The summer moon hung low over Konoha, a silver lantern spilling soft light into the quiet courtyard of the Yūhi household. On the worn wooden steps, two children sat side by side, their shadows stretching long and thin across the well-kept garden.
"Ren, what's your dream?"
The boy with vibrant crimson hair glanced at the girl beside him, her onyx hair catching moonlight like polished stone. He didn't answer immediately, instead letting the chorus of evening insects fill the silence. Finally, he spoke, his tone pragmatic beyond his years.
"To open a barbecue shop. Right next to a ramen shop. It's safe, and it's profitable."
Kurenai Yūhi blinked, her large, intelligent eyes—already a striking shade of red—widening in surprise. She tilted her head, the gesture both curious and endearing. "A barbecue shop? You mean, with grilled meat and everything?"
"Mm. Something like that," Ren affirmed with a nod.
"But…" Kurenai's nose scrunched slightly in thought. "Shouldn't it be to become Hokage? That's what everyone dreams of. To protect the village, to be respected by everyone!"
Ren shook his head, his red locks swaying like a metronome set to 'absolutely not.' "What's so good about being Hokage? You work yourself to an early grave for a pittance. The paperwork alone is a fate worse than death. Running a successful business next to a ramen shop? Now that's real security. And profit."
"And opening next to a ramen shop guarantees safety?" Kurenai echoed, perplexed.
"Exactly!" Ren said, as if it were the most obvious logic in the world. He knew the hidden truth—that the title of Hokage was a magnet for catastrophe, a crown of thorns worn by the damned altruistic. Only the terminally hot-blooded or profoundly naive coveted it. He'd refuse the job even if it came with a mountain of treasure.
Kurenai rested her chin on her knuckles, her expression one of deep contemplation. "But Konoha is peaceful now. And there's already a lot of competition for barbecue. I know of three shops, and their food is really good!"
'It's only peaceful for now…' Ren's internal monologue was a grim counterpoint to the serene night. The fragile calm was a prelude to storms he desperately wished to avoid. Outwardly, he merely shrugged. "Competition? Profit margins? Those are secondary concerns. The primary objective, the core strategy, is the location itself. Next to a ramen shop. That's the key!"
Kurenai stared. "?"
Her young mind tried and failed to parse this business model that ignored both market saturation and revenue. In the two months since Ren had come to live with them, she'd grown accustomed to these occasional baffling pronouncements. He was clever, often surprisingly so, but then he'd do things like nail a hand-painted sign reading "Shino Academy" to his bedroom door. He'd spend hours sitting cross-legged on the floor, claiming with dead seriousness to be "calibrating spatial resonance frequencies" or "stabilizing a Soul Reaper's spiritual anchor." She didn't understand the words, but the intensity of his focus was unnerving.
She'd once, in a moment of worry, asked her father if Ren might have a fever affecting his mind. Shinku Yūhi had simply laughed and said survivors of trauma sometimes built unique worlds inside themselves. Ren seemed healthy, if eccentric. Mostly normal, except for these flashes of utter incomprehensibility.
Kurenai decided to tackle the dream from a more practical angle. She leaned forward, a sly glint entering her ruby eyes. "But do you have the money? Opening a shop requires a lot of it. Ryo, for the lease, for supplies, for everything."
At the mention of capital, Ren's confident facade crumbled. His shoulders slumped. "...No."
A single ryo could indeed stump a hero. Dreams were, by definition, distant and difficult.
Kurenai's eyes danced with mischief. She'd found the opening. "Then you should become a ninja! Genin can take on missions for rewards. The pay isn't bad at all! You could save up your earnings and, before you know it, you'd have enough to open your shop!"
A slow smile spread across Ren's face. He saw through the ploy immediately. "Ah-ha!" he exclaimed, reaching out to ruffle her neatly styled hair. "The truth emerges. Tell me, little Kurenai, did Uncle Shinku put you up to this? Sent you on a covert 'ideological reassignment' mission?"
Becoming a ninja? In this timeline? It was practically a suicide pact dressed up as a career path. The great gears of war were already beginning to turn, silent but inexorable. Only a fool would willingly step onto that stage now.
"Hey!" She batted his hand away, a flush of guilt warming her cheeks. She couldn't meet his knowing gaze. "N-No! It's not like that! I just…" She floundered, searching for a convincing lie, but found none. Her shoulders drooped, and she resorted to the ultimate tactic: pure, unadulterated appeal. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering in the moonlight, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. "The truth is… tomorrow is registration day for the Ninja Academy. I… I want you to come with me. It's scary going alone."
Seeing Ren's amused but unmoved expression, she knew she had to raise the stakes. Her father had promised her a month's extra pocket money if she succeeded. Taking a deep, dramatic breath, her face now thoroughly scarlet, she stammered, "I-if… if you come… I'll… I'll call you 'onii-chan'!"
She'd noticed his peculiar fixation on the title. It was a strange, persistent quirk she didn't understand, but for the mission—and, she admitted silently, for the genuine desire to have her friend by her side—she would make this ultimate sacrifice.
Ren's attempt at a stern look melted into a grin. "Well, I am older than you. So 'onii-chan' is factually correct."
"Liar!" Kurenai huffed, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten in indignant rivalry. She straightened her back, showcasing the negligible height advantage she fiercely clung to. "I'm taller! So I'm the older sister! Clearly!"
She then crossed her arms, attempting a stern glower that was utterly dismantled by her youthful features. "Well? Are you coming or not? No 'onii-chan' if you say no!"
"Of course I'm coming," Ren chuckled, his tone softening. "How could I refuse my adorable little sister?" He deliberately drew out the next word. "However…"
"I'm the older sister!" Kurenai insisted, stamping a foot lightly on the step. "However what?"
Ren held up a single index finger, his smile turning mercenary. "I want half of the pocket money bonus Uncle Shinku undoubtedly promised you."
Kurenai recoiled as if struck. "Eh?! Y-You… how could you possibly know about that?!"
"The walls are thin, and Uncle Shinku isn't a subtle man," Ren said breezily. "I overheard the negotiation yesterday evening."
"You… you meanie, Ren!" she sputtered, betrayal flashing in her eyes. "You were planning to go all along! You've just been teasing me this whole time!"
"Not at all," he protested, his voice full of mock innocence. "My agreement is entirely contingent upon my cute imouto's heartfelt plea."
"Hmph! Liar, liar, pants on fire!" She sprang to her feet, her pride wounded more than her finances. "I'm not talking to you anymore! Goodnight!" With that, she flounced back toward the house, her sandals slapping indignantly against the stone path.
Ren watched her go, his smile lingering before gradually fading. The playful energy of the moment dissipated, leaving only the quiet night and the weight of his own thoughts.
"This little girl…" he murmured fondly, yet the affection was tinged with melancholy.
Alone on the steps, he tilted his head back to stare at the unblemished fullness of the moon. A long, weary sigh escaped him. "Being a ninja is bad… but not being a ninja in this world might be worse. Stuck between a kunai and a hard place."
His mutterings grew quieter, more personal. "Why? Of all the places, of all the times… Why this? No warning, no consent. Just… bam. Here." A grimace crossed his face. "I didn't even get a chance to clear my browsing history. Two months… my legacy, my reputation… gone. Posterity will remember me as a… a connoisseur of far too many specific appreciations. A lifetime of careful curation, ruined in an instant."
The sigh that followed was one of profound and existential melancholy.
Ren had been a resident of this bewildering world for two months now. His origin story was, he reflected wryly, standard transmigration fare: a modern soul, abruptly installed into a child's body in a violent, chakra-powered world. He woke up in the Yūhi clan compound, severely injured and confused, under the care of Shinku Yūhi. His status was ambiguously defined—a ward, a potential future clan member, perhaps even a child groom for Kurenai; it was all unspoken and left to the future.
His placement here, instead of the impersonal system of the Konoha Orphanage, was directly tied to his most conspicuous feature: his hair. A vivid, blazing crimson. In this world, such a color was not merely a fashion statement. It was a historical echo, a bloodline signature. It whispered of a scattered, nearly extinct clan famed for their potent life force and formidable sealing arts—the Uzumaki.
Thus, Ren was not just another orphan. He was a suspected survivor of a revered and persecuted lineage, a living artifact. He warranted observation, protection, and curiosity. Shinku Yūhi, who had found him broken and bleeding at the edge of a forest and brought him to Konoha, naturally assumed stewardship.
What the Yūhi family didn't know was that Ren's miraculous overnight recovery from near-fatal wounds had nothing to do with a hypothetical Uzumaki constitution. He himself didn't know if he possessed a single drop of Uzumaki blood.
His salvation had come from a different, more enigmatic source.
The system.
Like countless transmigrators in the tales he vaguely remembered, Ren had not arrived empty-handed. He had been granted a companion, a guide, a path to power. Yet from the very first moment, it had felt less like a gift and more like a profoundly bewildering software error.
He remembered it clearly. It was his second day in Konoha. To help the quiet, disoriented boy acclimate, Shinku had asked his younger brother, Yūhi Shin'nō, to show Ren around the village. They were walking down a bustling market street, Shin'nō pointing out the weapons shop, the dango stand, when a sterile, resonant chime echoed inside Ren's skull, and lines of glowing text superimposed themselves over his vision:
[Ding. Achievement: Spirit King System loaded.]
[This system exists to assist the Host in achieving the esteemed office of the Spirit King.]
[As the future sovereign who governs the balance of the Three Realms—the World of the Living, Soul Society, and Hueco Mundo—the Host shall utilize supreme power to maintain cosmic equilibrium and resolve the tribulations of all beings within.]
[This is a glorious undertaking of benefit to all creation, and the solemn responsibility of the Spirit King.]
[Host is advised to promptly report to the Shino Academy to activate system protocols and commence the legendary ascent to kingship.]
Ren had frozen mid-step, causing Shin'nō to look back in concern. "Ren? You alright?"
Ren's eyes had darted around, taking in the shinobi in flak jackets, the villagers with produce, the unmistakable symbol of the Konoha headband. His internal voice was a scream of pure, unadulterated confusion.
'System… are you in the wrong story? This is the Village Hidden in the Leaves. There are ninja here. Chakra. Talking slugs. There is no Soul Society. There is no Shino Academy.'
The system's response was instant, tone-less, and utterly implacable:
[Ding. This system has no errors. Repeat: This system has no errors. Host is strongly advised to report to the Shino Academy at the earliest opportunity.]
Ren at that moment, surrounded by the evidence of the Elemental Nations, could only think one thing, the thought echoing in the void of his confusion:
'The hell you don't.'