The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room. He stirred, the fabric beneath him foreign against his skin. As he began to wake, a sense of unease pricked at the edges of his consciousness. His surroundings seemed wrong—off-kilter, as if reality had shifted.
Akaashi's eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his home.
He tried to shake off the unsettling feeling, convincing himself that it must be a dream. Yeah, that's it—a dream. He just needed to close his eyes and when he woke up again, he'd be back home. He'd be able to smell the pancakes his mom was making downstairs, hear her cheerful humming, and everything would be okay.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart racing as he clung to that hope. But when he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. The room was still unfamiliar, the air foreign against his skin.
Akaashi felt panic rising within him, a knot of anxiety constricting his chest. This couldn't be happening. He shouldn't be here. He had responsibilities, people who depended on him back home. This had to be some sort of mistake.
With a shaky exhale, he forced himself to sit up, the unfamiliar sheets slipping from his body. His thoughts raced, a whirlwind of confusion and denial. He had to be dreaming. This had to be a nightmare he would wake up from any moment.
An hour or two passed, the minutes stretching out as he wrestled with his thoughts, hoping to return to that comforting world of dreams. But reality was unyielding, and the pit in his stomach grew with each passing moment. He couldn't ignore it any longer—the gnawing hunger that finally drew his attention away from his inner turmoil.
Akaashi's stomach growled loudly, the sound echoing in the room and serving as a harsh reminder of his present situation. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he needed to face whatever this new reality was.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he planted his feet on the unfamiliar floor. He looked around the room once more with a faltering gaze. It was time to confront this new place, as much as he wished he could close his eyes and go back to what he knew.
Akaashi took a deep breath, the decision to finally rise from the unfamiliar bed hanging heavy on his shoulders. His steps were measured, his senses on high alert as he cautiously moved towards what seemed to be the kitchen. The tight space of the apartment was evident, with the kitchen just a couple of strides from where he had woken up.
As he walked, his eyes were drawn to a nearby mirror hanging on the wall. Akaashi caught his reflection—a person he barely recognized. Brown hair framed his face instead of the familiar pitch-black locks, his eyes tired and marked with dark circles. The face staring back at him looked aged, as if years had passed since he last looked into a mirror. The realization hit him like a wave, a reality he couldn't escape.
Yet, another loud growl from his stomach punctuated the moment, tugging his attention back to the present. His hunger pulled him forward, leading him to the refrigerator. With anticipation, he swung the door open, only to be greeted by emptiness—no food, no sustenance to quell his hunger.
"This is just the greatest!" he muttered sarcastically. The frustration and uncertainty of his situation weighed on him, making every gesture feel like a struggle. The slam of the refrigerator door echoed his discontent.
With a mixture of exasperation and resignation, he leaned against the fridge, his body sinking to the floor. He sat there with the many inconsistencies gnawing at his thoughts. What now? What was he supposed to do in this unfamiliar place that felt both alien and uninviting?
Just as the weight of his predicament threatened to overwhelm him, a small book suddenly tumbled from its perch atop the fridge, landing on his head with a gentle thud. Startled, he picked it up, studying its brown cover and the foreign characters etched upon it. These symbols weren't ones he should understand, yet he did. They formed words, words that his mind processed as if they were written in his native language.
"Diary: Akaashi Gekko," the title announced. This was his name—or, at least, the name of the person whose body he now inhabited. His heart raced as he clutched the diary, a lifeline to understanding the person whose life he had unexpectedly become entwined with.
With trembling hands, he opened the diary, his eyes scanning the pages for insights, for clues that might illuminate the puzzle of his existence in this unfamiliar world. Each entry was a snapshot of a life he didn't remember living, and yet, it was nevertheless a connection.
Akaashi was drawn into the diary's words, each entry a testament to the writer's struggles and self-doubt. The more he read, the more he felt a connection forming, as if he was peering into the inner thoughts of a person who was once him and yet not him. The passage of time became irrelevant as he immersed himself in the writer's life, forgetting even the gnawing hunger that had driven him moments earlier.
The pages were filled with descriptions of failures, both big and small. The writer bemoaned their inability to meet expectations, to accomplish even the simplest tasks. Each entry was like a snapshot of defeat, a catalog of self-criticism that seemed endless. The short, unfinished entries painted a portrait of a person who never had enough time to pour their thoughts onto the pages.
But it was the final entry that held Akaashi's attention the most. The words resonated with a profound sense of regret, an ache that reached through the ink on the paper and into his own heart.
"Losing comrades had to be the worst feeling ever. It was all because of me, all because I prioritized the mission over my friends... how could I ever face them again?
I guess... being a shinobi was never meant for me."
The weight of those words hung in the air, echoing with a deep sorrow that touched Akaashi's core. He sensed the writer's anguish, the burden of responsibility that had weighed them down. The term "shinobi" stood out to him, revealing a clue that leads to the true nature of this place.
He closed the diary, the heaviness of its contents still lingering in his thoughts. Whoever this Akaashi was, he had been his own harshest critic, a person who had struggled with the expectations and responsibilities of a life he could hardly comprehend.
Determined to learn more about this person whose life he had become entangled with, Akaashi rose from the floor and began to explore the apartment. His curiosity propelled him forward, and he discovered a fragment of the writer's identity—a uniform of sorts. The vest, pouches, and headband with its oh so familiar symbol spoke of a world that was no longer confined to the realm of fantasy.
He considered dismissing it all as a cosplay, but the presence of real kunai and shurikens within the pouches contradicted that idea. The reality was becoming harder to ignore. This Akaashi had been part of a world that dealt with danger and combat, a world he still couldn't fully grasp.
His gaze shifted to a messy desk cluttered with scrolls. The titles on the scrolls revealed a focus on basic knowledge—chakra control, ninjutsu fundamentals, and more. Akaashi's hand reached for one of the scrolls, his curiosity piqued, when a sudden, sharp pang of hunger sliced through his thoughts.
His stomach clenched, aching that couldn't be ignored any longer. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen as the hunger intensified. The urgency was undeniable now—he needed food, and he needed it immediately. It was like he hadn't eaten anything for days.
Pushing through the discomfort, Akaashi knew he couldn't delay any further. He had to venture out into this unfamiliar world, hungry and confused, as he began the journey to understand the life of the person he had become.
Akaashi wasted no time once he had chosen his clothes. He quickly selected the most familiar and comfortable clothes he could find in the wardrobe and slipped into them with ease. Then he began to search the room for anything that could help him address his most pressing need—food.
His resolve led him to a small pouch by the bedside, containing a small collection of coins and paper currency. Relief washed over him as he realized he had something to work with. With the money in hand, he approached the apartment's door.
Hesitation clawed at him as he considered the decision ahead. Was he truly ready to step into the unknown? Doubts whispered again that maybe this was all a dream, a fleeting illusion he would soon wake up from. But reality intervened once more—the sharp growl of his stomach echoed in the small apartment, erasing any illusions of avoidance.
Swallowing his doubts, Akaashi opened the door to the world beyond. A gust of cold air brushed against his skin, a stark reminder that this was no dream. The sight before him—a town that seemed plucked from his childhood fantasies—tugged at his heartstrings. Tears threatened to well up, emotions he had suppressed since his arrival surged to the surface. But he blinked them away, replacing them with willpower.
Steeling himself, Akaashi took the first step, his gaze fixed on the unfamiliar horizon. He breathed in deeply, his exhale carrying away lingering doubts. However, as he took his first step, reality once again pulled at his resolve. Where was he going? Did he even have a destination in mind? Akaashi felt his determination waver, the reality of his situation casting doubt over his steps.
Yet, he couldn't afford to falter. If he wanted to survive in this unfamiliar world, he had to push forward. With resolute determination, he chose a direction and walked down the path before him. Each step was an affirmation that he was moving beyond his comfort zone.
Fifteen minutes later, Akaashi's perseverance bore fruit. His eyes settled on a ramen shop—a place called Ichiraku Ramen. He was reluctant to enter into the shop, but his hunger didn't allow for any other option. His stomach's insistence was overwhelming, and with a resigned sigh, he entered the small shop.
As if anticipating his arrival, a man hurried out from the depths of the shop to serve him. Akaashi took a seat on one of the stools shortly after.
"Good morning, sir. What would you like to order?" the ramen guy asked, his voice warm and inviting.
Akaashi's response was straightforward, driven by his need to conserve money. "I'll take your cheapest option."
The ramen guy nodded with a smile, retreating to prepare the order. In the moments of loneliness that followed, Akaashi was left with his thoughts once more. He considered his situation—the path that had led him to this point, the choices that lay ahead.
He thought about the possibility of becoming a ninja, something the previous Akaashi had clearly struggled with. But the path of danger and uncertainty didn't align with his cautious nature. He knew that the responsibilities and risks inherent in such a path were not for him.
Lost in his thoughts, Akaashi's attention was drawn to the entrance of the shop. A child entered, their blue eyes bright and their yellow hair could only be passed off as familiar. Akaashi noticed the new little customer, but decided to just ignore it.
Shortly after, Akaashi's meal arrived—a fragrant bowl of ramen that promised to fill him up. He dug in, the flavors exploding on his taste buds. He each bite more than the last, his pleasure evident in the satisfied sounds he let out.
In no time, he emptied the bowl, setting aside his chopsticks on top of it. Akaashi paid for his meal before getting ready to leave. But before he could step foot outside the shop, he couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on in the shop.
"*Burp*, That was amazing as always, Ramen guy!" The little customer seemed very satisfied after downing two bowls of ramen.
"Haha, don't make me blush, Naruto." Ramen guy replied while rubbing the back of his neck.
The blue-eyed child then took out a tiny frog-like pouch from his pocket. The moment he opened it, his joyful mood turned into a sullen one. "S-sorry ramen guy... I completely forgot that I have no money left this month. Can I pay you later? Once I get my allowance, I will pay you, I promise."
Right then, Akaashi made the choice to intervene. He knew he didn't have to do anything. Ramen guy was one of the few people who treated Naruto nicely, besides his sensei. But something inside him told him to cut the kid some slack. The kid had already gone through a lot, after all.
"I'll cover the little one's meal," Akaashi declared, catching both the ramen guy and the child off guard. In that moment, Akaashi and Naruto locked eyes. Akaashi noticed the rapid shift in Naruto's expression – from surprise to genuine admiration.
He genuinely sympathized with the kid. Witnessing his struggles firsthand was far more touching than seeing them on a screen. Akaashi held no grudge against those who shied away from Naruto. Just by meeting his gaze, He could sense the presence of the beast lingering within the young boy, a gaze that could frighten anyone. Yet, deep down, Naruto remained an innocent child.
With the transaction being completed, Akaashi bid his farewells and stepped out of the shop. He made his way to a nearby market, buying vegetables and other provisions to ensure he wouldn't go hungry in the coming days. With his money now gone, he contemplated his next steps.
Going back to his apartment seemed like the next sensible step, but he hadn't counted on his notorious tendency for getting lost becoming his greatest obstacle. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he didn't give up on his resolve. Picking a direction, he started walking, trusting his gut to lead the way.
Akaashi walked in one direction, his gaze fixed on the ground, and his thoughts deep and far away. He was lost in his own world, just like he often was. Unexpectedly, he bumped into someone. He quickly apologized and kept moving, not paying it much attention. But then, something totally unexpected happened.
"Oh? Is that you, Akaashi?" the man he bumped into spoke up.
Akaashi stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at the person. It was a man wearing clothes similar to the ones he had in his apartment and a bandana covering his white hair. He had a smile plastered on his face that practically shouted "suspicious."
"Remember me?" the man asked.
Akaashi froze, then looked at the man more closely. Of course, he remembered him. This guy was a ninja from the show, the one who kick-started the entire thing. "How could I forget you, Mizuki?" Akaashi replied, trying to keep a neutral expression.
"Haha, you've got a good memory. Last time I saw you was during the chuunin exams," Mizuki said. "It's like fate that we meet again! How about I walk you home while we catch up?"
Akaashi was careful, but he knew he shouldn't miss this chance to get home. He agreed to walk with Mizuki, going in a completely opposite direction than before.
Mizuki started talking about their childhood memories, how Akaashi used to be his fan. Akaashi nodded and listened, trying not to look weird. This kept going until Akaashi saw his apartment far away. He wanted to stop talking, but then things suddenly changed.
"Here's my place. Thanks for the walk and the trip down memory lane," Akaashi said. But before he could leave, Mizuki stopped him.
"So, how's your shinobi life going?" Mizuki asked, his tone suddenly odd.
Akaashi was confused by the question. It came out of nowhere, and Mizuki's tone seemed mischievous. "What do you mean?" Akaashi asked.
Mizuki gave him a strange smile. "You know exactly what I mean. It took you three tries to become a chuunin. I bet you're not doing so well now, are you?"
Akaashi was really confused, but he could tell where this was going. He figured out the point in the show's timeline they were at earlier in the ramen shop, and there were still a few years before Mizuki's plan with Naruto happened. Regardless, Akaashi wanted nothing to do with it.
"You're right. I'm not doing well as a shinobi. In fact, I'm planning to quit..." Akaashi said.
This seemed to annoy Mizuki. It was clear that this wasn't the answer he wanted.
"What are you talking about? You can't just quit being a shinobi. Once you're in, you're in until you're gone for good," Mizuki said. Akaashi was taken aback. He tried to stay calm and composed throughout the conversation, but this statement got a reaction out of him. Was there really no way out?
"It doesn't matter. Being a ninja isn't for me. I'd rather go back to being a genin, doing simple D-rank missions. Goodbye," Akaashi said, ready to leave. But Mizuki's grip on his shoulder stopped him.
A cold, sharp metal pressed against his throat. "Listen, Akaashi. If this is about what happened on your last mission, let me tell you this. What you did was the right thing. If you had chosen your friends over the mission, you'd end up like Kakashi's father."
Akaashi stayed still, not wanting to make any sudden moves. Mizuki's hold on him was firm as he continued talking. "I get why you're thinking of quitting, but believe me. Once you have stronger jutsu, everyone will respect you, no matter what you do—even if it's bad stuff."
Mizuki seemed fixated on the fame that came with being a powerful ninja. But Akaashi had his own thoughts. "You just want the attention that comes with being strong. But trust me, even with power, you can't avoid the responsibilities that come with it."
Mizuki clicked his tongue, getting annoyed. He suddenly let go of Akaashi, causing him to stumble and fall. "I'll see you in three days behind the academy. If you don't show up, then I'll come for you myself," Mizuki threatened before vanishing in a swirl of leaves.
Akaashi let out a sigh. He was tired and didn't want to think about this right now. He slowly got up and headed towards his apartment. Leaving his future problems for his future self.