The transition was violent. One second, he was falling through a tunnel of light, and the next, he was assaulted by sensation. Cold air, harsh lights, and the overwhelming sll of antiseptic and iron.
The Soul—now a very small, very slippery human—blinked his eyes open, trying to make sense of the blur.
Okay. I'm here. Konoha Hospital. Assessing the periter.
He tried to turn his head, his adult mind urging him to maintain tactical silence. Do not cry. Crying is for babies. I am a sophisticated interdinsional traveler with the soul of a warrior.
He looked around, wide-eyed, trying to spot a ninja headband or a kunai.
Whack.
A sharp, stinging pain erupted across his tiny buttocks.
"WAAAAAH!"
The scream ripped out of his throat before he could stop it. You son of a—! Who hits a baby?! I will sue! I will file a formal complaint with the Hokage!
"He's got a strong pair of lungs on him," a muffled voice said. A dical ninja in a mask was holding him upside down by the ankles. "Healthy reaction."
Healthy?! You just assaulted ! Put down, you masked hooligan!
The dical ninja ignored the baby's internal legal threats and proceeded to clean him up with efficient, if slightly rough, hands. The Soul squeezed his eyes shut. This is humiliating. I was a grown man. I paid taxes. Now I'm being wiped down like a dirty windshield.
Once he was swaddled in a warm, white cloth, the world stopped spinning. He was lowered gently into a pair of waiting arms.
He looked up. A woman looked down at him, her face frad by sweat-dampened hair, but her eyes were full of a warmth that made the harsh hospital lights fade away. She looked exhausted, but her smile was enough to stop wars.
"Hello there, little one," she whispered, her finger tracing the curve of his cheek.
The baby fell silent, staring at her. Okay. Mom. Nice to et you. Please, for the love of the Sage, don't na sothing stupid. No 'Naruto'. No 'Sasuke'. Give sothing with dignity.
The woman humd softly, looking into his eyes. "Nanami," she said, testing the word. "Nanami Kento."
The baby froze.
Kento Nanami? The 7:3 Sorcerer? The Overti King? The man who hates work almost as much as he hates curses?
His eyes went wide. Yes! Yes! A thousand tis yes! That is a top-tier na! Sophisticated! Professional! No generic Shonen protagonist vibes here!
"Oh?" The mother giggled, noticing his sudden, attentive silence. "You like that na, don't you?" She poked his nose gently. "My little Kento."
You have no idea, Mom. I am going to be the most professional ninja this village has ever seen. I will clock in, kick ass, and clock out by 5 PM.
He made excited gurgling noises, trying to nod his head, though his neck muscles weren't quite up to the task yet.
"He's hungry," the nurse suggested kindly.
The mood shifted. His mother adjusted her hold, bringing him closer to her chest.
Wait.
The realization hit Nanami like a brick. His adult mind screeched to a halt.
No. No, no, no. Wait a minute. We don't need to do this. I can wait for solid food! Get a burger! Get so ran! I have teeth coming in... eventually! I can fast! Netero fasted in the mountains!
"Here we go, Kento-kun," she cooed.
Lady, please! I am a thirty-year-old man ntally! This is a violation of my dignity! This is—
But biology was a cruel mistress. His infant instincts overrode his adult dignity. His stomach growled with the force of a Tailed Beast, and his mouth moved on its own, latching on before he could protest further.
Oh god, Nanami thought, squeezing his eyes shut in mortification. This is awkward. This is so incredibly awkward. I am never going to live this down. Jack is probably watching this and laughing his head off.
Then the warm milk hit his empty stomach, and the panic subsided, replaced by a wave of calm and oxytocin.
Okay, you know what? Nanami rationalized, his internal voice trembling slightly. You gotta do what you gotta do. Survival of the fittest. We are in the Naruto world, after all. If I don't eat, I don't grow. If I don't grow, I can't punch Madara in the face. This is just... fuel. High-efficiency biological fuel.
He sighed internally, accepting his fate.
Eat now. Beco a God later. Dignity can wait until I can control my own neck.
A few weeks later, the reality of his situation began to set in. Being a baby was boring. Extrely, mind-numbingly boring. Nanami spent most of his ti sleeping, eating, and staring at the ceiling, calculating the optimal angle to spit up on his bib to minimize cleanup ti for his mother. Efficient.
He had established a strict routine. Wake up at 6:00 AM. Nap at 10:00 AM. Sleep at 8:00 PM sharp. His parents called him an angel; Nanami called it basic ti managent.
One evening, the front door slid open. His father, a tall man with kind eyes and flour on his apron—a baker, Nanami had relievedly discovered—walked in, looking excited.
"Haruka!" his father called out, kicking off his sandals. "You won't believe the news from the Hokage's estate."
Nanami, currently doing 'tummy ti' on a rug (which he treated as a planking exercise to build core strength), paused. Intel. Finally. I've been stuck in this house for weeks. Give sothing.
His mother walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands. "What is it, dear? Is the First Lord okay?"
First Lord? Nanami's tiny ears perked up. Hashirama is still alive? That puts way back. That's... good? Bad?
"He's better than okay!" His father bead, picking up Nanami and swinging him gently, much to Nanami's internal dizziness. "His granddaughter was just born today! A healthy baby girl. They've nad her Tsunade."
Nanami went rigid in his father's arms.
Tsunade? Just born?
His adult mind raced, pulling up a ntal wiki page. If Tsunade is a newborn, that ans I am in the sa generation as the Legendary Sannin. I'm peers with Jiraiya and Orochimaru.
He stared at his father's happy face with wide, horrified eyes.
I'm not in the Naruto era of relative peace. I'm not even in the Kakashi era. Hashirama is about to die. Tobirama is about to take over, then he'll die in the First War. Then the Second War with Hanzo. Then the Third War.
I'm in the bloodiest era of Shinobi history.
His father laughed, mistaking the horror for interest. "Look, Kento is excited too! Maybe he'll go to the Academy with her one day."
Nanami felt a cold sweat break out under his onesie.
I have to survive three World Wars. I have to survive Madara lurking in a cave sowhere. I have to survive Black Zetsu.
He slumped against his father's chest.
The amount of overti I'm going to have to put in just to stay alive... it's going to be astronomical. I didn't sign up for this workload.
I need to start training. Now. Forget neck control. I need to unlock Chakra by Tuesday.
---
Three years passed. Or, as Nanami preferred to call it: The Great Stagnation.
In the small, well-tended backyard of the bakery, a toddler with sandy blonde hair was engaged in a battle of will against gravity. His tiny arms shook, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"Eight..." he wheezed, his voice high-pitched but his tone grim.
He lowered himself until his nose brushed the grass, then pushed back up.
"Nine..."
His muscles burned. Not because the weight was heavy—he weighed about as much as a sack of flour—but because his motor control was still catching up to his ambition. His body was soft, uncoordinated, and frustratingly fragile.
"Ten."
Nanami collapsed face-first into the grass, rolling over onto his back with a heavy sigh. He stared up at the blue sky, watching fluffy white clouds drift by.
Mission accomplished, he thought dryly. Daily physical quota t. At this rate, I'll be ready to fight Madara by the ti I'm ninety.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a chubby hand.
Looking back, the last three years had been an exercise in supre patience. He had expected excitent. He had expected secret training arcs. Instead, he got diapers. He got playdates where other children tried to eat rocks. He got storybooks about puppies instead of sealing scrolls.
Wake up. Poop. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
That was it. That was the cycle. The "Netero Template" and "Ultra Instinct" were dormant, buried under the biological necessity of growing bones and neural pathways. He couldn't exactly start punching sound barriers when he couldn't even reach the cookie jar without a step stool.
He had tried to ditate to unlock chakra early, but his mother had just assud he was constipated and fed him mashed prunes. It was a dark ti. A humiliating ti. A ti he would never speak of.
"Kento!" his mother's voice rang out from the kitchen window. "Snack ti!"
Nanami's eyes narrowed at the sky.
Snack ti. The most important eting of the day.
He sat up, dusting off his shorts.
Well, Ro wasn't built in a day. And neither is a Bodhisattva. I will eat my crackers, and I will grow strong. And then... no more overti.
"O-ka-san," Kento said, tugging at his mother's apron. His voice was soft, practiced in its toddler lilt to minimize any 'freakish child' suspicions. "Outside. Park?"
Haruka looked down, wiping flour from her cheek. She smiled, clearly pleased that her quiet, brooding son wanted to actually interact with the world. "A little adventurer, aren't you? Alright, Kento. Let's go see if there are other children for you to play with."
Children? Unlikely, Kento thought as he grabbed her hand. I am going to scout the local demographics. I need to see who my future colleagues—or competition—will be.
They walked through the bustling streets of Konoha. It was a younger version of the village he rembered from the show. The architecture was more rugged, the atmosphere thick with the tension of a village still finding its feet. They eventually reached a playground—a sprawling area of sandpits and wooden climbing fras.
"Go on, Kento," Haruka said, patting his back as she moved toward a bench nestled in the shade of a massive oak tree. "Play with the other kids. I'll be right here if you need ."
Kento adjusted his small vest, looking around with a critical eye. He saw groups of children screaming, rolling in the dirt, and generally being unproductive. He sighed. A lack of structural organization everywhere I look.
Then, his gaze caught a group huddled near a large rock at the far end of the sandpit. He walked over, his small boots crunching in the sand.
In the center of the circle sat a small girl with bright blonde hair tied in two high ponytails. She wore a look of intense concentration, her tiny brows furrowed. In front of her lay a pile of colorful sweets—hard candies, gummy bears, and chocolate coins. Opposite her were three other boys, looking nervous.
They were gambling.
I should have known, Kento thought, his eyes widening. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. In this case, the granddaughter doesn't fall far from the Hokage's gambling habits.
The girl tossed a pair of wooden dice into the center. They rattled, rolled, and ca up with a losing total. The boys cheered, scooping up half of her candy.
Tsunade slumped, her face turning red with frustration.
Kento couldn't help it. The sheer irony of the Legendary Sucker starting her losing streak at age three was too much. A short, sharp laugh escaped his lips. "Heh."
Tsunade's head snapped toward him with the speed of a striking viper. Her glare was surprisingly heavy for a toddler; the Senju genes were clearly providing a natural intimidation factor.
Kento imdiately clamped his mouth shut, regaining his professional composure. Control yourself, Nanami. Mocking the First Lord's granddaughter is a poor career move.
"You!" Tsunade barked, pointing a chubby finger at him. "What's your na?"
"Nanami Kento," he replied clearly, standing straight.
"Nanami..." she muttered, as if deciding if he was worth rembering. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning forward. "Are you so good at betting that you think you can laugh at ? You want to try?"
"No," Kento said simply. "I don't gamble. It is a statistically unsound thod of wealth accumulation."
Tsunade blinked, clearly not understanding half of those words, but she got the gist. She huffed, turning her nose up. "Then don't laugh at people who are playing! It's rude." She paused, looking him up and down. "Where do you live? I haven't seen you around here."
"I live at the bakery on the main road," Kento explained. "The one just on the outskirts of the Senju compound."
Tsunade's eyes lit up slightly, and she nodded with a certain regal authority. "Oh! The bread shop? My grandpa likes that place." She looked at him with a bit more respect. "So you're a neighbor. Fine. You can watch, Nanami. But no laughing!"
Neighbors with the Senju, Kento thought, watching her reach for the dice again with a grim determination to lose more candy. The commute to the Academy will be short, but the social obligations are already becoming taxing.
"Very well," Kento said, sitting down on the edge of the sandpit. I might as well observe. If I can't train my muscles, I can at least study the psychological profiles of my future teammates. It's technically work.
Reviews
All reviews (0)