(Pov ???)
Darkness. Absolute, suffocating darkness.
My heart thudded in my chest.
Am I… blind?
No. Impossible. I'd been fine just moments ago—hadn't I?
I clawed at my memory. The bus. The hum of the engine, the blur of city lights through a rain-streaked window. I was heading home from university, earbuds in, scrolling through my phone. Then—nothing. A gap. Had the bus crashed? Was this some twisted aftermath of an accident? A pandemic? My mind spiraled, conjuring horrors.
Then, a pinprick of light flickered in the void.
It pulsed, faint but insistent, like a beacon. My body moved toward it—though body felt wrong. I couldn't feel my legs, my arms, my anything. Yet somehow, I was drawn forward, weightless, a moth to a flame.
The light swelled, blinding.
I threw up an arm to shield my eyes.
When the glare faded, the world came into focus—and it made no sense.
Grass. Endless waves of it, stretching to the horizon. Not ordinary grass, but a vibrant, surreal emerald, each blade glistening as if painted with liquid light. It was too perfect, like something ripped from an anime or a fever dream. A soft breeze carried the scent of dew and something sweeter, almost otherworldly.
I pushed myself up, heart still racing.
That's when I saw my hands.
Tiny. Delicate. Child's hands.
I froze, staring at the smooth, unblemished skin. My other hand—same. Small, fragile, not mine.
Panic surged, hot and sharp. Sweat beaded on my brow.
What the hell is this?
A dream? It had to be. But the grass prickled beneath my palms, cool and real. The air tasted crisp, tinged with pine and earth. My thoughts were too sharp, too lucid for a dream. This was… something else.
A hand grazed my shoulder.
I flinched, spinning around, stumbling back on unsteady legs.
An older woman stood before me, her face soft but weathered, framed by a black-and-white habit—like a nun's. Her eyes, warm yet piercing, studied me with concern.
"Yuji, what's wrong? You're pale as a ghost."
Her voice was melodic, laced with an unfamiliar cadence—Japanese, but older, almost archaic. Stranger still, I understood every word, as if the language had been etched into my mind.
"Yuji?" My voice—high-pitched, childish—trembled. I scrambled for an excuse. "I… saw a spider. It startled me."
She laughed, a gentle sound that didn't match the storm in my chest.
"Oh, Yuji. Still jumping at shadows? You're too old for that." Her smile turned teasing. "And here I thought you wanted to be a ninja. At this rate, you'll be outrun by the village cats."
She gestured toward a path. "Come. Dinner's waiting."
"Yes," I mumbled, forcing my voice steady.
We walked toward a sprawling wooden building, its silhouette looming against the twilight. The evening air nipped at my skin, carrying the faint hum of cicadas. I glanced at the woman—Mother, she'd been called. The word felt wrong, foreign, yet it had slipped from my lips so easily.
"It's chilly tonight," I said, testing the waters, desperate for answers. "Isn't it… Mother?"
The word triggered something. A jolt, like lightning behind my eyes. Images flashed—memories that weren't mine. A wooden sword in small hands, laughter under a cherry blossom tree, a stern voice drilling forms in a sunlit courtyard. Yuji's life, not mine, vivid and heavy. Then, as quickly as it came, the pain vanished, leaving me breathless.
"Winter's late this year," she said, oblivious to my turmoil. "You shouldn't wander after dark, Yuji. You're four years old now—old enough to know better."
Four?! My mind reeled. I nodded, swallowing hard. "I… fell asleep watching the grass."
She sighed, her expression softening. "You and your daydreams. You should play with the other children. It's good for you."
"Yes, Mother," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
We reached the building, its heavy doors creaking open. Chaos poured out—children's laughter, shouts, the clatter of plates. The hall was vast, lit by flickering lanterns that cast warm shadows across five long tables. Dozens of kids, all around my—Yuji's—age, scrambled for seats, bickered over food, or darted between caretakers' legs. The air smelled of steamed rice and miso, grounding yet alien.
"Quiet down!" Mother's voice cut through the din, sharp but not unkind. "It's dinner time. Eat, brush your teeth, and bed. Or I'll lock away every toy in this house."
Silence dropped like a stone. Even the rowdiest kids froze, wide-eyed.
I slipped into an empty chair, my movements mechanical. A young caretaker, her face kind but tired, set a plate before me—rice, pickled vegetables, a small piece of fish. I nodded my thanks, mimicking the other children, and ate in silence, my mind racing.
"Everyone, good night," Mother said later, her voice softer now, almost tender.
"Good night, Mother," the children chorused, their voices a practiced harmony.
————————————————————————
What the hell is happening?
As I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the weight of it all crushed down on me. How could I act so calm? I just arrived in a completely different world. This isn't a dream—or if it is, it's one hell of a twisted one.
Is this really me? Or am I Yuji now? His memories are flooding my mind like they've always been mine, but they're not. Not truly.
From what I've pieced together, this is the world of Naruto. And the Nine Tails attack—it happened just two months ago. Yuji's parents… they died in that chaos, fighting the beast with everything they had.
It's fucking unbelievable. One moment I was living my normal life—and now, I'm here, in someone else's body, in a war-torn world where death is a part of daily life.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?