The dawn mist clung to Training Ground Three, the air damp and heavy as Team Seven gathered for our first official mission. I stood apart from Naruto and Sasuke, my hood pulled low, my hands loose at my sides. My body, already taller and broader than most twelve-year-olds, hummed with the subtle power of my ongoing modifications—a second heart beating faintly in my chest, lungs expanded for greater endurance, bones slowly elongating to mirror the towering, muscular form of Ryomen Sukuna from Jujutsu Kaisen. His four arms, two mouths, and imposing physique were my ultimate goal, a vessel to amplify my chakra like his cursed energy. My four eyes, a trait I was born with in this world, were hidden beneath my hood, a secret I guarded as fiercely as my ambitions: power, control, freedom.
Kakashi leaned against a tree, his eye scanning us with that lazy intensity that missed nothing. "Your first mission," he said, tossing a scroll to Naruto, who fumbled it. "Escort a merchant caravan to the Land of Tea. Simple, but don't get cocky. Bandits have been spotted on the route."
Naruto grinned, pumping his fist. "Finally, some action! I'll take down a hundred bandits!"
Sasuke snorted, arms crossed. "You'll trip over your own feet first, loser."
I stayed silent, my mind working like it did in my past life, strategizing through RPGs like Baldur's Gate and Warhammer 40,000. A simple escort mission was a tutorial quest—low stakes, but a chance to test Team Seven's dynamics and my own skills. Kakashi's presence was the real challenge; his Sharingan could pierce my genjutsu or spot my modifications if I wasn't careful. Hiruzen's decision to place me on this team, replacing Sakura, was a leash, a way to monitor me after his probing visit. I'd play along, but I'd also use this team to sharpen my edge.
The caravan was a rickety affair—three wagons loaded with spices, guarded by a handful of nervous merchants. We set out at sunrise, Kakashi leading, Naruto complaining about the pace, and Sasuke brooding in silence. I took the rear, my senses heightened by my enhanced physiology. My second heart, still developing, steadied my chakra flow, letting me maintain a low-level reinforcement without fatigue. My lungs, strengthened over weeks, drew deep breaths, keeping me alert even after hours of marching.
Halfway through the day, trouble struck. Bandits—six of them, armed with swords and crude chakra techniques—ambushed us from the trees. Naruto charged, shouting, only to be knocked back by a club. Sasuke countered with a fireball jutsu, scattering two attackers, but the others closed in. Kakashi watched, his posture relaxed, clearly testing us.
I acted. Weaving a Mirror Mirage Technique, I summoned three illusory clones, their movements lifelike, their faint footsteps—a trick inspired by Baldur's Gate—echoing in the chaos. The bandits hesitated, their eyes darting between my clones, giving me an opening. I darted forward, my chakra-enhanced speed a blur, and tapped one bandit's arm with a restrained Cleave. The contact-based technique left a shallow cut, enough to make him drop his weapon and flee.
"Nice one, Archon!" Naruto yelled, scrambling to his feet. He summoned a dozen Shadow Clones, overwhelming another bandit. Sasuke, meanwhile, took down a third with a precise kunai throw. The remaining three retreated, but not before I caught one with a shadow-based genjutsu, inspired by Shikamaru's technique. The illusion made his shadow seem to writhe, freezing him in place long enough for Kakashi to knock him out with a casual flick of his wrist.
The merchants cheered, but Kakashi's eye was on me, sharp and unreadable. "Good instincts," he said. "But you're holding back. Why?"
I shrugged, deflecting. "Didn't need to go all out."
He didn't press, but I knew he was cataloging every move. Sasuke shot me a glance, his suspicion clear, while Naruto just grinned, oblivious. The mission was a success, but it left me uneasy. Team Seven was a crucible, exposing my strengths and drawing attention I didn't want.
That night, we camped near the caravan, the merchants safe but shaken. I sat by the fire, my mind drifting to my modifications. Sukuna's form—four arms for unmatched versatility, two mouths for intimidation and utility, a muscular, towering frame that radiated dominance—was my blueprint. In Warhammer 40,000, the Astartes were engineered for war, their two hearts and three lungs giving them superhuman endurance. My own changes were progressing: my second heart pulsed stronger, my lungs fueled longer fights, and my height crept upward, my frame broadening. Each change amplified my chakra reinforcement, making Dismantle's invisible blades sharper, Cleave's contact-based cuts deadlier.
I tested my progress, slipping away from camp to train in a nearby clearing. Using medical ninjutsu, I reinforced my muscles, channeling chakra to mimic Sukuna's dense physique. I lifted a fallen log, my arms steady despite its weight, my second heart keeping my stamina high. My genjutsu experiments continued, too—I refined a confusion-based illusion, inspired by Ino's Mind Transfer, making a nearby owl freeze as its senses were flooded with conflicting images. The Malevolent Shrine, my ultimate technique, remained out of reach, its chakra cost too high for my current body. But with every modification, I edged closer.
Naruto's voice broke my focus. "Hey, Archon! Whatcha doing out here? Training again?"
I lowered the log, keeping my tone light. "Just clearing my head. You should sleep, Uzumaki. You'll need it."
He grinned, sitting on a stump. "Man, you're always so serious! But that stuff you did today—those clones, that weird shadow thing—that was awesome! You're like… super sneaky!"
I didn't respond, but his words stirred something. In RPGs, a party's strength came from synergy, each member covering the others' weaknesses. Naruto's raw power, Sasuke's precision, Kakashi's experience—they were assets, if I could use them. But trust was a risk. My goals were my own, and Team Seven was a means to an end, not a family.
Back at camp, I caught Sasuke watching me, his eyes narrowing as I returned. "You're too quiet," he said, his voice low. "What's your deal, Archon?"
"Same as you," I replied, meeting his gaze. "Getting stronger."
He didn't push, but the tension lingered. Kakashi, pretending to read his book, was listening, his chakra a faint hum I could sense with my enhanced perception. Hiruzen and Danzo's scrutiny was a shadow, but Kakashi was a blade—sharp, immediate, and dangerous if I slipped.
Team Seven was a new battlefield, a test of my ability to balance power and deception. My body, growing closer to Sukuna's ideal with every night of training, was my true weapon. Four arms, two mouths, a towering frame—they were still distant, but my second heart, expanded lungs, and increasing height were proof I could get there. In Warhammer, the Astartes were forged for war; in Jujutsu Kaisen, Sukuna's form was built for dominance. I'd combine both, crafting a vessel that would carry me to my goals, no matter what Konoha or Team Seven threw at me.