It's been sixteen years since I got transmigrated into this world.
In my past life, I used to read fanfics about transmigration just to kill time and escape the grind of high school. They all had the same formula: the MC dies in some tragic or absurd way—car crash, truck-kun, freak accident—and gets reincarnated with a cheat system, godly powers, or some secret heritage. Me? I just passed out after an exhausting day, head slamming into my pillow, only to wake up as an infant in the Uchiha clan.
No grand ceremony. No glowing blue screens. No omnipotent voice offering me quests. Just diapers, crying, and clan politics.
Turns out I was reborn in one of the worst possible times in the Naruto timeline: years before the Third Great Shinobi War. Just perfect. But I figured if I was the MC in some story, maybe things would turn out okay. Maybe I'd get a system later. Maybe the cheat powers would kick in eventually.
They never did.
All I had was my future knowledge and the sheer will to survive. And in this world, that meant grinding from the bottom up—the hard way.
---
Growing up in the Uchiha clan wasn't as suffocating as I'd expected, but it wasn't sunshine and ramen either. The clan was cold, prideful, and quiet. Emotions weren't encouraged, and everyone kept their distance unless you proved your worth.
Luckily, I had someone in my corner: my uncle. He was a special jōnin working in the Konoha Military Police Force. He wasn't the strongest shinobi, but he was fiercely protective of me. After my parents died in one of the early border skirmishes with Kumo, he took me in without hesitation.
He trained me when he could, gave me advice, and occasionally smuggled in dango when the clan rules said we were only allowed plain rice and vegetables. He was the first person I truly loved in this world.
When I entered the Academy at six, I immediately noticed the difference between myself and the other kids. Not physically—I was average at best—but mentally. I knew what was coming. I knew which clans would be wiped out, who would rise, who would fall. And I used that knowledge.
Minato Namikaze was already a prodigy even back then. Quiet, polite, devastatingly fast. Fugaku Uchiha was colder, more intense, already harboring the seeds of leadership. And then there was me—the kid with no standout talent, no clan hype, just enough foresight to stay ahead of the curve.
I played the long game.
---
By the time I was ten, I had quietly advanced to the top ten of the class. Not through flashy jutsu or overpowering strength, but through efficiency. I aced written tests, adapted quickly to practical exercises, and never picked unnecessary fights. I also made a habit of hoarding explosive tags. Weird, maybe, but I had plans.
Fugaku respected strength, so we eventually sparred. He won more than I did, but not without bruises. Minato, on the other hand, became a sort of friend. We shared meals, trained together, even exchanged scrolls occasionally. He was the golden boy, destined for greatness. I was the guy standing in the background, quietly sharpening my kunai.
Life in the Uchiha compound wasn't warm, but it was stable. That changed after I became a chūnin at thirteen.
A month later, my uncle was killed during a mission. Ambushed by missing-nin near the border. No backup, no survivors. Just a mission report and a folded headband.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just sat in the room we shared and stared at the wall until dawn.
That night, my Mangekyō Sharingan awakened.
---
At the time, I didn't realize it. I kept training, taking missions, getting stronger. It wasn't until the war started that I felt its power.
During a border patrol in Kusagakure, my squad was ambushed by six Iwa jōnin. They moved with surgical precision. We didn't stand a chance. My teammates fell one by one, and I was left alone, bleeding and cornered.
That was when all my preparation paid off. I detonated over a hundred explosive tags, buried deep in the terrain beforehand—my paranoia made real. The explosion rocked the forest and took out three of them instantly.
Still, I barely made it out alive. Three broken ribs. A fractured shoulder. A kunai fragment embedded in my thigh. I had to drag myself through the mud, hallucinating from blood loss, until I reached the outskirts of Konoha.
I spent three months in the hospital. And when I recovered, I made a choice: never again.
---
I trained like a madman. I mastered the Rasengan and created my own variations. Since Kakashi hadn't invented Chidori yet, I did it myself, refining it until I could form Kirin with a single hand seal. By seventeen, I was a master of three nature transformations: fire, lightning, and wind.
On my first deployment to the Iwa frontline, I faced Roshi and Han.
They weren't playing around.
A pair of Jinchūriki, both ruthless and efficient. They launched twin tailed beast bombs at my squad. Everyone ran. I stayed behind.
In that split second, my Mangekyō activated fully.
My ability? Instant teleportation within a ten-meter radius. No hand seals. No delay.
I warped both bombs just far enough to avoid my comrades, then collapsed from chakra exhaustion.
No one saw it. No one cared. They had already fled.
---
My true legend began during the Kumo campaign.
They outnumbered us three-to-one. Reinforcements were days away. Command said we had to hold the pass or Konoha's supply lines would fall.
So I did what needed to be done.
I went full Madara mode.
A hundred explosive tags rained from the sky. Lightning dragons roared through their ranks. My Chidori variants sliced through armor like paper. I painted the battlefield red.
When the dust settled, over forty enemy shinobi lay dead.
That day, they called me the Crimson Reaper.
---
But fame comes with a price.
Hiruzen's faction started getting nervous. A no-name Uchiha with Mangekyō powers and a rising kill count? Not exactly politically convenient. They recalled me to the village, quietly smothered my achievements, and reassigned me to internal missions.
I didn't argue.
I wasn't here for the spotlight.
In this world, fame is a liability. Strength is the only currency that matters.
Officially, I'm classified as an elite jōnin with Kage-level combat capability.
Unofficially?
I'm just a stingy bastard with a stockpile of paper bombs and a bad habit of sleeping through debriefings.
---
These days, I keep a low profile.
I live in a modest apartment on the edge of the Uchiha district. I teach genin once in a while, mostly as a formality. I spend my evenings in the woods outside Konoha, perfecting jutsu no one will ever see.
Minato visits sometimes. He's rising fast through the ranks, already whispered to be the next Hokage. He tells me I should aim higher.
I just laugh.
"I'm good, blondie. Let the village chase its heroes. I'll just be over here, preparing for the next disaster."
He doesn't argue. He never does.
He knows better than anyone that this world eats the unprepared.
---
I still think about my uncle.
Sometimes I dream of him standing in our old apartment, arms crossed, telling me to clean up my damn scrolls. Sometimes I hear his laugh when I pass the dango shop.
And sometimes, when I'm training alone in the forest, I feel like he's watching.
I like to think he'd be proud.
Because even without a system, even without destiny on my side—
I survived.
And in this world?
That's more than enough.
End of chapter 1