Prologue: Resurgence

It had been uneventful in the end. No showy bazooka shots, or artistic slitting of the throat. No melodramatic deathbed confessions or the abrupt hit by a car.

I'd died of a heart attack, a widow, 33 years old - content with the life of a cat mom and too many apples filling my fridge. It happened while I was asleep and beyond the millisecond of realization that something wrong had happened - I hadn't felt an iota of pain.

I'd expected to feel...nothing thereafter. To get lost in the world where the unconscious lay. Lose my ability to think, act, speak, see. To never revisit the world of living or the world where angels flew. I expected to be surrounded by nothingness as my skin gave way to flesh, then bones, then dust.

I'd never believed in the concept of God - how and why this thought-process evoked within me is irrelevant; all that matters is that I wasn't expecting any divine intervention in what happened to me after I died. I was ready to be maggot-food but apparently, the entity residing in this universe - observing, controlling, causing things wasn't so keen about doing so.

They had a different plan - I don't even know who or what they is. A man, a woman, a source of energy, a bubble of sentience, a holy being? No clue.

All I know is that this, whatever this entity is caused my current situation.

The situation being my imprisonment within the body of some guy from a fictional world.

Imprisonment might be a bit of a stretch - but that's what it feels like. I'm no longer in my petite frame, with greying stringy hair and an aching back. No, I've somehow landed in a lean, fairly tall body of a kind-looking young man. My eyes are brown - a stark contrast to the blues I was used to seeing. My hair is spiky and thick, tied in a ponytail and there's a weird headband that's familiar - familiar in a way the texture of dirt beneath my feet is, or familiar in a way I remember a distant relative. I know what it is, but without conscious effort, I can't recollect this piece of knowledge.

Luckily for me, I've plenty motivation to remember why this headband feels so known to me. The insignia carved atop the metal plate is what triggers the memory.

I'd seen it almost a decade ago, when I worked as a schoolteacher. The kids carried all types of comics with them to school which I had to confiscate. I did so with an abundance of amusement and later, when I sat bored behind my desk, grading another stack of essays - I'd creep fingers into my drawer and pull out those comics with the stealth of a bulldozer. Good thing I was always alone when I went on my stolen recreational content consumption sprees.

I remember seeing this symbol in some volume of a manga - that's what Jim had called it when I'd returned his belongings with a comment of nice comic you've got there. I remember faces too, from this made-up world. Characters who were ninja -- killers and saviours and protectors all in one. I'd been 20 something when I'd read those few volumes. Already a bit jaded but still with the youth of a newly employed adult. I thought it was a decent story, even if the dialogue wasn't to my taste. The artwork is what drew me in at the end of the day.

But even though I'd liked that manga - Naruto, the name comes to me with a sudden flare of neurons - I'd never tried to follow up after those volumes I'd got my hands on by chance. I'd gotten engaged with the busy routine of trying to survive that cutthroat world and entertainment had become a rare luxury. Entering my thirties had introduced me to new hobbies - gardening, skating, and unexpectedly: yoga. Reading Japanese comics didn't occur to me as a viable passtime so I remained unaware of how this story of a boy called Naruto ended.

But now as I stood in a clean apartment - so unlike my cat-hair covered one, a clean blue t-shirt covering a very evidently flat chest, smart pants bulging near the crotch, covering a goddamn penis -

I couldn't control myself.

I ran straight into the nearest wall and banged my head - hard.

I had to know, I had to confirm that this wasn't a dream, that this absolutely reality-altering, unfathomable, unimaginable situation of mine wasn't a figment of my dead brain.

The sharp pain that ran through my head was testament to the fact that I had infact been transported into the Naruto world, into the body of that academy teacher with a scar on his nose. That was me. I was that...that Umino guy.

Holy shit.

Author's Note: I've just recently joined ffnet and this is another one of the fics I've recently begun that's already posted on another site. The second chapter should be out pretty soon but beyond that there's no pre-written content for this story. Just letting yall know in case there's some problem with formatting and for the erratic updates yet to come.

Also, the first person pov is still a new thing for me so bear with me as I improve and get a better grasp of it!

Anyway, thank you for reading!

and I hope you have a great day. :))