The Hidden Leaf Village sat beneath the morning sun, quiet and unremarkable as ever.
In one of its backstreets stood a small, slightly worn courtyard house. Nothing about it stood out. No clan crest carved into the gate. No guarded walls. Just a place where two people lived and did their best.
"Tōma, today's your first day at the Academy," his mother said with a teasing smile, tugging lightly at his sleeve. "Don't tell me you're planning to cry."
"I won't," Fujimoto Tōma replied calmly.
He looked down at his mother's hand, still gripping his clothes like she was afraid he'd vanish the moment she let go. Slightly helpless, he sighed inwardly. Had he ever cried?
…Well. There was that one time. Right after he was born. He distinctly remembered that, actually. Not the pain, but the confusion. Bright lights. Loud voices. And some guy smacking him to make sure his lungs worked.
As far as he knew, newborns were supposed to cry. Otherwise, doctors panicked.
So yes. One cry. Lifetime quota fulfilled.
Fujimoto Sana studied her son quietly. She didn't say it out loud, but her eyes carried reluctance. She and Tōma had depended on each other for as long as he could remember. Life had never been easy, yet her son had grown up oddly independent. Too calm. Too self-sufficient.
Too little like a child.
Sometimes, she wished he would cling to her more. Act spoiled. Act his age.
"Come home early after class," she said at last, her grip loosening.
"I will," Tōma nodded. "But if you don't let go now, I'll be late on my first day."
Sana finally laughed and released him.
Originally, she'd wanted to take the day off and walk him to the Academy herself. Tōma had refused firmly. He already knew every street in the village. He'd wandered them for years. Getting lost had never been one of his problems.
With Tōma on his way to school, Sana prepared for work. This household survived on her income alone. There was no room for hesitation.
Fujimoto Tōma was six years old.
A child from a single-parent household.
His father had been a chūnin who died on a mission before Tōma was born. According to teammates, exhaustion had been the cause. Tōma's mother had been pregnant at the time, and his father had taken on extra assignments to earn more money.
He had never come back from the last one.
Sana herself had once been a genin, but after marriage, she stepped away from active service. After giving birth, she relied on civilian work to support them. Her shinobi background helped. Compared to ordinary villagers, she was capable. Survival was hard at first, but manageable.
Especially since Tōma… matured early.
Early enough to notice everything.
Yes. Fujimoto Tōma carried memories from a previous life.
He'd awakened to them gradually, growing inside this body from birth. When he realized he'd been reborn into the world of shinobi, he'd felt… calm. His past life hadn't left many regrets. No spouse. No children. Only a quiet regret for never repaying his parents properly.
As for this world, he'd watched Naruto before. Not religiously. He skipped arcs. Missed details. But knowing something was worlds better than knowing nothing.
Then came the unavoidable question.
The cheat.
After six years of observation, Tōma accepted reality. He didn't have one.
No mysterious system. No hidden artifact sealed inside him. All he possessed was incomplete knowledge of the future.
If that counted as a cheat, it was a modest one.
There was one small anomaly. His memory was better than before. Not photographic, but sharper. Learning stuck faster. Information arranged itself neatly in his head. Useful. Not miraculous.
As for bloodline?
Entirely ordinary.
No Uchiha eyes. No Senju vitality. No Uzumaki chakra reserves. No special clan traits worth mentioning.
Just Fujimoto Tōma. Plain stock.
Annoying, honestly.
Still, he had no intention of living quietly. If he'd wanted that, being reborn here was pointless. He might as well have married into a ramen shop and lived out his days counting bowls.
At least this way, there was a path upward.
And he was grateful he wasn't an Uchiha. Being the same age as Naruto meant massacre years and conspiracies were right around the corner. Without protection, that would've ended badly.
Compared to others, his starting conditions were mediocre.
But at least no one would target him.
That alone was a blessing.
For six years, Tōma hadn't wasted time.
He couldn't mold chakra yet. Children his age simply weren't ready. But that didn't mean he'd sat idle.
He trained carefully. Conservatively.
No heavy loads. No muscle strain. Instead, he focused on his hands. Fingers. Flexibility. Precision.
Hand seals were everything early on. Even if later shinobi fought with minimal signs, speed at the foundation mattered.
Tōma had started as an infant, flexing fingers bit by bit. Year by year, refining motion.
If he kept this up, reaching top-tier seal speed wasn't impossible.
At present, he could form nearly three hand seals per second without chakra involved.
That was already well above average.
With proper chakra control later, the ceiling was high.
By the time these thoughts settled, Tōma stood before his classroom.
He took a deep breath.
He'd done everything possible so far.
The Academy years would be about stacking advantages carefully. Slow gains. No wasted movement.
Especially because this period held a crucial objective in his plans.
Inside, the teacher hadn't arrived yet. The room buzzed with noise. Children laughed, shouted, some cried openly.
Tōma scanned familiar faces and felt a small flicker of relief.
Same class.
Umino Iruka's class.
Which meant…
Yes. Uzumaki Naruto was here too.
Tōma didn't seek him out. He chose an empty seat and sat quietly.
Hands folded beneath the desk, fingers moved unconsciously. Seal after seal. Smooth. Silent.
Then the classroom door slid open.
A blond-haired boy stepped inside.
Short hair. Bright eyes.
Three whisker-like marks on each cheek.
His gaze swept the room, then stopped abruptly.
His face lit up.
He'd spotted Tōma.