"Your life must've been tough."
"Mr. Itachi… did you ever see yourself clearly before dying?"
"I also want to witness it—Infinite Tsukuyomi… a real world without lies."
"Dried Persimmon Kisame… I'll remember you forever."
---
Shattered memories surged like waves.
At the edge of a dam on the border of the Land of Water, a 12-year-old Hoshigaki Kisame jolted awake from a midday nap. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his head throbbed with pain.
He looked like he had just escaped a nightmare.
Gripping the ninja blade in his hand, he glanced around sharply. Everything seemed normal—fellow shinobi were patrolling or resting, and a group of workers busily repaired the dam damaged in a recent raid.
Kisame's expression flickered between confusion and intensity. He eventually stood, wandered to the water's edge, and peered into the still river.
A young face looked back at him.
Blue-tinted skin, short spiky hair of the same hue, and signature dead-fish eyes. Slender lines like gills traced both cheeks.
It was a face you wouldn't call handsome—more "unique" than anything else, the kind that screamed "villain" in an anime.
Staring at his reflection, Kisame suddenly chuckled.
Who would've thought—a modern man from the 21st century would reincarnate into the Naruto world… as young Hoshigaki Kisame, one of the most iconic villains from Akatsuki.
And not just any villain—his personal favorite.
Those flood-like memories rushing through his mind? All from Naruto.
But it made him wonder—
Did the real Kisame, before death, ever truly understand himself?
Hoshigaki Kisame, shinobi of Kirigakure.
Polite. Respectful—even to "Itachi-san," and once even "Jiraiya-sama." He carried out orders with brutal efficiency, never questioning superiors—until it counted most. He killed comrades when required. He even let sharks devour his own body just to protect sensitive intel.
When the series ended and the spotlight fell on Naruto and Sasuke—immortalized legends—Kisame had long died, forgotten in history's shadows.
"I'm just a sideshow henchman," he once laughed at himself.
But he was more than that—he embodied what it meant to be a ninja.
Kisame held to his own warped yet unwavering ninja way until the end. He died without regrets, whispering calmly—
"It's not entirely true… that I'm beyond saving."
A true warrior.
Still, he made two fatal mistakes in his life:
He was weak—and he trusted the wrong people.
Though he saw through the world's lies, he lacked the strength to change it. That weakness led him into Obito's web, chasing the dream of the Infinite Tsukuyomi: an illusion of eternal peace.
Kisame bought into it. He gave everything for it.
In the end? He was betrayed. Again.
"Weakness is a sin. And obeying blindly is a greater one."
Kisame sighed, staring across the vast, sun-drenched river.
But this was a second chance.
He was Kisame now—reborn. Not anyone's sidekick. Not some tool of a shadow war.
After composing himself, Kisame turned his thoughts toward the present.
It was the 44th year of the Hidden Leaf calendar—around six or seven years after the Second Shinobi World War. Though peace held on the surface, tension was rising once again.
Recently, Kirigakure and Sunagakure clashed over resource rights—iron and ore buried deep in a peninsula in the southern sea.
Tensions had escalated.
An unidentified group of shinobi had infiltrated the Land of Water, sabotaging dams and bridges with coordinated strikes. The culprit? Obvious. Sunagakure.
In response, Kisame was assigned to a recon and defense unit guarding a key dam site after an enemy attack.
Although only a genin with two years of training, Kisame and his team were tasked with protecting workers and preventing further sabotage. Their commanding officer, Raiga Kurosuki—one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist—had taken an elite squad to hunt the enemy down.
Now, Kisame patrolled the dam, blade in hand, silently adjusting to his new body.
Then he spotted something—white lime, piled like a small hill.
Slipping over to it, Kisame quietly scooped up some lime and stashed it inside his sleeve.
In his past life, he'd been a street-fighting enthusiast. Tough but fair. He'd once taken down three armed criminals with just a pair of scissors, saving a woman from assault. That made local news.
When asked why he carried scissors, he replied:
"Machetes are illegal. Scissors aren't. And they cut just fine."
In the philosophy of unrestricted street combat, everyday items—scissors, lime, even chopsticks—could become deadly weapons.
Now armed with lime, Kisame resumed his patrol, pleased.
Time passed quickly.
As the sun dipped low, the river shimmered golden. Workers finished their repairs and packed up, ready to head to town for drinks. Kisame's squad prepared to redeploy.
That tranquility shattered.
Boom.
A deafening blast erupted from the forest. Fire shot skyward, black smoke swirling.
Then—lightning. Blue arcs carved through the trees like a dragon's tail.
Birds fled in terror, soaring over the dam.
Kisame's eyes narrowed. Massive chakra—two powerful presences. And they were coming closer.
Seconds later, a figure burst from the woods, wounded and scorched.
Raiga Kurosuki.
Wielding his dual lightning swords, bloodied and panting, the once-mighty Jōnin now looked like prey.
"Enemy attack—Sunagakure shinobi!"
"Raiga-sama is wounded!"
Shocked, Kisame's team scrambled to help.
"Hold them off!" Raiga barked before vanishing in a bolt of lightning.
Ever loyal, Kisame raised his sword.
Then he froze.
If Raiga couldn't stop them… what could they do?
Though one of the best in his age group, Kisame was no tailless beast—not yet. He was still just a boy.
And then came the screams.
"Ahhh!"
"Ughhh!"
Several Mist ninja had rushed ahead—only to be consumed by glowing fireballs. Their bodies evaporated, dried into husks before hitting the ground.
The killer?
A woman. Twenty-something. Stunning. Green hair in a high bun, two orange bangs framing her face. Dressed boldly—halter top, white bandages around her waist.
She was both beauty and death.
Ye Cang of Sunagakure. The wielder of Scorch Release.
Kisame recognized her instantly—thanks to the inherited memories of his previous life.
Beside her stood a full unit of Suna Anbu—over a dozen. They fanned out with tactical precision, cutting down Mist ninja and civilian workers alike.
The dam turned red with blood.
Kisame turned to run.
He wasn't that loyal, blind dog anymore.
But he was too late.
Whoosh.
A Suna jōnin materialized in front of him, kunai gleaming.
No words. Just murder in his eyes.
Kisame's face twisted with fury—not fear.
He raised his blade.
And fought.