A blinding light suddenly appeared. I blinked until my eyes began to vaguely make out my surroundings.
A body rushed toward me at incredible speed, like a phantom. There was no time to think—my survival instinct demanded action. It was about to crash into my face. I couldn't move away, so by reflex I covered my face with one arm and thrust the other forward to strike back.
Half a breath later, the impact hit. "Damn, did a hammer just smash me?" I cursed. The pain burned like hell, but I had to endure it. My feet scraped across the ground; I pressed all my weight onto the ball of my foot, keeping myself stable enough not to fall. I blinked through the pain, vision sharpening, but before I could take in my surroundings, danger surged again—this time just meters away.
My eyes locked on my abdomen: a fist was coming straight at me, something black clutched in it. Shock froze me, but instinct saved me—I twisted my body out of the trajectory. The strike barely missed. What was happening? Was I being robbed? Or had I stumbled into a fight?
The only certainty: I was under attack. I made my choice—"Hit first, ask later."
Another punch came. Using my peripheral vision, I dodged, the fist grazing past my head. My heart pumped blood furiously, and suddenly the world slowed around me. I seized the moment—stepped back, grabbed the hand near my abdomen, pulled with all my strength, and kicked, forcing my opponent to bend.
Fluidly, like a gymnast, I leapt over him. In slow motion I saw his exposed nape—a vulnerable spot. Ruthlessness was the only option.
Without hesitation, I struck with a quick punch. He staggered, losing balance. I landed on his back, but he reacted fast, twisting and throwing another punch at my face. Mid-fall, I caught his arm with everything I had, locking him in a hold. We crashed sideways to the ground, my body pressed against his.
But the bastard didn't give up. He was monstrously strong and flexible, nearly breaking free. I knew I had to be merciless—snap his arm to neutralize him. I hesitated for a second, and in that moment he shifted, pouring strength into his lower body, almost escaping. Left with no choice, I prepared to break his arm—when suddenly a swift figure struck me with a kick to the side.
I cursed myself for doubting. He wasn't alone.
It was time to act, not think. I looked up—my new opponent was towering, proud-faced, smiling, and commanded: "That's enough."
But his size didn't intimidate me. Giants fall harder. I scanned the ground for a weapon, spotting a bag near my left leg.
The big idiot seemed to anticipate me. He moved fast—too fast. I decided not to waste time searching. I grabbed whatever my hand touched and hurled it. He flinched back instantly as dark objects with paper tags scattered. I used the opening, leaping back to gain distance.
Bad move. A brutal strike slammed into the back of my head. I collapsed, defeated, a shadow looming over me, laughter echoing.
—"Damn it! Where are all these thugs coming from?" I muttered before blacking out.
When I came to, I couldn't move—not even my eyelids. It felt like being trapped under a box. Seconds later, the sensation faded, the cold floor waking me.
The first thing I saw: three bullies. Oh misery, misery, misery. What had I done to deserve this? Was this the end?
No. I wouldn't fall without giving it my all. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Come at me—I fear none of you.
I struggled to rise, failing, but kept my gaze locked on them. —"I'll take at least one of you down with me. Come closer, ruffians!"
They stared at me in silence, perplexed. Then they exchanged glances, before turning back with strange expressions.
Why aren't they attacking? Why didn't they finish me while I was unconscious?
I scanned the surroundings—a forest. Shouting for help was useless; there might be more of them nearby. First, I had to read their intentions. They watched me closely, but didn't seem intent on killing me. That was something.
I analyzed them: one giant brute, fast as lightning; two of normal size. The sickly-looking one hit like a bull. The other—a pretty girl—must have been the one who nearly killed me with that blow to the head. My ears still rang. I glared at her with hatred.
As for me, I had a bag filled with hard, sharp objects. My clash with the sickly one proved I was agile, like a comic-book superhero, able to think fast.
They noticed me analyzing them—their expressions hardened.
Damn, I need a solution fast. They could attack at any moment. Come on, brain, give me some good ideas to survive this. My options: one, fight all three; two, run; or three, take a hostage.
Option one? No thanks—I want to live. Option two seems more feasible: use the trees as cover while throwing more of those iron weapons. Option three: grab the girl, since she looks like the slowest of the three, and use her as a hostage. Or, as a last resort, dump everything from the bag and run for my life. Sounds stupid, but what else can I do? A kamikaze move, maybe?
The only woman snapped me out of my tactical thoughts. Her face screamed "airhead," and she mocked me: —"What an idiot. What's wrong with you? Did the blows make you even dumber than you already are? Why do you look like you're about to do something stupid? Want me to fix your head with another punch?"
So much for "pretty"—she's definitely a hooligan. Appearances deceive. I sighed, which only deepened her scowl. But strangely, I didn't feel danger anymore. Her tone was mocking, not hostile, and she spoke with unsettling familiarity.
The sickly-looking boy with straight hair chimed in curiously: —"What was that move you used to immobilize me earlier?"
The giant finished with concern: —"Are you alright, Jiraiya-chan?"
Their words confused me, but that last one left me stunned.
Jiraiya-chan? Did he just call me that? Isn't that the name of the great Toad Sage of Mount Myoboku, Jiraiya of the Sannin, Naruto's master? And "chan" makes it sound like I'm a child.
This is insanely unreal. I started hyperventilating. To keep from breaking down, I tried to reason: maybe this was a hallucination from drugs, or a dream. But how? Why? I'm sure no dream or hallucination could be this detailed. And even if I were under some substance, why would it be so specific—dreaming I'm in an anime? I discarded those flimsy options. My thoughts were a mess, doubts multiplying.
What are you telling me? I can't believe this. From waking up, to being attacked, to nearly knocked out—this feels more like a dream with every passing second. But could the fictional world of Naruto be real? The situation was absurd. I had no choice but to try to accept it.
I looked more closely at my aggressors. Not only were their clothes strange and colorful, but their faces… they were the same as in the anime, only realistic. A pale boy with serpent eyes. A man with an imposing gaze and chestnut hair. And a blonde princess with hazel eyes—though flat-chested.
My thoughts raced faster than ever. Even if I didn't want to believe they were real, I couldn't deny what I saw. I was terrified, but despite the danger of a world full of assassins, I couldn't help feeling a spark of excitement. Ninjas, superpowers, magical beasts—this was a fantasy world.
That was the last thought I remembered. A shout rang out, a painful blow struck my head, darkness swallowed my vision, and I fainted.
Before waking, I recapped everything. I was sure: I died, reincarnated, and now I was an anime character in real life. I tried to recall what happened before collapsing, but everything felt ominous. I felt no loss at forgetting my past.
I opened my eyes in a simple, messy room. A rigid bed, ordinary surroundings—too normal, almost boring. Disappointment crossed my face. "Strange. That felt like a bizarre dream." I buried my face in my palms, irritated. My head throbbed. "Must've hit something in my sleep. Everything hurts. Age isn't treating me well."
I sat up, blinked, and lowered my hands. For the first time, I noticed something unusual. Between my fingers, beyond my palms, I saw green-toned figures on my blanket. I focused—frogs.
"Wait, something's wrong. I'm sure my sheets had The Lion King on them, not silly frogs." I nodded at my sharp observation.
Then my mind flooded with everything that had happened—where I lived, my name, my situation. And like thunder, the last words of the monkey-faced giant echoed: "Are you alright, Jiraiya-chan?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake… this is real, not a dream!" I froze, dumbfounded.