Not everything in this story is as it seems. The protagonist talks. A LOT! But words are cheap. Watch what he does, not just what he says. That's where the truth lives.
So when things feel off, twisted, or contradictory… good. That means it's working.
TarantulaTarantino out!
Happy Reading!
...
At night, I, with my dirty sandals sit atop a rooftop, overlooking Konoha. A stray cat sat not far from me, munching on a fish head.
I lit a match, not because I smoke, but because I like the smell. I hold it for a second before flicking it away.
You ever wake up in someone else's body?
I don't mean that Freaky Friday, "oh no I'm my mom" kind of crap. I mean, you blink, and suddenly you're five years old, wearing ninja sandals, speaking Japanese fluently, and your neighbor is a literal war criminal who gets groceries every Tuesday.
Yeah. Welcome to my Tuesday.
Let me break it down for you, kitty.
I got isekai'd. And not just anywhere. Nah. I didn't land in a cozy little JRPG world with slimes and swords and princesses with bounce physics. No.
I landed in Naruto. The Hidden. Fucking. Leaf.
I grinned darkly.
You know what kind of place this is? It's a murder daycare with a dress code. Everyone's got a headband and trauma.
You graduate from the Academy at twelve, and your final exam is basically "can you kill someone with zero hesitation?" That's not education.
That's organized child homicide with chakra.
Now don't get me wrong. I used to love this how. Back in my world, Naruto was the underdog, the goofball who rose to become Hokage.
Hell yeah, I cheered.
I cried.
I even yelled "Dattebayo!" when no one was around.
But now?
Now I am in this twisted-ass anime, and lemme tell you something: it ain't so cute when you realize the guy who teaches kids how to stab is only twenty and already clinically depressed.
And the villager? Oh, man, they look at Naruto like he's a cockroach dipped in acid. They know he's got a demon fox in his gut and act like he shit on their ancestors.
He's five, bro. FIVE.
He ain't born yet though.
You know what I was doing at five in my old world? Eating mud.
Here? You sneeze wrong and a jonin might assassinate you "just in case."
I look up at the stars like they owe me money.
Thankfully, I've got spoilers for days.
Massacres.
Betrayals.
A snake man who molests genetics.
A redhead who drops meteors like he's playing dodgeball with the planet.
I could stop it. Maybe. Or maybe I end up a chalk outline in some filler episode nobody watches.
Still... you know what I can't do?
Sit still.
I didn't survive calculus, two ex-girlfriends, and a soul-crushing desk job just to get reborn and watch the world burn from a sandbox.
No.
I'm gonna learn chakra. I'm gonna survive this genjutsu-infested nightmare. And if fate tries to drop a Chidori through my ribcage? Well...
I've seen the show.
I know where everyone's standing before the beat drops.
I stand, dust off my shorts. The cat meows making me squint at it.
You keep eating that fish buddy. I've got history to rewrite.
And maybe... just maybe...
This time, the side character lives.
But man do I feel like I'm already dead inside.
Tonight's the night.
The moon is bloodless and cold. Konoha sleeps like a drunk who doesn't know they're about to get stabbed in the gut.
Question.
You ever see the sky blink?
Like not just dark. Not just cloudy. I mean blink. Like the whole damn world flinched and didn't want to admit it.
That's what just happened.
Right now, the clock's ticking down on Konoha's last few seconds of normal.
The Kyuubi's not some bedtime story. He's not some red-furred plot device. He's a natural disaster with a grudge and teeth the size of horses.
And guess what? He's already been unleashed.
Distant thunder. No. Not Thunder. Something deeper. Rhythmic. Like a giant heartbeat miles away. Then: a faint, primal ROAR. Not human. Not even close.
That's him. That's Kurama.
Obito fucking Uchiha. Yeah, the crybaby who got crushed under a rock and turned into a discount Darth Vader, just yanked that demon fox out of Kushina like he was popping a cork.
I remember the look in Minato's eyes when he realized his wife was half-dead, his newborn son was crying, and a masked psycho just brought an apocalypse to the delivery room.
I remember this episode. I remember screaming at my TV, "MINATO, TELEPORT, DAMN IT!"
Now? I'm watching it in surround sound.
I look across the rooftops, flickers of movement. ANBU operatives rushing toward the Hokage's tower.
Panic hasn't hit the streets yet.
But it will.
Oh, it will.
One common pattern I noticed in my favorite shows was every character I loved is one episode away from trauma.
That's this night. That's every night in Naruto, honestly.
Kushina's gonna die. Minato's gonna die.
Third Hokage's gonna step in like it's a filler arc, pretending he's still relevant.
And Naruto, the baby, he's gonna get a nine-tailed time bomb stuffed in his belly before he even gets his name registered on a birth certificate.
I look down at my hands. Small. Soft. Useless.
I could scream. I could warn people. Run through the streets yelling, "Obito's behind it!"
Yeah, that's go over real well.
"Hey, listen to the kid in frog pajamas who knows top-secret intel from the future!"
No. I know better. You don't scream in a Tarantino movie unless you're about to get shot in the kneecap.
So I do what any background character with genre awareness does: I watch. I wait. I learn.
Because someday, this world's gonna ask me who I am.
And I'm not gonna say "I'm just some transmigrated fanboy."
I'm gonna look 'em in the eye and say:
"I'm the strongest."
That is my desire.
Though considering that I'm not some edgy teen, I won't even have to say I'm the strongest when I am actually the strongest.
Behind me, faint orange lights on the horizon. Not the sunrise. Fire. Something massive just slammed into a village wall. Screams began to echo in the distance.
The chaos has begun.
...
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