Chapter 1: Transmigration

Izumi Sato woke up with a headache that could only be described as a jackhammer inside his skull. Groaning, he threw off the thin blanket and sat up slowly, blinking against the dim light filtering into the small room. Cold air nipped at his skin, and he shivered. It wasn't the familiar warmth of his old room—or any room he recognized, for that matter.

He wasn't in a hospital. Instead, it was a simple orphanage room, just big enough for a handful of kids, all sleeping peacefully in their beds. His breath fogged up the window near him, and a thin, cozy blanket lay crumpled at the edge of his bed.

This... isn't right. Izumi—or at least the boy now called Izumi—reached up to massage his temples, trying to make sense of the situation. Flashes of his past life lingered in his mind, sharp and painful, like someone was forcing memories into his brain that didn't quite fit. It was disorienting, almost nauseating.

My name wasn't Izumi Sato. The realization hit him suddenly. He couldn't quite grasp the name he used to have—it was like trying to catch fog with his hands—but he knew for sure that "Izumi Sato" was wrong. It felt foreign, like a costume he hadn't asked to wear.

But now I'm stuck with it.

The pounding in his head grew worse, and suddenly, memories started flooding back. Not his old memories—those were already haunting enough—but the memories of the boy whose body he now inhabited.

Izumi's—or rather, this body's—mother, a woman with soft brown hair and kind green eyes, flashed through his mind. She had died giving birth to him, leaving him to grow up alone in the orphanage. His father? No one knew much about him, only that he had passed away before his mother even knew she was pregnant. The matron of the orphanage, Hina-sama, had always said that his mother was a kind woman, one who had loved him deeply, even if she hadn't lived long enough to show it.

He stared down at his hands, small and pale, then ran them through his hair, feeling the soft strands of silky red. His hair—this body's hair—was smooth and vibrant, almost unnaturally so, enough that people often mistook him for a girl. It was strange to think that this was his hair now.

Guess I'm rocking the red now. He sighed.

But the memories didn't stop there. More flashes, more details about his life as Izumi Sato—five years old, living in the Land of Fire, in a village just a stone's throw from Konoha. It all hit him like a wave, and the headache worsened, forcing him to clutch his temples again. Slowly, though, the pain began to subside, and the memories started to settle, sinking in as if they'd always been there.

He rubbed his forehead, grimacing. His head still hurt, but the worst of it seemed to be over. He glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings with a little more clarity now. The orphanage was modest but clean, the beds neatly made, and the kids still fast asleep.

And then, his eyes drifted toward the window. Rising from his bed, he walked over to it and peered out. That's when his heart skipped a beat.

Carved into the mountainside were the faces of the four Hokage, gazing down over the village. The sight of them made his stomach twist.

I'm in Konoha. The thought settled uncomfortably in his mind. It wasn't just a passing dream or some weird illusion—this was real.

And, as the memories continued to piece themselves together, the timeline became clear. Minato Namikaze was the current Hokage, which meant this was roughly half a year before the Nine Tails attacked the village. He was living in the calm before the storm, a storm that he knew would devastate Konoha, leave countless people dead, and change the world forever.

Izumi swallowed hard. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be dropped into this world, especially not at a time like this. His old life—though tragic in its own way—had been far less chaotic. At least there, he hadn't had to worry about giant chakra beasts rampaging through villages. But now? Now, he had six months, give or take, before all hell broke loose.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, pressing his forehead against the glass. The faces of the Hokage stared back at him, unmoving, like they knew what was coming and were just waiting for it.

Six months. What was he supposed to do in six months? How could a five-year-old, even one with knowledge of the future, prepare for something as big as that?

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Izumi? Why're you awake?"

He turned to see Takai, another kid from the orphanage, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Takai was his age, though a bit scrawnier, with messy black hair and a habit of talking like he hadn't quite woken up yet.

Izumi shrugged. "Just thinking."

"Thinking's dumb. Go back to bed," Takai muttered, rolling over and falling asleep as quickly as he had woken up.

Izumi watched him for a moment, then turned back to the window. His thoughts were still racing, still trying to process everything.

The memories from his past life and this new one were mixing together now, blending into one confusing mess. He was still the same person, in a way—he still had the same mind, the same core—but he also wasn't. He was also Izumi Sato now, a kid living in an orphanage in Konoha, with no family, no connections, and no idea how to survive in this world.

And yet, despite everything, there was a part of him that felt... ready. Maybe it was the orphan thing. He'd been through that already. Sure, the circumstances were different, but the feeling of being alone? That was the same. He'd adapted once, and he'd do it again.

But this time, it was going to be different. This time, he had knowledge. He knew what was coming, knew the dangers that lay ahead, and maybe, just maybe, that would give him an edge.

For now, though, he needed to focus on surviving the present. Six months until the Nine Tails attacked. Six months to figure out what to do.

No pressure, right?