At one of the country's top tech corporations, the clock struck seven in the evening. Senior programmer Tahara Rokuro had just wrapped up another long day's work and was ready to head home.
But before he could even stand, his colleague Kuba Kichirou came running over like an eager puppy.
"Brother Rokuro! Please, help me out! I've got one last chunk of code left—I need a hand!"
"Get lost," Tahara Rokuro groaned. "I've been working overtime for four days straight. Tonight, I'm actually planning to sleep early."
"Come on, Brother Rokuro~~ I promised my girlfriend I'd take her to see the new Sewer Maintenance Documentary. If I ditch her again, she'll run off with someone else!"
Tahara Rokuro gave him a look of utter disdain.
"If one missed date is all it takes for her to run, I'd say you'd better end it now. Next time, she might dump you because you stepped out with your left foot first—and you'll be wearing a green hat before you know it."
After several minutes of relentless pleading, Tahara Rokuro sighed and gave in.
He was single anyway; going home early only meant eating dinner alone.
"Thanks, Brother Rokuro! Lunch is on me tomorrow!"
"Make it roast duck," Tahara Rokuro shot back.
Kuba Kichirou flashed an OK sign and bolted.
Tahara Rokuro let out another sigh and began typing. Within an hour, he'd finished the task that would've taken Kuba Kichirou three. His fingers flew across the keyboard, his mind sharp and focused—by the end, sweat was dripping down his forehead. He wiped it away, and his fingers accidentally hooked his wig, reveaTahara a shiny bald head that gleamed under the fluorescent lights like that of One Punch Man himself.
"Done at last. Seriously, was Kuba Kichirou slacking off all day? There's no way this much work was left unfinished. One roast duck won't cut it—at least three."
He wiped his head again, grabbed his bag, and prepared to leave.
Then, a sudden sharp pain stabbed through his chest.
His expression froze. He'd had minor heart pains before—nothing serious—but this time, it didn't stop. The pain only worsened until his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.
Worst of all, he was the only one working overtime that night. No one noticed.
"Damn… dying for a roast duck? What a rip-off…"
As darkness swallowed his vision, Tahara Rokuro's life as a corporate tool came to an abrupt end.
When he next opened his eyes, he saw a sharp-eyed young man with striking good looks—the kind of face that could land you a three-bedroom apartment in the city on appearance alone.
And holding him… was an equally beautiful woman, whose face could buy another apartment.
"Wait—am I being held by a gorgeous woman? In front of another handsome guy? One woman, two men… what the hell are people into these days?"
Instinctively, Tahara Rokuro reached out to push the man away. A single dog like him wasn't ready for this kind of drama.
But then… a pair of tiny, pink hands appeared before his eyes.
He froze.
"Oh, shi—" The words came out instead as a soft, high-pitched "Ying~!"
It was Year 45 of the Hidden Leaf Village calendar—the year Tahara Rokuro was reborn into the world of Naruto.
And it was a year marked by two major events.
First: Hatake Sakumo, known as the White Fang of the Leaf, took his own life, leaving behind a young Kakashi Hatake.
Second: the birth of Itachi Uchiha—the prodigy whose existence would one day herald the downfall of the Uchiha Clan.
Neither event should have had anything to do with Tahara Rokuro.
But when he learned that his new father was named Uchiha Taidachi, his calm shattered.
Konoha, Year 50.
Tahara Rokuro—now Uchiha Tahara Rokuro—was five years old.
He stood by a small lake within the Uchiha compound, the same lake where Itachi would one day unleash his first Fireball Jutsu.
As the son of a Uchiha jōnin, Tahara Rokuro naturally had access to the clan's fire-style scrolls. And with the looming shadow of the clan's future massacre, he'd trained harder than anyone since he could walk.
While other toddlers played in the dirt, he practiced taijutsu.
While they shot birds with slingshots, he refined his chakra.
Play? That was for people who didn't know their clan's destiny.
At age four, he successfully refined chakra. Now, at five, he was ready to unleash his first jutsu.
Forming seals at a snail's pace—barely one per second—Tahara Rokuro inhaled deeply, chakra surging into his lungs.
Then he exhaled with all his might.
Whoosh!
A small flame burst out, swelling to the size of a basketball before exploding weakly over the lake's surface.
Tahara Rokuro stared at the faint mist rising from the water, speechless.
"The real Fireball Jutsu should at least make a two-meter-wide fireball. Mine couldn't even kill a stray dog. Guess the gap between me and Itachi the Dutiful Son is… astronomical."
He'd worked harder in these five years than anyone else could imagine.
Armed with an adult's mind and foreknowledge of the Uchiha's fate, he never dared relax.
But even with all that, Itachi had him beaten—purely by talent.
"The Naruto world is built on bloodlines," Tahara Rokuro muttered. "My dad's a Uchiha jōnin, sure—but my mom's just an ordinary chūnin. Not even from the clan. My bloodline's weak. Forget matching Itachi—I might not even awaken the Sharingan at all."
He sighed, then pulled a small black metal tube from his pocket. About ten centimeters long—like a miniature flute.
Taking another deep breath, he placed one end to his lips and blew.
Fwoosh!
A roaring blaze erupted from the other end, expanding into a massive two-meter fireball that Taharaered over the lake before dissipating.
"Ha… just as I thought. Using ninja tools not only makes jutsu easier—it also cuts chakra use by almost thirty percent. If I can't match Itachi in raw talent, I'll make up for it with invention."
He gazed down at the black tube, his eyes complicated.
"To think… even after reincarnation, I'm still a programmer. Guess that's fate.
No golden finger, no [System]just me and my tools.
Fine. If this is my path to surpass Itachi, then I'll walk it."
He tossed the tube into the air and caught it again with practiced ease.
"With my current understanding of sealing formulas, it takes me about a month to craft one ninja tool. That's roughly a jutsu a month—nothing impressive to a genius like Itachi, but faster than most ordinary shinobi could ever dream of."
"Besides, using tools means I can cast instantly—no seals, no wasted chakra. In a fight between equals, that thirty percent advantage could mean everything."
And so began the legend of the Uchiha Programmer, the man who would change the shinobi world not with bloodline power—but with code, circuits, and craftsmanship.