The Beginning

"One more, please."

The elderly bartender's brows furrowed, but he silently poured his patron another glass. The sound of flowing alcohol echoed in the near-empty bar. Without hesitation, the young man downed the shot glass, ignoring the salt and lime on the dish in front of him.

He slammed the cup onto the polished wooden counter, flushed cheeks hidden by the dimmed lights. Before he could ask for more, the glass was gently pulled away from him. He frowned, only to be met with a stern look, "You've had a bit too much, Dylan."

"It's fine," Dylan slurred. "I'll call an Uber."

"I don't think your Uber driver will appreciate you ruining his car with your dinner."

Instead of responding, Dylan grabbed his cell phone and frantically scrolled through his messages. Only two items caught his interest: "Michelle" and "Work." He opened up his conversations with them and slammed the side of his head onto the bar.

"I don't think I want to be with you anymore, not after that last fight. Let's break up…."

"I'm sorry for informing you out of the blue, but we have decided to let you go due to recent budget cuts. It was an honor serving with you at Fire Station 32…"

He closed his eyes and leaned back as he put the phone away. As he wobbled off his stool, the bartender tried to pat his shoulders. Dylan shook him off with a glare, "I'm not having the best day, Blake."

"It be like that sometimes, chief. We all have one of those days."

Despite his reddened eyes and cheeks, Dylan choked out a laugh. "It do be like that. Can't let these days grab us by the balls. Just need to keep on going."

"After you hit rock bottom, there's no way to go but up," The bartender agreed. "Things will get better, so keep your chin up, ya hear?

"Sure thing, boss, sure thing."

He quickly paid his tab, leaving a sizeable tip, before staggering out of the bar.

"Get home safely!"

Dylan turned around and smiled at the man before drifting to his gray, beat-up Corolla. He dug through his pockets for his keys, but when he found them, his hand hovered over them as he stared at his messy reflection in the car window. He stood motionless for a minute before he entered his car and turned on the engine.

"It's only six blocks away," Dylan mumbled as he punched an address into his phone's GPS. "And I still don't know the directions back home."

His car slowly rolled out of the parking lot and onto the expressway. As he drove, he chugged on the water bottle in his cup holder and focused on his speedometer. He passed a sign stating the local speed limit: 40 MPH. He was going 35.

That was when he noticed movement on the side of the road: a man standing on the side of the road with a smoking car. He waved his arms as Dylan's car lumbered by.

"I'm almost home; I shouldn't stop. Another car will pass by soon." Yet, his right foot was already pressing down on the brakes, his car slowing to a halt just in front of the beleaguered man. "That's what everyone will probably think when driving by. I should check if he's alright..."

Dylan tripped out of his car and stumbled over to the man. Before he could say anything, Dylan felt someone behind him and turned, only to see a blunt object slamming into his head.

He couldn't even gasp before he collapsed, darkness overtaking him.

+++++

He gasped and shot up from his futon. The world spun around him as a dull ache flared near his temples. He planted onto the ground with his small, shaky hands to steady himself. An unpleasant sensation tickled his throat, but he forcibly swallowed to prevent anything from spilling.

"A nightmare?"

As he closed his eyes to recall his dreams, his mind was bombarded with twenty-two years worth of memories. Thoughts, desires, ambitions, and emotions flooded his mind as his dull headache turned into a pounding migraine. His body briefly spasmed, causing him to fall back onto his futon.

He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before whispering to himself. "Takashi Kinjo. I'm Takashi Kinjo."

"Kinjo" brought his familiar, yet unfamiliar, hands in front of his face and studied them. After clenching and unclenching them several times, he pinched his cheeks.

It stung.

"I'm six years old, and I live in… Konoha."

Had he heard the word "Konoha" several hours prior, he would've thought about his house, his family, and the Hokage. Now when he thought about Konoha, all he recalled was what he had seen in various forms of media.

Uzumaki Naruto. Uchiha Sasuke. The Konoha Nine. Ichiraku Ramen. The Academy.

People he had never seen and places he had never been.

He rolled out of his futon and awkwardly walked to the window, his mind guiding his much smaller feet with slow caution. When he reached his destination, he tripped and nearly fell out of his window. Kinjo glanced out of his second-story window and sighed, breathing in the fresh air before turning his downsized head towards a large cliff by the northern parts of Konoha.

Four faces greeted his hesitant eyes, their empty-eyed yet stoic expressions watching over the village hundreds of thousands of people called home, including Kinjo, whose body was now occupied by an interdimensional traveler named Dylan.

A traveler who was dead in his home dimension.

Kinjo comfortably leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. ""Hello, are you there?""

Nobody answered his private thoughts, confirming his suspicions. The previous Kinjo wasn't sharing this body with him; Dylan had his memories and body, but nothing else. Still, his mind was processing the merging of two mental states.

A distant memory of a small boy watching a large, wild beast rain death and destruction upon Konoha.

The Land of Waves. The Chunin Exams. Konoha Crush. Akatsuki. The Fourth Shinobi War.

Danger was coming.

He scurried to a small desk in the corner of his room, grabbing a pencil and paper to jot down everything he knew about the world of Naruto. Kinjo scribbled a list of major plot points, characters, and minor details that would be useful in the future. He didn't remember everything; there were notable gaps in his memory of the Naruto verse. Even so, his notes filled up the entire paper, front and back. He only realized it was written in English after he had finished.

His mind was in disarray, but he understood his situation. Somehow, he was in that world. And in this world, he could either choose to ignore everything and dodge all the calamities while the main characters did their work or gain power to help benefit those that had unfortunately drawn the short straw. With or without him, the world would burn. It was only a question of whether he would play a role or not.

Meta knowledge was valuable, and maybe there were some benefits to maintaining canon as much as possible. The heroes had won, after all. But to damn hundreds of souls and purposely leave others weak while he leaned back and watched left a bad taste in his mouth. Not only that, but he could help people that weren't seen in canon. Shinobi, for all their destructive vices, were also peacekeepers of their respective regions. And with the recent war and the Nine-Tails Attack, the people in Konoha and the Land of Fire would need more help than ever before.

He had never been one to sit on his hands. If he could help, he would help, especially with the knowledge that he had.

"Damn the canon," Kinjo muttered with a lopsided smile."Full speed ahead."

Kinjo's mind shifted back to his family members sleeping in the other rooms on the second floor because, from what he "remembered," he had loving parents and two younger siblings in this world. He might've taken over the previous Kinjo's body and mind, but his love for them resonated within his chest.

He would protect them; it was the least he could do for the former Kinjo.