Michael spent the rest of the night cleaning the apartment. He didn't feel comfortable letting his thoughts wander freely. In his worst moments, he had a habit of playing music or audiobooks in the background. Silence made him uncomfortable; it was a gateway to those dark places his mind always fled to without a distraction.
He envied religious people. Their lives had a clear purpose, a script to follow. He, on the other hand, merely lived day to day.
Wouldn't be a bad time to start believing… Something or someone had to send me here, right?
The mere thought amused him. If some divine entity had sent him to this world, he'd prefer not to meet it. He was certain it would be a demon.
He had tried everything: opening a "System," discovering some "Golden Finger"… but was met only with repeated failures. His only advantage was his understanding of Japanese. It would have been very embarrassing to walk around talking like an idiot while learning the language.
He finished hanging the sheets. The sun began to peek over the mountains, a rare sight for someone used to life in the city center.
He went back inside the apartment. The place was unrecognizable compared to its previous state. Spread across the floor was a display of documents and files he had taken the time to read.
He had found them in one of the boxes under the bed. They were official documents: a birth certificate, Shinobi Academy enrollment papers, a rental agreement… Thanks to them, he was able to learn a bit about who Naruto Hakaze was.
According to the papers, his new identity was that of a ten-year-old boy, born on November 1st. He had entered the Shinobi Academy at six, and for some reason, in his fourth year, he had been given this apartment along with a monthly allowance. He was currently in his fifth year.
Checking the calendar, he discovered that thirteen days had already passed since classes began.
If I'm not mistaken, the graduation age is twelve… that means I have almost two years to learn everything necessary to be a shinobi.
He felt his heart race at the short deadline. He considered himself someone who performed well under pressure, but now he had no foundation to lean on.
I should be fine. If some kids can learn everything in six years, what stops an adult from learning it in two?
Though what worried him most were the dangers that would come after graduation. Shinobi life wasn't exactly peaceful; in fact, it was quite the opposite. They were in constant danger.
I have no other choice. Maybe if I had transmigrated as someone else…
He cut that train of thought short. Even if he had been another character, he wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving his destiny to luck.
Bathing wasn't a pleasant experience; he felt uncomfortable not being in his own body. However, he had no choice: the cleaning chemicals left a strong smell. Plus, he needed to buy supplies after being forced to discard several expired products from the refrigerator.
Only about six packs of instant ramen remained. Easy to prepare, yes, but not the best diet for a growing ten-year-old.
He put on a white t-shirt and green shorts. They were among the few clothes still in decent condition.
Couldn't find the orange jumpsuit. Did he buy it later? Better this way. I don't plan on walking around in that silly outfit just to "roleplay" the boy. And I certainly don't plan on buying it. I prefer dark or white clothes.
It hadn't taken much effort to find the boy's money. While cleaning the wooden floor, he noticed a loose board. Lifting it, he found the frog-shaped wallet containing almost two thousand ryo.
He tucked the wallet into his left pocket; he would take about a thousand ryo, leaving the rest hidden for now.
The money wasn't anything special. The coins were made of different metals: five, ten, twenty, and fifty ryo, with engravings of buildings he couldn't recognize. The bills, on the other hand, had values of one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and one thousand ryo. Engraved on them were the faces of sharp-featured old men with stylized mustaches and beards. He felt an unconscious respect toward those figures.
He looked at himself one last time in the mirror. For a split second, he saw the dying state from a few hours ago, but it was just his mind playing tricks on him.
He had a somber look and dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping all night.
Michael held the key to open the door but stopped before inserting it.
The conditions of my transmigration were very strange. Could there be immediate danger out there?
He returned to his room and pulled out one of the boxes from under the bed; it was heavy and made metallic noises when moved. It was the same one he had reached into and cut himself on; he could still see the wound on his finger. Luckily, none of the weapons were rusted.
He took a kunai along with a holster to avoid cutting himself again and handled it with extreme care. He knew he could carry it in a weapon pouch, but he didn't know how legal it was for a civilian to be armed.
With the kunai in his pocket, he opened the door slowly, hoping not to run into anyone. He wanted to keep interactions to a minimum.
Naruto lived in a three-story apartment complex; he occupied the top floor, with two neighbors on either side. When he approached the railing, he saw the dirt roads, which were already starting to see traffic.
For a moment, he felt the temptation to jump to save himself the three flights of stairs, but his rationality won: he still didn't know the physical capabilities of this body.
As he turned to head for the stairs, he saw it.
And that confirmed everything.
The Hokage Rock: four giant faces carved into stone, watching over the village from above.
A shiver ran down his spine. As much as he hated being in this world, he couldn't help but feel a certain relief that, at least, this remained the same. He didn't know how he would react if he saw Danzō's face, or worse, Orochimaru's carved there.
In front of the mountain stood a building with three semi-conical structures. The central one was the tallest and bore the kanji for "Fire." The Hokage Residence: where the most powerful political figure in the entire village worked.
Michael quickly descended the stairs and stopped in the middle of the street, the sunlight hitting his face.
The village climate was ideal; he calculated the temperature to be around 16 to 18 degrees. The streets were starting to fill with villagers out for a stroll or shopping. Some avoided the sun as if it were their greatest enemy.
He could empathize with them; he hadn't slept either. Although they, at least, had enjoyed themselves.
He pressed himself against the wall as he saw a horse pulling a cart pass by. He kept both hands in his pockets: one holding the wallet so it wouldn't get stolen, and the other gripping the handle of the kunai.
Even though he tried to prevent it, his body trembled from sensory overload. Everything was different. Not just the street or the villagers.
It was everything: the air, cleaner and purer; the architecture, completely different; the noise, a thousand times lower due to the absence of cars…
He felt lost and powerless. He could only keep putting one foot in front of the other until he found what he was looking for.