There are going to be mentions of other fandoms in this nothing big and I'll try to keep the spoilers away
Chapter one: a tree of madness
He doesn't quite know how he died; all he knows is that he did, and he'd only been in his mid-twenties too. It was... annoying, to say the least.
When he thought of the future, he thought of having kids and a wife or husband (he doesn't mind either or both for that matter), perhaps even giving his child the childhood he'd never had.
Or maybe it's because of that childhood that he was too scared to get closer to anyone other than those he'd met in said childhood. He remembers them, his friends from when they were younger, but as they grew older, they drifted apart. It was sad, but he couldn't say anything.
No matter. He died, and then he woke up again.
It was surprising; he'd known he'd died; he just knew it like he knew the back of his palm. But then he woke up again, and everything was just so much.
He couldn't see nor understand what they were saying; all he could do was listen and hope for the gargled mess that were voices to start making sense.
And they did; he could hear them; he could see, if a bit blurry, but he didn't understand... not at first. Then it trickled in, the awareness that he's suddenly too small, the instincts to cry and the lack of autonomy.
It was terrifying, but after the fear passed, it just became boring. What was there to do except follow the routine that had been set before him?
And so he let things pass by in a haze. Then he remembered that he needed to act a bit more normal. Babies babbled to help their vocal cords, right? And they wiggled for muscles and stuff, didn't they? It felt wrong to do these things; it felt... childish, for a lack of a better word. But he likely needed it for proper development.
He didn't talk much in his past life. Sure, he'd been one snarky bastard at times, but other than that? He much preferred the shadows. He also looked quite plain, and nobody really suspected the quiet, rule-abiding kid to be in anything remotely illegal.
He was definitely in some things (it's really not his fault generational trauma is so damn potent. He tried, he really did. Got a therapist and everything. But having drugs forced down your throat as a kid does some things to you.)
Once upon a time, he grew up in a family of drug abusers. Now he's just in a family filled with neglectful parents. He does have a twin sister now, so there's something, at least.
The whispering in his head is promising the girl a short death, and he knows that his sister is not likely to survive long; perhaps it'll be her lack of autonomy or maybe even because of their parents' neglect. He'd have to practically raise his sister after all; an act that'd warrant an arrest for sure.
Unless child laws are horrible in this world, which they might as well be, seeing as it's the past. Did I mention that?
The world he's in is completely different and filled with magic or Chakra, as they call it. He remembers that being an energy that was once used for meditation – ancient meditation? – and for a show called Naruto.
A show that he was pretty sure this universe was imitating, if it wasn't that universe entirely. He wonders if in the original he was also there in the background somewhere, no one truly important to the plot. He's pretty sure he'd remember seeing himself because he looks a lot like his past self, even now.
He hated it as much as he liked it, the constant reminder that he looks just like his father warring with the fact that he'd feel... off if anything about him changed. He didn't actually look much like his father they had the same coloring but not physique he knew this somewhere but he can't help but compare them.
His father was still the one who gave him life.
an act that he'd wished the man hadn't done; being born to that family was the worst thing to happen to him. He was an only child back then, but had friends that were more like brothers than any sibling he could ever get.
Like his new sister, honestly he knew she would die; he knew she wouldn't make it past the next month, and their parents would be depressed. Likely going to substance abuse, just like his previous, and then he'll have to take care of himself just like last time.
As he watched her breaths putter out, he wondered in morbid curiosity how twisted his mind must be to not be fazed by this, as if dealing with a dead family member was a daily occurrence.
He rolled onto his back and slept; no one would say anything about him; he was, after all, just a sweet innocent baby. Well, not so sweet and certainly not innocent.
He grew up from baby to toddler ; most parents would've recognized his prodigious growth, but, like he'd expected, the death of his sister only made them more distant. Any of his accomplishments were written off with a "I bet your sister, Kiku, could have done so much better"; then they'd get a melancholic look, and he'd just silently slip away.
He didn't care for their praise, for anything other than temporary shelter because he's learned that it's best to expect the least from people.
Expectation would only leave you disappointed; he sighed quietly to himself and just laid on his bed staring out the window.
They weren't there anymore; the voices had dissipated, and so had his vision. He was normal in a way he'd never been.
He'd been different, and he would've been different even here if that ability had been kept, but it had faded, sputtered out into nothing but elusive memories and trauma.
He listened to the footsteps, going still, like the instincts of a scared child had been screaming at him. He waited and listened with bated breath.
He could report this; child abuse may not be as strict in this world, but still a thing, and others could get arrested for it. There was also the substance abuse, which, once again, was not as strict but still manageable.
It also wouldn't be that hard to get the public on his side. He was, after all, a cute toddler right now, a cute, helpless toddler, something most would see and think that they needed to protect. Cuteness and helplessness are factors in how much sympathy is given.
Or it was like that in his old world, and from what he has seen, likely also so in this world. But he can't be certain, and that uncertainty makes him feel off. It doesn't scare him; he's long abandoned the notion of fear; it wasn't needed.
Yes, "The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." – Nelson Mandela – but he didn't need to be brave; he needed to be efficient, and fear did not help him think. He did not need fear for adrenaline; that had been his only worry, one that had been luckily unfounded.
He breathed in and out. If he let fear consume him, then he'd be locked up in his room, thinking about the horrors of the clan of aliens or the war that's coming up in the next decade and a half. More than a half, really, but who cares about the exact calculations?
He'd need's the characters that he remembers the age form to even try and form a timeline, so he won't, not until he's met one of the canon characters.
He twitched and almost jumped out of bed at the sound of a loud bang. He wanted to run to figure out what it was, to come face to face with ——— a sheepish smile and apologies for worrying him. But he knows he won't find it. He knows because this is a world where his friend, his brother, doesn't exist, and what a cruel world it is for taking away his only tie to sanity, the only thing that had once been holding him back.
Now, though, he was too weak to enact many of the plans he'll need for the future. He's missing so many things, but what he has is his mind, and that is enough. But to use it, he'll need rest, and a break from what had to be trauma. Perhaps it's also generational, like his previous family had its own, it's a rather... what was the word again? Ironic? No, that's not quite it; it would be a 'funny thought,' he supposed, as he let himself drift off into sleep.
Waking up was annoying, to say the least. He felt as if he'd taken a few hours nap instead of actually sleeping through the night. Looking at the sky, it was obviously early morning. He wanted to sleep again, but now his body wouldn't let him. So instead, he decided to walk downstairs to see if mother or father had forgotten to restock (they had forgotten) or not, and then leave the house.
He would like a head start, but for now, he was going to keep it simple until he entered the academy. This world was new and had a magic/fantasy aspect to it, and he didn't know enough, even from the manga, to treat this like his previous world.
Strength training, building it up, wasn't very likely to be different here. Then perhaps better healing? When did Rock Lee rest, did he even rest? With what he did in the hospital, he wouldn't be surprised if the boy kept training every day.
It shouldn't work; to build up muscle, you needed to first tear them, then let them heal, or you won't see any results.
I refuse to believe that a master like Rock Lee's teacher wouldn't take that into account. Plus, if there really wasn't any healing, then the boy would be weaker than he was supposed to be and have a lot more recurring injuries.
He'll have to test things on his own if he ever wants to satisfy his curiosity, but not today (curiosity killed the cat) (but satisfaction brought it back). He wanted to; oh, how dearly he did. The curiosity, the question, was burning inside him. Such a simple question he now knows will lead him down a rabbit hole of biology. What does chakra affect? Do they have a way of measuring it? Does it increase healing or strength?
He banished the thoughts from his mind and just tried to remember anything from his past. He'd only wanted to start things, to really start bettering his life. At around twelve or thirteen, he was a social outcast with no friends, and he only did things on his phone all day.
And he watched as days passed by, as people started becoming friends around him, and there he sat alone with only a book on the life of a demigod, one that no one he'd met had ever seen or was interested in.
He felt the annoyance, the pure rage, build up in him, unfounded and only leaving him bitter. He wished he could leave these emotions behind, but he felt too empty, too raw whenever he tried to. So they bubbled under his skin, a constant reminder of the past.
Much like his appearance, even after being born in a once fictional world, he still kept his appearance of brown hair and tanned skin. It wasn't uncommon, not common, to look like this. He was the type of guy your eyes would simply glide over if it weren't for his eyes, piercing neon green. That's what made him stand out but also what made him more... normal. Too normal, and it's suspicious; not normal enough, and it's, once again, suspicious. But he lands in the blind spot.
Then one that's eye-catching enough to be recognized. Not enough for eyes not to simply glide over.
He panted, tired already; this body was weak, not enough nutrients. And so he closed his eyes. He'd forgotten something; he doesn't know what or even if it's important, but he'd forgotten something.
He doesn't know what, but it's something, and it frightens him. This feeling was normal and even common, but he didn't like it. He'd prefer to know if it was important or not. He grasped at straws, pulling and pushing anything to try and remember again, but he couldn't. He didn't know if it was important or not; if it was, then something may happen once he gets back, and he is panicking.
He breathed and berated himself for being stupid and overemotional. So he forgot something; it couldn't be that important if he forgot it, and he needs to calm down. Panicking will not help.
Why does he panic? He's left behind fear, so there is no reason to panic. He needs to stop; he needs to clear his mind; all he's doing now is sounding like a broken record.
He rolls onto his back and looks towards the sky, trees covering them in the edges of his vision, rings starting to blur. And without warning, he feels something tugging at him. It doesn't move him, but he can feel it, not insistent. There was no need to follow it, but he turned his head to the side, and he could feel the slightest of give.
He opened his eyes and looked forward, wondering if he should follow it. As he was thinking, he suddenly felt that give more, and with an odd thought, he tried following it in his mind.
It worked.
And as he followed it, he felt something odd trailing down his spine. This wasn't normal, but it was. He was never normal, not since the incident. He breathed in deeply before instinctively raising his hand, flexing it, and pulling it close to his eyes, as if he was trying to block the sun that was already behind a multitude of clouds.
But as he looked at his hand, the back of his palm, he saw a weak green light hovering over it. His shoulders tensed, and he shot up, his hand flying in front of him. He felt as if something should've happened and wondered why there was an empty feeling in his chest and a horrible feeling in his stomach, as if his heart had dropped down to his stomach.
It was uncomfortable. He'd be concerned, but he felt too empty right now to be – we've left fear behind; didn't concern spawn from fear? –
