Chapter 1: The Boy and the System
Konoha, Year 54.
The icy grip of winter had just begun to loosen, but a lingering chill still hung in the air—a coldness that seemed to seep into the very soul of the village. In the dim, sparsely furnished apartment that served as his home, a six-year-old boy was defying that chill with sheer, burning effort.
Uzumaki Naruto, his bright blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, was on the floor. His small body trembled with strain, muscles screaming in protest as he forced out one last push-up.
"Four hundred ninety-eight… Four hundred ninety-nine… Five hundred!"
The final number came out as a gasp. He collapsed onto the wooden floorboards, chest heaving, every limb feeling like lead. The cold of the floor was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his exhausted body.
A soft, ethereal chime echoed in the quiet of his mind, followed by a voice only he could hear.
[ Congratulations, Host, on completing Special Task (1/3). Remaining: 500 sit-ups, 500 squats. Complete all to claim Unknown Reward. ]
Naruto's blue eyes, usually so full of mischief, narrowed with determination. No complaining, no tears. With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself back up. His arms shook, but he rolled onto his back and hooked his feet under his bedframe, beginning the grueling set of sit-ups.
It was a sight no one would expect from a child who hadn't even entered the Ninja Academy. A profound focus was etched on his young face, a will forged in a crucible of loneliness that even the celebrated child-prodigy of the Uchiha clan, Itachi, at the same age, had never needed to possess.
The physical pain was brutal. But to Naruto, it was nothing—nothing—compared to the memories that haunted him.
The cold, empty stares from villagers as he walked by. The hissed insults muttered just loud enough for him to hear. Shopkeepers shooing him away. The profound, soul-crushing isolation that was his daily life since he could remember.
Yes. The boy known as Uzumaki Naruto was no longer solely the child of Konoha. Months ago, in a moment of disorienting agony, a cascade of foreign memories had slammed into his consciousness—memories of another life, another world, ending in a foolish, sudden accident. When the pain subsided, he was still Naruto. His love for ramen, his dream of becoming Hokage, his core self remained… but it was now layered with the perspectives, knowledge, and desperate resolve of a soul given a second chance.
He knew the truth now. He knew the name of the beast sealed within him. He knew the story that was supposed to unfold.
And he rejected it.
'This isn't some simple story,' he thought, gritting his teeth as he powered through another sit-up, his abs on fire. 'Being Hokage for the approval of people who've hated me since I was in diapers? Marrying Hinata and living some happy-ever-after? That's a fairy tale for the naïve original.'
His mind raced through the terrifying gauntlet of the future. Danzo and his shadowy Root. The scheming councilors. Orochimaru and his cruel experiments. Pain and his world-shatering grief. Madara and the infinite Tsukuyomi. A shinobi world that chewed up and spat out the weak.
He couldn't just follow the script. Not with that knowledge. Not with this simmering anger in his heart.
Perhaps sensing his defiance, fate—or something else—had granted him a tool. Minutes after the merge of memories was complete, the "Saiyan System" had activated in his mind. A mysterious interface offering tasks and rewards, its full functions locked behind a single, punishing initiation trial.
"Ten years," he whispered to himself, the words a vow. "I have ten years until the worst of it starts. The Chunin Exams, the invasion… I can't slack off. Not for a second. This life is a gift, and I will get strong enough to keep it."
The innate stamina of the Uzumaki clan lineage was the only thing allowing his small body to endure. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of burning muscles and ragged breaths, he finished the last squat and crumpled to the floor, a damp, exhausted heap.
"Done… finally…"
The system's chime was sweeter than any music.
[ Congratulations, Host, on completing the Special Initiation Trial! ]
[ Reward: Low-Grade Saiyan Bloodline. Integrate? Y/N ]
Naruto's breath, already fast from exertion, hitched. He stared at the invisible screen in his vision.
"S-Saiyan? As in… Dragon Ball Saiyan? System, confirm!"
[ Confirmed. Product is Low-Grade Saiyan Bloodline, sourced from the Dragon Ball dimensional plane. All system products are guaranteed authentic. ]
A wild, disbelieving laugh threatened to bubble up. Saiyan! The bloodline of the warriors from the anime he'd loved in that other life! The race of Kakarot and Vegeta, who grew stronger from every fight, who could shake galaxies!
Even the lowest-level Saiyan warrior could reach a battle power over 500 as an adult. He remembered watching as a kid—Master Roshi, with a power level barely over 100, had blown up the moon. What could over 500 do? Level a mountain? A country?
Compared to this, the Sharingan, the Byakugan… even the Otsutsuki bloodline suddenly seemed… limited. This was power on a cosmic scale, a cheat code dropped into a ninja world.
"No more being a victim," he thought, a fierce grin spreading across his grimy face. "No more being a pawn. This… this changes everything."
"Integrate!" he commanded the system, his heart pounding with anticipation.
[ Integrating Low-Grade Saiyan Bloodline… 10%… 50%… 100%. Integration complete. ]
A sensation unlike anything he'd ever felt swept through him. It wasn't pain, but a profound, cellular rearrangement. He felt his very DNA singing, awakening to a new, potent potential. His muscles twitched and hummed with latent energy. It was intoxicating, a rush of pure, undiluted power flowing into the reservoirs of his small body.
Thirty minutes later, the process finished. Naruto sat up slowly. He looked at his hands—the same small, slightly scarred hands—and clenched them into fists.
Crack.
The sound of his knuckles popping was unusually sharp in the quiet room. He could feel it. A dense, thrumming strength coiled in his limbs, a sleeping beast beneath his skin. It wasn't just a little stronger. He felt… reborn. His previous maximum strength felt like a faint memory.
"This power…" he breathed, flexing his arm. "It's like I've been training for years overnight. Is this the Saiyan potential? Just the baseline?" A giddy, triumphant laugh escaped him. All the sweat, the agony of the five hundred push-ups, sit-ups, and squats—it was worth it a thousand times over.
After the euphoria faded, the sticky discomfort of dried sweat reasserted itself. He shuffled to his tiny bathroom, cleaned up, and changed into clean, orange pajamas.
Lying in bed, the exhaustion finally claiming him, he let the dual stream of memories play again—the lonely, painful childhood of Naruto Uzumaki, and the mundane, nostalgic life of a person from another world. The lines were blurring. The anger, the loneliness, the determination—it was all his now. He wasn't a passenger. He was Uzumaki Naruto.
And his memories were crystal clear on one bitter fact: his life was a monument to neglect. His father was the Fourth Hokage, a hero who died sealing the Nine-Tails. His mother was the last princess of Uzushiogakure. And he, their son, lived on expired milk, moldy bread, and a monthly allowance that barely kept him from starving. The villagers' hatred was a constant, suffocating blanket.
Old Man Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, would visit sometimes with a sad smile and a bag of groceries. But from Naruto's newly analytical perspective, those visits felt less like grandfatherly care and more like… maintenance. Making sure the village's Jinchuriki, its weapon, didn't die or go completely feral. If the Hokage truly cared, would he let the son of his student live in such squalor, bathed in such universal contempt?
'No,' Naruto thought, his jaw tightening in the dark. 'The original Naruto might have forgiven them all for a kind word. He might have still wanted to be their Hokage. But not me. I won't walk their path. I'll make my own.'
With that final, resolute thought, and the thrilling new power humming in his veins, Uzumaki Naruto closed his eyes. The cold of the night no longer seemed to touch him. For the first time in either of his lives, he fell asleep not with a whimper of loneliness, but with the embers of a defiant, unstoppable fire burning in his heart.