I've completed one year in this body. An entire year trapped in this small, weak, dependent flesh. One year listening to voices that gradually stopped being noise and started carrying meaning. One year observing, analyzing, trying to piece together the puzzle with the scraps a baby can grab.
In the beginning, it was just survival. Cry when hungry, sleep when the body shut down, nurse when the smell of milk appeared. I hated every second of it. I hated not being able to speak, not being able to run, not being able to do anything but observe the world through eyes that barely focused. But I observed. I always observed.
My past life... I remember it with a clarity that scares me. I was Erick. A guy born and raised in the United States—California, to be exact. I grew up in a family that looked perfect from the outside but was hollow on the inside. Parents always busy with careers, siblings competing for attention, and me... I was the middle one, the one nobody really saw. Neglected from an early age. Not with violence, but with something worse: absence. So I closed myself off. I became my own world.
I became an otaku because anime gave me what reality denied: heroes who fought, who grew, who overcame everything. I devoured isekai stories, tales of ordinary people who died and got a second chance in fantasy worlds. I laugh at the irony now. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be someone important. So I studied. I studied like a madman.
In elementary and high school, I was the quiet guy who got the best grades without seeming to try. But it was effort. A lot of effort. I spoke English at home, learned Spanish in school, and taught myself Japanese by watching anime without subtitles. When I turned 18, things at home exploded. Heavy argument, slammed doors, words that can't be taken back. I needed to get out. I enlisted.
Two years in the desert. Heat that cooked the soul, sand that got into everything, missions that made you question what it meant to be human. I made friends there. Few, but real. For the first time, I felt like I belonged to something. When I came back, I went straight to MIT. Robotics. Five years immersed in circuits, programming, artificial intelligence. I was good. Really good. I had plans. Big plans.
And then... it ended. Heart attack? Accident? I don't remember the exact moment. I only remember the pain in my chest and the darkness.
Now I'm here. Arashi Akashio. That's the name my mother whispers when she rocks me. Arashi. Storm. A heavy name for a baby who can barely hold his own head up.
It took me months to understand the words. At first they were sounds. Then patterns. Then meaning. The language is Japanese. That hit me like a punch. Fluent Japanese flooding into my mind as if it had always been there. The infant brain absorbing everything like a sponge.
My father is named Isamu Akashio. A giant of a man—must be around 2.30 meters tall, a walking mountain. Muscular, bluish-gray skin like mine, serrated teeth that show when he smiles—which is rare. Long black hair, eyes like black voids. He's a powerful swordsman. Carries a huge sword I've never seen up close, but I feel its weight just by looking at it. Elite jōnin. Respected. Feared.
My mother... Maluso Mack. Strange name for a woman with features that seem familiar to me, but I can't quite place. Flaming red hair, expressive eyes, a vitality that doesn't fit this place. She's the tenth wife. The last one. The foreigner. The one everyone looks at with suspicion. I'm her only child. I have no full siblings. I'm the only one.
And there are many siblings.
The compound we live in is huge. Stone walls, constant humidity, the smell of salt in the air. Kirigakure. The Village Hidden in the Mist. I know where I am now. It took time for the pieces to fit, but they did.
I have twenty-two half-siblings. All older. Daigo, the firstborn, is ten and already in the Ninja Academy. Rokuta, Nao, Issei... the names pile up in my head like a list of potential rivals. Those over five already train rigorously. When my father is home—which isn't always, since missions take him away—all children above that age are required to train in the courtyard. Sometimes he supervises personally, barking orders in that deep voice. Sometimes he leaves a subordinate—a loyal chūnin—in charge.
I see it all from my mother's arms or the crib. The kids sweaty, panting, repeating katas, throwing shuriken, practicing basic taijutsu. They're good. Better than average, from what I overhear in conversations.
The mothers talk among themselves when they think no one is listening. A strange but functional relationship. They protect each other. All ten wives. Hanae, Miyu, Kaho... all of them. In a bloodthirsty village like Kirigakure, where betrayals and assassinations are common, they know they're potential targets. Rich widows, mothers of promising children—envy draws knives in the back.
So they unite. Like hens protecting the entire brood, no matter which egg the chick came from. If one is sick, the others care for her children. If one is threatened, they all close ranks. "If I'm not here tomorrow," I once heard Hanae say to my mother, "take care of mine as if they were yours." My mother nodded. They know: by protecting everyone's children, they ensure someone will protect theirs if the worst happens.
It's a sisterhood forged in fear, but solid.
And the children... they're proving themselves.
I hear the proud conversations:
"Daigo mastered Suiton: Mizu Bunshin at eight. Better than most genin."
"Issei already has chakra control above the class average."
"The Akashio are drawing attention at the Academy. They say they're a rising promise."
"Isamu-sama is pleased. Finally, the clan is bearing fruit."
The Akashio clan is new, but it's already seen as a growing promise in Kirigakure. Stronger, more disciplined children, with Hoshigaki traits that give physical advantages. My father smiles more lately—an unsettling smile, full of serrated teeth.
I'm the twenty-third. The youngest. The different one.
But I'm also the one with the most... special blood.
I think a lot about my past life during the long hours I spend alone.
I was an outcast. Always was. Too smart to fit in, too quiet to be noticed, too different to be accepted. In the army I made friends, but even there I was the "veteran" in some circles. At MIT I was the older guy among freshmen.
Always alone.
Here... here I can be different.
I have knowledge of the modern world. Technology, science, military strategies. I have perfect memory of anime and manga—including Naruto. I know how chakra works in theory. I know techniques, history, village politics.
But I don't know exactly where I am in the timeline. Has the Bloody Mist Era ended? My father is a powerful swordsman, but is he one of the famous ones? Or just another? I don't know. I need to find out.
And my mother... features that remind me of something. Uzumaki? Was the clan destroyed? I don't know. Are there survivors? How is she here? I need to explore that.
My father has pure Hoshigaki traits. Serrated teeth, blue skin, brute strength. But the Hoshigaki clan exists. I know that. So why did my father create a new clan? Why Akashio and not Hoshigaki?
Bastard. Was he rejected? Expelled?
This isn't exactly as I remember the stories.
I'm in the Naruto world, but I'm not sure if it's the original. A parallel universe? A variation?
I don't know. I need to investigate.
But I do know one thing: I have an opportunity.
In my past life, I wanted to be great. I wanted to make a difference. I had plans to revolutionize robotics, create AIs that would change the world. I died before I could.
Here... the world is different. No advanced technology. There's chakra. There are ninjas. There are wars.
I have knowledge no one else has.
I have Hoshigaki blood—absurd physical strength.
I have something from my mother—vitality, maybe? Huge chakra reserves, sealing potential.
And I have an adult mind. Strategic. Scientific.
When I turned one, my mother organized a small celebration. All the wives showed up, bringing food, smiling. Even my father appeared briefly. He looked at me with those black eyes. Placed his huge hand on my head.
"Arashi," he said. Voice deep like distant thunder. "Grow strong."
It was the first time he spoke directly to me.
I looked at him. Held his gaze longer than a one-year-old should. He raised an eyebrow. One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that showed serrated teeth.
He senses something different in me.
I smiled back. A baby's smile, but with eyes that aren't a baby's.
This is the beginning.
I'll grow. I'll train. I'll become strong.
I won't be an outcast here.
I'll be the strongest.
Because this is my second chance.
And this time, I won't waste it.
Advance chapters: https://www.patreon.com/cw/pararaio