Ren left his house shortly before noon.
The sun over Konoha was high, filtering through the treetops and casting uneven shadows across the dirt roads. The air carried that unmistakable scent of a living village—wood, dust, freshly prepared food, and human sweat. There was no excessive urgency, no visible tension. People walked calmly, talking, negotiating, living.
That alone said a great deal.
Ren walked slowly, attentive, absorbing every detail as if he were flipping through a history book that had finally gained volume and texture. The houses were simpler than he remembered from the anime—less vertical, less modern. There were fewer tall buildings, fewer visible ninja infrastructures.
*A younger Konoha.*
He passed a small square where children were playing, chasing one another with laughter too loud for any village at war. That immediately ruled out several points in the timeline.
Still, Ren needed something more concrete.
Then he saw them.
Across the street, two men in dark uniforms walked with firm posture, alert to their surroundings. The symbol on their shoulders left no room for doubt.
— Uchiha…
The red fan crest was unmistakable.
They were not acting like wartime patrols, but as **police**. They observed shops, exchanged brief words with civilians, and imposed respect without unnecessary hostility. That simple, everyday image confirmed something crucial.
*The Uchiha clan is still Konoha's police force.*
That placed the timeline **before the massacre**, obviously, but also before the extreme marginalization the clan would later suffer. There was still prestige. Still trust—or at least the appearance of it.
Ren continued walking.
As he moved along a busier street, something unexpectedly caught his attention. Light blond hair reflected the sunlight in a way that was impossible to mistake.
Ren stopped.
Not out of impulse.
Out of instinct.
A few meters ahead, a young woman walked while holding the hand of a small child. She had brownish-red hair tied simply, and a tired yet genuine smile. The child, on the other hand…
Blond, spiky hair.
Clear, curious eyes.
A calm, almost innocent expression.
Ren felt his heart quicken slightly.
— …Minato.
There was no mistaking him.
He was small. Very small. Perhaps three or four years old at most. There was no trace yet of the prodigy's aura, no confident posture of the future Fourth Hokage. He was just a child, gazing at shop windows, tugging at his mother's hand now and then, asking questions she answered patiently.
*Minato's mother…*
Ren knew almost nothing about her. In the original story, she barely existed. A name erased by time. An irrelevant detail to the main narrative.
But here, alive, walking through the village, she felt… real.
And that was unsettling.
Ren looked away after a few seconds. He did not want to draw attention. He did not want to form any kind of connection, even indirectly. That woman would likely die early—not because of mystical fate, but because the ninja world was not kind to ordinary people.
He continued walking, the weight of that realization settling quietly in his mind.
*So this is it.*
Minato had already been born.
And he—Ren—was two years older.
That meant he existed in an extremely delicate period: old enough that major figures were still being shaped, but early enough that no real safety existed.
Ren passed a public building where an information board was displayed. Simple missions, administrative notices, village records. His eyes scanned the board until they found the date.
The year.
Ren stopped.
He did not need complicated calculations. The information fit perfectly with everything he had seen so far: Minato's age, the active presence of the Uchiha, the absence of signs of imminent war.
— …So this is the point in history.
A silent point.
Before disaster.
Before the great wrong decisions.
Before the wars that would forge monsters and heroes.
Ren felt something close to relief—not because he was safe, but because **he was not too late**.
After wandering the village for some time, he returned home. The walk had given him more than temporal information; it had given him **human context**. People living. Children playing. A world that had not yet been completely broken.
He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.
— Alright… time for something practical.
He went to the backyard and carefully plucked a broad leaf from one of the trees. Returning inside, he positioned himself in front of the cracked mirror.
Ren placed the leaf at the center of his forehead.
It fell immediately.
— Expected.
He closed his eyes, recalling the earlier sensation. He did not force it. He did not try to dominate. He simply **guided** it.
The chakra responded.
Not immediately—but it responded.
The leaf rose… trembled… and fell.
He tried again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Until, finally, the leaf stayed in place.
Ren opened his eyes slowly, studying his reflection with near-scientific focus. He could feel the chakra flowing like a thin, constant film—no surges, no explosions.
Five seconds.
Then it fell.
But it was enough.
> **SYSTEM — ACTIVE RECORD**
> Exercise: Fine Chakra Control (Leaf)
> Result: Initial Success
> **Basic Mission Reward:**
> • Slight increase in chakra stability
> • Minimal reduction in dispersion
> • Record unlocked: "Control Foundation"
Ren exhaled slowly.
— This world really does respond to effort…
He sat down against the wall, letting his back rest. The mental fatigue was there, but it was not heavy. It was the kind that came with genuine learning.
Outside, the village remained alive.
A few streets away, a blond boy walked hand in hand with his mother, unaware he would become a legend.
And here, inside a simple house, a reincarnator took his first conscious steps—not to change the world, but to **surviv
e it**.
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