Good news: I transmigrated, and I have a system.
Bad news: The system is from the house next door, and the activation key is also next door.
The question: What now?
I'm stuck in the Naruto world.
Where, in the name of all that is sane, am I supposed to find the Shino Academy from the Bleach world to activate this thing?
What kind of cosmic-level glitch is this?
It's the epitome of unreliability!
...
And the system's absurdity didn't end with its geographical confusion. Even though it remained in a perpetual state of non-activation, ever since that first intrusive chime, it pinged with robotic precision at the stroke of midnight every single night. Its only response to any query or complaint was a sterile, unyielding statement.
Pure auditory spam. It was maddening.
Just like now—
[Ding. 61st System Reminder: Host is advised against continued indolence. Please report to the Shino Academy at the earliest opportunity to activate system protocols and commence your ascension to the Venerable Spirit King, thereby fulfilling your destiny as the sovereign who maintains the balance of the Three Realms!]
The notification chimed in the sanctum of his mind, the glowing text superimposing itself over the darkness behind his eyelids. Ren, lying in his futon, felt a fresh wave of familiar irritation. He mentally ground his teeth.
'Ding your sister. I'm in the Land of Fire, in Konohagakure. There are shinobi here, not Soul Reapers. There is no Seireitei, no Rukongai, and certainly no Shino Academy for training would-be captains!'
His silent tirade continued. 'And "ascend to the Venerable Spirit King"? "Govern the Three Realms"? Anyone who's even glanced at Bleach knows the Spirit King is the ultimate scam! A glorified linchpin, chopped into pieces and stuffed into a crystal as a cosmic paperweight! That's not a promotion; it's a life sentence as a sentient battery!'
'Even the sketchiest multi-level marketing scheme has more honest advertising than you! A legendary life? More like becoming a limbless torso for all eternity!'
Even after two months, the sheer audacity of the faulty proposition could ruffle him. Venting internally, he finally felt the knot of frustration in his chest loosen slightly.
This idiotic, mispackaged system!
To be brutally honest, transmigrating to the Naruto world with a system apparently intended for the Bleach universe left Ren in a bizarre emotional limbo. The silver lining: the system couldn't be activated, saving him from potential soul-reaping responsibilities or Hollowfication. The crushing downside: the system couldn't be activated, leaving him cheat-less in a world hurtling toward a meat-grinder war.
How could he not be depressed?
Naturally, possessing a system—any system—meant the tantalizing possibility of activation couldn't be ignored. Perhaps it was one of those crossover scenarios? Maybe a dimensional portal would materialize? Clinging to this hope, Ren had spent a significant portion of the last two months in a series of increasingly desperate and ridiculous attempts.
He'd nailed that "Shino Academy" sign to his door, a pitiful attempt to exploit a semantic bug in the system's location parameters. He'd spent hours meditating, not on chakra, but on trying to sense a hypothetical "Spatial Senkaimon" or "Garganta" hidden in Konoha's air. He'd even tried speaking the activation command aloud in every tone from a whisper to a shout: "Bankai." (Nothing happened, except earning a concerned look from Kurenai).
The results were, predictably, nothing. Zero. Zilch.
He was in the Naruto world. The Shino Academy, Soul Society, Zanpakutō—they were all fictional here. Expecting to find them was like hoping to find the One Ring in a Tokyo convenience store. It was pure, unadulterated nonsense.
Apart from its one undeniable feat—preventing his transmigrator's body from succumbing to its initial catastrophic injuries—this glitched system was as useful as a screen door on a submarine. It wasn't even a good ornament; it took up mental real estate and came with a daily, unskippable alarm.
Plus, it dinged. On. The. Dot. Every. Night. A relentless, digital nag.
"Worthless system," he muttered into his pillow, the physical whisper giving weight to his mental scorn.
Dismissing the nightly nuisance, he forced his thoughts onto a more practical track. "This glitch is a dead end. I can't rely on it. From now on, I can only rely on myself, on what I know, and on what this world offers."
Admittedly, when the initial fog of transmigration cleared and he pinpointed his location and era, genuine panic had set in. For a while, the path of the civilian seemed not just appealing, but brilliant. No chakra, no missions, no battlefield. The Third Great Shinobi World War was a vortex that consumed even Kage-level figures. A genin or chūnin? Cannon fodder, pure and simple.
Ren harbored no illusions. Without a cheat—without a functional system—his scrawny, six-year-old frame wouldn't last a week on the front lines. His dream of a quiet barbecue shop next to a future Ichiraku Ramen wasn't just a business plan; it was a survival strategy. A low-profile life, riding out the storms, maybe making it to the Boruto era with a family and a full belly… that wasn't a bad consolation prize.
But dreams required capital. Ichiraku Ramen didn't exist yet—he had no idea where Teuchi would eventually set up shop. Starting a business required seed money, connections, and credibility. A penniless, parentless kid with weird red hair had none of those.
Could he become a cultural pioneer? Introduce classics from his old world? Sadly, Ren's literary prowess in his past life had never earned more than a passing grade from his teachers. The great novelists he enjoyed were beyond his ability to replicate from memory.
The harsh truth was universal: Money made the world go round. A single ryo could stump a hero. His civilian fantasy was built on a foundation of air.
Of course, the civilian route had been his fallback plan after concluding the system was hopeless.
Now, his calculus had changed.
Two months. It wasn't a long time, but it was enough. The Yūhi household—Shinku's quiet, sturdy kindness, Shin'nō's easygoing guidance, and Kurenai's spirited, if occasionally frustrating, presence—had ceased to be just a setting. It had become… home. The thought of future tragedies—Shinku falling during the Nine-Tails' attack, Shin'nō being stolen away by a blond psychopath in an orange mask—was no longer just plot points. They were premonitions of a personal cataclysm.
Absolutely not.
The Naruto world operated on a brutal, simple law: the law of power. To shield this newfound home, to alter the grim script he remembered, required strength. Not the strength of commerce, but the strength of a shinobi. However reluctantly, the path was clear. The Ninja Academy was now a necessity, not a choice.
"So what if I'm a transmigrator with a bricked system?" he declared to the silent room, a spark of defiance igniting. "I've got the script. Knowing the future is the ultimate cheat. I will make my mark in this world."
He pictured the system' interface in his mind and gave it a final, mental sneer.
As for you? Pfft. Get lost.
"Time to sleep," he sighed. The alarm meant it was midnight. Tomorrow was enrollment day. If he was committing to this shinobi path, complacency was a luxury he couldn't afford. Who knew? Maybe he had latent talent. The vibrant red hair suggested Uzumaki lineage, and anyone who knew the story understood that bloodline was a cheat all its own.
The protagonist's other hidden advantage, beyond the fox, was that insane Uzumaki vitality and chakra reserve. The man was a stamina monster, firing off Rasengans like they were going out of style, while a certain famed copy-ninja with a Sharingan was perpetually wheezing and keeling over after a few techniques. The disparity was almost comical.
The thought held a sliver of hope as sleep finally claimed him.
Morning.
Sunlight streamed into the tidy dining area. Shinku Yūhi regarded Ren over his morning tea, a flicker of surprise breaking through his typically composed demeanor. A faint, approving smile touched his lips.
"You've settled on your decision, then?" he asked. The boy's previous resistance had been firm. He'd had to enlist Kurenai's help. It seemed peer influence worked where adult logic failed.
Ren nodded, adopting an expression of earnest responsibility. "I can't keep living off your kindness indefinitely. I'm part of the Yūhi family now. Becoming a shinobi, earning an income… I should contribute."
Shinku's smile widened. "I'm not so hard up that I can't feed one more growing boy, Ren. But… attending the Academy, building a foundation for your future, making comrades—these are good things." Internally, he was relieved. The Third Hokage had been clear: a suspected Uzumaki survivor with potential shouldn't be left to idle. Guiding the boy onto the shinobi path had been an unspoken duty.
Ren shrugged, his tone shifting to a more playful cadence. "I suppose I should also look after Kurenai. With her big brother around, no one will dare bully her."
Kurenai, who had been meticulously eating her breakfast in small, polite bites, froze. She swallowed, placed her chopsticks down with deliberate calm, and puffed out her cheeks. "What do you mean, 'big brother'? I am clearly the older sister! And… and what happened earlier doesn't count!" The memory of being forced to mutter "onii-chan" that morning—and her father overhearing it—sent a fresh wave of embarrassed fury through her.
Shinku glanced at his flustered daughter, a warm, fatherly amusement in his eyes. She'd just called him 'onii-chan' not an hour ago, and now she was denying it? The moods of little girls were as changeable as spring weather.
Turning back to Ren, his expression softened into one of trust. "Then I'll leave Kurenai in your care, her older brother."
Aside from his occasional inexplicable quirks, Ren possessed a grounded maturity that was reassuring. Hardship often forced early growth.
"I will," Ren affirmed solemnly. Then he shot a glance at Kurenai, one eyebrow arched in triumphant vindication. The message was clear: See? Parental endorsement. Case closed.
"Why is everyone saying that?" Kurenai mumbled, her delicate features a mask of stubborn defiance. Her small mouth pursed into a pronounced pout, looking capable of suspending a small bucket. "I'm the older sister…" She made a silent vow: she would make Ren call her 'nee-chan' voluntarily. That coerced moment earlier? It was null and void!
Soon, breakfast was concluded. Under Shinku's escort, the two children made their way toward the Ninja Academy.
The street leading to the Academy was bustling. Today was enrollment day, and a steady stream of parents and children flowed toward the distinctive building. Ren's gaze swept over the crowd, analyzing the adults and the clusters of chattering children.
'The timeline in the original work is a tangled mess,' he thought, his inner critic activating. 'I wonder who'll be in this year's class? Future legends, or just background characters?' The Naruto timeline, much like his own system, was a thing of narrative convenience that fell apart under logical scrutiny. Both inspired a profound desire to facepalm.
'Ah well. I'll find out tomorrow during official orientation.'
Shaking off the speculation, he followed Shinku and a still-pouting Kurenai through the main gates of the Ninja Academy, heading toward the administration office to finalize their enrollment.
However…The moment Ren's foot crossed the threshold of the Academy's main entrance, a chime—different from the nightly nuisance, sharper, more urgent—sounded in the depths of his consciousness.
[Ding. Host has entered an area with high spiritual density and foundational combat pedagogy. Analysing environmental parameters…]