The blue cloth ribbon felt unreal in his hand. The polished metal plate, engraved with the Leaf symbol, was cold to the touch, a solid grounding point in a sea of emotions that threatened to drown him.
He had done it.
Naruto Uzumaki looked up at Iruka-sensei, whose face, usually stern during class, now wore a genuine, albeit tired, smile. The scar that crossed the bridge of his nose seemed less like a war wound and more like a wrinkle of pride.
"Congratulations, Naruto. As of today, you are a shinobi of Konohagakure."
A lump formed in Naruto's throat. A sob, one loaded with years of loneliness, of contemptuous glares, of humiliating failures, fought to escape. He barely held it back, transforming it into the biggest, most radiant smile his face could manage.
"Thanks, Iruka-sensei! Believe it! I'm gonna be the best ninja there ever was and become Hokage, you'll see!"
Iruka's laugh was warm.
"I know, Naruto. But first, tie on your headband. You've earned it."
With hands trembling from adrenaline, Naruto tied the band around his forehead, replacing his old aviator goggles. The metal felt strangely right against his skin. It was real. He was a ninja. The first step of his dream.
And then, just as the euphoria reached its peak, the world fractured.
Before his eyes, superimposed over the image of a smiling Iruka and the other graduates celebrating with their families, a window appeared. It was a semi-transparent blue, with crisp, white text that floated in the air as if it had always been there.
[Soul Synchronization Complete. Welcome.]
Naruto blinked. The window didn't go away. He blinked again, harder, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. It was still there.
[System: Falna Activated.]
"What the hell…?"
The question died on his lips before it was born. He didn't have time to process it. He didn't have time to feel fear or confusion. Instead, he felt an impact. It wasn't physical, but mental. A tsunami of information, of life, of being, crashed against his consciousness with the force of a Bijuu.
Twenty-five years.
Twenty-five years of an alien existence, in a place called "Earth."
A bright monitor. The face of a white-haired man shouting "RASENGAN!" My face. It was my face on that screen.
The hum of a device called an "air conditioner" on a hot night. The taste of pepperoni "pizza." The smell of wet asphalt after the rain in a city full of glass and steel buildings that scraped the sky.
Internet forums. Endless debates about "power levels." Arguments over who was the "best girl." Theories about my father's lineage, about the origin of the Akatsuki.
Manga. Hundreds, thousands of black-and-white pages that told my life story. Every thought, every battle, every painful victory and every crushing loss—it was all someone else's entertainment.
Naruto's brain, that of a twelve-year-old boy who had just achieved his life's dream, twisted under the assault. The memories mixed, corrupted. The taste of Ichiraku ramen merged with that of a cheeseburger. The pain of being alone in his apartment was superimposed on a teenager's angst over a math test.
And then came the specific memories. The most horrible ones.
Sasuke's face, leaning over mine. His lips against mine. My first kiss. I saw it on a screen, a scene commented on by thousands, and now… now I have the first-person memory. The memory of the shock, the revulsion, the strange and confusing connection.
His stomach churned. He doubled over, one hand on his head and the other on his abdomen, fighting a wave of nausea so violent it made him see stars.
"Naruto! Are you okay?"
Iruka's voice sounded distant, distorted, as if coming from the other end of a tunnel.
Zabuza and Haku, dead on the bridge. Blood staining the mist.
Gaara, crying sand and blood as Shukaku was ripped from inside him.
The Third Hokage, old and frail, sealing Orochimaru.
Jiraiya…
A spasm of pure pain, both foreign and intimately his own, shot through his body. The image of a white-haired man, smiling as he sank into the depths, his arm torn off and his back shattered, appeared in his mind with terrifying clarity.
"No! No, that hasn't happened! Pervy Sage is fine!"
But the knowledge was absolute, a truth burned into his new, dual soul. He knew what was going to happen. He knew about Pain's assault, about Neji's death to protect him and Hinata, about the Fourth Great Ninja War, about Kaguya.
He knew that his life, the one just beginning, was going to be a path of almost uninterrupted suffering.
"I'm… I'm fine!" he managed to gasp, forcing himself to stand straight. Sweat beaded on his forehead, sticking blond locks to his skin. The world spun around him, the colors too bright, the sounds too loud.
The voices of the other parents were a cacophonous murmur.
"...the fox boy actually did it, can you believe it?" "Keep Kenta away from him. I don't trust him." "The Hokage is too soft on…"
The same old words. But now, with a stranger's memories, he understood. He understood why. The Kyuubi. The attack. The death of his parents. Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage, his father. Kushina Uzumaki, the previous jinchuriki, his mother.
All the knowledge settled in his mind not as a learned fact, but as a lived memory. The sacrifice of his parents, the weight of his heritage, the burden he carried.
"Naruto, you're pale as a ghost," Iruka insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. The contact was a ground wire, pulling him back from the whirlpool in his own mind. "Maybe you should go home and rest. It's been a very long day."
"Yeah… yeah, a long day," Naruto repeated, his voice hollow. He looked around, but he no longer saw his classmates. He saw pieces on a game board.
There was Kiba, with Akamaru on his head, showing off to his mother. A future member of the Sasuke Recovery Squad. A loyal friend.
Shino, standing silently, apart from everyone. An incredibly underrated ninja. His intelligence would be key more than once.
Choji eating some chips, and Shikamaru beside him, an expression of total boredom on his face. A man who would sacrifice almost everything for his friends and a genius who would carry the weight of the world.
Sakura Haruno… Oh, Sakura. He saw her trying to get Sasuke's attention, who ignored her with monumental coldness. His new mind provided a brutal analysis: A fangirl with perfect chakra control who would take years to realize her own potential, causing immense pain to herself and others because of her childish obsession. The thought was so clinical, so alien to his own feelings, that it sent a shiver down his spine.
And then he saw her.
Hinata Hyuga.
She was standing next to her father, Hiashi, whose expression was a mask of icy disapproval. Hinata wasn't looking at her father. She was looking at him, at Naruto. As soon as their eyes met, she flinched, her cheeks flushing a deep red, and she averted her gaze to the tips of her sandals, fidgeting with her fingers.
The Hinata Naruto knew was just the weird, shy girl from his class.
But the new consciousness in his head screamed the truth. "Hinata Hyuga. Heiress of the Hyuga clan, stripped of her title for being considered too weak, too kind. Secretly in love with you since you defended her from bullies years ago. She would die for you during Pain's invasion. Well, almost die. And Neji would truly die to protect both you and her."
The flood of information was overwhelming. This shy girl had an inner strength that no one, not even she, recognized.
It was then that his attention returned to the word floating in the corner of his vision, ignored during his existential crisis.
Falna.
As if responding to his thought, the blue window updated.
[System: Falna.] [Description: A divine blessing granted by a god to a mortal, inscribing their deeds and growth upon their back—a reflection of the soul—to manifest their true potential. It allows the development of Development Abilities, Magic, and Skills that transcend mortal limitations.] [Main Function: Status Update.]
"Status… update?" Naruto whispered to himself. The word sounded like something from one of those "video games" from his other life.
[To perform a Status Update on a compatible subject, the host must perform the Falna bestowal ritual.] [Ritual Requirements:] [1. The subject must be willing and conscious.] [2. The host must establish direct skin-to-skin contact on the subject's back.] [3. The host must use a drop of their own blood, infused with their chakra, to draw the status on the subject's back.]
Naruto reread the requirements. Over and over.
Direct contact. Skin to skin. On the back. Drawing with his own blood.
He froze. The realization hit him with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. The system wasn't just a tool. It was a logistical and social nightmare.
To use this power, to strengthen people, to change the crappy future he now knew in full detail, he had to…
He had to convince the strongest and most promising kunoichi in the world to let him… take off their clothes so he could draw on their bare backs with his blood.
His eyes, wide with horror, instinctively swept across the academy courtyard again. They scanned over Ino, Tenten, Sakura… and stopped once more on Hinata Hyuga.
She was still there, stealing furtive glances in his direction, blushing every time their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
The connection in his brain was instant and brutal.
Power to change fate.
An intimate and extremely embarrassing activation ritual.
Potential first candidate: the shyest, most modest girl in the history of Konoha, who also happens to be secretly in love with me.
A mental image appeared unbidden: him, Naruto Uzumaki, trying to explain to Hinata that he needed her to take off her shirt so he could save the world. He saw her faint. Or maybe her father, Hiashi, would kill him on the spot with the Gentle Fist. Probably both.
The euphoria of graduation had completely evaporated. The joy of receiving his ninja headband felt like a distant memory from a simpler life. Just ten minutes ago, his biggest problem was how he was going to get someone to buy him a celebratory round of ramen.
Now, his problem was how to start a magical empowerment cult through physical contact without being branded a pervert or getting murdered.
He put his hands on his head, pulling at his blond hair in genuine desperation, ignoring Iruka's confused look and the growing distance the other parents were putting between their children and him.
All the tragedy, all the pain, all the struggle that awaited him… and the tool they gave him to fix it seemed like something out of the adult section of a manga shop.
A silent, frustrated scream built in his chest before escaping in a whisper loaded with pure disbelief and existential horror, a question thrown out to the universe, to the gods, or to whatever cosmic bastard was responsible for his situation.
"WHO THE HELL DESIGNED THIS POWER, A DOUJIN AUTHOR!?"