The last thing I remembered was the satisfying glow of the summoning circle on my phone screen. A rainbow flash. The thrill, that primal gamer glee, surged through me. Saint Quartz, hard-earned and hoarded, was about to bear fruit. Was it a new Saber? A Caster to round out my Arts team? My thumb hovered over the screen, ready to tap through the class card reveal, my heart thudding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Then, nothing.
Not a gentle fading to black, not a dramatic explosion, not even the disappointment of a duplicate spook. It was as if someone had simply flipped the universe's off-switch. One moment, I was Jack, a twenty-something university student with a crippling gacha addiction, sitting in my cluttered room. The next, I was… not.
The 'not' was a peculiar sensation. It was a vast, weightless, and impossibly white void. There was no up, no down, just a serene, unending emptiness that was strangely peaceful. I didn't seem to have a body, but I had a consciousness, a sense of self that was currently grappling with the abrupt transition from FGO to… whatever this was.
"Ah, yes. About that."
A voice boomed, yet it didn't echo. It was everywhere and nowhere at once, a resonant baritone that felt like it was vibrating in the very concept of my soul.
"There appears to have been a slight clerical error."
Slowly, a form coalesced in the whiteness. It wasn't a bearded man on a throne or a being of pure light. It was… a middle-aged man in a rumpled business suit, complete with a loosened tie and spectacles perched on his nose. He held a celestial-looking clipboard that shimmered with the light of distant galaxies, and he was peering at it with a frustrated frown.
"Let's see… Jack… death scheduled for… oh dear." He tapped the clipboard. "It seems your file was mixed up with a 'Jack Russell.' Terrier. Unfortunate incident involving a mail truck and a particularly enticing squirrel. Your scheduled departure wasn't for another sixty-seven years, four months, two weeks, and three days. My sincerest apologies. The celestial intern pool this millennium has been dreadful."
I tried to speak, to scream, to ask a million questions, but without lungs or a mouth, all I could manage was a wave of pure, unadulterated indignation. I died because of a heavenly typo involving a dog?
The being, who I could only assume was some kind of divine administrator, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Look, these things happen. The paperwork is a nightmare, you understand. But, the good news is, we have a very generous compensation package for these… mix-ups. The 'Divine Oopsie' clause, as it were."
He cleared his throat, suddenly all business. "The bad news is, your original body has already undergone… well, the natural processes. We can't exactly stuff you back in there. It would be messy and frankly, unhygienic. So, we're offering our premium reincarnation package! A brand new life, in a world of adventure and excitement! All on the house, of course."
My non-existent head was spinning. "A world of… what?" I managed to project the thought.
"Ah, you'll love it! Full of dynamic characters, high-stakes conflict, a complex power system… it's one of our most popular isekai destinations. Think of it as a… cultural exchange." He gave me a weak, sales-pitch smile. "And to make up for the inconvenience of your premature demise, we're throwing in a little something extra. A 'System,' to help you acclimate. You gamers love those, right? Stats, progression, skills… all that jazz."
Before I could process this, he snapped his fingers. A screen of blue light materialized before my consciousness.
[Welcome, Soul-in-Transit!]
[System Template Customization Initiated!]
[Due to your soul's strong affinity with heroic spirits and legends from your previous life, a Servant-based Template System has been granted.]
[Please Select Your Primary Template:]
A list appeared, scrolling at an impossible speed. Names flashed by: Artoria Pendragon, Gilgamesh, Jeanne d'Arc, Heracles… it was the entire Throne of Heroes. My mind, still reeling, instinctively latched onto my favorite, a character whose blend of cheerful airheadedness and deadly focus I'd always admired.
Miyamoto Musashi.
[Primary Template Selected: Miyamoto Musashi (Saber)]
[Affinity Match: 88%]
[Granting Bonus Templates based on shared 'Japanese swordsman' and 'concept forging' attributes.]
[Bonus Template 1: Senji Muramasa (Saber)]
[Bonus Template 2: Minamoto-no-Raikou (Berserker)]
[Configuration Complete. Enjoy your new life!]
"Excellent choice!" the being said cheerfully. "Now, there is one small caveat. To balance the cosmic scales—and because we had another, uh, similar incident at the exact same time—you won't be alone. Another soul is being transmigrated with you. Think of him as… a classmate. Now, if you'll just hold still…"
He didn't wait for an answer. The world dissolved again, not into whiteness, but into a dizzying vortex of color and sensation. It felt like being squeezed through the eye of a needle. There was a sudden, shocking intake of breath—my first breath, it seemed—and the jarring feeling of existence pouring back into a physical form.
My eyes fluttered open. The first thing I noticed was the ceiling. It was wood, with dark beams and white plaster in between. It was unfamiliar. The second thing I noticed was the light. It was soft, early morning sun, filtering through a paper-screen window. The air smelled of clean linen, tatami mats, and something faintly floral.
The third thing… the third thing was the hair.
A cascade of light pink locks spilled across the pillow next to my face. My hair. It wasn't my short, boring brown hair. It was long, silky, and undeniably pink.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. I shot upright in the futon I was lying on. My movements felt strange, lighter, more balanced than I was used to. I looked down. My hands were slender, pale, and uncalloused. My body… was not my body. Gone was my lanky, male frame. In its place was a petite, distinctly female form, clad in a simple white yukata.
I scrambled out of bed, my legs shaky, and staggered towards a full-length mirror standing in the corner of the small, traditional-style room. The reflection that stared back stole the air from my newly acquired lungs.
It was her. Miyamoto Musashi from Fate/Grand Order. The light pink hair was styled in that familiar side-swept manner, complete with the silly-yet-endearing ahoge that stuck straight up. The eyes staring back at me, wide with shock, were a brilliant, piercing blue. A black and red flower-like ornament was tied neatly into the hair on the side of my head. I was shorter than I used to be, maybe around 144cm, and… well, there was no denying the curves beneath the yukata.
I, Jack, a twenty-something male college student, was now a girl. Not just any girl, but the living, breathing incarnation of an anime swordswoman.
A wave of vertigo washed over me. I pressed a hand to my forehead, feeling the unfamiliar texture of my new skin. "Okay, Jack. Don't panic," I whispered, but the voice that came out wasn't mine. It was higher, lighter, with a musical cadence. It was Musashi's voice from the game.
"My name… is Musashi now, I guess," I murmured, testing the name. It felt… bizarrely right.
Just then, a faint chiming sound, like a tiny bell, echoed in my mind. A transparent blue screen flickered into existence in my field of vision, visible only to me.
[System Boot-up Complete. Welcome, Musashi.]
[Host Status:]
- Name: Musashi (Formerly Jack)
- Age: 12
- Location: Konohagakure (Hidden Leaves Village)
- Chakra Reserves: Untested (Novice)
- Overall Condition: Healthy
[Template System:]
- Active Template: None
- Available Templates:
- Miyamoto Musashi (Saber): [Synchronization Rate: 0.01%]
- Senji Muramasa (Saber): [Synchronization Rate: 0.00%]
- Minamoto-no-Raikou (Berserker): [Synchronization Rate: 0.00%]
[Synchronization Rate increases through training, combat, understanding of the template's abilities, and alignment with the template's mindset. Higher synchronization unlocks skills, parameters, and Noble Phantasms.]
Konohagakure.
The name hit me with the force of a physical blow. I stumbled back and sat down hard on the edge of the futon. It wasn't just some generic isekai world. It was Naruto. I had been reincarnated into the world of Naruto. And according to the system, I was twelve years old. The age for the Academy. The year the entire epic, bloody, world-shaking story began.
My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat of terror and, buried deep beneath it, a sliver of wild excitement. I knew this story. I knew about the Uchiha massacre, about Orochimaru, the Akatsuki, the Fourth Great Ninja War. I knew about the betrayals, the deaths, the triumphs.
And I was here. A pink-haired girl with the potential powers of three of the most absurdly broken Servants in existence.
A knock on my door jolted me from my spiraling thoughts. "Hey? Are you awake? We'll be late for the Academy!"
The voice was male, youthful, and carried an easy-going confidence that was gratingly familiar. I froze. The god-thing had said someone else was transmigrated with me. A 'classmate'.
"Uh… yeah! Just a minute!" I called out, my new voice cracking slightly.
I quickly found some clothes laid out on a nearby chest. They were practical, but stylish in a way that suited my new appearance: a dark blue, sleeveless qipao-style top, black shorts, black thigh-high stockings, and simple ninja sandals. As I dressed, I felt a strange sense of muscle memory, as if this body knew how to move in these clothes.
Tucked beside the chest were two items that made my breath catch: a long katana and a shorter wakizashi, both in simple black sheaths. I tentatively reached out and touched the hilt of the katana. A faint spark, a hum of energy, seemed to travel up my arm. It felt like an extension of myself. I put the sword back again.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.
Leaning against the opposite wall of the narrow apartment hallway was a boy who looked like he'd walked straight out of an anime poster and into reality. He had a shock of snow-white hair that defied gravity, sticking up in soft spikes. His face was a study in casual perfection, with sharp, handsome features. But the most arresting part was the simple black blindfold he wore, covering his eyes completely. Despite it, he turned his head directly towards me as I opened the door.
"Took you long enough, sleepyhead," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Admiring your new look? Can't blame you though."
My jaw went slack. The white hair. The blindfold. The impossibly cocky attitude. There was no mistaking it.
"You're… Gojo Satoru," I breathed out, the name tumbling from my lips in disbelief.
His smirk widened into a full-blown grin. "In the flesh. Or, well, close enough. And you, with the pink hair and the looks… gotta be Musashi from FGO. Nice to meet ya. The name's Satoru. Just Satoru for now, I guess." He pushed off the wall and sauntered over, his movements fluid and relaxed. Even without seeing his eyes, I could feel an intense, analytical gaze sweeping over me. "So, you got the 'celestial clerical error' speech too?"
I just nodded, my mind still trying to catch up. So this was my fellow transmigrator. Some guy who got stuck with the appearance of the most overpowered pretty boy in modern shonen manga. We stood there for a moment in the hallway of what was presumably our shared, divinely-provided apartment, a pink-haired swordswoman and a blindfolded sorcerer, both twelve years old and about to go to ninja school. The absurdity of it all was so immense that a laugh bubbled up out of me.
Satoru chuckled along with me. "Yeah, that's about the right reaction. Come on, let's get going. I, for one, want to see the little orange menace in person. And I've always wanted to know if Iruka-sensei's scar is as cool up close."
He started walking down the hall, navigating it perfectly despite the blindfold. I hurried to catch up, securing the two swords to my left hip. They felt surprisingly light.
"So, you got a system too?" I asked, keeping my voice low as we descended the stairs and emerged onto a bustling Konoha street.
The sight was breathtaking. It was exactly like the anime, but real, vibrant, and alive. The Hokage monument was carved into the cliff face overlooking the village, the morning sun glinting off the stone faces of the First and Second. Villagers milled about, shinobi in flak jackets leaped across rooftops, and the air was filled with the sounds and smells of a living, breathing community. It was overwhelming.
"Yup," Satoru replied, not missing a beat as he dodged a delivery man carrying a stack of boxes. "Template system. Got Gojo Satoru, obviously. The other two are Sukuna and Megumi. Pretty stacked, if I do say so myself."
"No kidding," I muttered, a little jealous. Sukuna? He had the King of Curses in his back pocket. "I got Musashi, Muramasa, and Raikou."
"A trio of Japanese powerhouses. Solid lineup," he commented, his tone appreciative. "What's your sync rate?"
"Barely anything. 0.01% on Musashi, zero on the others."
"Same here. 0.01% on Gojo. I think we have to actually, you know, do stuff to make it go up. Train, use chakra, fight. The usual shonen protagonist grind." He gestured vaguely towards the academy building, now visible in the distance. "And that's where it all begins."
The Ninja Academy was a large, traditional building, buzzing with the energy of dozens of children and their parents. We stuck out like sore thumbs. My vibrant pink hair and his stark white hair drew more than a few curious stares. I saw a gaggle of young girls whisper amongst themselves, some pointing at Satoru and blushing. He, of course, seemed to revel in the attention.
We were directed to a large classroom. Pushing the door open, we stepped inside and the scene from the first chapter of the manga unfolded before us. There was Shikamaru Nara, already looking bored out of his mind, head resting on his desk. Next to him, Choji Akimichi was already munching on a bag of potato chips. Kiba Inuzuka had a tiny Akamaru sleeping on his head. Shino Aburame was silent and still in the corner. Hinata Hyuga was nervously fidgeting with her fingers.
And there, in the middle of it all, were the three people who would define an era.
Sakura Haruno and Ino Yamanaka were already arguing over who got to sit next to the one and only Sasuke Uchiha. Sasuke himself was sitting there, brooding with a level of professional angst that was almost comical to see on a twelve-year-old's face. He radiated an aura of 'do not perceive me' that was so potent it was practically a genjutsu.
And then there was Naruto Uzumaki. He was standing on his desk, squatting down to glare directly into Sasuke's face, the infamous rivalry already in full swing.
"Naruto! Get off the desk!" a voice full of exasperated authority boomed.
Iruka-sensei stood at the front of the class, a vein throbbing on his forehead. He had the scar, the chunin vest, the pineapple-ponytail. He was real. All of it was real.
Satoru let out a low whistle next to me. "It's like watching a TV show in high-definition 3D."
Our entrance had finally drawn the attention of the whole class. Naruto stopped glaring at Sasuke to gawk at us. Sakura and Ino paused their bickering. Even Sasuke's perpetually annoyed gaze flickered over us for a fraction of a second before dismissing us as irrelevant.
Iruka looked at us, his expression softening slightly. "Ah, you must be the two new students. Musashi and Satoru, correct? The Hokage informed me you'd be joining us. Welcome. Please, find an empty seat."
Satoru, with all the confidence in the world, strolled towards the back of the classroom and slid into a seat in the last row. I hesitated for a moment before following him, taking the seat next to him. It felt safer to stick with the only other person on the planet who understood our situation.
As I sat down, I focused on the system screen that only I could see, trying to understand it better.
[Miyamoto Musashi (Saber) - Synchronization Rate: 0.01%]
- Parameters (Sealed):
- Strength: E
- Endurance: E
- Agility: E
- Mana (Chakra): E
- Luck: B
- NP: E
- Innate Skills (Dormant):
- Fifth Form: Allows for the attainment of supreme swordsmanship. Even at a low level, grants intuitive understanding of bladework and combat forms.
- Heavenly Eye: A type of Mystic Eye. At this level, grants enhanced combat prediction and the ability to perceive the 'optimal path' for one's own actions, such as the best way to cut something or the best path to run. Currently inactive.
- Emptiness (Void): The ultimate state of swordsmanship sought by Musashi. The ability to be one with the void, achieving a state of 'zero'. Currently inaccessible.
- Noble Phantasm (Sealed):
- Six Realms Five Planes - The Divine Figure of Kurikara: Anti-Unit/Anti-Causality Noble Phantasm. Requires significant synchronization and understanding of Buddhist principles.
The stats were abysmal, E-rank across the board except for a decent B in Luck, which I supposed explained how I ended up here in the first place. But the skills… even dormant, the descriptions were tantalizing. Heavenly Eye alone would be a game-changer in a ninja fight.
"Okay class, settle down!" Iruka clapped his hands. "As of today, you will learn the skills necessary to become fine shinobi and kunoichi of Konoha. You will learn not just ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu, but also history, tactics, and most importantly, the Will of Fire!"
He launched into a passionate speech about the village, its history, and the spirit that bound its people together. I found myself listening intently. It was one thing to read about it in a manga, but another thing entirely to hear it from someone who lived and breathed it, someone whose parents had died defending that very ideal.
Satoru, next to me, seemed less impressed. I could practically feel the smug amusement rolling off him. He probably found the whole 'Will of Fire' concept quaint compared to the cynical world of Jujutsu Sorcerers he was channeling.
"Alright," Iruka said after his speech. "For our first lesson, we're going to start with something fundamental. A test, to see where you all stand. We'll be practicing the Transformation Jutsu."
A murmur of excitement went through the class.
"The hand signs are Ram, Boar, Tiger," Iruka demonstrated slowly. "You mold your chakra and visualize a perfect image of what you want to become. One by one, I want you to come up and transform into me. First up, Sakura Haruno!"
Sakura, ever the diligent student, stepped forward confidently. She flawlessly performed the hand signs and, in a puff of smoke, a perfect, if slightly shorter, replica of Iruka stood in her place.
"Excellent, Sakura! Perfect execution," Iruka praised.
One by one, the students went. Ino succeeded perfectly. Choji's was a bit bloated. Shikamaru's was lazy and looked half-asleep. Sasuke, of course, performed it without a single flaw, earning a squeal from Sakura and Ino.
Then came Naruto's turn. He stepped up, a look of fierce determination on his face. He fumbled the hand signs slightly. "Transformation Jutsu!" he yelled.
Poof.
The smoke cleared to reveal not Iruka, but a naked, voluptuous blonde woman covered by strategically placed clouds of smoke. The infamous O-Iroke no Jutsu, the Sexy Jutsu.
Iruka was sent flying backwards by a comically massive nosebleed. "NARUTOOOOOOO!" he roared.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. It was just as ridiculous in person. Satoru was shaking silently beside me, his shoulders quivering with suppressed laughter.
After Iruka had finished yelling at Naruto and sent him to the back of the line, he took a deep breath and looked down his list. His eyes landed on us.
"Alright, our new students. Satoru, you're up."
Satoru stood up and sauntered to the front. He didn't seem nervous at all. He casually made the hand signs-far too casually, like he was just waving his hands around-and whispered, "Transform."
Poof.
The smoke cleared instantly, revealing a perfect Iruka. Not just a visual copy, but a perfect mimicry of his posture, his slightly exasperated expression, even the way he held his shoulders. It was better than Sasuke's.
The class went dead silent. Sasuke's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Sakura and Ino stared, mouths agape.
Iruka himself was stunned. "That's... flawless, Satoru. Have you performed this jutsu before?"
Satoru reverted to his normal form with another soft poof. "Nope. First time. Just seemed easy enough." He gave a lazy, two-fingered salute and walked back to his seat, the picture of unbothered genius.
I felt a notification in my head.
[Fellow Transmigrator 'Satoru' has successfully utilized his Template System.] [Satoru Gojo (JJK) Synchronization Rate has increased to 0.15%.]
[Innate Skill Unlocked (Embryonic): Limitless (Concept of 'Infinity' applied to Chakra Control).]
My eyes widened. He'd already unlocked the embryonic form of Limitless just by doing a simple Transformation Jutsu? His Gojo template, with its theme of absolute control, must have given him an insane advantage with chakra manipulation right out of the gate. The guy was a monster.
"A-alright," Iruka stammered, clearing his throat. "Musashi. Your turn."
All eyes turned to me. I suddenly felt very nervous. Following Satoru's perfect performance was not an enviable position. I walked to the front of the class, my heart thumping. I could feel Naruto's curious gaze, Sasuke's analytical one, and Satoru's... well, I couldn't tell what he was doing behind the blindfold, but I assumed he was watching intently.
I took a breath. I had no idea how to mold chakra. The concept was alien to me. I had read about it, but that was like reading about swimming without ever touching water.
Okay, system, now would be a good time to do something useful, I thought desperately.
As I brought my hands up, a strange sensation bloomed in my gut. A warmth that spread through my body along pathways I didn't know I had. Chakra. It was real.
[Attempting to use Chakra for the first time.] [Accessing Miyamoto Musashi Template for guidance.]
[Synchronization Rate: 0.01%. Insufficient for active skill use. Accessing innate knowledge.]
[Concept: 'Form'. Musashi's swordsmanship is based on achieving the perfect form for any given situation. Applying this concept to Jutsu Hand Seals.]
My fingers seemed to move with an unearned grace. Ram. Boar. Tiger. They settled into each position with a crispness and precision that surprised me. It wasn't just copying Iruka; it felt like my hands understood the flow of the shapes.
Now for the hard part. Visualization. I closed my eyes and pictured Iruka-sensei. His height, his weight, the scar, the vest, the ponytail.
Don't just see it. Understand it, a whisper that sounded like my own voice, but deeper and more confident-Musashi's voice-echoed in my mind. The way he stands, the balance of his weight, the tension in his shoulders. It is a form, like any other. Replicate the form.
I poured the warm energy from my gut into that mental image. "Transformation Jutsu!"
Poof.
There was a cloud of smoke, thicker than Sakura's but not as messy as Naruto's. When it cleared, I opened my eyes. I looked down at my hands. They were larger, rougher. Iruka's hands. I had done it.
The class murmured again. It wasn't as perfect as Satoru's-I felt a little... wobbly, like I was wearing clothes a size too big-but it was a successful transformation. A solid pass.
"Very good, Musashi!" Iruka said, looking pleased and a little relieved. "Another natural. It seems you two will be at the top of the class in no time."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and dispelled the jutsu, reverting back to my pink-haired self. As I walked back to my seat, I felt Satoru's blindfolded gaze on me.
"Not bad," he murmured as I sat down. "A little rough around the edges, but you stuck the landing. That form was pretty clean."
"Felt like my brain got a cheat sheet," I admitted quietly.
Another chime.
[Host has successfully utilized the Template System.]
[Miyamoto Musashi (Saber) Synchronization Rate has increased to 0.05%.]
[Innate Skill 'Fifth Form' has reached an embryonic state. Host now possesses an intuitive grasp of physical forms and stances.]
It wasn't much, but it was progress. A tiny, hard-won victory.
The rest of the day was a blur of lectures. History of the village, the founding by the First Hokage Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha. It was surreal, learning this as actual history rather than backstory exposition. I saw Sasuke clench his fist on his desk when the Uchiha clan was mentioned. The air around him grew colder for a moment. Seeing that pain, that raw anger up close, was sobering. These weren't characters anymore. They were real children, carrying real burdens.
When the final bell rang, the classroom erupted into chaos as kids scrambled to leave. Satoru and I hung back, letting the tide of students flow past us.
"So," Satoru said, stretching his arms above his head. "First day of ninja school. What's the verdict?"
"Overwhelming," I said honestly, re-adjusting the swords at my hip. "And terrifying. Knowing what's coming... it's a lot."
"Tell me about it," he agreed, his usual smirk softening into something more serious.
"Orochimaru's attack during the Chunin Exams, the Akatsuki hunting the jinchuriki, Pain's assault, the whole Fourth War... we're standing at the beginning of a whole mountain of crap."
We walked out of the academy and into the late afternoon sun.
"What do we do?" I asked, the question that had been burning in my mind all day. "We know everything. We could warn the Third Hokage about Orochimaru. We could tell Jiraiya about Pain's real identity. We could change so much."
Satoru was silent for a long moment as we walked. He stopped and turned his head towards the Hokage monument, as if 'looking' at the carved faces.
"And what then?" he said softly. "We're two twelve-year-old kids who just showed up out of nowhere. Who's going to believe us? We'd be lucky if we just get thrown in the T&l department. Unlucky, and Danzo gets his hands on us. I don't fancy becoming a Root agent, thank you very much."
He was right. Danzo was the shadowy bogeyman of Naruto. A man who would stop at nothing to 'protect' the village, and two kids with inexplicable knowledge of the future would be the ultimate prize for him.
"So we just... do nothing?" I asked, a sense of helplessness creeping in. "We let everyone die? We let Naruto suffer? We let Sasuke go to Orochimaru?"
"I didn't say we do nothing," Satoru countered, turning back to me. His voice was firm, laced with that Gojo-like confidence. "I said we don't do anything stupid. Right now, we are weak. Our sync rates are pathetically low. We have no political power, no credibility, no real strength. Our knowledge is our ultimate weapon, and if we fire it off now, it'll just blow up in our faces."
He started walking again, and I fell into step beside him. "Our priority is to get stronger. Much, much stronger. We follow the plot, for now. We become Genin, we get on a team. We train, we fight, we raise our sync rates until we can actually use the power we've been given. We need to be strong enough that when we do decide to act, no one can stop us."
His logic was sound. It was the classic shonen protagonist path, but for us, it was a necessity for survival and for having any hope of making a difference.
"When I can use Limitless properly, and you can swing that sword like the real Musashi," he continued, a grin returning to his face, "then we can start breaking the plot. But we do it carefully. We nudge things. We save who we can, when we can. We prepare for the big threats. We play the long game."
"The long game," I repeated, the words tasting like ash and hope. It meant standing by and watching tragedies we knew were coming. But he was right. It was our only real option.
We arrived back at our apartment building. It was a small, two-story complex, apparently reserved for orphans or special cases of the village. We had adiacent rooms on the second floor. Convenient.
"Well," Satoru said, stopping at his door. "I'm gonna go meditate or something. Try and figure out this whole 'Six Eyes' thing. I feel like my brain is processing a thousand gigabytes of information every second. It's giving me a headache."
"And I'm going to... try not to have a complete existential crisis," I replied with a weak smile.
He chuckled. "Good luck with that. See you tomorrow, Musashi."
"See you tomorrow, Satoru."
I entered my room and closed the door, leaning against it. The silence was absolute. I was alone with my thoughts, my new body, and my impossible reality. I go to the chest, pulling out the katana. It felt cool and solid in my hands.
I looked at my system screen one last time.
[Miyamoto Musashi (Saber): 0.05%]
[Senji Muramasa (Saber): 0.00%]
[Minamoto-no-Raikou (Berserker): 0.00%]
It was a long, long way to go. But as Satoru said, it was a start. I was no longer Jack, the Maniac FGO player. I was Musashi, a kunoichi-in-training in the Hidden Leaf Village. And for better or for worse, an incredible, terrifying story was waiting for me. I just had to get strong enough to survive it.