Morning of July 14, Konoha.
With faint dark circles under his eyes, Shiba Seisen was jolted awake by sunlight stabbing into the room. He wriggled, trying to go back to sleep.
Then—something clicked. He bolted upright, making the already tiny bed squeal under his weight.
"Damn it…" Seisen scratched his back impatiently, stretched, and began dressing.
A while later, he stared at himself in the mirror. His thick eyebrows furrowed, deep forehead lines forming. "Which bastard dragged me into this fairy-ass world? These ninja outfits are gaudy as hell!"
He held nothing but contempt for the clothes in his wardrobe. But what annoyed him even more was the inhuman schedule carved into his body's instincts:
Wake up at this exact time every day. Meditate and cultivate. Then run to the ninja academy to babysit a bunch of brats whose butt cheeks weren't even as big as his palm.
Who could stand that?
Well—Seisen couldn't. He'd lived as a rough soldier's rough soldier for too long. Family-and-kids nonsense made his head spin.
"Whatever. Raising kids is like leading troops—gotta be tough! Gotta have manly spirit! Like that guy on the far left of the Hokage Rock—clap your hands and boom, a whole forest pops out of nowhere!"
He gazed into the distance. From the shattered fragments of memory, he'd recalled what this world was like—and it had stunned him. Hell, even artillery couldn't compare to these monsters just yelling and doing miracles.
Good. Very manly.
Seisen marched to the fridge, shoved last night's pastries into his mouth in one go, then swaggered out into the street toward the academy.
Meditation and cultivation?
Cultivate my ass.
Konoha's morning streets were quiet. Only breakfast stalls and a few passersby gave the village a little life.
He narrowed his eyes. The low Japanese-style buildings, the neat streets—this looked nothing like the farmland, mud-brick houses, markets, and winding dirt paths he remembered.
And you call this a "village"?
He entered the academy and walked into the office.
He was the first one there.
The setup wasn't much different from modern society, but the ninja tools scattered around the desks made it clear: this was the shinobi world.
Seisen slumped into his chair like he owned the place and lazily glanced at the timetable.
"Ninja Code of Conduct?" What surprised him wasn't the class—what surprised him was that he could read the complicated symbols.
"So I really am an educated man." Seisen nodded in satisfaction, crow's-feet deepening as he found the thin booklet on his desk. He flipped it open and jabbed at lines with his finger, savoring the feeling of being a "learned scholar."
Then his brow slammed down. His finger stopped on a sentence:
MISSION PRIORITY OVER PERSONAL LIFE.
"BANG!!" Seisen slammed his hand on the desk, the echo booming through the empty office.
"Bullshit! Back when I led troops, when did I ever abandon my brothers?!"
So this was the cost of being an "educated man."
Seisen glared at the offensive words like he wanted to chew them to pieces.
Trash book.
He was about to throw the Code straight in the bin, but that felt too mild. He activated his "educated man brain," slapped his forehead, and decided to stab it to hell with a kunai!
This was Seisen's three-slap decision method: slap the head to make a plan, slap the chest to guarantee it, slap the thigh later to clean up the mess.
He reached for his gear pouch—
Oh. Forgot to bring it.
Right then, a spirited Iruka entered. He looked at Seisen and greeted him warmly. "Yo, Seisen. Why are you so early today? Not meditating?"
Iruka knew Seisen's ascetic routine. Normally Iruka arrived first, Seisen second.
Seisen turned his head, and the name Iruka surfaced naturally in his mind.
"Good timing, Iruka. Fetch me a kunai."
Iruka turned into a statue, staring at him like he'd been struck by lightning.
Was this really the gentle, refined Seisen?
Seeing Iruka frozen, Seisen's thick eyebrows practically fused into one line. "What's wrong with you? I said a kunai—kunai!"
"O-oh… yeah." Iruka tossed him one.
Seisen caught it—
by gripping the sharp end.
"Heh—look at that!" Seisen didn't panic. He adjusted his grip, then stabbed the booklet again and again—
Pff! Pff! Pff!
Iruka's eyes widened. He hadn't expected Seisen to be this aggressive today. Was it a genjutsu? Did he eat something weird?
"Seisen!" Iruka rushed up and snatched away the now-shredded booklet, eyes as round as Seisen's.
Seisen shot to his feet, aura flaring like a warlord. "Damn it, Iruka—what're you doing?!"
Iruka stumbled back, startled. He might not say "holy crap," but he knew how to dispel genjutsu.
"T-this is school property. You can't just stab it." His voice shook.
Seisen ignored him. He grabbed the booklet back, hurled it into the trash, and barked loud enough to shake the room. "That's a dogshit booklet! I've never seen a booklet that tells you to abandon your teammates!"
"What's going on?" Several other teachers entered, drawn by the shouting.
They looked confused. Iruka didn't escalate—he seemed to understand the anger, but Seisen's extreme behavior baffled him.
Seisen was about to demand they judge who was right, when Iruka forced a smile and said, "We were discussing teaching methods. It's fine now."
He patted Seisen's shoulder and guided him back to his desk. "Don't you have class soon? Maybe get ready?"
Seisen slapped his thigh. Right—class. He had to teach the little brats. Needed to straighten up.
"Hmph. Next time I'll really argue this through with you!"
No one overthought it. Teachers arguing over pedagogy wasn't rare. They returned to their desks—prepping lessons, grading papers.
Iruka went back too, but his eyes kept drifting to Seisen.
"Genjutsu. He's absolutely under a genjutsu." Iruka decided. He formed hand seals in a blind spot and cast Release.
"Whew… no idea if that'll fix him…"
Iruka wondered whether he should secretly follow along later and sit in on Seisen's class.
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