't Alex Schiller anymore. He was Rinjin Takeda. A civilian-born chunin. A ninja of Konoha. And now… an orphan.
---
Later That Day – The Chunin Debriefing
Three days passed before he was cleared to walk. By then, the hospital overflowed with injured civilians and shinobi alike. Entire wards were converted to emergency triage centers. The death toll was still climbing.
Rinjin, still sore and hollow, reported for duty.
The chunin debriefing hall was smaller than usual. Many familiar faces were missing—friends, rivals, instructors. Half the chairs were empty. Haggard jonin stood at the front of the room, handing out reports and status updates.
Casualty lists were passed around. Rinjin scanned them with numb eyes:
Civilian deaths: 1,832
Shinobi deaths: 421
Entire squads wiped out: 17
Property loss: 38% of the village infrastructure destroyed
Strategic assets lost: 5 weapon depots, 3 barrier control outposts, the Hokage guard tower…
Some of the names hit him like a hammer.
Takeda, Renjiro.
Takeda, Hitomi.
His parents.
---
Meanwhile – Hiruzen's Return
Elsewhere, in the Hokage's war chamber, the council had convened.
The room was dimly lit, heavy with smoke and silence. At its head stood Hiruzen Sarutobi, battle-worn and grim. His armor was still scorched in places. Age had not dulled the fire in his eyes, and now that fire was needed again.
With Minato gone, the village was without a Hokage.
"We must act quickly," Homura Mitokado began. "The people need leadership. The clan heads await a decision."
"I will resume the mantle," Hiruzen said firmly. "Effective immediately. The emergency chain of command has been invoked."
No one objected. Too much had been lost to argue.
"And the boy?" Koharu asked cautiously. "The child of Minato and Kushina?"
"His name is Naruto," Hiruzen said. "He is the vessel of the Kyuubi now. That truth must be kept hidden. Publicly, he will be known as an orphan of the attack—nothing more."
"Are we to spread lies?" Danzo's voice was sharp. "The people saw the beast. They saw its eyes—the Sharingan. You cannot ignore that. The Uchiha clan must answer for this."
Silence fell again.
Indeed, those who survived near the beast had seen it—the eerie crimson glow, the three tomoe spinning across the Kyuubi's pupils. It was unmistakable.
"There is no proof," Hiruzen said, but his voice was laced with tension. "Only suspicion. We will investigate… quietly."
Danzo leaned forward. "Then begin watching them. All of them."
---
Back to Rinjin – The Funeral Wall
After the briefing, Rinjin walked alone to the village's outer memorial wall, newly expanded to fit the names of the dead. He found his parents' names etched in fresh stone.
He stood there for a long time.
This is real, he thought. I'm really here. They're really gone.
He didn't cry. He couldn't. The pain was too deep, too vast. Instead, he whispered a vow beneath his breath.
"I'll survive this. I'll find a way to live. For them."
And somewhere deep in his soul—Alex, the boy who died of heart failure in a quiet world—finally accepted that he was never going back to his original world.