Rebuilding the Leaf village... but why Danzo

Dying wasn't supposed to be complicated. Haruki Mitsuo had always imagined that when his time came, he'd just drift off. No drama, no flashy lights—just darkness, peace, and maybe some background jazz. But apparently, the universe had other plans.

The last thing he remembered was storming out of his tiny office after his boss had piled more last-minute work on him. He didn't even see the truck coming. One moment he was texting furiously about quitting his job, and the next, he was weightless—like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Now, his head throbbed, his vision blurred, and his entire body felt off, like he was wearing a suit two sizes too big. He groaned, rubbing at his temples, only to realize that his hands felt rough and foreign.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice raspy and far deeper than it should've been. His hands weren't his. These weren't the slightly soft, calloused-from-typing fingers he was used to seeing. These hands were weathered and scarred, like they belonged to someone who spent their life in battle.

Haruki bolted upright, his eyes scanning his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, cluttered with scrolls, maps, and an assortment of weapons. It felt like stepping into a samurai's study, with an air of quiet authority and paranoia.

"This… this doesn't look like heaven," he muttered. "Or hell. Did I reincarnate into a feudal drama or something?"

A wave of nausea hit him as unfamiliar memories surged forward. Plans, betrayals, strategies—images of a man with a single, intense eye flashed in his mind. Haruki stumbled toward a nearby mirror, bracing himself against the wall.

What he saw made his stomach drop.

"No. No, no, no," he whispered, backing away. The face staring back at him was scarred and severe, with a bandage covering one eye and a dark, oppressive aura that practically screamed "villain."

He knew that face. Everyone who'd ever watched *Naruto* knew that face.

"Danzo Shimura?" Haruki hissed, his voice rising with disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. *This* is who I get reincarnated as?"

He sat heavily on the nearest chair, his mind spinning. Why him? Why Danzo, of all people? He wasn't some wide-eyed anime protagonist or a genius tactician. He was just a burned-out programmer who barely had the energy to keep his own life together.

"Couldn't have been Kakashi or Shikamaru?" he muttered bitterly. "Hell, I'd even take Iruka. But no, I get stuck as *this guy*."

As if to answer his thoughts, a voice echoed in his mind. It wasn't loud or imposing, but it carried an air of finality that demanded his attention.

"Welcome, Haruki Mitsuo. You have been reincarnated."

Haruki froze. "Oh, great. A disembodied voice. This just keeps getting better."

"You have inherited the body and abilities of Danzo Shimura," the voice continued. "Your strength and influence are tied to the prosperity and stability of Konohagakure. Your choices will shape the village's future."

Haruki snorted, the sarcasm practically dripping from his voice. "Yeah, because Danzo did such a stellar job with that. Let's see… manipulating Hiruzen, screwing over the Uchiha, and sabotaging everything good in the village. Real role model material."

The voice ignored his jabs. "You retain access to all of Danzo's abilities and resources. Use them wisely."

"Wisely?" Haruki scoffed, leaning back in the chair. "The guy was a paranoid egomaniac who thought genocide was a solid leadership strategy. Pretty sure wisdom wasn't his strong suit."

Still, as much as Haruki wanted to wallow in his bad luck, he couldn't ignore the truth: he wasn't in his world anymore. This was the world of *Naruto*. And judging by his surroundings, he was smack in the middle of Konoha's political snake pit.

"Alright," he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. "If I'm stuck here, I might as well see what I'm working with."

His eyes drifted to his right arm, wrapped in thick, dark bandages. A memory—not his own—rose unbidden, and he suddenly knew what lay beneath. Slowly, he began unwrapping the cloth, revealing pale, gnarled skin embedded with multiple Sharingan.

"Holy crap," he whispered, his stomach churning.

The sight made his skin crawl, but he couldn't deny the power humming beneath the surface. He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling the weight of the forbidden jutsu that Danzo had hoarded like a dragon guarding treasure.

"And let me guess," Haruki muttered. "This is supposed to be my ace in the hole, right? Because nothing says 'trustworthy leader' like a guy with a Frankenstein arm full of stolen eyeballs."

His attention shifted to his chakra, and he felt another surge of power. Hashirama's cells. Of course. Because Danzo couldn't just settle for being shady—he had to be *extra* shady.

Haruki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, at least I'm not starting from zero. Not that having all this makes me feel any less like a walking disaster."

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Lord Danzo," a voice called from outside. "The Hokage has summoned you to the council meeting."

Haruki's heart skipped a beat. "The Hokage?"

"Yes, my lord," the voice replied.

Haruki took a deep breath. This was it—his first real test. If Hiruzen was still the Hokage, then he was in the early days of Konoha's troubles. He had a chance to do things differently. To fix the messes Danzo had made—or at least prevent new ones from forming.

"Tell him I'll be there," Haruki said, doing his best to mimic Danzo's gruff tone.

"Yes, my lord." The footsteps retreated, leaving him alone once more.

Haruki turned back to the mirror, staring at the face he now wore. It was a face that inspired fear and distrust, a face tied to some of the worst decisions in the village's history.

"Alright, Danzo," he muttered. "You've had your turn. Now it's mine. Let's see if we can fix this mess you left behind."

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End of Chapter 1