Masaru stood in the bathroom of his three‑room house, peering at himself in the mirror. Or rather, he was taking in his new self.
The boy staring back at him was strange, to say the least. He was thin and seemed short for his age. Spiky, unkempt ash‑gray hair framed his face, brushing just past his shoulders. His eyes were a similar color, though on closer inspection they weren't the same. His right eye was a stormy gray; his left, a grayish blue. His face was angular, his jawline slightly square — features that might have made him handsome if not for his pale, unhealthy skin.
Right now, Masaru was the picture of unhealthiness. His skin was pale and gaunt, and the strange scars running up and down his body only made him look worse. He touched them gently, not feeling the slightest ridge or roughness. He'd had several surgeries in his past life, so he knew exactly what professional surgical scars felt like.
That was right — Masaru had lived another life before this one. He'd never done anything meaningful, but it had been quiet and satisfying. And now he'd found himself inside the very series that had briefly taken over his childhood.
Masaru turned on the tap, cupped his hands under the water, and splashed his face. Sighing, he leaned over the sink and stared at himself again.
"...Naruto, huh? What a shitty world to wake up in."
He knew very well what dangers lurked on the horizon, and he knew what fate awaited a weak, frail child like the one he'd woken up in. Turning that thought over, Masaru frowned.
"From what I remember, most transmigration stories start with the main character's body dying, but this body didn't have any wounds..."
When he'd found himself in Masaru's body, aside from the killer headache, he'd felt no pain anywhere. That confused him.
Masaru sighed again and shook his head. "There's no point in thinking about this."
Walking into his room, he ignored the nausea from the state of the place and gathered some clean clothes before taking a very long, hot shower.
As he stepped out, he remembered the young man he'd met when he woke.
"Riku," he murmured. "...He seemed kind."
Riku had stayed behind for what felt like hours, patiently answering every question Masaru threw at him. At first it was strange — Masaru realized he wasn't speaking English — but at the same time it felt natural, as if he'd been speaking the language for years.
It was like an intuition at the back of his mind, feeding him information. He didn't pretend to understand it, but he was grateful for it.
Masaru had decided to go with the amnesia route. He hadn't received any of the old Masaru's memories, which was unfortunate, but he'd just have to deal with it.
Riku had promised to speak with his father so Masaru could get the help he needed.
"Oh, that's another thing."
The Kano clan. They didn't exist in the version of the story he remembered, which meant he wasn't in a canon timeline. Which meant he needed to expect other differences as well. Pushing that aside, Masaru realized he was in a relatively decent position.
He had next to no knowledge of what he was expected to know, and absolutely no knowledge of anything shinobi‑related — though he'd been assured he'd had a decent grasp on it before he "forgot" everything. But he was under the direct care of the Kano Clan Head.
He had yet to meet the man, but Kano Genzō was the clan head, which meant Masaru had a plethora of resources to draw from.
Masaru exhaled slowly, calming himself. I have nine months until graduation, but I have people to rely on for now.
Walking out of the bathroom in a clean set of breathable clothes, he looked around his small house and decided on his first mission in this world:
Clean up the pigsty the old Masaru had left behind.
Hours later, when the sun neared its peak, Masaru wiped his dirty hands on his pants and brushed sweat from his brow. He looked around at his now spotless house with pride. He still had to take out the trash bags piled near the door, but he finally had a clean, open space to work with.
After a second shower and changing into the best clothes he could find, Masaru stepped outside and made his way toward the large house down the street. Steeling himself, he ignored the stunned stares that followed him and approached the guards at the gate to the family compound.
The guard on the left raised a hand. "Hold. What is your business here?"
Masaru bowed respectfully. "I've come to see if Head Kano or Lady Kano is available today."
The guards exchanged a look before one asked, "For what reason?"
"I was told by Kano Riku that I was to have a conversation with Head Kano."
The guard hummed, then nodded. "Wait here."
Masaru waited only a minute before the man returned. "Follow me, and be on your best behavior."
The walk was short and quiet. The guard led him to a closed door and knocked.
"Enter," a deep voice called.
The guard slid the door open, and Masaru stepped inside, conscious of it closing behind him.
The room appeared to be an office. A desk faced away from a window. Shelves lined the walls — one holding engraved kunai that looked like awards, the other filled with scrolls and books.
The man seated at the desk was lean but broad‑shouldered. He wore a black kimono with a white haori embroidered with red flowers. His face was angular, his eyes sharp, his skin tanned. A clean beard framed his jaw but left his cheeks bare.
He was writing with a thin brush, so Masaru stood still and waited. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.
Genzō glanced up, his eyes revealing nothing, and gestured to a seat. "Sit, please."
Masaru obeyed and waited as the man finished his work. When Genzō finally set the scroll aside, he fixed his gaze on Masaru, studying him.
"My son told me you suddenly have amnesia. Is this true?"
Masaru nodded nervously. "I don't know what happened, but I can't remember anything before this morning. My head hurts when I try."
Genzō's gaze didn't waver. "...Riku told me you requested all the material you'll need to catch up for the Academy. Am I to believe you've forgotten your skills as well?"
Masaru nodded again. "Unfortunately. I tried to think of them, but nothing came to mind."
Genzō hummed, silent for a moment. "I'll have all basic textbooks, the Hidden Leaf kata, and the three Academy jutsu sent to your home by this afternoon. Will you require a teacher as well?"
Masaru felt this was as much a test as an interrogation, but he refused to walk away with nothing. "I‑If you can find someone patient and willing to teach me."
Genzō hummed again, then his posture shifted slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. "I think I know just the old man for the job."
Masaru exhaled as tension drained from his shoulders. "Thank you." He bowed his head.
Genzō nodded. "Now run back home and get some rest. I'm sure you're tired."
Masaru bowed again before leaving the house and walking home, relieved that things were going so well.
"I wonder who my teacher will be."