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In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the cosmos is divided into many distinct regions known as "God-Domains."
These realms are designated to the Gods of their respective territories, super-beings who wield unfathomable, world-bending power. Yet, these regional deities are far from the supreme rulers of existence. That absolute title belongs solely to the overseer of all realities: The Being of Origin.
No one knows whether this entity is a "He" or a "She," what pleases it, or what offends it. The only absolute truth observed by regional Gods throughout time and space is that The Being of Origin possesses unimaginable power and an all-encompassing consciousness.
It neither demands worship nor provides blessings; its sole purpose is to sustain the universe exactly as it is.
No God dares to offend such an entity, even though it never inflicts harm without cause. The authority of The Being of Origin remains completely undisputed.
"No God," they say. Well, that held true for everyone except for our protagonist.
He was a newly minted God who had overcome impossible odds to survive a world of endless trepidation. He had triumphed through grueling, eternal endeavors to emerge victorious against fate itself.
However, his losses along the way were catastrophic. Neither immortality nor absolute Godhood could extinguish the burning grief in his heart. Driven to absolute madness by an intense, consuming desire to end a world completely filled with suffering, he made a reckless, fateful decision: he destroyed his own God-Domain.
The other regional Gods tried desperately to stop him, but he was utterly incensed.
Fighting against the very will of the universe, he shattered his realm into pieces.
An offense of this magnitude should have resulted in immediate, unforgivable erasure—his body and soul completely extinguished from existence, leaving no chance at life ever again.
Yet, a cosmic anomaly occurred. After his divine body was destroyed, his soul was not wiped out; instead, it was cast directly into the River of Rebirth and Reincarnation, granting him a miraculous chance to salvage and purify his spirit.
Millions of years drifted by. The soul of the former God waited endlessly in the depths of the river for Nirvana, but to no avail. He soon realized that this was a deliberate punishment enacted by the Supreme Being. Normally, when a soul waits hundreds of thousands of years in the River of Rebirth, it lacks consciousness and therefore feels no pain.
But because he had achieved immortal Godhood, his consciousness remained fully intact. He was forced to endure a million years of absolute loneliness, solitude, and desolation.
Slowly, this harsh punishment refined his very essence. Amidst the infinite void, he achieved a profound "State of Calm."
Aware of his sins and accepting his punishment, the immortal soul reached a level of enlightenment so absolute that it freed itself from all mundane, earthly attachments. Having finally earned the silent forgiveness of the Supreme Being, his essence began to uplift and merge directly with the universe itself.
Yet, one lingering trace of earthly emotion remained: he felt unresigned to let his legacy be remembered only as that of a sinner—a God who fell from grace.
Unwilling to let his existence be entirely forgotten, he sealed his vast memories deep within his soul, leaving them dormant without a conscious mind, waiting for a worthy inheritor. He sent a silent, final beckoning to the Supreme Being, praying that this last, selfish request would be fulfilled. With that final act, he dissolved entirely into the Dao itself, forever forsaking his individuality to atone for his ancient crime.
No one knows how much time passed after that cosmic event.
Eventually, a completely ordinary soul from Earth was pulled across the dimensional veil, transmigrating to a planet in a universe governed by entirely different laws, the law of chakra. To any otaku back on Earth, this place was universally recognized as The Naruto World.
During this perilous transit through the void, a strange incident occurred. The traveling Earth soul accidentally collided and mixed seamlessly with another soul of utmost, pristine purity.
This profound combination happened entirely in the shadows, hidden from the eyes of even the regional Gods.
"Are all the kids going to be okay?" a junior doctor asked, his voice tight with worry.
"Health-wise... a few of them were in critical condition, but they managed to pull through," an older doctor grunted, his face lined with deep exhaustion. "But as for whether they are truly okay? Absolutely not. Their parents died in the chaos, leaving them completely orphaned. How can any child be okay after that?"
"I... I'm sorry, sir," the junior doctor murmured, looking down.
The senior doctor sighed heavily. While the medical staff remained frantically busy saving lives and the village outside lay in smoking ruins, courtesy of the catastrophic Nine-Tailed Fox attack a young boy stirred in one of the crowded pediatric wards.
What happened? Where am I?
Neville was completely disoriented. The last thing he remembered from his life on Earth was walking down a muddy path on a stormy day to buy a packet of cigarettes. He had slipped, losing his footing, and plunged headfirst into a raging, flooded river. Though Neville knew how to swim, he had been entirely helpless against the violent, rushing currents. He had drowned, taking his final, desperate breath underwater.
Now, finding himself miraculously alive in a dimly lit hospital room, he was left completely speechless. Suddenly, an intense, brain-splitting headache slammed into him. A massive influx of foreign memories flooded his consciousness, so overwhelming that he passed out immediately.
A five-to-six-year-old child with a naturally cute, innocent face sat quietly on his hospital bed, staring intently out the window.
The most striking thing about him was his eyes; they held a deep, weathered look of experience that far exceeded his physical age.
"It seems I have somehow reincarnated into the Naruto world, of all places," the boy murmured, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Awesome... I know practically everything there is to know about this world. I've read the manga, watched the anime, the movies, and read countless fanfics. I'm a massive fan of the series. But this body..."
Going through the newly acquired memories of his current physical form, Neville discovered that he was originally the son of a foreign nobleman.
His family had traveled to Konoha on a sensitive diplomatic mission, only to be caught in the crossfire of the Nine-Tails' sudden rampage.
Everyone had lost their lives, including this body's original owner: a boy named Hiroshi Nakamura.
To make matters worse, Hiroshi had been born with absolutely zero talent for chakra, a typical trait for pampered nobility. Because Hiroshi's father had been falling out of favor with his homeland's Feudal Lord, he had purchased a large mansion inside Konoha prior to the attack, securing a sizable inheritance for his only child in hopes of living out a peaceful life in the hidden village. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
"So, I have no ninja talent whatsoever, huh? So what!"
The source of Neville's profound, newfound confidence was entirely unprecedented. He didn't understand why, but alongside the memories of Earth and the memories of young Hiroshi, a third set of memories resided deep within his mind.
They were the fragments of a long, tragic, grueling, and heaven-defying life belonging to an ancient, immortal cultivator. Though he had only inherited bits and pieces of these memories, lacking any knowledge of who this immortal actually was, he possessed the most vital piece of information: the exact method of how to cultivate.
*Tap, tap.*
"Hiro-sama," a weathered, elderly voice called out gently from the doorway.
Hiroshi Nakamura turned his head to see his family's most faithful servant standing there: Old Man Roshi.
His trustworthiness required no proof; he had dedicated his entire life to serving the Nakamura family with absolute loyalty.
Decades ago, Hiroshi's grandfather had saved Roshi's life as a child and offered him shelter, and the old man had looked after the family as his own kin ever since.
"Grandpa Roshi," Neville spoke up, deliberately letting a trace of sadness color his voice to match the situation.
"Let us go, Hiro-sama. You have been officially discharged," Old Man Roshi said, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I have already prepared all the necessary living arrangements back at the mansion."
Hiroshi nodded quietly. Looking closely at the old man's grief-stricken face, he spoke with a gentle but firm tone. "I am alright, Grandpa Roshi. And from now on... please don't call me Hiro-sama anymore. Father wanted me to live with another identity so that his enemies couldn't track us easily."
The old man looked startled, his eyes widening with immediate concern. "Then... what should I call you, young master?"
Hiroshi Nakamura turned back to the window, gazing out at the scenic, rebuilding landscape of Konoha.
Recalling the lingering, epic legacy of the immortal cultivator buried deep within his soul, he made a definitive choice. He would fully inherit that legacy and carry it to heights this world had never seen.
Turning around to look straight into the old servant's eyes, his expression shifted into one of absolute determination. With a firm, resolute voice, he declared:
"Call me... SHI YAN."