Chapter 1: Isekai isn't real

"Hiroshi Nakamura-san, you have just completed your fifth year as the most successful Prime Minister of Japan. How would you assess your performance?"

"Not only has Nakamura-san stabilized the shrinking population, but he has also saved Japan from hyperinflation."

"Do you believe your party will be re-elected in the next election?"

Surrounded by reporters, a middle-aged man, about 60 years old, listened to their questions. He is Hiroshi Nakamura, known as the most successful Prime Minister of Japan. His capabilities are evident as he has addressed Japan's significant issue of a shrinking economy, earning him the title of Japan's savior.

Hiroshi offered a warm smile. "I have no comments on my own praise. For now, I would like some rest, if possible."

"Is there anyone you would like to acknowledge as having significantly contributed to your administration? Is there anyone you wish to credit?"

This question from a reporter made the Prime Minister sweat for a second. He hesitated before excusing himself and stepping into his car.

"This is truly exhausting," the man sighed, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. As he looked out the window, he saw a sea of people singing his praises. From tall skyscrapers, people waved at him, a sight that could bring anyone to tears, yet Hiroshi felt only disappointment and resentment within himself.

"My lord, you should always smile, at least in front of the people."

These words came from another middle-aged man sitting across from Hiroshi, his white hair combed back and his thin beard adding grace to his appearance. Despite being in the presence of the most famous prime minister in the history of Japan, this man emitted a completely different aura. If onlookers saw them together, they might mistake this man for the Prime Minister instead.

"Perhaps you will have another opportunity to sit in the Prime Minister's chair."

"Give me a break. Even a month more would suffocate me," Hiroshi replied.

He took a deep breath and leaned back, then opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him. This man, Hiroshi's advisor, had supported him throughout his years in office. The real reason for Hiroshi's disappointment and resentment was this man.

Indeed, this man was the true leader of the country. Hiroshi was merely a puppet who danced in his palms. Without him, Hiroshi would be a failure; he was nothing.

"Oh, my lord, do not stare at me so intensely. I might fall for your eyes. Be warned, though, my thing is still working~!" the advisor jokingly remarked, his eyes fixed on his tablet.

"Ha, how much longer?" Hiroshi's words captured the man's attention. "How much longer will you remain in the shadows?"

The advisor thought for a moment before sighing. "So, are you planning to assassinate me or something?"

He smirked. Hiroshi had the power to eliminate this man from the face of the earth, yet there was not a trace of fear in the man's eyes.

"I would rather twist my own neck than even think of killing you, despite my desire to erase your existence from my memories," Hiroshi sighed. "Well, considering we are both past seventy, we do not have much longer until eternal rest."

"That is you; I am still only sixty-three," the man corrected. "And considering the average life expectancy in our country, we might still live another twenty years."

"…shit."

"Easy there, Mr. Prime Minister. Do not swear until you actually retire from your position."

"Enough," Hiroshi rolled his eyes. "To my original question: How long do you plan to remain in the shadows?"

"Again with the age issue. Do you think I have much left to change, being an old man like you?" The advisor sighed. Closing his tablet, he looked out the window. "My nature has always been to remain in the shadows. Before I knew it, I had become a shadow, and now there is nothing left."

Hiroshi stared at his advisor for a brief moment before offering a smile. "Have you perhaps read those 'Isekai' stories?"

The man turned to look at Hiroshi with confusion. "Do not tell me you still read those to escape from reality. Wait, you still masturbate while reading those things?"

Hiroshi felt a pang of anger but restrained himself. He knew this man, despite his universal skills, had a tendency to speak crudely. "Just answer the question."

"Of course, I have read them. I mean, during our college days, your room was filled with those books," the man replied. "Yeah, what about them?"

"Then maybe, you should try being in the limelight in your next life."

"...Seriously, you started masturbating again, did you not?"

"I am serious here."

The advisor puffed out a tired breath, a wry smile gracing his lips. "Hiroshi, if someone can't change in sixty years, what makes you think anything would be different in some next life?"

"You would change," Hiroshi countered firmly. "Unlike those who exploited your talents for personal gain and then tossed you aside out of fear, I saw you as family."

The advisor chuckled, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Damn, even at our age, you can still make my heart jump."

Hiroshi's smile deepened. "Not a single day has passed where I haven't wished for the world to acknowledge your brilliance, your contributions – the achievements that rightfully belong to you."

The advisor fell silent, a solitary tear tracing a path down his cheek as his gaze drifted out the window. "As your last remaining friend," Hiroshi continued, "let me offer you some parting advice. If you cannot step out from the shadows, then expand your shadow and create a world where you are the king."

The advisor brushed away the tear, a genuine smile warming his features. "Looks like you've been indulging in too much isekai again. Go get some rest, old friend."

---

Yami flicked on the apartment lights, their harsh glare highlighting the sterile emptiness of his expensive condo. At his age, a family should have been waiting, a warm haven after a long day. But for him, there was only echoing silence.

Sure, he had children. Yet, years had bled by since their last visit. They were probably leading successful lives, perhaps even had families of their own with tiny, giggling faces he wouldn't recognize. It wasn't like they were bad kids. The fault lay entirely with him; Yami had never truly cared. His wife, starved of affection and attention, had eventually left, taking the children with her.

Alone. It stung, a bitter truth he'd chosen.

Sinking into the plush sofa, he loosened his tie with a sigh. Gazing at the high ceiling, his mind drifted back, retracing his solitary path. Born into an ordinary household, he was the second son, his life cast in shadow from the very beginning.

"You have to support your brother."

Those were the first and only words that truly mattered to his parents. His athletic, intelligent brother was the golden child, while Yami's sole purpose was to be his "support." He did his brother's homework, trained with him, even manipulated results in his favor. Yami's entire existence revolved around his brother, sunrise to sunset.

Twenty years it took him to realize the twisted dynamic. He exposed his brother's dishonesty, severing ties with his family like a surgeon excising a malignant tumor. He only saw his mother again at her funeral. His father died a few years prior, and his brother, once reliant on Yami for everything, couldn't face the public scorn and vanished without a trace.

Driven by an almost desperate need to forge his own path, Yami became a prodigy in the medical field. By 24, he was a master surgeon, performing groundbreaking heart transplants. A true gift to humanity, some would say.

However, the darkness that had shrouded his childhood remained, a constant companion.

However, Yami didn't realize that despite severing connections with his family, he was accustomed to living in the shadows.

Initially, he supported the chairman of his hospital, who later became the Health Minister. Tired of being a supporter, he moved to the US to study business and management. Yet, even there, he could not step into the limelight himself and instead helped businessmen and politicians reach new heights. Before he realized it, he was supporting individuals rather than showcasing his own abilities.

The people he served became famous, but a person becomes paranoid and far more fearful when they realize that their achievements and accomplishments aren't their own. As a result, they tried to get rid of Yami.

Exhausted by his life, he returned to Japan and supported Hiroshi to the Prime Minister's seat, changing Japan even from the shadows. Yami didn't care much about Hiroshi, aware of how much Hiroshi disliked him. But after hearing the word 'friend' from Hiroshi's mouth, Yami realized there were people who truly cared for him. Reflecting on his life, he recalled practicing kendo with his grandfather, the only family member who truly cared for Yami.

"Expand my shadow and create a new world, eh?" Yami smiled to himself. "Hiroshi was definitely onto something. Well, considering how much blood is on my hands, I'm definitely going to hell."

Yami, though he acted for the greater good, had blood on his hands. In his journey, he had cleared paths for the people he supported, and in doing so, he engaged in some morally questionable actions.

"Well, at least hell might offer a better chance than living for other people again. Isekai isn't real anyway." A tear escaped from his eyes before Yami closed them for a moment. However, he never opened his eyes again, and his soul left to embark on a new journey.

---

"A chance! A chance!"

A young woman with dark hair entered the room to find her child happily giggling and uttering the words 'a chance'.

"Fufu, my little is smiling for some reason." The woman picked her toddler before placing him on her lap and revealing her breast. "It is feedin' time." The woman grinned before pumping her nipple into his lips.

For a moment she became confused. Her baby seemed like… confused. Like really confused. He seemed like he was contemplating whether to suck the breast or not. After few seconds, her baby visibly shrugged his shoulders before grabbing the breast and sucking… HARD!

"An~!" The woman almost moaned but quickly covered her mouth, feeling a bit embarrassed by her reaction to breastfeeding her child. For a moment, she felt a blush creep up her cheeks, as if it were her husband instead at the other end.

After enjoying- breastfeeding the toddler, she gently lifted him to her shoulder to help him burp.

"I wonder who will be the next Fourth Hokage?" the woman muttered, her gaze fixed on the mountain where three faces stared down with stony permanence. For a moment, she felt a tremor against her chest, a sign of life from the bundle in her arms. Turning, she instinctively stroked her baby's back, her touch soothing. It was then that a word, sharp and unexpected, pierced the air.

"Shit."

Her eyes widened in shock when she heard a soft voice saying 'shit'. Lifting the baby closer, she peered into his face, searching for any sign of distress.

"Thissss worrddd izz Naarudoooo! Awaaaa!" The babe babbled, his voice dissolving into a wail. Tears welled up in his unfocused blue eyes.

"W-what happened?" the woman stammered, her voice laced with concern. Startled by the sudden outburst, she cradled the baby closer, attempting to soothe his cries. Perhaps, she thought, the imposing faces etched into the mountainside had startled him.

Little did she know, the baby was, in actuality, cursing his fate. A fate that had thrown him into this world of ninja – a world he now recognized as the dreaded Naruto universe.