The first thing I felt was the cold.
Not the metaphorical, life-changing kind of cold you'd expect from a dramatic isekai moment, but the literal cold of my face smushed into a floor tile. Smooth. Chilly. Slightly dusty. Did I die in my crappy apartment and get reincarnated inside a janitor's closet?
But no. As soon as I opened my eyes, everything hit me at once.
The weirdly bright wallpaper. The aroma of fish and miso in the air. A picture frame with a certain knucklehead ninja and a woman with beautiful hair smiling awkwardly.
And then I saw the mirror.
Small face. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Whisker marks. Oh god.
"No."
I said it out loud. My voice was higher. Way higher.
"No. No no no. This is a prank. A genjutsu. Where's the camera?"
Spoiler alert: there was no camera.
Because somehow, I had transmigrated into Boruto Uzumaki. Age five. Pre-canon. Before everything went to hell with Momoshiki, Jigen, and that stupid karma thing.
The irony didn't just slap me—it suplexed me.
I had spent years roasting this brat on Reddit, forums, and every comment section unfortunate enough to hear my ranting. Immature. Entitled. Couldn't hold a candle to his old man. Dude was the textbook definition of "silver spoon syndrome."
"If I were Boruto, I'd be Hokage by twelve and have my own Susanoo and Rinnegan by thirteen," I used to say while munching ramen and skipping leg day.
Well guess what?
Karma's real, and it's a bitch.
---
Let me rewind a bit. Before I woke up in anime-land, I was just your average otaku loser. Twenty-something. Single. Hadn't seen sunlight in three days. I binged Boruto out of spite more than enjoyment, rage-watching every episode while yelling at my screen like a boomer watching the news.
Then Boruto: Two Blue Vortex dropped.
And suddenly, it all clicked. All the hate, the pain, the character regression—it all made sense. The kid lost everything. His family. His identity. He was doing that whole edgy "Kawaki is my brother" bit not because he was annoying, but because he was desperate.
I felt bad.
For the first time in years, I felt real, actual guilt.
And then I died.
Choked on spicy cup ramen, of all things. If you're looking for a cool origin story, I'm sorry to disappoint. I didn't die heroically. I died like the trash I was, coughing and gagging with anime playing in the background.
Next thing I know, boom—Boruto's body. Age 5. Tiny hands. No ninja skills. And a dad who still looks at me like I'm the greatest thing since multi-shadow clones.
---
"Boruto! Breakfast is ready!" a gentle voice called from outside.
That would be Hinata. The Hinata. Former Hyuga heiress, Byakugan goddess, and now... mom.
MY MOM.
I never wanted to die, but having Hinata Hyuga as my mom did soften the trauma a bit.
"Coming!" I called out, trying not to squeak. Seriously, this voice made me sound like a chew toy.
I shuffled out into the living room, still half in denial, and saw it.
The Uzumaki household. Wooden floors. Sunny windows. The Hokage cloak hanging on the wall.
And him.
Uzumaki Naruto. Seventh Hokage. Living legend. The dude I cried over during the Pain arc.
He looked up from his rice bowl and gave me the goofiest, most genuine smile in the world.
"Morning, Boruto! Sleep okay?"
I froze.
I had spent years calling this man a neglectful dad in fan essays and thinkpieces.
Now he was looking at me like I was his whole world.
I am not emotionally stable enough for this.
"I... yeah. I slept fine." I sat down awkwardly, trying not to explode from anxiety.
Hinata placed a plate in front of me, ruffling my hair with that soft, motherly smile that made half the fanbase worship her.
"Eat up, sweetie. We've got a check-up at the hospital today, remember?"
Ah yes. Classic ninja world health system. Mandatory check-ups for academy candidates.
Wait. Was I already joining the academy?
Oh god, it was starting. The real canon was creeping closer.
---
Later that day, I stood in front of a mirror again, tugging at my shirt collar. Five-year-old Boruto looked healthy. Too healthy. I was used to seeing him animated with budget cuts and weird filler faces.
But now I was stuck with this adorable little body and a mountain of expectations.
Okay, I thought, this isn't the end of the world.
I've got time. I can fix this timeline. Avoid all the dumb stuff. Keep my family alive. Grow strong early. Out-Kawaki Kawaki.
And maybe, just maybe...
I can redeem Boruto's name.
---
But fate is a troll.
Because right after we left the hospital, we bumped into the last person I wanted to see.
"Yo, Boruto!"
Konohamaru. Young, energetic, and still blissfully unaware of the mental trauma he'd go through later in life.
I waved half-heartedly. "Hi."
"You look fired up today!" he grinned. "Your dad said you've been asking about chakra control already. That's amazing!"
I blinked.
I had?
Oh right. OG Boruto had always been a prodigy with chakra, even if he was a jerk about it.
I forced a smile. "Yeah. I want to start early. Gotta catch up to... Dad, right?"
Konohamaru gave me a thumbs-up like a Saturday morning cartoon character. "That's the spirit!"
Yeah, sure. Spirit. Or existential dread. Same thing.
---
That night, as the house went quiet and Naruto snored like a thunderstorm, I sat by the window, staring out at the Hokage Monument.
My five-year-old hands clenched into tiny fists.
This was my chance. A second life. A do-over.
I wasn't just some salty otaku anymore.
I was Boruto Uzumaki.
And this time?
I wasn't going to screw it up.