I was twenty four years old when I died in a rather embarrassing way. Embarrassing for me that is. My family, if they exist somewhere out there, are probably traumatised. It was New Year's Eve and the whole family had gotten together to celebrate with alcohol, food, and fireworks. It was the last one that did me in. You see, my younger cousin has a dog. Had a dog? Whatever. She has this little German Shepard. Barely older than a puppy, probably the most adorable thing ever, and as dumb as a sack of rocks. The last things I that I could remember were: my uncle setting the fuse of the box of fireworks, the dog getting spooked by something, running out and knocking over the box, roughly 300 euros worth of fireworks delivering their explosive payloads directly into my face and body, and then pain. Lots of pain.

Thankfully the pain and panic only lasted for a moment before was replaced with darkness.

Darkness and warmth.

After nothing changed for what felt like days I was left with two options. Either I was in a coma and dreaming, or the most commonly believed ideas about the afterlife were way off. I can honestly say I did not expect the third option of aimlessly floating around in the darkness for what felt like ages, before suddenly being squeezed through a narrow tunnel and being reintroduced to the light. After which a number of what could only be described as blurry giants did a lot of coo-ing and laughing at the very confused me, before I fell back into darkness and woke up in another new and unfamiliar place. This time I was at least in an actual bed of some sort instead of being passed around.

This bizarre situation was where I found myself now, staring at the blurry masses that I assumed were my hands. I attempted to 'retrace my steps' as it were, in order to figure out what on earth was going on. Which was just a nicer way of saying 'having a mild panic attack because, seriously, what the fuck is going on?', which would have been a lot more accurate.

First hypothesis was that all of this was some weird coma-dream that my mind was conjuring while I lay in the ER somewhere getting patched up. Plausible, but there were a couple issues. Firstly being I'd never heard of someone having this absurd of a coma-dream before, and secondly I was pretty sure people didn't just get better after being blasted into what I assume was multiple pieces.

Second hypothesis was that I did, in fact, shuffle off of the mortal coil and was now dead and reborn into the afterlife. In which case my expectations about life after death were well and truly subverted. Also unlikely because it would require whatever deity(s) that were the 'true' deity(s) to have a really weird way of treating non-believers.

Third hypothesis, and probably the most concerning one, was that this was actually totally normal. Assuming that I did bite the dust, and that I had just been literally reborn instead of the metaphorical birth of the second hypothesis, would mean that I have been reincarnated back onto Earth. The problem being that I could still remember my previous life, but I sure as hell didn't remember a life before that one. So if this was normal would I eventually lose my memories of the past life? Did everyone remember their past lives until a certain age, after which it was all erased or forgotten?

I could feel another panic attack starting to creep up on me, so I began trying to take deep breaths to calm myself down. My lungs couldn't take in enough air. I desperately began to look around to find something else to focus on, something that would distract me from my spiralling thoughts somehow. Only to discover I couldn't move my head. Its was as if it was a giant weight that my neck couldn't support. The discovery made the panic consume me. I didn't want to forget who I had been! I felt my lungs burn, my already blurry vision warping even further until all I could see was just one continuous smear of colours. I felt my body switch over to a deeper, more instinctual survival mode as my rational mind shut down.

I began to cry.

-I-

I spent most of the next week alternating between dreamless sleep and bawling my eyes out as I struggled to figure out what was going on. I only stopped when it became apparent that I had no control over what was going to happen, so the only option was to wait it out until something changed. With the constant panic and confusion shoved to the back of my mind, and the world around me still being a smear of colour where objects around were blurred to incomprehensibility, I began relying on my other senses.

My sense of touch still worked just fine, but I was always wrapped in either blankets or some sort of swaddling, or being carried around and fed by something much larger than I. Taste seemed to work just fine although the only thing I was fed was breast milk, which was certainly a new experience. Smell was also fully functional but there was nothing that really stood out to me. Hearing was the most disappointing sense, as while I could hear noise I wasn't able to make heads nor tales about what was being said.

And then there was my sixth sense, or at least something like it.

I first noticed it after my panic phase, and it was something entirely new. A soft humming, for lack of a better word, that was constantly active under my skin. Any time I was awake and not being tended to was spent trying to look inwards to figure out this new feeling. It was constant, always just below the surface, but the moment I would try to focus on it or affect it in any way it would slip away. It was rather like trying to hold onto the slipperiest bar of soap ever, the more force I tried to grab it with the faster it would vanish. Then I began to notice that it wasn't just under my skin. When I focused as hard as I could I would hear it, and it was everywhere. The air I breathed would hum. The unknown giant beings that would carry me around and feed me would emanate a steady drone. In one of my many attempts to grab a hold of my own humming I suddenly heard a loud ringing, much like the aftermath of someone striking a gong outside my window, then the sound of rushing water, and then nothing. Needless to say that set off another bout of panic and crying

Looking back at it I must have been a very strange baby. Screaming my head off for a week before going almost totally silent and introspective the next. Thankfully after the first two weeks my vision began clearing up, I was still incredibly near-sighted but it gave me hope that I would regain my vision with time. I immediately began to use this regained ability of seeing shapes to help me in my attempts to figure out what was going on.

First revelation: the beings carrying me around were just normal people, and I was just a normal baby by all appearances. Placing me firmly into the third category of 'reincarnation gone wrong, or right, depending on how this stuff works'.

Second: definitely some sort of Asian household considering the style of writing and furniture, but with the occasional western-seeming piece of furniture dotted around.

Third: The family I was born in didn't seem to be either extravagantly rich nor in poverty, so that was a good sign at least.

Fourth: Despite my mother being Asian, she had purple hair.

With a better idea of my circumstances and the constant low-level feeling of panic dying down I decided it was best to just settle in for the ride. At this point if I ended up losing my memories of my previous life there was literally nothing I could do about it so I might as well enjoy this whole new experience while I could.

-I-

It took roughly three months for my neck muscles and eyesight to develop to the point that I was able to look around under my own power. Another three months before I could start moving around by crawling and one more until I could stumble around on just my two legs. Seven months in total of being unable to do anything but lay in my crib, staring at the same four walls. It was a small miracle that I didn't go crazy.

The only relief from the boredom was when the people who I assumed were my new parents would carry me around, feed me, or play. I originally despised the silly baby-appropriate games which they attempted to play with me, I was a grown man damn it, so I did everything possible to avoid engaging with them. Up until I saw that my mother was starting to actually get concerned that there was something wrong with me. I'm pretty sure she even hired a doctor of some sort to take a look at me at one point. After that I began making more of an effort to engage with her like an actual baby. Partially because I didn't want them to think anything might be seriously wrong, but mostly because it felt really shitty to give this woman the cold shoulder when she had done nothing but be kind and care for me.

I couldn't deny that the more time that went by the more I became attached to my new parents. Whether it was because of the sheer amount of time I spent being carried around by them, just normal affection, or some sort of Stockholm Syndrome taking root I didn't know, but the end result was the same. At some point during the first seven months of my new life I began thinking of them more as actual parents, and less as giant caretakers. They would never replace my original parents, who I missed dearly, but that fact slowly began meaning less and less as time passed.

It was around this time that I finally began getting a solid grasp on the language that everyone spoke. The writing was still almost incomprehensible to me, but I had begun to understand basic sentences by the time my father re-introduced me to what had been my first love before the Accident.

Books. Glorious, musty books.

I had been a big reader before the Accident. My whole family had been in fact. So when he came home one day from wherever he worked at with a stack of the fantastic things in his arms I was ecstatic. He had only brought one children's book with him, probably borrowed from a co-worker judging by the wear and tear, but to me it was the greatest thing I had found since arriving. Apparently my mother thought this was adorable and it quickly became a tradition for her to read to me before my naps and bedtime.

The stories were always a bit odd. Lots of super heroes fighting monsters or other villains, which was fairly normal stuff, but unlike the children books that I remembered there was a surprising amount of death. Defeated foes died, fallen heroes stayed dead, innocent bystanders were routinely murdered. It was a very different tone than I had expected, but not unwelcome. I'm not sure how I would have handled a few years of the equivalent of Dr. Seuss.

With the introduction of text that was actually aimed at someone at my skill level in this new language my literacy began increasing by leaps and bounds. Combined with my vocal skills finally improving to the point I could actually begin forming words instead of just sounds, resulted in me speaking my first word at just under 12 months of age. The word was carefully chosen to not imply I had a favourite parent, an amusing inversion of the favourite child issue, was "story". To celebrate this great achievement I was rewarded with my very first trip to the park.

This being the first time I had left the house since the Accident head was on a swivel. I was constantly turning and twisting to see everything as my father carried me through what I now recognised as a large-ish town, taking in as much of my surroundings as possible. The first thing I noticed was the bright colours everywhere. Roofs were painted bright reds, oranges and blues. Trees were everywhere, and in the distance I thought I could see a massive wall stretching around the village in front of us. It was unlike any place I remembered seeing or hearing of before the Accident, so I was still unable to place where I was.

The second thing was the odd uniform that many people were wearing. What looked like some sort of armoured vest with a dozen pouches and pockets, worn over the same handful of shirt and pant styles. At first I feared that I was born into an active war zone somewhere, but that was quickly discarded due to the facts that I had never heard any explosions and the relaxed atmosphere of the town. I doubt civilians would be casually walking around and mingling with on duty soldiers like it was nothing, so I was probably in some sort of military base. I also noticed that everyone wearing a uniform also had some sort of coloured band with a metal plate on their person. Being unable to place the images engraved on them, I assumed it to be some sort of ranking system.

Then we finally went around the corner of the street, where time seemed to slow as I saw something I really didn't expect to see. A massive cliff face took the place of the southern section of the wall, into which were carved giant faces, and a whole bunch of things clicked into place all at once.

The casual violence in the stories, the uniformed soldiers all around, the occasional odd hair colour, the headbands, how the hell did I not place the god-damn forehead protectors?! All of this flashed through my mind in what would have been an earth-shattering revelation, but there was one thing that overshadowed even that. One thing that sent a building sensation of dread to creep up my spine.

There were only two faces on the mountain.

-I-

The bombshells had caused me to be distracted the rest of the day, which my parents probably chalked up to me being outside for the first time. They weren't actually wrong, depending on how you look at it. The revelations that not only had I been apparently transported to some other universe after the Accident, but also the fact that the second Hokage was still around posed a multitude of questions ranging from the the basic (How am I supposed to survive a massive shinobi world war, not to mention two?) to the metaphysical (Did everyone's soul just jump universes over when they died? Were all stories just places one's soul would hop to upon death?).

Unfortunately the world didn't revolve around me, (because it would eventually revolve around Naruto) so the universe didn't stand still to let me figure things out. Time marched on and a few weeks of frantic planing later it was my first birthday in this new world. Unlike birthdays before the Accident it began with me being bundled up and carried to the local shrine. What followed was a dizzying series of religious ceremonies and rituals which reminded me somewhat of a Christian baptism, and ended with me being given a name. Embarrassingly it was at this exact moment that I realised I had never actually been given a name. My parents had always called me 'boy' or 'my baby' or some other pet name, and I had always mentally referred to myself with my name before the Accident when I needed one. So it was to my great shock that the presiding monk dipped his fingers in a bowl orange liquid, wrote something on my forehead, and officially gave me my name.

Akihiro. 'Bright Scholar'.

I guess my love of reading and stories had not gone unnoticed. After I had been washed off and we were on the way back home I pondered this new development. I didn't have any issues with the name, I had gone through a plethora of nicknames and online usernames before the Accident and this one was better than most. What surprised and concerned me most was the fact it was tradition here to wait until a child's fist birthday to actually give them their name. Big naming ceremonies were often linked to high child mortality weren't they? Only giving a child their name when they seemed sure to survive was a matter of practicality hundreds of years ago, where infant deaths were commonplace. Was the world still so dangerous after the creation of the hidden villages that such things were necessary, or was it an old tradition that hadn't had the time to die out yet? More and more questions, still no answers.

What followed was a small family party where close relatives were invited to meet me for the first time. Only two grandparents, my grandparents on my mother's side had died sometime before my birth, and only a couple aunts and uncles from my father's side. Food and drink was served, although I was left with the usual mush that I had been eating for the past couple months, and a good time was had by the adults as I quickly ended up being too tired to stay awake for much longer. I still needed a lot of sleep at only a year old plus the naming ceremony had been exhausting.

I didn't mind going to bed early. I had never been that invested in birthday parties the first time round either.

-I-

After my naming ceremony I was slowly introduced to the rest of my extended family, as well as the many friends and co-workers of my parents. My father turned out to be a civilian administrator working for the council, compiling issues or complaints which would be discussed by the guild heads and other prominent non-shinobi who would choose the most pressing matters to bring before the Hokage. Due to this he had a large social circle, which for me meant the next months were filled with excruciatingly boring play dates. This was how I spent most of my days leading up to my second birthday. Attempting to play nice with actual babies while having the mental age of an almost twenty six year old man. Needless to say I was quickly pegged as a dismissive introvert, wanting as little to do with other children as possible while preferring the company of books.

It was just a couple of weeks before my second birthday when I met my only relative from my mother's side. The moment I lay my eyes on him I noticed that there was something different about him compared to everyone else I had been introduced to so far. The way he held himself, the way he moved around, the way his eyes would snap to the slightest noise or sudden movement. From the very first moment I saw him it was obvious he was a shinobi. A hunter and killer of men.

I remember him walking up to me as I sat in my crib, Mom picking me up and then him taking me off of her with remarkable gentleness. And then he looked at me. I had seen shinobi out and about before but this was the first time one had truly paid attention to me, and I felt as if suddenly all my secrets were laid bare. An irrational fear that he knew that I wasn't a normal baby consumed me. That he was able to see through the lie I had lived for the past two years with just a glance.

Then he smiled and laughed at my no doubt dumb-struck expression. The cold eyes of a killer replaced with warmth and life. The change was so sudden that I just lay there in his arms, staring at him as he followed my mother to the living room, laughing and chatting away like he hadn't almost given me a panic attack. It was from then on that I decided it was in my best interest to work on my acting skills and be the best baby I could when he was around. I had no desire to be shipped off to be experimented on or brainwashed or whatever they would do to me. Was Orochimaru starting his experiments yet? I hadn't heard any mention of The Sannin, and Tobirama was still the Hokage so I assumed not. Experimenting or not, letting Orochimaru get his hands on me undoubtedly bad so keeping a low profile was the way to go.

Apart from that first meeting with Uncle Riki, the next two years fell into a rather dull rhythm. I figured out that the constant noise I was hearing was actually the 'sound' of chakra, if it could be called that, and not a type of baby-tinnitus or something around the middle of my third year. After which I felt very stupid for believing all babies were born with tinnitus.

I began reading by myself a few months before my fourth birthday which seemed to impress my family. Personally I thought it was about time. Uncle Riki would visit in bursts, a couple of times per week before disappearing on missions for months at a time. Most importantly, however, was the plan I began formulating on how best to get out the shit show that I knew was coming. Two ninja wars, an unleashed tailed beast, a brief attack by orochimaru. Nagato cratering the village, then Madara and everything that followed? It had been a decade since I had last read the story of the universe I was now living in, but I still remembered enough to know that Konoha was not the place to be if you wanted a peaceful life.

My 'get out of Konoha' plan lasted all of two years before it would be scrapped.

-I-

I was asleep, and then awake. The transition was confusing, leaving me staring up at the shadowy ceiling and wondering what had happened. I didn't know why but something felt off, an unexplainable feeling of unease clinging to me. It took me about half a minute of laying there before realising what it was. The constant 'hum' of chakra had changed. It was a small change, almost imperceptible, but after hearing the constant drone of chakra flowing through and around me 24/7 for the past four years even the tiniest change was noticeable.

It took me another minute to pinpoint the exact disturbance, a hum slightly lower in tone than mine but muffled. Almost like it was coming through several layers of thick fabric. Looking over to the corner of my room where it seemed to be coming from nothing was out of the ordinary at first glance, but on closer inspection there was definitely something off. The shadows subtly stretched and bent at angles they shouldn't, previously straight edges of furniture gently curved and the title of one of the many books scattered around the room was warped, one letter being larger than the next which in turn was smaller than it should have been. Nothing that would immediately stand out, but noticeable to someone who was looking hard enough.

I stared at the corner, frozen. A dozen possibilities racing through my head, ranging from a weird night terror to horrifying monsters sent by some higher power to deal with the soul that remembered things it shouldn't, but as the minutes ticked by and nothing happened my terror began to fade. Surely whatever it was would have made its move by now?

Curiosity finally overwhelming what remained of my panic I sat up in my bed and looked directly at the weirdness.

"H- Hello? Can I help you?"

As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to kick myself. 'Can I help you?'?! My parents both before and after the Accident had drilled the importance of being polite into me, but there was a time and place for politeness and this wasn't it.

Miraculously it worked, the silence broken by a laugh. The shadows and edges returned to normal as light seemed to bend around a translucent humanoid shape. A moment later a familiar figure was standing where the distortion had been, and the muffled chakra noise had cleared up.

"Uncle Riki? What'cha doing?"

The only shinobi In the family had just been hiding in my room watching me. I was pretty sure it would be safe to say that whatever was going on wasn't good.

"Nothing to worry about kiddo" Riki replied with a chuckle, before squatting down next to my bed so were were eye level.

"Just wanted to test something real quick."

"A test? What sorta test?"

Riki smiled and reached out to playfully ruffle my hair.

"Don't worry about it little Aki, you passed with flying colours. Honestly I'm actually a little impressed."

Oh shit. That sounded real ominous, even with him using the pet name I had been stuck with.

"I passed? I don't get it."

Riki rose up out of the squat with his usual effortlessness and moved towards the sliding door to my room.

"You're a lot smarter than you let on Aki, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

And with that parting comment he slipped out of my room without a sound, the familiar drone of his now unmuffled chakra fading away into the distance.

In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid of me to think someone with no acting experience whatsoever could fool a well trained shinobi. Sniffing out secrets was literally part of their job description. I didn't sleep well that night. Every interaction I ever had with my uncle running though my head on repeat, trying to figure out when and how I had slipped up, as well as what the cryptic test was about.

Thankfully I wasn't able to torture myself over it for very long. Uncle Riki showed up the next day as I was trying not to fall asleep in my breakfast while Mom and Dad discussed work. This was not an uncommon occurrence whenever Riki was in the village, him dropping by in the morning with a smile and a box of fresh pastries was practically tradition. This time however he had an official looking folder instead of delicious pastries and his smile replaced with his 'buisness face', all blank expressions and carefully controlled movement.

My mother was the first to notice him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, Riki having let himself in, and waved him to the table with a laugh.

"Riki! When will you learn to use knock like a normal person? Come on in, we were just finishing up breakfast. Are you hungry? We have leftovers."

Riki stood there, taking a moment before walking forward and handing the folder over to Dad. My parents shared a look. This was obviously not a normal visit.

"Hey, is everything okay? Did anything happen?" Mom questioned, having gotten out of her chair to try and guide Riki to a chair.

"Sachio... Akihiro is going to be enrolled in the academy next term"

Oh fuck.

The pause following that statement lasted a couple seconds before Dad opened the folder and began rapidly flicking though the papers inside. Meanwhile Mom began grilling Uncle Riki.

"What? WHAT?! What are you talking about? Aki isn't joining the academy, he's-"

Riki cut her off by gently grabbing hold of her shoulders, locking their eyes.

"The academy has produced some good results so far, but the Lord Second is disappointed with the numbers. He has asked all of the minor shinobi families to send any and all children who show potential, the civilian schools are also being scouted for any promising candidates. He hopes to incentivize the larger clans who have been reluctant to send their kids for outside training by normalising the idea of the academy."

"Children with potential? Aki's never trained a day in his life, how can he have potential? He just turned four for Kami's sake!"

"He's always been smarter than kids his age Sachio, and the kid's a natural sensor... I tested him a little last night to make sure."

Mom's expression slowly changed from anger to desperation, turning to look back at Dad who was leaning back in his chair. The previously neatly ordered sheets of paper now scattered over the table. He let out a tired sigh.

"It all checks out with what we've been hearing. With border tensions rising the Lord Second really wants to push the new idea of a shinobi academy as hard as he can. The paperwork confirms it."

Mom turned back to uncle Riki, her desperation now clearly visible.

"You said the Lord Second asked right? Can't we decline? Or at least delay a little longer? He's only four..."

Riki didn't have to say anything, the look in his eyes making the situation clear. This was a "request" in name only.

"I'm sorry Sachio... But Aki's a smart kid, and it'll be a few years at least before he will graduate. He'll be fine. Hell, being a shinobi isn't so bad, I'm still around after all!"

His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, Mom starting to tear up before she went in for a hug.

"...Mom and Dad aren't any more."

Riki let out a deep sigh before returning the hug, not saying anything. It was only when they stepped apart that everyone seemed to realise I was still in the room and staring at the unfolding drama, mouth agape and with my half eaten breakfast still in front of me.

I was essentially being drafted into the shinobi academy as part of a recruitment drive, tensions with our neighbouring countries were starting to rise and two of my grandparents used to be shinobi who were now either dead or MIA.

It was a lot to take in at once. And it didn't help when Uncle Riki moved to squat next to me with an awkward grin.

"So... you ever wanted to be a shinobi before Aki?"

A/N

My first story, and its an overdone SI/OC fic of a series that technically ended years ago. Yikes. This is more or less an experiment for myself to see just where I stand with my writing skills. I would like to think my avid reading puts me above average, but who knows? Maybe it'll turn out that I cant write for shit and this will devolve into a horrific dumpster fire. Guess we'll find out together dear reader!

Hopefully what I have planned out makes it at least interesting if not good, but that will be for the you lot to decide.

To clear up some things to avoid any future confusion:

This universe is slightly different than the cannon one, mostly because if you look at the original cannon timeline it makes no goddamn sense or directly contradicts itself sometimes. Normally this is pretty easy to handwave away because its old history by the time of the actual series start, but because this story begins smack-dab in the middle of these inconsistencies I've had to shuffle a few things around like births, deaths, war dates, etc. I actually had a blast with the worldbuilding aspect of laying the groundwork for this story so hopefully it will still make sense.

The language and culture isn't exactly Japanese, but something close to it. This is because it wouldn't make sense for the world to have the exact same language and culture as one in our world when their history is so different. But more important to the story is to try and explain the weird fusion of Japanese and western culture and styling that the world of Naruto has.

Criticism is always appreciated, one can never improve without it!