In hastily written scrawl did they find it. Under the ash and burnt ruble stood an iron compartment, untouched by the carnage with a very large, handmade spiral-bound book inside. They eyed it, after meticulous work disarming the seals surrounding the seemingly innocuous notebook. As they opened the book from its cover a note stood behind it.

To whoever reads this, I hope my thoughts and ideas grab your attention and keep your interest. If you are reading this and not myself, this will probably be my last contribution to this world. Chakra is bull shit.

As of this moment, june 6th of the *** year, I will be recording my musings through this journal, to help myself keep record in case of problems in memory or termination of other records

Basic data is as follows

My name is Taki Shiro. As of writing this, I am 7 years old and taking up residence in my family's home in Konoha. I am enrolled in a civilian school to begin what will soon be my career. I am to be a blacksmith and work under my father until his death where I will take over. Though not my preferred profession, it will serve to benefit me in the future as a secured employment avenue.

This journal, more often than not, will be a scientific journal; my thoughts, experiments, and conclusions on chakra and its many subtle effects on this world.

As the introductory, I will leave this next few pages as a content index to find all the various…

Initially, he assumed he was in some rural provenance, an old village or something, somewhere inland. Being 5 months old made distances somewhat difficult to see, but focus came in shifts and sequences. The buildings were typically wood, though some were seemingly of a concrete mixture. He didn't recognize anything until he eventually looked in the right direction. he almost thought it was Mount Rushmore but he realized none of those men had beards except for one with a goatee and three fourths of them had spikey hair. For a while it stumped him, but after a few weeks of thinking between eating and sleeping he knew where he saw it. He remembered that iconic imagery.

Konoha.

He had no idea how, but he was unlucky. He had hardly watched Naruto. He got past the Tsunade Arc and the Sasuke Betrayal arc, but then all the filler bogged it down until he stopped watching. He'd also seen the final fight between Sasuke and Naruto in shippu whatever, but he had no background on it, and only watched it because a friend showed him. It was a drastic change from what he remembered of it, and though the choreography was awesome, it hardly made him want to go back and finish it.

And now he was in a village of security and simultaneous danger. He could be strolling down the road and then-BAM! Crushed and/or eaten by a giant snake. And don't forget the magic, or Ki, or whatever. Added to the already high chance of death due to this world being some mix of rural and modern technology, chances of living were not high. Even if the show depicted a harsh, but somewhat light world in the early parts, it was obvious that this was a world where killers were respected more than nobles. It was literally a bloody economy. A competitive market of killing. Even despite the training you would receive, you were even more likely to die as a ninja, actively pursuing combat in a world like this was like rolling a 20-sided die in D&D circumstances. It doesn't matter what level you are or what your stats are, there were always chances for failure in everything you did.

He would be going with the civilians. He was just lucky to be in Konoha, a relatively large village. Less likely for bandit attacks, relatively more human rights, and more prone to protect its citizens.

That didn't mean he wouldn't be doing magic of course.

He had always wanted to have a power beyond his flesh. Something ethereal and powerful. He could still do that. If he remembered it correctly, magic training was tree climbing, water walking and… leaf sticking? He would figure it out. For now, he had to figure out his motor functions without bumbling like the infant he was. He would work, he would remember, he would grow, and he would survive.

The boy made no sense.

Don't get Takeda wrong. He loved his son more than any of the blades he forged, maybe even more than his wife. The problem was that his son was… stunted in some ways. The Shiro family were generally emotionally dull due to their devotion to their trade. If one was not fully devoted when crafting, then their work would be less than sellable. This was something all Shiros learned and faced as they got older

A Shiro's emotions were generally revealed in what they made. That is often how every Shiro proposed to their partner. They would create a symbol of the history both people shared from the craft that Shiro had devoted their life to, and leave a part or side, white, or empty, to represent the future that would be built after that point. Shiro's preferred showing someone they loved them through their presence, they never told unless forced or overwhelmed by emotion.

He and his family were always emotionally restrained, but Takeda could remember days when he was not wholly in his trade. He remembered his childhood. he remembered looking at the world as if it were a new bastion, and the smiles that often felt permanent.

His son was entirely unmoved. He didn't marvel at the world or observe his home in joy or wonder. He only read, wrote, and kept his eyes closed. When his eyes looked around they did not hold wonderment, only a kind of passive interest. like the world was different, but not new. When he talked, He would stare you in the face, neither fidgeting nor flinching as some children and even Genin did when talked to. He spoke in his messy rendition of the language and sounded like he had some troubles with his tongue, despite his high level of reading by that point. The boy was almost abrasive when compared to the other children he had viewed sprinting down the streets on his evening walks. He moved too smoothly, like It was natural, and he was almost religiously reading, with no sign of stopping.

He would insist on the boy going outside, to be active instead of just staying at home all the time, with his wife nodding along. The boy would look at them like he understood the situation beyond their own comprehension. Instead of pulling a tantrum or petulantly resisting, He simply got up from the arm chair (his favorite place to read, despite the difficulty he had getting on it at his age) sigh, and nod before putting on his small sandals at the door, looking expectantly with those dull green eyes.

his kid had sighed for the first time when he was 3!

He didn't play with kids. He made no attempt to communicate and honestly looked exasperated when someone asked him about playing with his fellow generation. The boy didn't play at all or with anyone. the seldom few that would ask him to fill a spot for a game of ninja would be blankly stared at until they became uncomfortable and left. The boy would then nod his head, as if all was right, and go back to what he was doing.

His son was active, simply for the sake of being active, it seemed. He tested his body, stretched, exercised, and it was one of the only times he ever saw any kind of consistent joy from the boy: When he would finish running or doing bizarre movements with his body, breaths puffing and sweat gleaming on his face, his eyes would glint with something unknown before he would smile. It was small, but his eyes shined with accomplishment and mirth that tore Takeda apart. When he saw it, he couldn't help but smile big and large, giving the kid a small ruffle on his head. His son wasn't handicapped, just stunted on some ends. He would love his son and try to make this boy smile as much as he could, for as long as he could.

Nanako on the other hand, was only concerned. It was clear their boy was a prodigy. He would go far and do well. She was sure he would either leave the family trade for bigger things or become effortlessly excellent at it. She was only concerned for his well-being. She had only seen that boy give the rarest of smiles, and they were always fleeting. They stopped baby talking him when showed clear signs of recognizing words and their meaning at 2. And they stopped telling him stories when he was reading along with them before three.

Despite his small growing body and his clear lack of age, he seemed like an old recluse, speaking only when conversed to. He didn't ask questions. And if he did, it would probably come by a tug, a point, and a tilt of his little head. his eyes did not seem new to the world, more like he was seeing it in a new light. It reminded her of her grandmother, who seemed tired and worn in her final days.

She only wished he was born into a better family, for she loved him with all her heart. They were but a smithing family, only known for their steel, not their brains. They had only a single book shelf and his gluttony for knowledge was soon to consume even their largest books. She was proud, more than anything. Her little recluse. He was her handsome boy and he hopped the girl lucky enough to snag him was at least as smart as her little protégé.

She hopped he at least got one friend, a true one. for family would support, but could never be everything for the boy, despite her damdest to be. for now though, she would do what she could to be everything he needed at this stage in his life. She would work. She would remember that he would grow. and that he would survive.