1 Chapter 1: Eat Slug

I OWN ONLY MY OCS

This is my first attempt at SI-OC Naruto fanfiction. As I said in the title, my character will focus on staying alive, at least at first...

I don't think I will put lemons in it, because quite frankly I don't think writing what the MC thinks about anal sex is character building. There is a fuckton of smut out there if you need to wank, use a bloody porn site.

English is not my mother language, so I could do it with a beta-reader.

I'll write what I can when I want, so there it is.

P.S.

I said it on my profile already, but I shall repeat: suggestions and constructive comments and reviews are welcome. If you don't like what a character does or does not, save yourself time and don't tell me since the characters will do what the hell I want them to (that's the whole point of fanfiction).

If something doesn't add up feel free to tell me. Especially if the logic behind it doesn't make sense!

Thank you, and have fun!

Chapter 1:

Awakening

The first thing I clearly remember is feeling somewhat confused.

For a lot of reasons: I was no longer twenty-two years old (at least judging by my pudgy hands, blurry vision, and attention span of a mosquito), other children were roaming around, the adult people around me were not speaking my home country language, and I was enthralled by a bright orange wood cube.

Don't get me wrong, I normally don't despise orange, or wood, or regular geometrical 3-D objects, it's fascinating, really, but before this first memory of me in a little body, I am quite sure I was just about to submit my thesis for my Bachelor degree in History.

From there my confusion.

It most definitely was not a dream, simply because if you can think about being in a dream while you are sleeping, it's easy to distinguish it from reality. At least this is always been something I could do.

My confusion was slowly subdued by my rising panic.

WHAT THE FUCK!?

I was almost hyperventilating, and boy is it not something stupid to do? The other children would notice something was wrong with me, so would the adults, and I would found myself in some secret military lab being dissected for some reason or another.

Because seriously, what else it could be? I wasn' t two years old! And yet I most certainly appeared as such. I forced myself to calm down.

Looking around curiously, I noticed a distinct lack of cameras or soldiers or even mad scientists for what mattered.

Maybe the cameras were super small though, so I couldn't start studying my environment like the paranoid adult I was.

Following a gut feeling, I spent the following hours crying, playing and mindlessly roaming on my unsteady legs, blending in with the other children.

From what I could observe, they were regular annoying little toddlers, I looked to be in an orphanage of some kind. I didn't hate them, I was the same slobbering mess at their age, but that raised other questions. Like why was I the only adult in disguise? And why they were all talking in what my limited experience with animes identified as Japanese?

Not that there was anything wrong with japan, just, I had always thought that strange experiments regarding transplanting an adult into a baby were more up America's alley.

Another problem was that I couldn't read Japanese. That meant that even if I managed to somehow find a random document that explained everything, I wouldn't understand it. I only hoped that the official documents would be in English.

At the end of the day, I wasn't equipped well enough to properly investigate.

Laying low was my only option until my body caught up with my mind and I found a way to escape.

That is, in the worst-case situation.

Maybe I simply had been struck down by an aneurism and reborn into the body of a Japanese. Which was worrying, but workable with.

For a time that I could hardly define, it could have been a few months or a year, I tried to fly under their radar.

I started recognizing some words and the mysteries of Japanese were slowly start to unravel in front of me.

However the orphanage had some inconsistencies, like the wooden floors, that I thought was something for more refined environments, and bad food. I mean, if you can afford posh wooden floors and their maintenance you can afford something different than rice at every fucking meal. Bread! I needed bread and cheese! And what is it with the fish? It was everywhere! Sometimes pork, okay. But what about beef? Hell, pasta! Ravioli! whatever! I needed something that at least could remember Italian food!

I could make do with noodles, noodles were awesome, but it wasn't the same.

The names of the other kids had been something I could seldom say just right, at least until I became (At least following my gut) four years old. Around my 'fourth' birthday, the Japanese suddenly clicked, the cadence of the language fell in place on my tongue, and I started directly thinking in Japanese without noticing. It was then that I realized that I already had the reputation of being a dimwit, it was subtle, but the way the matron of the orphanage waited just a little more for me to answer to her question was proof enough.

Excuse me if I had to learn a whole new language on my own. I thought bitterly at the time, before realizing that it could be something that kept me even more sheltered from scrutinizing eyes.

Another strange thing that I had noticed was the complete absence of newspapers, and there wasn't television that we orphans had access to. And also, the games: there wasn't a single western chess board anywhere, or a monopoly, for what mattered. All the books the children had access to were filled to the brim with ninjas or more rarely samurais. Animals and trees were still And while I had never been allowed to leave the premises of the orphanage, I never heard a single-engine, nor saw a single airplane crossing the sky. My being dimwitted had kept me from being shown off to the occasional couple of parents wishing to adopt, but that had not stopped me from noticing their clothes: often kimonos of some kind, almost always sandals. I thought that I lived in some kind of Amish reserve in the middle of nowhere.

I was maybe five when I saw it for the first time. It wasn't a coincidence that I hadn't noticed it until then after all the courtyard of the orphanage didn't face the mountainside of the city.

It was a sunny, cloudless day. Late autumn, I would have said. We were in a time of the year which didn't belong to either summer or winter, but the mornings were becoming colder and the afternoons shorter.

Probably, my asking her how to write my name on the previous day had helped in her decision. It had been a strange moment.

I had been sitting alone under a window, absentmindedly tracing my fingers over the few kanjis over the illustrated book. I was trying to decipher them, but beyond recognizing the same symbol here and there, I was having little luck.

The orphanage's matron leaned over my shoulder out of nowhere: "Reading, are we?"

I summoned all my cuteness and stared at her with wide eyes, grabbing my Japanese and stringing it together in what I hoped was: "Teach me?"

It worked. The woman smiled and ruffled my hair, making me smile impishly. She chooses to teach me only how to write my name. I was skeptical, but it turned out learning how to write was more difficult than I had previously thought.

My name was Daiki, and the woman had shown me that it was written with 大 (dai) meaning "big, great" combined with 輝 (ki) meaning "brightness", or 樹 (ki) meaning "tree", or even 貴(ki) meaning "valuable". She told me that while all sounded the same, the meanings were very different. I told her that I wanted to be 大輝. She told me that I was a 'big tree' instead. I didn't care, it was my name, I would bloody write it as I wished.

And while I had to resist the urge of rolling my eyes at her patronizing tone, I found the idea of kanji simply beautiful. Oh, it wasn't effective at all, I knew that. E... that alphabet was extraordinarily versatile and precise. But in my opinion lacked the subtle elegance kanjis were capable of. I asked her if she could teach me how to properly write, and that I think surprised her. She had simply told me that I could start learning from the following week. I had a couple of months of catch up to do, but I could sit along with the others six years old kids.

Back to us, after my display of what I guess could be called maturity, I was allowed to play in the park on the other side of the road. Luckily, maybe because of my often blank expression (unnatural on a child) or general quietness, the other kids tended to leave me alone, and the matron, besides the occasional bout of kindness, was far too busy to keep a close eye on me. So my general loneliness, while swinging between nerve-wracking and welcome, went unnoticed.

It was then that I decided I was reborn into a cult of some kind. Seriously, why in the fucking hell there would be a Mount Rushmore with an anime character on the north side of the city?

All the inconsistencies had come together that way. The magically being reborn in there raised a shy objection in my mind. After all, I had read enough fanfictions to recognize the beginning of an SI-OC fanfiction of Naruto when I was starring in it. I stared at the monument that was the trademark of Konohagakure no Sato for what looked like a lifetime. My blood rushed into my ears and I could only hear the beating of my heart. I forced myself to look around and try to find out if it was only a big cosplay moment or not.

The park had a low wooden fence and benches, with an abundance of bushes and skimpy trees, slides and even a sandbox. I walked around a bit in my short legs, casually noticing how most girls had frilly dresses and jumpers while the boys (myself included) wore cargo pants of some kind and tracksuit covering our torsos. The popularity of sandals was mind-blogging, even if I had little choice but to go with the flow. Everything us orphans from the orphanage wore only second-hand clothes, but the material was sturdy and managed to keep me warm, so I couldn't complain.

Trees were sprouting everywhere between the condominiums, and while there wasn't a single cloud in sight, leaves were fluttering everywhere over our heads. Looking back, even cultists wouldn't give wooden kunais to children to play with. Or would they? After watching The Following I thought that everything was possible for a cultist.

A noise broke the pattern of children squabbling and I turned to see three older kids walking down the road laughing among themselves, I immediately recognized their hitai ate (forehead protector). They had forgettable faces and moved... well like civilians actually, no show of magic chakra powers of any kind. I was starting to relax. It's only a cult of Naruto. I thought somewhat relieved. The situation still had a lot of problems and issues I needed to solve, but I had to deal with humans, no strange shit. Physics was still real, and I wasn't going to attend Hogwarts, not a strange ring to toss into an active volcano. Surviving was doable.

I blinked, and in a gust of wind, a man with a shiny hitai ate appeared in front of them, scaring everyone shitless. Probably the trio had done some bullshit, I had other thoughts running amock in my head. It is real. sounded in my head.

I stumbled towards an empty patch of bushes and puked what was left of my lunch. Shit shit shit shit shit it cannot go worse shit shit shit shit.

"Hey did you eat a slug?" a kid asked, triggering a waterfall of laughter out of the other children that choose exactly that moment to look at me.

I looked up from my vomit to stare at the laughing kids in the eyes, before stopping my gaze on the one that expressed such a refined example of humor.

"Yeah." I deadpanned. "Yeah, I ate a slug."