Darkness still blanketed the city when the blue glow of the alarm clock lit up—4:00 a.m. In a small apartment, on the third floor of an old building, Tom's body moved from the bed automatically, as if his body had awakened before his mind.
He was a man in his thirties, living a monotonous life. He never married, had no family, hadn't spoken to his relatives in nearly a decade. His life was consumed by his exhausting job as an administrator in a digital services company. No big dramas, just a slow drift into silence and detachment.
He would return to his silent apartment every evening, repeating the same routine from 4 a.m. to 4 p.m.
But there was one thing he truly owned—one thing that gave meaning to his existence: his immersion in manga, anime, and light novels. He would sit in his corner, light a small candle—not for need, but for atmosphere—and open his laptop to dive into his real world.
He was obsessed with stories of growth, of power, of fate. He read about heroes who started from nothing, who suffered, failed, and rose again. These fictional worlds gave him the life he was denied in reality.
Perhaps more than any other, the world of "Naruto" held his heart. He memorized the characters, reflected on their journeys, wrote analyses, dreamed of their values, blood, principles, clans, and wars. Especially the beginnings—Konoha's foundation. He often wished he had been born there, in that dangerous but meaningful world.
—
That morning, like any other, he left his apartment with his bag on his back and a cup of coffee in hand. The sky was gray, and the street was empty except for cars. He was thinking about the episode he had rewatched last night from an old anime.
He didn't see the car coming. Didn't hear it. Only the screech of brakes. Then—nothing.
A total blackness. Not pain. Not light. No sounds, no city. A silence unlike any silence he had known, wrapping around him like smooth silk.
Then… pulses, like a heartbeat. As if he were being born anew.
A warm hand held him. A woman's breath. Crying. Voices…
Then soft words, unclear at first, then clear:
"Kenichi… Kenichi Sato… That's his name."
—
His birth into this new world had been strange, covered in wonder and subconscious confusion. As he grew, year after year, a strange longing persisted—an unexplainable sense of familiarity with words he didn't know, dreams he couldn't describe.
And on a spring night, when he turned six… he woke up sweating, dizzy, like his head was spinning.
Suddenly—his memories returned.
His job, his solitude, his death, his obsession with the ninja world.
And now… he was in that world. Not just Konoha—the Konoha, before Naruto, before the Great Wars, in the time of Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage.
Everything he once knew was being rewritten.
The village was still in its early stages—unpaved roads, structures made of timber and earth. The great clans, the Senju and the Uchiha, were still establishing their balance.
He was just a civilian child. No clan to protect him. No name to shine.
But he was not just a child.
He had lived a full life… and now, he was starting anew.
—
That morning, he stood in front of a small wooden mirror, observing his youthful face, his black hair, his eyes that no longer carried the weariness of adults.
"This… is a second chance. One rarely given by fate."
He decided immediately, and quietly, without attracting attention.
He would live like an ordinary child. Learn. Listen. Watch. But something inside him had been set in motion.
He opened a small notebook he had crafted himself with cloth and leather. On the first page, he wrote something strange.
The letters he used didn't resemble Japanese characters, nor the ones used by the teachers. They were unlike anything in this world.
They resembled his old language…
Was it Arabic? French? English? A mix? It didn't matter.
Only he could read it.
He smiled.
"These words… will remain my secret. For now."
He wrote:
Stage One: Observation. Adaptation. Physical Rehabilitation.
Stage Two: Entry into the Ninja Academy in April.
Distant Goal: Become the Third Hokage and lead Konoha to become the strongest village in this world… so I can save those who died in the original story.
He closed the notebook and glanced at the wooden window where morning light began to slip through.
He stood up before his body even realized it. Something inside him had changed. His movement felt lighter, more flexible.
Then a faint, mechanical voice echoed in his mind—soft, but clear:
> [Congratulations… You have been chosen. Your journey has begun. The Golden Lottery System has been activated. The first draw will commence soon.]
His eyes widened in shock. He froze.
"This… wasn't part of the plan."
Suddenly, he turned and saw the world outside his window.
A small marketplace of lumber, men lifting planks, the smell of fish and charcoal. Unfinished watchtowers. Behind them—tall forests.
Everything was primitive. But alive. The heart of a living, growing place.
And in its midst… a boy with civilian memories prepares.
End of Chapter One.