"Yoichi. Wake up. Pull yourself together."
"Yoichi-kun."
"Genji, Hikari, isn't this over yet? The guard will be here any minute."
The cold, damp air of the cave amplified the worried whispers. A low, persistent buzzing, insects clinging to the rock face, seemed to orbit the knot of children gathered near the unconscious boy.
A faint hiss escaped the boy's lips. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the gloom. Confusion was the first, sharp sensation, followed by a deeper, unsettling dread.
Hiss. What's happening? Where the hell am I?
"Thank goodness you're awake."
"Yoichi-kun, are you okay?"
The voices were unfamiliar, yet the concern in them felt genuine. As the wave of relief washed over those around him, a torrent of foreign information, names, faces, a life not his own, slammed into the boy's mind.
His name was Ling Lubbock, a man who had traded the Philippines' scorching sun for the flickering light of a screen. He chased job stability until the pandemic drove him into the slow, comforting rot of a NEET existence. His final memory was simply falling asleep.
Now, he was Yoichi, a four-year-old child.
Wait, I'm reincarnated?
The thought sparked an instant of feverish, thrilling excitement. This immediately curdled as the rest of the memories crystallized.
The original Yoichi was an orphan, snatched from his home when Amegakure Shinobi burned the orphanage to the ground. For months, this small, frail body had been subjected to relentless, bone-wearying toil, mining in the Land of Rain. Malnutrition, environmental filth, and repeated physical abuse had done what the kidnappers intended. The original Yoichi was dead.
Mom, I am very sorry.
Ling, now Yoichi, willed his racing heart to slow. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. The damp air burned his lungs. The confusion was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged resolve.
From now on, this is my world. Naruto, huh.
He was not a hero. He was not kind. He was a survivor.
Yoichi focused on the worried faces around him. His eyes now shone with conviction. "Hiss. Genji. Hikari. Sabito. What's wrong?"
"Really?" Genji, a boy with a sturdy frame and a fierce gaze that belied his age, knelt closer. "Shouldn't we be the ones asking you that? Are you alright now?"
Hikari, a girl whose delicate wrists looked painfully thin, clasped her hands together. "Yoichi-kun, are you really okay?"
Sabito, whose eyes constantly flickered toward the cave entrance, kept his voice low. "Goodness heavens, don't scare us like that."
These were his friends, united by shared misery in this brutal place. Genji was the natural protector. Sabito the sharp-witted lookout. Hikari, the fragile core of their group, was a reason to keep going. Yet, deep scars already marred all their young faces, evidence of the system's merciless cruelty.
"... I'm fine now," Yoichi mumbled, wincing as he shifted. "Sorry to worry you all."
Agony coursed through his body. Bruises patterned his skin like dark ink blots, and the poor bandages around his ribs barely hid the angry, fresh cuts. Frustration tightened his jaw.
Ugh. This frail body. It's worse than my old life.
He clawed through the new memories, his mind repeating silent, frantic keywords.
System. System. System?
Hmmmm. Maybe wrong keyword.
Status. Status. Wrong again.
Panel. Panel.
He bit back a groan of despair.
Shit, I'm losing all hope here.
"Is he really okay?" Sabito nudged Genji.
"I'm not sure, maybe he's looking for something?" Hikari whispered. Fear traced shadows on her face.
"I've heard rumors among the shinobi about strange shadows in these mines at night," Genji muttered, leaning in. "What if he's possessed by a ghost?"
"Hey, don't make jokes. You're just scaring Hikari now."
Yoichi tuned out their fearful speculation. A heavy disappointment settled in his chest. There was no grand mechanism, no cheat code, no hidden artifact. Wait.
As he ran a hand over his face, his fingers brushed against something cool and hard near his ear. He looked down and saw them: a pair of yin-yang-patterned hanafuda earrings, swaying slightly with his movement.
Wait, earrings? A surge of desperate curiosity fueled him.
"Guys, did you know about these earrings?" He tilted his head, forcing his shaky hands to steady as he touched the jewelry.
Genji shrugged. His brow furrowed with impatience. "Isn't that your family's heirloom? You told us that weeks ago. It's pretty, I guess. But we need to move. If you're not well, we can hide you to rest a little bit."
Hikari nodded quickly. "It's beautiful. But are you okay, Yoichi-kun?"
Sabito gave the earrings a dismissive glance. "That's nothing new, no? Regardless of that, can we work now? The patrol will notice us in any minute."
The answers were immediate, consistent, and completely wrong.
Bullshit. There are no memories of me telling them that. Yoichi's mind raced.
Their replies began with the earrings, then instantly shifted to his well-being. It was as if their minds accepted the sight of the object, then actively ignored its significance, implanting a false, rote memory to dismiss it.
He tore at his bandages and pressed a cut forearm against the rock, drawing a bead of blood. He pressed his finger to the earring, letting the drop roll down the polished surface. Nothing. No glow, no sound, no magical response.
He tried to unclip them. As soon as they left his earlobe, the earrings vanished and reappeared back where they started, smoothly nested in his flesh. Genji and the others did not even blink. They saw the movement, yet they saw nothing unusual.
Yoichi picked up a small, jagged rock and slammed it against one of the earrings. The earring remained unflinching. The rock splintered instead. It had the durability of a diamond, but the visual impact of paper.
What's the point of this thing? Frustration flared hotter than his survival instinct. He clutched his hair, pulling a few strands out in his useless rage. It's aesthetically pretty, durable, and utterly useless. I can't even get rid of it.
"Hey, Yoichi. If you're thinking about giving up, please don't drag others into it."
The disdainful voice sliced through the air. Yoichi and his friends froze, glancing toward the sound. A tall, older boy, clearly better fed and stronger than the others, stood framed in the cave entrance, accompanied by two lackeys.
"Exactly, Masaru-sama," one of the lackeys echoed. His lips curled in a sneer. "Don't put a strain on everyone around you. We can't let that happen and be punished along with your pathetic state."
The sight of Masaru made Yoichi's transplanted heart unconsciously tighten. A deep, burning rage, like a fireplace suddenly stuffed with dry wood, began to ignite within his chest.
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(I'm revising my chapters.)