Late at night, January 10th, Year 50 of Konoha Calendar.
The village slept under a hard winter moon. Streets that usually bustled with merchants and chatter lay silent, roofs silvered by cold light that softened the edges of the night into something dreamlike.
In the very center, the Hokage Building stood lit against the darkness. Around it, masked Anbu in black tights and white armor stood like statues, their presence heavy in the cold night air.
A figure in a white cloak and mask appeared atop the building, speaking briskly.
"Kumogakure and Sunagakure are advancing. Alert every ninja. Evacuate civilians with the military police force and assemble at the Hokage Building."
"Understood!"
The Anbu saluted, then vanished into the shadows in every direction.
Six minutes later, on the western edge of the Uchiha district, an Uchiha clansman landed before a two-story house.
"Uchiha Gen, emergency summons. Report to the Military Police."
"Got it."
From the second-floor bedroom, a figure rose from the warmth of his bed. In moments, he was dressed: black top and trousers under gray-black armor, gauntlets and greaves in place, the round Uchiha fan crest bright against his backplate. Instead of sandals, he pulled on black boots.
He stepped into the courtyard, moonlight washing over sharp features and ink-dark eyes. Despite his twelve or thirteen years, his bearing was cold, deliberate — a weight that didn't belong to someone so young.
"What's the old man playing at, issuing an emergency call in the middle of the night?" he muttered words no loyal Konoha shinobi would dare say aloud.
But Uchiha Gen wasn't truly from this world.
On another world, Earth, he'd fallen asleep with Naruto playing on one phone, One Piece on the other.
When he woke, he was here, in the body of a dying boy on the battlefield. The boy had already awakened a two-tomoe Sharingan, but even that hadn't saved him from mortal wounds. Gen had inherited his body, his memories, and his place in this world.
Returned to Konoha to heal, he had spent the last three and a half months training inside the clan compound.
"Nothing good happens at times like this," he thought. "Most likely… war."
Despite himself, he felt both nervous and eager.
His eyes bled red — two tomoe spinning lazily in each iris. The original owner had first awakened them at ten, on the day his parents were killed. They had evolved further when he watched his teacher and teammates die before him.
A cold wind slipped through the courtyard. Gen pushed the memories aside and vanished into the night.
The square outside the Police building was already filling with Uchiha shinobi in dark uniforms, lined up in silent, precise rows. As Gen stepped in, the formation shifted to give him a place at the front.
The Uchiha were Konoha's strongest clan, over two thousand members, though less than half were shinobi, and fewer still had the Sharingan.
Two-tomoe users held real standing, and for a thirteen-year-old to reach that level marked Gen as a recognized prodigy.
Three more arrived before the roll call ended. Then a tall man emerged from the building — short brown hair, narrow eyes, dark blue robe over combat gear, the Uchiha crest on his back.
"Captain Yashiro," the group greeted, bowing in unison.
Uchiha Yashiro nodded, expression grave.
"Kumogakure and Sunagakure have launched a surprise attack. They are close. Hokage-sama has ordered the evacuation of civilians to shelters. We then assemble beneath the Hokage Building. Move."
The weight of his words settled over them. Konoha had never been attacked this close to its heart since the village was founded.
Gen's eyes narrowed. So it really is war.
The enemy's momentum meant the coming battle would be fierce. In the future he remembered, this war would help push Sarutobi Hiruzen to step down, blamed for losses and poor decisions, paving the way for the Fourth Hokage.
"Yes!"
The Uchiha dispersed, some racing home to wake their families, others sweeping through the streets to herd civilians toward safety.
Within minutes, Konoha was alive with shouts, crying children, the clatter of hurried footsteps. With no prior evacuation drills, the process was messy, halting — dawn was breaking by the time the last civilians were sealed inside the shelters.
No rest followed. The shinobi flowed straight toward the Hokage Building, black uniforms massing beneath the morning sky.