The last thing I remember with absolute, crystal clarity is the screech of tires.
It wasn't even my day off. It was a Tuesday, I think. Just another soul-crushingly boring Tuesday. I was Derek Smith, twenty-eight years old, mid-level analyst at a firm whose name I've already forgotten. My biggest concern that afternoon was whether the dodgy microwave in the office kitchen was finally going to catch fire reheating my sad chicken stir-fry.
I was walking home, earbuds in, tuning out the city's noise with a podcast about… hell, I don't even remember. Something useless. I was at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal. A mom with a stroller was next to me, humming to her baby. Then, a kid's ball—bright red—bounced into the street from between two parked cars. And the little boy, maybe five years old, darted after it without a glance.
Time didn't slow down. That's a lie people tell. It just… happened. The delivery van came barreling around the corner, way too fast for the residential zone. The mom's hum turned into a choked scream. The driver's eyes went wide, panicked.
I didn't think. There was no heroic monologue, no flash of my life. My body just… moved. I dropped my bag, my phone skittering across the pavement, and I lunged. I got a hand on the kid's jacket, yanked him back toward the curb with everything I had. I felt the fabric tear. I heard the mother sob.
Then, the impact.
It wasn't like in the movies. It was a sickening, wet thud, a crunch of things breaking that should never break. My world exploded into blinding white pain, and then it was just… black. Silent. Weightless.
---
I woke up—or, I became aware—floating in a space of nothing. No body. No sound. Just a vast, endless white void. And a… presence.
It wasn't a person. It was more like an idea given form, shifting and shimmering like heat haze over asphalt. It had no face, but I felt it looking at me. And then it spoke. Its voice was in my head, smooth and cold, like stones grinding together underwater.
???: Derek Smith. Expendable. A statistical blip. Your sacrifice was… marginally noble. A waste of potential, but it amuses me.
Me: What… where is this? Am I dead?
???: Obviously. Your physical form is paste on Kronburg Avenue. But your consciousness… that has a certain stubbornness. I'm offering a trade.
Me: A trade?
??**: A redo. A new world. One of chakra and tailed beasts, of hidden villages and wars written in blood and legend. You know the one. You've consumed its stories in your idle hours.
My mind, formless as it was, reeled. Naruto. He was talking about Naruto. The anime I'd binge-watched in college, the manga collections gathering dust in my old apartment.
???: I can place you there. With power. A form that guarantees survival. Something… potent. Not some cannon-fodder civilian. But you must choose. Now.
Panic, sharp and acidic, cut through the confusion. This was insane. A god, or whatever this was, offering me an isekai ticket? But beneath the panic, a darker, hungrier feeling stirred. My old life… what did I have to go back to? A studio apartment, a job I tolerated, a future of quiet desperation. I'd just died saving a kid. Maybe I deserved more than being a footnote.
Me: Do it. Put me in. Give me something powerful. Not fodder. I don't want to be some background character who gets smoked in chapter one.
The entity seemed to pulse, a wave of cold amusement washing over me.
???: Powerful. As you wish. Survive, Derek Smith. Let's see what you make of it.
There was no flash of light, no spinning tunnel. One moment I was nothing in the white. The next, I was everything in the cold, salt-choked dark.
---
The first sensation was the burn. Saltwater, fierce and stinging, flooding a mouth that wasn't shaped right, filling lungs that felt too large, too deep. I was thrashing, drowning, in an ocean under a foreign moon. My limbs—no, my legs—churned uselessly. I had paws. I had a muzzle full of sharp teeth gulping water. And behind me, a terrible, tangled weight—tails. Multiple tails. They dragged in the water like anchors, pulling me under.
Instinct, raw and alien, finally kicked in. I stopped fighting the form and let it move. The paws churned into a clumsy, desperate dog-paddle. The tails, once dead weight, began to act as rudders and stabilizers. For hours, it felt like, I battled the waves, each crest trying to shove me back under, until my claws finally scraped against jagged rock. I hauled myself onto a desolate outcrop, miles from any shore I could see, and collapsed, vomiting seawater onto the stone.
That's how I arrived. Washed up, half-drowned, and starving.
---
Now, three or maybe four days later, the hunger is a living thing inside me, chewing at my ribs from the inside out. I'm belly-down in the damp earth of a forest, my new body trembling with the effort of holding still. My eyes are locked on a rat.
It's a fat, gray thing, nosing through the underbrush by the lake's edge, its fur matted with mud from last night's rain. Back in my old life, I hated rats. They were pests, thieves in the alley. Now, my mouth waters at the sight of it. The smell of living flesh is overwhelming. My stomach cramps, a hollow, painful fist.
I shift my weight, careful. The movement feels wrong. Unnatural. I have paws where my hands should be. And the tails… God, the tails. Nine of them. Fluffy and white, they sprawl behind me like a collection of unruly feather boas, each one ending in a tip that shimmers with a faint, ethereal blue light. I can feel every single one of them, an extra limb I don't know how to control. They twitch against ferns, sending weird sparks of sensation up my spine.
The forest is thick here, a mess of oaks and pine that smothers sound. I can just hear the distant crash of the ocean, the one that tried to claim me. Clumps of bamboo—weird, out-of-place bamboo—spear up between the trees, their green stalks swaying like they're laughing at me.
Me: Come on…
The words come out as a low, rumbling chuff, a sound that vibrates in my own chest. It's not my voice. It's a growl, layered with something else, something that makes the air around my muzzle hum. The rat freezes, whiskers quivering. I clamp my jaws shut, my heart thudding against the forest floor. I force myself to remember the office. The drone of the AC unit. The glow of my computer screen. The smell of burnt coffee. Safe. Boring. Mine.
The memory is shattered by the rat's movement. It bolts.
My body explodes into motion without my conscious say-so. A fluid, powerful surge carries me across the clearing in two bounds. Mud flies from my paws. Something—claws, white and sharp—extends from my pads on pure reflex. I swipe, and for a glorious second, I feel the brush of fur, the slight give of fragile bone.
But the rat twists, squealing, and dives into a dark hole hidden by a gnarled root. My momentum carries me into a skid, nose ploughing into the loamy soil. I come up spitting dirt and decay, all nine of my tails lashing the air in a fury of frustration. A whine escapes me, high and pathetic.
I pace before the burrow, steam practically rising from my fur. Hunger twists tighter. I think of greasy takeout burgers, the stir-fry from the place on 5th. My last meal. Now my options are rat, or maybe fish if I'm brave enough to face the water again without drowning.
Giving up, I slink towards the lake, pushing through reeds that whisper against my flanks. The mud sucks at my paws. At the water's edge, I stop and look down.
My reflection stares back, and for a long moment, the hunger is forgotten.
It's a fox. A sleek, white fox with nine full tails fanning out behind it in a ghostly halo. The fur isn't just white; it seems to glow softly, catching the light like it's dusted with crushed pearl. But it's the markings that steal my breath. Intricate, luminous patterns in a vibrant, electric blue are woven through the white. They curl along my sides like living tattoos, flowing from my shoulders down the length of each tail, where they flare into tiny, dancing azure flames at the very tips.
My eyes are the worst. Piercing, glowing blue with slit pupils like a cat's. They shine with their own light, making the water around my reflection shiver. My ears are perked, tipped in that same impossible blue. My muzzle is sharp, elegant.
I look… cute. Like a premium anime collectible. A plush toy. Not a weapon. Not something "powerful."
A hot wave of anger floods me. I snarl at my reflection, baring teeth that are plenty sharp. As I do, the blue patterns on my fur flare brighter, just for a heartbeat. A warm, tingling surge of energy zips through my limbs, startling me.
Was that it? Chakra? Something?
I focus, straining, trying to will it to happen again. Nothing. Just the placid lake and my own ridiculous, glowing face staring back.
Me: Come on, you fluffy idiot. Do something.
The words are just mangled yips and chuffs. I sound like a disgruntled puppy.
Defeated, I turn from the water. The sun is sinking, stretching the shadows long. I need shelter. I remember some bitter, purple berries further in. They made my stomach ache, but they're better than nothing.
I move like a ghost through the trees, my new nose leading the way. Damp moss, rotting leaves, the faint, scary tang of woodsmoke from far away. I steer clear of that scent. Hiding is my only strategy now.
The forest gets thicker. A bramble catches one of my tails, yanking me back. I yelp, twisting to nip at the thorns until I'm free. A thin cut wells up on my flank. It stings, but as I watch, the blue markings near the wound pulse softly. The skin knits itself back together before my eyes, the glow fading as it seals.
Okay. So healing. Passive regeneration. That's something. I'll take it.
I find my hollow as dusk settles in—a space under the massive, upturned roots of an ancient oak. It's mossy and hidden. I crawl in, curling my body tight, wrapping my nine tails around me like a living blanket. The earthy smell is almost comforting.
Exhaustion drags me down, but my ears stay cocked, straining. The forest night life starts up: crickets, the hoot of an owl, the endless rustle of leaves. In the quiet, the god's voice echoes in my memory.
"Powerful. Survival assured."
Me: Assured, my ass.
I shift, and a faint hum builds in my chest, unbidden. The blue swirls on my fur flicker, painting the dirt walls of my den with ghostly light. Warmth spreads out from my core. I lean into it, trying to imagine the energy as a ball, a cord, anything I can grasp.
For one brilliant, shocking second, my vision changes. I see the veins of life in the leaves outside, glowing green. I see the distant, hidden heat-signature of a sleeping bird in its nest. I see the world in layers of energy.
Then it snaps off, leaving me gasping in the dark, the glow on my fur dying back to embers.
So close. It's in here. I just can't… hold it.
A new sound cuts through my frustration. A twig snaps. Not a small animal sound. A heavy, deliberate crunch.
My head shoots up. All my fur stands on end, my tails puffing out. The blue patterns on my body dim instantly, as if sensing the need for stealth. My form seems to melt into the shadows of the root cage.
Footsteps. Human. Or shinobi.
They pause, so close I can hear the rustle of cloth. Then they turn, crunching away toward the lake. I don't move. I don't breathe. I wait until the silence is total and deep.
When I finally slink out of the hollow, the world feels different. More dangerous. The rat burrow is forgotten. I find the berry bush, gulp down a clump of the sour fruit to quiet the gnawing in my gut, and keep moving. I need a new spot, deeper in.
I follow a small stream, drinking deeply, watching silver fish dart just out of reach. My reflection in the moonlit water is broken into a hundred pieces. A puzzle of white fur and blue light. Derek Smith is in there somewhere. Buried under fluff and fox instincts and a god's cruel joke.
The god's laugh seems to whisper on the wind. I snap my teeth at the empty air in reply.
I find a new hiding place as true night falls, a depression carpeted with thick ferns. I burrow in, my tails making a nest. Sleep pulls at me, but a wired, animal alertness keeps one part of my mind awake, listening.
The kid I saved… his face floats in the darkness behind my eyelids. Was it worth it? In that moment, with the van bearing down, yeah. It was the only thing to do. But this? This confused, hungry, terrifying aftermath? I don't know.
Power means nothing if you're too weak to use it. Tomorrow, I promise myself. Tomorrow I figure out the hunt. Tomorrow I grab that humming energy inside me and I make it mine. I survive until I'm strong enough to find that smug bastard of a god and…
A rustle. Different from the wind.
My eyes fly open, glowing blue in the fern-shadows. My body coils, silent, ready.
The footsteps are back. And they're closer.
I don't wait to see who or what it is. Survival isn't about fighting yet. It's about running.
My paws hit the soft earth without a sound. Then I'm moving, a streak of white and flickering blue, plunging into the deepest, darkest part of the bamboo grove. Branches whip past my face. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I don't look back.
I just run. Deeper into the unknown forest, with only one thought echoing in my animal mind, a thought that is still entirely, stubbornly human.
Me: Keep moving. Just keep moving.