Have you ever read the Naruto manga or watched the anime?
If you have, maybe this question has crossed your mind:
> If you really did transmigrate into the world of Naruto one day, what would it actually look like?
Because let's be honest—there's a fundamental difference between 2D and 3D.
---
The sky was just beginning to lighten.
Hashirama slowly opened his eyes, ending his chakra refinement. Outside, the Senju clan's temporary encampment was already bustling with activity.
In the Warring States Period—before the formal shinobi world was formed—ninjas were organized by clans rather than villages.
Despite the difference in structure, the way these clan-based ninjas made a living wasn't so different from how it would be in the future.
They took on missions.
And as one of the most powerful shinobi clans, the Senju had no shortage of clients.
After all, no matter what era you live in, conflict is never in short supply.
Hashirama stood up and stepped outside.
Now, his real training for the day was about to begin.
---
The Senju clan had set up their temporary base near the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Grass—a heavily forested area with a large clearing perfect for concealment and training.
It was here that Hashirama and a dozen or so other Senju children were gathered for group training.
Although there were no ninja academies in this era, the Senju had long-established methods for training their young.
Unlike the structured curriculum that would be developed in the Hidden Leaf Village years later, training here—even for kids as young as Hashirama, not yet three—was focused almost entirely on combat.
From the moment they were born into the clan, every Senju was a warrior.
Men, women, elders, children—no exceptions.
Of course, a three-year-old in the shinobi world is an entirely different concept than a three-year-old in modern society.
Thanks to their bloodline, Senju children were born with far superior physiques.
Kids like Hashirama learning chakra refinement at age two or three wasn't even uncommon.
Once a child learned to wield chakra, even a three-year-old could easily surpass a regular adult in strength and stamina.
Hashirama had always understood this from writing fanfics—but experiencing it in reality was something else entirely.
---
In the clearing, about a dozen young children, both boys and girls, were paired off in sparring matches.
Hashirama, the youngest of the group, was facing off against a five-year-old boy named Senju Tsubasa.
Clang!
Their small figures collided, the sound of metal striking metal ringing crisply through the air.
Each wielding a kunai, they clashed, then without hesitation, Hashirama followed up with a straight punch.
He had no other choice. Despite being in the body of the future God of Shinobi, he couldn't exactly unleash Wood Release powerful enough to suppress Tailed Beasts or fight Uchiha Madara—the man who once laughed in the face of four Kage.
So he fought the old-fashioned way.
Even at his young age, Hashirama was fast and precise.
Tsubasa was quick to counter, throwing a punch of his own to meet Hashirama's.
Wham!
Fists collided. The impact was so strong that Tsubasa's chubby little face twisted in pain.
Even at five years old, he was clearly outmatched.
Because in a world governed by chakra, age meant nothing.
Unable to absorb the force, Tsubasa's arm recoiled reflexively. Hashirama saw the opening and swept in with a swift kick to his opponent's stomach.
And just like that—Tsubasa went flying.
Sparring match: over.
> "As expected of Lord Hashirama!"
Tsubasa scratched his head with a sheepish grin, eyes full of admiration.
> "You're strong too," Hashirama replied with a smile. "Way better than that other guy—he's hopeless."
He spoke just loud enough for Tsubasa to hear, casting a sidelong glance at another pair of boys sparring nearby.
> "Uh…"
Tsubasa wasn't sure how to respond. He was a quiet kid by nature and didn't know how to react to Hashirama's bluntness.
To be honest, even though he was the clan leader's son, Hashirama's mouth had a way of rubbing people the wrong way.
More than a few of the other trainees had probably wanted to shut him up—but none of them dared challenge him one-on-one.
And a group beatdown?
No way. Who'd dare lay a hand on the clan head's son?
Hashirama knew this too, of course. But he didn't care.
As far as he was concerned, the kids around him were just brats.
Sure, in a real brawl, he probably wouldn't stand a chance if they all ganged up on him.
But hey—he was the son of the clan leader.
Hashirama loved the idea that everyone wanted to smack him… but couldn't.
Live dangerously, act like a troll, enjoy the chaos—that's the vibe.
---
He shifted his gaze to observe the other kids sparring—not to learn anything, really, but because he still hadn't fully adjusted to the surreal image in front of him… even after a whole year here.
All these five- or six-year-old children, each one born of the Senju bloodline, had wildly different hair and eye colors.
Black. Brown. Silvery white.
As a 21st-century otaku, Hashirama had attended his city's anime conventions before.
But cosplay had never really been his thing.
In real life, people wearing anime costumes always looked a bit… off.
Pretty female cosplayers? Tolerable.
Male cosplayers? Yeah… not so much.
What he was seeing now felt like a bunch of preschoolers playing live-action roleplay.
The scene was honestly too much.
Fortunately, he looked relatively normal himself—black hair, black eyes.
In hindsight, not transmigrating into Minato was probably a blessing.
Sure, Minato's looks were absolute top-tier in the 2D world.
But in live-action?
That spiky blonde hair and chiseled face would probably look more awkward than cool.
Same goes for a lot of other characters—especially that one family known for their sparkly, emo-core eyes.
> "Madara-chan… I wonder when I'll finally meet you."
Hashirama muttered under his breath.
He vaguely remembered that their first meeting in the original story happened by a river… but that wasn't for several more years.
To be fair, this world wasn't all bad.
Besides experiencing superhuman strength firsthand, Hashirama had somehow mastered fluent Japanese.
Pretty convenient, honestly.
Made sense though—this world came from a manga drawn by Japanese artists, so everyone spoke Japanese.
If this were the Marvel Universe instead, his English would probably be at TOEFL level by now.
---
> "Nii-san."
Just as Hashirama was lost in thought, a childish yet oddly out-of-place voice reached his ears.
His face instantly stiffened.
Turning his head, he saw a tiny figure standing beside Tsubasa—a toddler with pure white hair.
That's right.
Even compared to Hashirama—nearly three years old—this little guy had only just turned one.
Every time Hashirama saw that snow-white hair, he couldn't help but grumble internally.
Not seriously—just a bit of harmless roast.
> "What the hell is up with that hair color? No way this kid's actually my little brother."
> "Senju Tobirama… are you kidding me?"