Waking up in a fantasy world after my death was a shocker, but I was a man—I rolled with the punches.
Dying on a construction site at my latest dead-end job had been a low blow, but getting a restart—with my last save intact—was a win in my book. I could overlook the memory of being crushed under a ten-ton steel beam if it meant a future with a well-paying job or becoming a successful business owner.
With the knowledge I retained, I was confident I could excel in school and land a high-paying position at a prestigious company. Unfortunately, this fantasy world wasn't quite the modern capitalist paradise I'd envisioned. Instead, it was a weird cross between Edo-period Japan and 13th-century Europe—a time in human history when class mobility was basically a fantasy in itself.
Worse still, I was reborn as a no-name orphan.
Thankfully, I was a no-name orphan in Konohagakure, the Village Hidden in the Leaves. Any other ninja village—or even the capitals of the various Elemental Nations—and I would've spent my childhood in a brothel if I'd been pretty enough, or breaking my back in a mine otherwise.
But in Konoha, the military dictatorship actually valued its civilian support system. Here, civilians were among the best cared for in the entire world, and that meant I was well taken care of.
As one of the many orphans left behind after the Kyuubi attack—a rampaging, mountain-sized spirit of hatred and malevolence that leveled half the village and annihilated a huge portion of the shinobi force—I was swept up in a tide of early indoctrination. Patriotism. Duty. Sacrifice. I was told I could help protect my home by becoming a proud member of the shinobi forces.
I didn't buy it. Not anymore.
In my past life, I'd fallen for a similar lie. I'd done one tour, got honorably discharged after almost losing a leg to an IED, and came home to a nightmare. Fighting tooth and nail for basic benefits, watching my life crumble, the woman I thought I loved leaving me, and my parents dying in a freak accident that saddled me with their debt.
It was a hard life. It made me a hard man.
The great wheel of reincarnation hadn't stripped me of my memories—though it had dulled the pain. Most of the emotion was gone, leaving my memories disjointed, like watching episodes from someone else's life. It helped. I could analyze them with a cold eye. That didn't mean they didn't shape me. Growing up with the memories of a full-grown man bouncing around your baby brain will do that to a person.
Still, I wasn't interested in military service again. Konoha may be the best this world had to offer, and sure, I felt some loyalty to the place, but I'd pay my taxes and call it a day. No blood, no sweat.
That was the plan.
Until, of course, I remembered I was a young boy—and kung fu magic existed in this world.
So yeah. I signed up.
Four years in the Ninja Academy. As a civilian-born orphan with no connections, I hovered just above the cutoff. Barely passed my classes. Below average in every metric. But that was intentional. I had a plan.
Konoha had a brilliant system in place for kids like me—kids who were swept up in the shinobi dream but lacked the chops to go pro. Anyone who completed two years in the academy was automatically funneled into the civilian education track, complete with room, board, food, and a modest monthly allowance.
All you had to do was give it a fair shot—do your absolute best—and wash out. I washed out, and I got a full ride.
I was ecstatic.
I could chase my dream of a high-paying desk job while still practicing ninja magic on the side. Like a high-earning lawyer who also did jiu-jitsu on the weekends.
Which brings us to now—Saturday morning, in a quiet park near my apartment. Konoha had lots of parks like this, trees everywhere, sunlight filtering through thick green canopies. The "Hidden in the Leaves" thing wasn't just poetic—it was accurate.
I was here to train and meditate. T&M: the secret to all kung fu magic.
And it was kung fu magic. I don't care what my instructors call it. The very trees in this park were said to be grown by the First Hokage himself—a man who conjured entire forests with a wave of his hand. The Fourth Hokage could teleport. That's not science. That's sorcery.
I had no illusions of ever reaching that level.
Didn't mean I couldn't have fun trying.
In my free time, of course. Nothing was coming between me and that cushy government job.
Just yesterday, I'd been officially told I wouldn't make it as a shinobi. No dying in the mud for nameless old men in high offices? I was heartbroken.
Sarcasm aside. My relief was immeasurable.
It hadn't been easy.
I had to starve myself—intentionally. And what little I did eat? Utter garbage. Just enough to keep me in consistently poor physical condition. That was the only method I could think of to fool my instructors. These were shinobi, after all. Lies and deception weren't just tools of the trade—they were the trade.
Thankfully, it worked.
They might've seen through me in a heartbeat if I hadn't been giving a hundred percent during drills. But I was. Every second, every rep, every thrown kunai. I gave it everything I had... just without the body to back it up. No one expected a kid to have the sheer willpower, the mental discipline, to sabotage his own body just to be declared unfit for heroism.
Because that's what a shinobi was to the orphans of the village. A hero.
Every starry-eyed kid in that academy wanted to be the next legend. The next brave soul charging into the dark to protect their home. Makes me feel bad, honestly, for the rude awakening that awaited so many of them once they hit the field. When the glory gave way to blood and dirt and screams.
But hey—nothing for it.
I'd done my time, learned the basics, and, more importantly, gained access to that sweet, sweet kung fu magic they called chakra. And now? Now I was free. On the fast track to a bright, government-sponsored future.
And what did it say about the U.S. government that a feudal, war-torn military dictatorship had better post-service benefits?
Yeah. Let that sink in.
I flexed my chakra-enhanced palm, feeling the low hum of energy as I clung upside down to a thick tree branch, high above the forest floor. The bark pressed firmly against my feet—chakra making me stick like glue—while I tried to regulate my breathing, to find that slippery meditative state between focus and stillness.
What was better than just training or meditation?
Simple.
Combining them.
I pulled myself up into a one-armed pull-up, legs folded beneath me, the other hand forming a tight ram seal at my chest. My muscles strained, the effort deliberate, rhythmic. Up. Down. Up. Breathe in. Down. Breathe out. All while feeling for the minute shifts of chakra within me, tracing its flow like a second pulse.
I had a week before my civilian classes started.
And I intended to use every single day to push myself harder, refine my control, and maybe—just maybe—see how far I could go with this whole kung fu magic thing.
After all, I wasn't looking to be a hero.
I just wanted to be powerful enough not to need one.
Making the jump from the leaf-sticking exercise they taught us to sticking to actual surfaces wasn't that hard—especially with Spider-Man being one of my favorite characters before I got here.
It was cool being able to cling to walls, trees, ceilings, whatever. That chakra-grip trick alone made me feel like a low-budget superhero. But what really captured my attention—the thing that kept me obsessed—was jutsu.
Spells.
Everyone could call it "chakra techniques" or "ninja arts" all they wanted, but throwing fireballs, summoning wind blades, shooting lightning? That was magic. Even if you did it from your mouth instead of your hands, it didn't change the fact. It was magic.
Unfortunately, as an academy student, I didn't have access to the flashy elemental stuff. No fireballs, no water dragons, no lightning bolts. What I did have was what they called the "Academy Three" and the standard hand seals. Basically: the ABCs of magic punching.
And that's why the higher-ups in this paranoia-soaked village—where keeping secrets is considered a civic duty—were perfectly fine with letting academy students drop out. According to them, we hadn't learned anything of real value.
Idiots.
They gave me the building blocks. The raw materials. The foundational understanding of how their magic system operated. And they expected me to just walk away from that? Ha. Hahaha.
No.
I was gonna be a punch wizard, and the first step was mastering hand seals.
It was a work in progress.
Right now, I hung upside down from a thick tree branch, one hand gripping the bark, the other held steady in a ram seal in front of my chest. My legs were folded beneath me, core burning, muscles trembling with the strain of maintaining the one-armed pull-up.
I could feel the fatigue creeping in. My arm shook. Sweat slipped down my forehead and pooled in my brow. My breathing was loud in my ears—short and ragged. My grip was slipping.
But I held the seal.
From what I'd figured out, hand seals were like triggering automatic nervous responses. Like how people swallow in their sleep, or how tapping a knee makes it jerk, or the way your heart just keeps beating. Putting your hands into certain shapes made your chakra react in specific ways. It was just... how the human body worked here.
Why? Don't ask me. I'm not a doctor.
But just like some people train themselves to control their heartbeat or breathing, I figured I could train myself to control my chakra directly. Most shinobi just did a jutsu over and over until their chakra "remembered" how to do it—eventually skipping the hand signs altogether. Muscle memory for chakra.
I wanted to skip that middle step.
I wanted to memorize and master the automatic chakra responses each hand sign triggered, then mimic them on demand. That way, if I knew the full sequence of a jutsu and its intended effect, I could reverse-engineer it.
And if I got really good?
I could invent my own jutsu.
My muscles finally gave out. I dropped from the branch like a stone, landing hard on my back. The impact knocked the wind out of me. My chakra reserves were tapped. My grip strength, gone.
But I was grinning like an idiot.
Because all of that started with this: Forming a hand seal in as many physical positions as possible, over and over again, and memorizing how my chakra reacted each time.
This was step one.
And I was already on the path.