Daigo sat by the small window of his room, the half-eaten dumpling box cooling on the table behind him. Outside, the village of Iwagakure was quiet beneath the evening sky. Lanterns flickered gently on rooftops, casting soft orange light across the stone streets. Shadows stretched long and thin across walls.
But inside his chest, a storm was brewing.
Lian Zhen.
That name... his real name... echoed in his mind like a forgotten prayer. It wasn't this body's name—but it was his.
He closed his eyes.
Since the moment he woke up in this strange world—no, this familiar world—he'd been struggling to catch up. The memories of this child named Daigo had seeped into his mind slowly. Fragmented at first, like scattered puzzle pieces. But now they were taking shape.
Daigo. Ten years old. Raised in an Iwagakure orphanage since infancy. Never adopted. Always alone.
He wasn't a troublemaker—just quiet. Too quiet. He didn't talk to the other children. Not out of arrogance, but because… he didn't know how. That silence made him a target.
First came the whispers. Then the stolen shoes. Then spit in his food. His notebooks torn. His lunch tossed in the gutter.
And still—Daigo never fought back.
He'd been too weak to.
Lian Zhen opened his eyes slowly and let out a long, shaky breath.
This child… he was lonely.
Just like he had been. Back in his very first life—on Earth.
And then it clicked.
Iwagakure.
That name—it had felt strange before, like a word on the tip of his tongue. But now it echoed with clarity.
His eyes widened slightly.
Naruto.
Of course. This wasn't just any ninja world. This was that world. The one he had loved when he was still a boy on Earth—fragile, sickly, and alone. The world of chakra, of shinobi, of tragedy and hope. He had grown up with Naruto. He had laughed with him, cried with him. Watched him fight through pain and rejection, just to be accepted.
And now...
Now he was part of that world.
He stood from the bed, unsteady. His fingers curled slightly against the windowsill. This body—Daigo's body—was smaller than his had ever been. Softer. Thinner. Fragile in a way he hated.
But it was his now.
He looked over at the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. The boy staring back had tired eyes. Hollow. But not lifeless.
There was something else now—something hard and sharp deep within.
He stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest.
In the martial world, I had everything I ever wanted. A sword in his hand. A father who trained him. A mother who smiled as she watched. He remembered his father—the Righteous King—kneeling beside him after every training session, patting his head, wiping the sweat from his brow, calling him strong even when he failed.
That kind of love… it had been real.
Even if it was lost now.
I'll return. No matter what it takes.
His grip tightened.
"If Naruto could endure it… if he could climb from nothing and become Hokage… then so can I."
He began pacing slowly, whispering aloud just to hear his thoughts.
"If I'm ten now… and this is the 70th year since the establishment of villages… then Naruto must be ten too. That means the academy graduation is in two years."
He paused, mind racing.
"I have two years. Two years to master chakra. Two years to become strong enough to step into the real world. To rise. To reach the level I need to."
But if he truly wanted to return to the martial world… he'd need more than just strength.
He'd need something that could bend space itself.
The Rinnegan. The Tenseigan. Or something even greater.
The Eye of the Otsutsuki—the so-called eyes of gods.
It was possible.
Not yet.
But eventually.
Still, staying in Iwagakure wouldn't be enough. Their knowledge was rigid, their vision narrow with only one kage . They were strong in numbers, yes—but spiritually and intellectually,strength wise Konoha was richer. It had the histories, the relics, the bloodlines. The Uchiha. The Hyuga. The Uzumaki.
I need to get to Konoha.
But not now.
Not while he was this weak.
For now... I need to grow silently.
Hide what I know.
Learn everything I can about this world's chakra—then refine it. Combine it with what I remember of qi, of meridians, of flow.
He looked down at his hands again.
They were small. Still trembling from the events of the day.
Not the hands of a warrior.
Not yet.
But in time…
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting his thoughts settle.
Two years. That's all the time I have. I'll train. I'll observe. I'll survive.
And one day, when no one expects it—
I'll rise.
He looked at his reflection one last time, his voice barely a whisper.
"For now… I'll be Daigo."
End of Chapter.