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Inside a cramped wooden shack.
A young boy propped himself up, kicking aside the thin blanket covering him as he scanned his surroundings in confusion. Crowded around him were rows of small children, roughly three to five years old, all fast asleep. It looked like a nursery, albeit a dilapidated one.
The shack was weathered, barely thirty square meters in size, yet more than twenty children were packed inside.
After a moment of silence, the boy looked down at his own small limbs and shook his head frantically.
"No, this isn't right. I'm a grown man... how did I suddenly turn into a kid?!"
Reincarnation?
Transmigration?
A soul transfer?
A flurry of possibilities flashed through his mind. As an adult who had consumed countless web novels in his past life, he regained his composure quickly. He needed to see what was happening outside.
He climbed out of bed and headed toward the door.
He had only taken two steps when the door swung open. A man wearing a black tactical vest glared at him.
"Kanda Rokuro! It's the middle of the night. What do you think you're doing getting out of bed?"
The boy froze.
The man was speaking Japanese. What was even weirder was that despite never learning the language, the boy understood him perfectly.
Wait! That wasn't the most important part!
The boy's eyes locked onto the man's forehead. He was wearing a headband—the iconic Konoha forehead protector.
What is going on? Is this some hardcore Naruto cosplayer?
While the boy was lost in confusion, the man strode over and, without a shred of gentleness, hoisted him up like a stray kitten. He tossed him back onto his bed.
"Stay put and go to sleep. Your training begins tomorrow!"
With that, the man turned and left, plunging the room back into darkness.
The impact of being tossed onto the mattress jolted the boy's mind wide awake. Suddenly, a flood of foreign memories—images that didn't belong to him—rushed into his brain.
As the memories flickered by, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
It was tragic... utterly miserable.
His soul had transmigrated into the world of Naruto.
His new body belonged to a child named Kanda Rokuro. Originally from a peasant family in the Land of Rice Fields, he had five older brothers—all of whom had starved to death. Rokuro likely would have shared their fate if his "luck" hadn't turned.
A shinobi had spotted him, paid a pittance to his family, and brought him here. According to the memories, that shinobi believed Rokuro possessed the aptitude to become a ninja.
A ninja, huh?
Despite the danger, a spark of excitement flickered within him. The world of Naruto was perilous, but becoming a shinobi—even a lowly Genin—meant never having to worry about an empty stomach again.
Besides, he remembered the plot vividly. With his meta-knowledge, surely he could at least coast his way to becoming a Chūnin, right?
He let out a small breath of relief.
Whatever the future held, his priority was survival.
Naruto... what a dangerous world.
How am I supposed to make it to the series finale in one piece?
Judging by this setup, this is likely a Konoha-run orphanage. These kids are basically being raised as fodder for the war. One day a battle breaks out, and I'll be sent straight to the front lines to die.
What a scam!
I spent thirty years of my last life being a nobody. I can't just kick the bucket right after becoming a ninja!
That would be a terrible deal. Now that he was finally in the Naruto world, he wanted to actually see it—and he was certainly interested in meeting some of the series' famous kunoichi.
Wait!
What's this?
As he was fretting over his future, he noticed something else buried in his mind—a memory that belonged to neither him nor the original Rokuro. It was a long string of text, appearing out of nowhere.
It was a Quest.
Completing a thousand reps would take at least two hours. However, stats are just stats; real-world training didn't follow such simple arithmetic. By the time he hit five hundred, his arms were screaming in agony.
Without resting for two or three minutes, there was simply no way to continue.
In the end, it took him nearly three hours to grind through all 1,000 push-ups.
Ding...
[Training Quest Complete. Reward: 500 EXP.]
Hearing that crisp notification, a faint smile played on his lips. Then, his strength gave out completely.
He collapsed onto the floor and drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Shortly after Rokuro passed out, the door creaked open. A figure stepped into the room and approached the sleeping boy.
Nodding in satisfaction, the man hoisted Rokuro up, tucked him back into bed, and pulled up the covers before vanishing.
As a shinobi of the Root, his senses were razor-sharp. The moment Rokuro had climbed out of bed for the second time, he had heard the movement.
He had originally intended to storm in and discipline the boy again, but when he realized Rokuro was actually performing push-ups beside his bed, he paused.
Instead of interfering, he had remained by the window, observing in silence. He only stepped inside once Rokuro had trained himself into a stupor.
Every shinobi had been forged through bitter, grueling practice. Rokuro's display of discipline left the man deeply impressed. He now saw the boy as a "prime seed" worth nurturing.
If Rokuro eventually reached the rank of Jōnin—or even Special Jōnin—the finder's fee and prestige rewarded to the man would be substantial.
But this was only day one. He needed to see if Rokuro could maintain this consistency. Only if the boy kept this up every single day would it be worth filing a formal report to the higher-ups.
For now?
In honor of the kid's hard work, he'd make sure Rokuro got an extra-large chicken leg with his meal tomorrow.