**[Two Minds, One Gacha]**​

*‘My name is ꃔ꒐ꏳꊿ꒒ꁲꈜ.’

‘I-’

‘What?’

’No. My name is

ክጎርዐረልነ.’

‘…Fuck.’

‘My name is-!’

**-₌-**​

"-hei. Yohei? Yohei!"

The shout snaps the boy back into himself like a rubber band.

‘Where am I?’

Two men sit behind a wooden desk. The one who barked at him has tanned skin and brown hair, a jagged scar slashing down across the bridge of his nose. His face is twisted into an almost theatrical anger.

Beside him sits a man with pale skin and a serene smile, his hair a spill of pure white that frames his face in gentle waves.

"Come on, Iruka, you only graduate once," the pale man says, voice warm enough to melt candlewax. "He’s just overwhelmed."

"I know that, Mizuki. But that’s no reason to block the entire line - everyone else is waiting their turn."

Iruka - Iruka? - lets out a sigh, and when he looks back at Yohei, the sharpness drains from his eyes. What replaces it is something gentler: fond, tired, exasperated in that very teacherly way.

"Genin Yohei."

‘That’s… me, right?’

"Ah- yes?" The word falls out of him like a stone.

Iruka nods, more composed now. "Congratulations on your graduation. From today onward, you are a shinobi of Konoha, a bearer of the Will of Fire." He gestures to the table beside the desk, where dozens of forehead protectors lie in a tidy array. "You may take your hitai-ate."

With no better idea of what he’s supposed to do, the boy reaches out - hesitantly - and takes the closest one. The moment it’s in his hands, something catches in his chest.

The fabric is thick and soft beneath his fingers. The metal plate is cool, beautifully cold, grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed. His thumb drifts over the engraved leaf symbol, and a shiver of nameless emotions ripple through him.

"Thank you," he breathes, though he isn’t quite sure who he’s thanking. Or why.

"It was all because of your hard work, Yohei-kun," Mizuki says softly. The smile he offers is gentle on the surface, but something about it scrapes wrong against Yohei’s instincts.

"That’s right," Iruka adds with an encouraging nod. "Go on now. Head back to your seat and send Kiba in next, alright?"

Right.

‘Because I absolutely know where that is.’

He nods anyway, bowing slightly in reflex, and turns toward the exit. His steps feel borrowed, like he’s wearing someone else’s memories as shoes. He slips out of the exam room, opens the door to the one beside it, and steps through - hoping it’s the correct one.

Inside, he’s greeted by the sight of a wide classroom carved into steps - rows of wooden desks and benches built as single units, marching upward toward the back like ascetic soldiers. Everything is straight lines and flat planes, all practicality and little to no ornament. Even the floorboards, pale and lightly varnished, hum with a rustic simplicity.

The walls are painted in mild tones and bordered with neat wooden trim. To his right, tall rectangular windows dominate the entire side of the room, pouring sunlight across the seats. Through them, past the village rooftops, a titanic stone cliff rises - its surface carved into enormous, solemn faces.

For a moment, Yohei simply stares. It’s the sort of sight one would only expect to find in an anime.

"Kiba’s next," he announces, almost on autopilot.

A wild-looking boy with a feral grin snaps his head up at the call and practically springs from his seat, barreling out the door with an enthusiasm that leaves a small breeze in his wake.

‘Anime… what even is that?’ Yohei wonders as he starts down the staggered rows. ‘And why does that girl have pink hair? Did she dye it? Wait- no. That’s just… Sakura.’

Sakura doesn’t notice his silent bewilderment; she’s far too busy gazing down at her new forehead protector as though it’s a sacred relic, occasionally sneaking quick, starstruck glances at the dark-haired boy sitting at the desk in front of her.

She isn’t alone in that, either. Plenty of other girls are stealing looks at him - Uchiha Sasuke. That’s his name. The certainty slips into Yohei’s mind like it’s always lived there.

But in general, the room is filled with students clutching their hitai-ate, turning them over reverently, or bouncing impatiently in their seats as they wait to receive their own.

And oddly, Yohei finds that he does know where his seat is.

‘And my name,’ he realizes as he walks. ‘Kuroyama Yohei. Kuroyama - written with the Kanji for black and mountain. Yohei - written with the Kanji for sun and calm.’

Despite the fog swirling through the edges of his mind, a small smile tugs at him at the scrap of identity recovered. But it quickly folds into a thoughtful frown.

‘*Great. I know my name. But ****who ****am I? ****Who ***is Kuroyama Yohei?’

The answer sits in his palms.

He looks down at the forehead protector, the engraved leaf catching the daylight. The meaning lodges in him instantly, deeply, as if rooted in bone.

‘Shinobi. I’m-’

A flicker of motion passes across the windows. Yohei’s head snaps toward it just in time to see figures sprinting along red-tiled rooftops, leaping from building to building with supernatural ease.

‘A ninja.’

**-₌- **​

It took him the better part of an hour to piece himself back together - an hour of digging through a mind that felt half-packed with someone else’s luggage. And then most of the morning repeating the process again and again until everything stopped feeling like a scene in a movie and started settling into place as his memories.

He was Kuroyama Yohei. Twelve years old. Freshly graduated from the Ninja Academy of Konohagakure no Sato. A genin.

His father had been Kuroyama Tatsuo, a Special Jōnin. Had been - before the Kyuubi’s attack left him saturated with chakra poisoning so deep it hollowed him out from the inside. A slow, cruel erosion. The same power that once strengthened him had ultimately killed him.

His mother was Kuroyama Nanami, a medic-nin. Not field-active anymore - she’d traded missions for steady shifts at the hospital years ago. Since Tatsuo’s death last year, she’d been his only family, and scarcely a week had passed without her gently reminding him that he didn’t need to be a shinobi. He could be a merchant, a doctor, anything he wanted. She’d meant it, too. Truly.

And yet… when she knelt in front of him and cupped his face in both hands, her blue eyes - so much like his - shimmering with pride and soft wonder as they drifted to the gleaming hitai-ate on his forehead, before finding his gaze again-

"Your father would be so proud of you."

The sight throbbed warmly in his chest. Past-Yohei had been completely justified in his choice.

Ignoring the other parents and students milling around, ignoring the teenage self-consciousness that prickled faintly at the back of his neck, he had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. A tight, anchoring hug.

"I love you," he’d murmured into her blue hair.

"I love you too, my little shinobi," she’d whispered back, humor threading through her voice - right alongside a trembling sob - as her fingers slid gently through his own brown hair.

It took them both a few moments to compose themselves. Nanami rose from her crouch, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, tiny sniffles escaping before she summoned a smile bright enough to chase shadows off rooftops.

"Now then-" she declared, clapping her hands, "I got us a reservation at that hot pot place you love. We’re celebrating!"

"What if I hadn’t passed?" he asked, voice warm with wry amusement.

"Then we’d be eating as consolation!" she fired back without hesitation, punching the air with such earnest enthusiasm that he couldn’t help laughing as he fell into step behind her.

But the cheer faltered when something tugged at the corner of his awareness.

Off to the side, in the small park across from the Academy, a blond boy sat alone on a swing tucked into a shaded corner. His orange-and-blue jumpsuit made him unmissable, but his expression was small - crushed under the weight of everyone else’s joy.

Uzumaki Naruto.

The Troublemaker.

The only one in their class who didn’t graduate.

The Protagonist.

A vise tightened around Yohei’s heart.

Nanami, noticing he’d stopped, followed his line of sight. Her reaction was instant, and very different: her mouth thinned, brows pulling together in a sharp, protective tension. She tried - poorly - to smooth her expression, but the anger beneath it crackled like static against her skin before she caught his hand and tugged him firmly away.

"Come on, Yohei-kun. We’ll be late."

He let himself be guided, though the weight in his chest made the world feel heavier with each step. Naruto’s blue eyes trailed after him, full of a lonely, aching longing, until the boy slipped out of sight.

**-₌- **​

Hours later - belly full of hot pot and wrapped in the soft heaviness that comes after a long day - Yohei finally let himself collapse onto his bed. Muscles loose, belly warm, mind exhausted. Only then did his thoughts unclench enough for him to stare at the wooden ceiling and face the last, most terrifying truth.

"I’m a character," he whispered into the stillness.

The words tasted like dust.

He shook his head, a bitter laugh slipping out despite the ache in his chest. "No. Worse. I’m not a protagonist, or a side character, or even a background regular. I’m less than an extra - just another face in a crowd shot."

He squeezed his fist tight and lifted it to knock against his forehead - only to thunk against metal instead of skin. The hitai-ate, cool and accusing, made the moment sting even more.

A shaky breath escaped him. He slapped a hand over his mouth to smother the sob building in his throat, curling inward as his body trembled with the kind of grief that has no audience.

After a moment, he pulled the forehead protector off and stared down at it, the symbol gleaming faintly in the dimming light.

"Is this a joke?" His voice cracked around the words. "Who would think up something this… cruel?"

Because he knew. He knew that of the more than twenty students who had graduated today - who smiled for their parents and clutched their new protectors with shining eyes - less than half would actually keep them.

"Two days."

Two days until the genin units were formed. Two days until they were assigned to a jōnin sensei - someone meant to train them, protect them, guide them into becoming the next generation of Konoha’s pride.

…If they passed the test.

Which, Yohei knew, most of them wouldn’t.

The Rookie Nine - as Kiba so triumphantly called them. Nine out of twenty-seven who would actually become shinobi rather than being quietly shunted back to the Academy. Nine prodigies, clan heirs, the future pillars of the village.

And the worst part?

"They don’t even fucking matter, either," he muttered into the dim room.

Because when it came down to it, out of all those vaunted prodigies, only three of them could ever hope to stand as equals against the true titans of this world. In the face of its actual monsters, someone like Kiba wouldn’t even have time to bark before he was mulch.

So what did that make him - someone even further down the ladder than Kiba?

A nobody.

A nobody who could barely call himself a shinobi.

A nobody who couldn’t honor his father’s sacrifice.

A nobody who would be powerless to protect his mother when a man-child with a god complex decided to vaporize the village - while some fucking gremlin on TikTok turned the footage of the massacre into a phonk edit.

The thought made his blood boil, his lungs tighten, his strangled laugh twist into something close to hysteria. He wanted to scream - wanted to tear the ceiling in half and demand an explanation from whatever cosmic idiot had thrown him into this nightmare. But he bit it down, swallowing the scream like broken glass. If his mother came in and found him mid-breakdown, he’d have no way to explain any of it.

So instead he cried into his pillow.

And he raged silently.

And he stared blankly out the window as shadowy figures darted across rooftops, the village’s night watch in a frantic search for a certain blond boy and the forbidden scroll he’d stolen.

Naruto was out there right now - probably reading from the Scroll of Seals this very moment, learning the technique that would start him on the path toward becoming the future God of Shinobi. Maybe he’d already mastered it. Maybe he was moments away from discovering the truth curled inside his own belly: that he carried the same creature that had massacred Yohei’s extended family and poisoned his father into an early grave.

A creature Yohei couldn’t even bring himself to hate - not fully. Not when he imagined what it meant to be imprisoned for decades in a void, pinned in place by stakes driven through your limbs, shackled by chains that could never break.

Eventually, the commotion outside faded. The moon climbed high. His fury burned itself out, leaving behind a hollow, trembling quiet. Yohei lay there, sweat cooling on his skin, chest aching, mind finally - finally - settling into a single, sharp conclusion.

"I need power."

The words left him with the weight of a vow.

A sharp ping chimed through the air.

**[CONGRATULATIONS!]**​

"What-"

**[YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE C̘̣͎̅ͤ̀̑̇h̸̵̨̨̛̗̞̼͍̯͖̺̱̣͖̳͔̠̻̲͔̲̻̔ͥͣ̍́́ͮ̃ͨ̋ͪ͘͜͜͝͡͞ǡ̡̧̧̧̨̝̪̝͚͙̣̹̺̣̫̜̲̤ͦ̆͋͊̽̑̾̔̉̀͗̔̊̍̈́ͫ͋͋ͤ̅ͮ̕̕ö̙͎́ͦs̶̟̘̆͑̐͒ͤ̾͢͞_͕̍ G̬̟̙̬͕̖̲̉ͥͪ͒̌̾̃̐͂̊̓̎͗ͫ͠a̙̱̿͋̃_͘ć̴̨̡̲̝͔͈͍͇͔͚͙̤̫͚͆̎̏ͮ͌ͯ̀ͯ̂ͬ̍̾̓̈́͌̓͋͛̿͛ͩ̿̒̚̕͜͜͡͝_h͇͍̗̖̗̳͕͌̎̂̄̓]**​

"-the fuck."

An unnervingly blye glowing box hovered in front of him. Like a video game menu torn out of a screen and nailed into the air. His face scrunched through confusion… gleeful dawning recognition… and then sinking, horrified dismay as the blue bled into a furious, arterial red.

**[ERROR]**​

"No. No, no, no, don’t- don’t do this, please don’t-"

**[REBOOTING]**​

He expelled a huge, shaking breath as the red blanched into white, pulsing softly… thump… thump… like a failling heartbeat. Then it cooled back to basic blue.

**[CONGRATULATIONS!] [YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE Č̷̞̯̣͉̪̲̺͝h̴̡̨̛̖͍͍̤̊̎͗a̸͎̓̀̄͝ō̷̝̰̫̤̗̫̓̈́̎̆̏̆͂̈̚͠ş̷̳̩̤̹̓͂̂͋̊̋̎̈́̆̂̏ ̷̣̱̜̠̥͐̐̀̒̄̕G̵͙͚̞͇̮͈̱͚̜̬̭̋̓̔͒̏̏̂̆̍̐̚a̷̫̖͆̋̓̈́́͆͑̄͝c̶̥̼͉̘̻̗̥͍͙̅̃́̈́̔̄͠h̸̢̡̧̤̿͊͆̊̀̀́͑̌͘ͅͅa̸̠̰̐̔̏̈͑̍͗̄̾͠]**​

And then-

**[ERROR]**​

This time the flip back to white took even less time, like the system itself was getting annoyed.

[REBOOTING] … [REBOOTING] …​

Again.

**[CONGRATULATIONS!]**​

Again.

Again.

And again.

The name garbled each time - corrupted fonts, missing pieces, strokes twitching like broken centipedes. A kaleidoscope of glitch-languages. Some messages collapsing mid-syllable. Others stretching for too long, past his sight and perception.

Yohei’s dread curdled.

What if this thing - this "golden finger," his otherworldly cheat - was permanently broken?

What if he’d gotten the bootleg version?

The cosmic knockoff?

A cursed gacha banner that would never load, trapping his vision in this loop forever?

**[YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE 混沌の巻物]**​

His breath caught.

That one looked… readable.

And almost promising.

Then:

**[YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE C̢͔͑H̴̨̢̤̒̍̾́ͣ̑̑̀͟͠A̡̗̺̗̾ͬ̋̈́Ơ̴̢̧̝̪̖̟̆̏͊ͯ͠ͅS̶̨̭̰̙̻̎̐́͆͡_̶̸̨̛̯͕̫̤͎̙͔̣͉͈̪̝̐̓͐̉̂͐̏̽̓̆̓̉ S̸͔͖͎͓͕͆ͧ̒̓̒ͣ̉͊̒͛͘̕͠_̘̜̈̎͟Çͯ̇R͍̯̠̹̳̯̈́ͨ̋̀̚͝ͅƠ̶̵̩̳̩̩̪̫͙̞͖͉͖̘͌ͩ̒̏̍͐̈͐͐ͦ̂̿̓Ļ̺̠͈̥̱͚̜̺̐͂̓̓́̃̓ͪͭ͋͜͡͞͠ͅL̴̟̟̘̻͕̠̣̻̥̜̦ͯ̒ͭ̅͊̐͗́ͨ̕͟͟ͅ]**​

Then finally - mercifully -

**[YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE CHAOS SCROLL]**​

The blue screen burst like a soap bubble snapping, leaving behind a puff of soft white smoke. When it cleared, something heavy landed in Yohei’s lap with a muted thunk.

A scroll.

Thicker than his tight, all matte black and edged with gold

His heartbeat pounded like war drums behind his ribs as he lifted it with trembling fingers. The scroll unrolled only a short distance before stopping, the dark paper swallowing light and giving nothing back. No writing. No hint. Just emptiness.

His chest tightened.

Broken? Again?

A spark of intuition crackled through him.

He raised his thumb up to his teeth and bit down hard as he could.

The sting of the pierced flesh barely registered as blood started seeping form the wound.

He pressed it to the scroll and wrote, slowly, deliberately:

**黒 山

陽 平

**

The blood shimmered like a crimson ember against the scroll’s black surface before sinking in, and the interior of the parchment blanched to stark white. Only then did the stubborn thing finally unspool - just a little more - revealing three concentric circles packed tight with symbols and letters. Some he almost recognized from class, but they twisted away from comprehension like coy little serpents.

Fūinjutsu seals.

Real ones. Not the kiddie diagrams they practiced at the Academy.

Trying to remember Iruka-sensei’s crisp, patient instructions, Yohei pressed his palm against the first circle and readied himself to push a trickle of chakra in-

It fired off before he could even blink.

Another puff. Another cloud of smoke. And suddenly a small brown scroll was sitting in his hand. The corresponding seal on the Chaos Scroll simply vanished. He tried the second, then the third - both of them colored silver - and soon three little scrolls sat on his bed like smug hens, while the Chaos Scroll gave one last puff and winked out of existence entirely.

Yohei swallowed, throat dry as gravel, and reached for the first scroll.

【不滅の牙 — Fumetsu no Kiba — Forever Fangs】 |E-Rank Bloodline| Your teeth are spectacularly durable and strong. You can bite into stone and chew it without damage. You will never suffer dental issues. Should your teeth break, they will regrow like fingernails.​

"…That is *not *what I was expecting," Yohei whispered.

Beneath the words was another fuinjutsu seal, which he pressed his hand into. The scroll immediately dissolved into smoke, leaving behind-

"A tooth? Seriously?"

It sat in his palm like a tiny ivory charm. But the longer he rolled it between his fingers, the more wrong it felt. Too smooth. Too glossy. Too… fragrant?

He lifted it to his nose.

A soft, sweet scent drifted out - fresh cream and sugar.

"…Candy?"

He stared at it for three whole seconds, then squared his shoulders with the weary resolve of someone who had already resigned himself to cosmic nonsense.

"Fine."

He popped it into his mouth and bit down. The shell cracked like delicate icing, and a flood of velvety milk-sweet cream coated his tongue.

"Huh," he muttered around the taste. "It’s not actually that- Ugh!"

His whole body spasmed. Something splintered behind his face, sharp as lightning. A pressure built in his jaw - measured at first, then growing, blooming, pushing-

His teeth burst free from his gums in a horrifying series of soft pops.

New teeth pushed up instantly to replace them.

Yohei choked, gagged, and spat a mouthful of discarded teeth into his hand. Warm and slick with spit and blood.

He stared at the mess and felt a fresh wave of disbelieving disgust rise through him.

"…What the hell am I supposed to do with these, now?"

A few minutes later, one hastily cobbled-together sealing scroll tucked in a place he prayed no one would ever discover, ans hands scrubbed like he’d committed a crime - Yohei sat back on his bed. The remaining silver scrolls waited for him like coiled snakes. He eyed them suspiciously and let out an aggrieved huff.

He unrolled the first one.

【心相眼 – Shinsōgan – Heart-Phase Eye】 |C-Rank Bloodline| This Bloodline Limit allows you to perceive your current relationship with people you are interested in and what they think of you; it also reveals their interests, likes, and dislikes.​

A "bloodline" again.

Fucking fantastic.

His stomach staged a small rebellion as he prepared for whatever horror awaited in the accompanying seal.

Poof.

He was not prepared.

An eyeball-shaped candy - disturbingly chewy-looking - sat where the smoke cleared. A bubblegum-pink heart pulsed faintly where the iris should be, and a delicate red string dangled from the back like some deranged decorative tassel.

Yohei clamped his eyes shut, scrunched his entire face into a grimace, tilted his head back, and tossed the thing into his mouth before his brain could register the texture. He swallowed fast, then jammed a pillow between his teeth, bracing for what he expected was to come.

It didn’t hurt.

Pain would’ve been preferable.

Instead, he felt his vision dissolve into darkness - eyes turning to static - and then a pressure, a shift, an impossible slip as his eyes abandoned their sockets and new ones settled in behind them with a soft finality that made the skin along his spine ripple.

It was… an exotic form of dread.

"I should’ve picked another storage seal," Yohei muttered, wincing as he gingerly pinched the expelled globes between two fingers and stepped away from the bed, holding them like rotten grapes.

**-₌- **​

Yohei stood before the small mirror hanging crookedly on his wall, the room still kept in darkness so his mother wouldn’t wake. His reflection stared back at him: tanned skin, bright blue eyes inherited straight from Nanami, a mane of dark, curly hair falling in soft, unruly arcs around his face.

Except… the eyes weren’t quite his.

In the center of each iris, where a calm black pupil should sit, pulsed a tiny heart - pink and luminous but strangely contained, shining without shedding a single drop of light into the room.

He leaned in. Blinked. Squinted.

All it did was-

"A whole bunch of nothing."

Maybe the Shinsōgan simply refused to work on its owner.

His first instinct had been panic: Was this permanent?

Would he have to start wearing masks like a budget ANBU reject? Or one of those ridiculous forehead protectors with extensions he’d seen some chunin sport?

But no - one focused breath and a subtle pinch of will, and the minuscule chakra stream feeding his eyes tapered off. The hearts vanished. His reflection snapped back to normal, blue and harmless.

He exhaled, a quiet, shaky little gust, and stepped away from the mirror.

This time, when he returned to his bed, he came armed: a fresh storage scroll laid open beside him in case yet another organ decided to abandon ship.

He picked up the final silver scroll. Whispered a prayer to every benevolent force in the universe. He needed something useful, something that might help him survive the disaster looming over him soon: his jōnin-sensei’s test.

He cracked the seal.

【極筋強襲 – Gokukin Kyōshū – Extreme Muscle Assault】 |C-Rank Taijutsu| This technique allows you to bulk up, reinforcing and strengthening all of your muscles to superhuman levels. Even as a base human, you can tear apart steel and throw objects weighing a ton. Overuse may result in severe soreness and muscle tears.​

"Yes," he hissed, victorious but quiet.

This scroll was different. No odd little gift tucked in the fuinjutsu. No organ-shaped treat waiting to ruin his night. Instead, it unfolded further, pages blooming outward to reveal intricate anatomical diagrams - muscles sketched in layers, notes crammed in the margins, step-by-step instructions on how to activate the technique through breath, tension, and chakra control.

"There are at least two types of reward, then," Yohei murmured. "One that rewrites me instantly… and one I actually have to work for."

His gaze drifted across the final illustration: a figure so over-built it bordered on comic - an avalanche of muscle sculpted into human shape. The sort of physique that would make even Ronnie Coleman at his peak kneel and cry.

A grin tugged at Yohei’s lips.

"I think I prefer this one."

---

**[In which I refuse to become a doctor, what is wrong with me?]**​

The Chaos Scroll – whatever it truly was, and whatever impossible origin it had – was irrevocably, a source of relief for Yohei. It wasn’t just a potential path to power; it was a lifeline, a promise that maybe, just maybe, he and his mother wouldn’t be crushed by the madness of the world.

…Or so he hoped.

He had no idea how it worked, after all.

The only reason he wasn’t panicking about the three "gifts" he’d already received being the last ones was because he could feel it. Somewhere deeper than skin, deeper than blood or bone, sat the presence of the foreign object tethered to him. It wasn’t sleeping, exactly – more like waiting. Heavy. Expectant. Watching the world with him from inside.

But without knowing what would wake it again, Yohei couldn’t rely on it. For now, he had to squeeze every drop of use out of what he already had. That meant testing, understanding, and developing the two Bloodline Limits – and learning the technique drawn across the last scroll: Extreme Muscle Assault.

"What the hell!?"

…He might have been a bit overeager.

"Shi-"

Which is why, when his mother – dragged early from sleep by a chorus of grunts, strained breathing, and the ominous creak-creak-creak of tortured wood – burst into his room, she found her son in a state that would haunt her until the day she died.

Half his muscles were grotesquely inflated in uneven patches, like someone had tried to sculpt him out of balloons and raw meat. His skin was flushed red and mottled with bruises from overuse, and every breath came with a wheeze of pain. He had clearly spent the entire night practicing the technique without stopping.

"YOHEI!"

**-₌-**​

A few moments – and several aborted, half-muttered explanations – later, Yohei was lying on his bed, wincing as the pain finally caught up with him. The adrenaline that had kept him moving all night had long since burned out, leaving only the raw protest of abused muscle. His mother sat beside him in a wooden chair, both palms pressed gently over his chest. Soft white light glowed from her hands. Her worried frown was almost as uncomfortable as the pressure of her jutsu.

"Trapezius and deltoids severely overstressed… biceps and triceps full of minor tears… flexor group in the forearms cramped so tightly I’m surprised you can even move your fingers-"

By reflex, Yohei tried to close his hand. Pain shot up his arm like fire, and he hissed. Nanami’s glare landed on him instantly; her hands pressed more firmly, silently commanding him to stop.

"Your pectorals are strained from repeated over-contraction," she continued, voice tightening as her concern edged toward anger. "And your ribs – your intercostals are overstretching just from breathing. You pushed yourself so hard that breathing started injuring you."

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Abdominals swollen and inflamed, on the brink of fatigue failure; lumbar muscles spasming; quadriceps overworked to partial fiber tearing; hamstrings overstretched; calves cramped so badly the tissue is still knotted."

The healing light dimmed as she released the jutsu. When she looked into his eyes, the swirl of emotions in hers – fear, frustration, confusion – hit harder than the pain in his body.

"Yohei… what were you doing?" she asked. She was aiming for stern, but the question came out closer to pleading.

Looking at her like this, knowing he’d scared her so deeply, Yohei’s first instinct was to tell her everything.

About the Chaos Scroll.

About the gifts.

About the memories of another world – one without chakra, without ninjas, a world where Konoha existed only in fiction.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He tried to justify it – talking himself in circles about possible butterfly effects, about Root listening through the walls, about how she might panic and assume he was under a genjutsu. But he knew they were excuses.

The truth was simpler, and far more terrifying.

He was afraid.

Afraid that if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t see him as her son anymore.

Because there was a difference – a frightening, visceral difference – between the Yohei she raised and the Yohei lying on the bed now. Ever since graduation, ever since the memories resurfaced, he had struggled to understand exactly who he was.

For most of the previous day he hadn’t known whether he was Yohei with another life’s memories… or a stranger wearing Yohei’s body and mind like an ill-fitting coat.

He didn’t know if he would ever find an answer.

And he wasn’t sure, deep down, that he even wanted one.

So he reined the impulse in and instead blurted out the most believable lie he could come up with.

"I-" he started, only to cough as the pain spiked, "I, uh… made a jutsu?"

"What."

Not a very good lie. But he was building it as he went.

"It’s just– A few months ago, we got the clan kids from class to show off their jutsu," he said quickly – because the best lies needed at least some kernel of truth in them, "and there’s this boy, Chōji – he’s an Akimichi – and when he showed his, he puffed up like a balloon. It was kinda funny but we didn’t laugh because Shikamaru said Chōji would get *super *mad if we did, and Shikamaru’s really smart, so-"

"Yohei."

"Right! But then he said the grown-ups in his clan can make just an arm or a leg huge. Like, room-sized huge. And that his dad can become an actual giant-"

"I know how the Akimichi’s Hiden works, Yohei." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "But that technique is something their clan has refined and bred for, for much longer than Konoha has even existed. It’s not something you can just copy-"

"But I did!" he insisted, a little too loudly.

She gave him a dry, unimpressed stare… then looked at his bruised, swollen body. His face flushed hot with embarrassment.

"I’m serious, I did it!" he repeated, even as shame burned at his ears. "Well… not exactly the same, I guess. It doesn’t make me a giant. But it makes my muscles really big. Stronger. Tougher. I’m only like this because I… uh… wanted to make a good first impression on my jōnin-sensei tomorrow, so I may have pushed too far and messed up – but it works!"

Her skepticism wavered as he rambled – not because he was being particularly persuasive, but because he wasn’t actually trying to persuade her at all. He sounded… earnest. Honest.

"And it doesn’t look like what I walked in on?" she asked carefully. "No deformations? No spasms? No sudden pain spikes?"

"No-" he began shaking his head before wincing at the stab in his neck. He paused, thinking. "Well, kind of? All of my muscles get equally bigger. No spasms or deformation. But it does hurt if I use it for a long time."

"How long?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"A couple minutes?" he guessed. He almost shrugged before remembering that would hurt, too. "I didn’t think to time it."

"You should have," she muttered – though her voice had gone faint, drifting into thought as she turned slightly away. She bit at a nail, eyes narrowing as she mumbled something under her breath.

"Mom?"

She looked back at him – and there was a new, unmistakable glint in her eyes.

"Can you close your eyes for me, sweetie?"

"Sure…?" he answered, uncertain, but obeying.

She took his hand. Even that small motion made him grunt in discomfort until she adjusted her grip to spare the worst of his bruising. Once he relaxed again, something thrummed against his skin – subtle at first, them pulsing like a cold flame.

Chakra.

But then it deepened. Thickened. It grew denser and heavier, and warm in a way that has noting to do with heat, with an intensity that tingled pleasantly on his skin.* It made his arm feel more alive*.

"Can you feel the difference?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

A tiny muffled noise – half a squeal, and half a squeak – escaped her. She wriggled in place in barely-contained excitement.

"Can you mimic it?"

Rather than answer, Yohei let his chakra rise. He coaxed it, nudged its proportions, shifting the balance between physical and spiritual energies just as the scroll had explained. The texture changed – warmer, heavier, fuller.

"Mom…?"

He opened his eyes.

Nanami had both hands clasped over her mouth, shoulders scrunched, her whole upper body bouncing in place like she was trying to keep from exploding into noise. When she saw his eyes open, she did squeal – an unrestrained, joyous little sound – and then laughed, brimming with pride.

"Yohei! Do you know what that is?"

"Yang Chakra?" he said, more statement than question.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Where did you learn to do it!?"

"Shikamaru explained it when I asked about Chōji’s jutsu," he lied as easily as he breathed. "He said that instead of mixing mental and physical energy evenly, the Akimichi use way more physical energy – like the Inuzuka, while the Nara and the Yamanaka do the opposite. So I just… kept trying until I did it."

"You just did it," she repeated, staring at him as if he’d pulled the moon out of the sky. Then she broke into bubbly laughter, practically glowing. "Baby, that is not how it works for most people. Do you know what that means?"

"I-"

"It means you have a Yang affinity! Oh, this is great!" she crowed, cutting him off in her eagerness. "When your chakra paper got wet I felt awful, because I thought I wouldn’t be able to teach you any jutsu – but if you have Yang Nature, then you can learn iryōjutsu!"

"…does that mean I won’t need to read those brick-sized biology books you have?" he asked hopefully.

Nanami burst into a full-bodied laugh, bending forward as she hugged her stomach. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she wiped them away and gave him a couple of fond pats on the shoulder.

"That – that was a good one," she managed between fading giggles. "Of course you will, silly. How else would you know what you’re treating? And we’ll need to get your control up to snuff, too – but that’s something you can talk to your Jōnin-sensei about."

Yohei blinked, confused. "What’s so great about having a Yang affinity, then?"

His mother tapped her mouth with her finger, thinking.

"It’s not a perfect comparison," she began, "but it’s like the difference between a regular shinobi making a person-sized fireball and someone with a Fire Nature making one big enough to fill a room – while spending the same amount of chakra."

She raised a finger.

"Medical ninjutsu, at least the kind actually used to heal and not just diagnose, is primarily Yang Release. And that’s rare outside of clans. Because most of us medic-nin have to learn it the hard way, we run into all sorts of problems: not producing enough Yang chakra to treat severe injuries, or molding it too slowly for emergencies, or wasting too much regular chakra in the conversion process. That’s why many medic-nin exhaust themselves even when their chakra reserves should last a lot longer."

Then her face lit up – soft, beaming, and hopeful.

"If you have a Yang affinity, we might even be able to land you an internship at the hospital as a Genin! Isn’t that great? You could work with your mama!"

"…right." Yohei cleared his throat. "I, uh… I think I should probably check with my Jōnin-sensei first. You know – see if I’ll even have the time for it."

Nanami puffed out a small, disappointed huff.

"I suppose," she said, sounding distinctly morose before fixing him with the stinky eye. "You’re not just saying that because you want to avoid studying medicine, are you?"

"…no?"

Yohei discovered that lying was a lot harder when she asked a question directly. Especially while holding diagnostic chakra only a few centimeters from his jugular.

She squinted at him, utterly unconvinced.

"You know I’ll make you study it even if you don’t want to become a medic-nin, right?"

"…yes."

"Good!" she declared, clapping her hands.

In one smooth motion she formed a set of seals-

Rat → Ram → Dog

-just as Yohei’s memories supplied their names.

A bluish-white orb of chakra bloomed into existence between her palms, warm and steady. She pressed it to his neck, and Yohei melted with a groan he really hoped sounded like relief rather than despair. The warmth seeped through his battered muscles, soothing the throbbing pain.

"Then I think we can start with what time we have while I get you fixed up for your registration," she said brightly. "No time like the present!"

He let out another groan – carefully matching the tone of the previous one – as he resigned himself to the incoming lecture.

"Yes, ma’am."

---

**[In which I run my mouth while being sleep deprived.]**​

It took the better part of an hour for Nanami to be sufficiently satisfied with Yohei’s treatment to let him rest while she made breakfast. After they ate, she headed to the Hospital – still early for her shift thanks to the ungodly hour she had been woken up – while he took a bath and made his way along the uncannily familiar route toward the Ninja Academy, where graduating students were expected to complete the bureaucratic steps to become officially registered ninja.

When he arrived at the multi-storied, red-gated building, a few members of the Academy staff – retired shinobi or those who had stepped away from the front lines for one reason or another – guided him to the administrative wing on the third floor. From there he was directed down a corridor and up a narrow staircase into the Academy’s uppermost level, where the photographer had set up a temporary studio for prospective genin.

Only one other student was waiting: Nakamura Tobio. They exchanged a nod, after which Yohei sat down, doing his best not to pass out as the consequences of his sleepless night finally began to drag him down like a weighted blanket soaked in sweet, sweet anesthesia.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the point where his head kept falling forward uncontrollably, eyes blinking at different speeds while massive yawns escaped him in slow, helpless waves.

In the end, it was the smell of flowers that pulled him from the warm embrace of Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto-sama and shoved him back into the waking world.

Blinking blearily, he gathered his wits just enough to see another classmate stepping into the corridor.

Long blond hair tied into a high ponytail that swayed with every confident stride; a sleeveless, high-collared violet top paired with a matching split skirt and a hitai-ate tied stylishly around her waist; and underneath it all, pale wrappings running from her legs up past her midsection – possibly further.

"How much time did you even spend putting on that bandage underwear?" Yohei muttered groggily, too exhausted to notice the words escaping his mouth until they had already betrayed him.

Yamanaka Ino blinked, mildly surprised he’d spoken to her at all – then, a moment later, the meaning registered. Against the rising horror twisting inside Yohei’s chest, she straightened proudly, tilting her chin up with a smug smile as she struck a pose and flicked aside the long bang framing her right eye.

"I’m looking amazing, aren’t I?" she stated rather than asked.

Yohei looked to the side at his fellow genin, but Tobio was staring firmly away, gaze locked onto a particularly uninteresting step on the stairs as if attempting to detach himself entirely from the conversation.

Seeing that no help was coming, Yohei let out an inaudible sigh and looked back at the ‘troublesome blonde’ in front of him, still frozen in her pose and glaring at him through narrowed eyes while her expression remained otherwise calm and smug.

"I guess? Looks very… charming," he tried.

Ino seemed to find that barely acceptable; she gave a huff and an exaggerated eye-roll that clearly said ‘Of course I’m charming’, before strutting over to sit in one of the chairs opposite his.

Yohei could have taken that and escaped the conversation scot-free-

Unfortunately, his mind was muddled from lack of sleep… and possibly from the influence of those other memories, the ones that made him weirdly excited to talk to a "member of the cast," even though his local memories couldn’t see Ino as anything more than the loud, friendly, and occasionally annoying girl he’d been classmates with for half his life.

Which is why he opened his mouth again.

"Doesn’t look very practical though. I mean, you’re not even wearing mesh, so this is about as protective as normal clothing. You even took your hitai-ate off your head, so that’s another layer of protection gone. Also – what happens if someone slices the wrappings? Or if they get caught on something? Wouldn’t you get, you know… kind of naked then?"

One could have heard a cat’s whisker drop in the silence that followed.

Yohei blinked, looking at Ino’s face – frozen in an expression of barely contained rage. Her mouth forced into a sharp, scowling smile; her eyes squeezed shut; her left eyebrow twitching in a distinctly unhealthy way.

‘She really needs relaxation lessons from Shikamaru,’ Yohei mused, before the creaking wood beneath Ino’s grip dragged him back to the present.

He tilted his head in confusion.

A moment later, Ino shot up from her chair so fast it scraped across the floor, and marched straight toward him – leaning down into his space, one hand planted on her hip and the other stabbing a finger into his chest.

"Okay, first of all," she said, voice tight and full of promises of violence, "these aren’t bandages. They’re compression wraps. They keep me warm, prevent strain, and they don’t snag unless someone is stupid enough to try grabbing my clothes when I’m in throat-slicing distance."

She straightened, flicking a strand of hair behind her shoulder.

"And second, you think this isn’t practical? This-" she gestured to the high-slit skirt and fitted top "-lets me move. Fast. I’m not a brute like you; I use precision and speed. Ever heard of it? The hitai-ate goes on the waist because I don’t need it on my forehead. I’m not planning on headbutting anyone, and down here it doesn’t get in the way. And it still shows I’m a Leaf shinobi, which is the whole point."

She put a hand to her chest and leaned forward again, this time more smug than angry.

"Also, I’ll have you know that a shinobi who looks good stands out. People remember us. Clients especially. We’re about to take pictures that go in the mission registry. When someone scrolls through looking for the right ninja, they’ll see this-" she struck a quick pose, hip out, ponytail swishing, "-and they’ll know exactly who to pick for anything that requires skill, confidence, and someone who doesn’t look like they just crawled out of bed."

Her gaze swept over him pointedly.

"Which is more than I can say for you right now."

She folded her arms, chin lifting.

"It’s your problem if you want your picture to scream ‘unprofessional’ and ‘sleep-deprived’, but maybe don’t insult the one person in the room who actually prepared for this."

Then, almost as an afterthought:

"And ‘charming’ is the bare minimum. Next time try ‘gorgeous’ or ‘striking’. Something accurate."

Muddled as Yohei’s mind was, he still had enough sense to listen when there was an angry woman talking in his face – and following said talking was a hard-earned skill after years of training from his mother. Unfortunately, listening meant he now had even more questions.

For example:

If the compression wraps were meant to keep her warm and prevent strain, why were they only on her midriff and thighs instead of her whole body? What did a slitted skirt and sleeveless top have to do with mobility? Wouldn’t pants and an elastic shirt be just as good? Ninja mesh barely impacted movement anyway. Also, what kind of missions required someone who "looked pretty"? Infiltration? Seduction? Wasn’t she a bit young for those? And weren’t seduction missions limited to Chūnin and above?

He opened his mouth to ask her all of that and more, but movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to see Tobio staring at him, eyes wide, mouthing no repeatedly while shaking his head.

Yohei decided to heed his advice, so he turned his attention back to the blonde in front of him – who had watched the whole exchange with thinly veiled amusement, arms crossed over her chest while her greenish-blue eyes glared down at him.

He scratched the back of his head with a frown, sighing before lifting his hands and forming a series of seals:

Dog → Boar → Ram.

With a puff, white smoke burst around him. As it dissolved, Ino blinked at the sight revealed.

Gone were his baggy shorts and simple black shirt. Instead, Yohei now stood clad in an armor of layered blue plates covering his chest and hips, each piece tied together by dark cords. A mantle of white fur circled his shoulders beneath broad, curved pauldrons protecting his upper arms. He wore a black undershirt and matching pants, with cloth wrappings binding his forearms and shins before disappearing into open-toed sandals.

His hitai-ate had reshaped itself from cloth and metal into a **hapuri – **a metal faceguard covering his forehead and cheeks, the symbol of Konohagakure proudly engraved in its center.

More than that, his complexion shifted from a slight pallor to a healthy olive. The dark bags beneath his eyes vanished. His messy hair settled into glossy curls of rich brown, and even his sea-blue eyes seemed to glow – an effect somewhat at odds with his still-sleepy expression.

"I mean, if it’s just for appearances, then we can just use the Transformation Jutsu, right?" he said.

Ino’s reluctantly appreciative look snapped back into a squint-eyed glare as she drew in breath to launch another rant – but before she could, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and the voice of an older man rang out:

"Next!"

Tobio shot up from his chair immediately, stealing the momentum from her tirade.

"Thanks for the idea, Yohei!" he shouted as he hurried up the steps.

"What– Hey!" came another familiar voice from above, indignant.

"Sorry!"

The door slammed shut. Ino hastily straightened herself and leaned back against the wall in a carefully arranged pose of casual indifference. Yohei stared at her in confusion, and the glare she sent him felt like senbon pricking against his skin.

Down the stairs came Haruno Sakura, dressed in a red cheongsam – *with a zipper? Why? – *dark green shorts with a pouch strapped to her thigh, and blue open-toed sandals. Yohei wondered if he was the only one who thought the flapping skirt-like panel of her dress looked like a hazard waiting to happen.

She had barely reached the last step, frowning back toward the staircase where Tobio had likely collided with her, a sheet of paper bearing her picture held carefully in her hands – when Ino let out a sharp, haughty snort.

"I’m surprised someone even managed to take a picture of your face without it being just your giant forehead, Billboard Brow."

Sakura’s head swerved toward Ino’s voice so fast Yohei worried her neck might’ve snapped. She glared venomously at the blonde.

"I knew I was smelling something rotten. Are you using that much perfume to hide your stink, Ino-pig?"

"I think that’s just your breath, Sakura," Ino said faux-sweetly, stepping toward the pink-haired girl. "You talk so much shit that it started smelling like ass."

"I suppose an animal would know all about the smell of ass, huh?" Sakura shot back, matching her step for step. The two closed in on each other, nearly butting heads, the air between them practically crackling – metaphorically, of course.

Yohei could almost see the sparks – also metaphorically, unfortunately.

"Now, kiss," he said, squinting one eye and pushing his index fingers together like he was nudging their faces closer. His tongue peeked out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

"SHUT UP!" they both screamed at him.

He raised his hands in surrender, fighting a smile as the ‘absolute cinema’ meme flashed through his mind.

Sakura blinked, confused, finally taking in his appearance.

"Why are you dressed like the Second Hokage?"

Yohei looked down at his armor, then back at her, equally baffled. "Because he’s the coolest?"

Sakura opened her mouth, realized she had no valid counterargument, then closed it again with a huff. With a last glare at Ino, she stepped past her and left the hallway.

"I’ll never understand why you two stopped being friends over a mutual crush," Yohei said once she was gone.

Ino sniffed and sat again, crossing her legs and giving him a dismissive look.

"That’s because yo