Konoha Year 47.
A fine drizzle fell beneath a leaden sky, as though the heavens themselves were wrapped in an inescapable veil of sorrow.
Before the Memorial Stone, a solemn crowd dressed in black stood in silence, unmoving like reefs in the sea, allowing the cold rain to wash over them.
The air carried the raw scent of wet earth mixed with a faint trace of blood—the lingering smell of the Third Shinobi World War drifting back from the front lines.
Six-year-old Kazama Ryū stood among them in an ill-fitting black mourning robe, his small frame looking especially frail amid the adults.
He lifted his head.
Rain slid down his delicate cheeks, mingling with his tears, yet within his clear black eyes there was none of the grief or confusion one would expect from a child his age.
Instead, there was only a chilling calm—something wholly out of place.
As someone whose soul had transmigrated more than twenty years ago, once a corporate slave in another life, Ryū understood the meaning of the cold stone monument before him better than anyone.
Every newly carved name represented a family that had been torn apart.
And today, one more name had been added.
Kazama Makoto.
His father—an ordinary Konoha Chunin—had been nothing more than a tiny cog crushed beneath the merciless machinery of war.
“Ryū… don’t look anymore…” Beside him, his mother, Misako, pulled him into her arms with trembling hands, warm tears soaking into his hair.
She tried to shield him with her own body, carving out a small pocket of warmth to protect him from the cold, unforgiving world.
Ryū obediently lowered his head and buried his face against her chest.
He could feel her body shaking.
He could hear the sobs she fought desperately to suppress.
From all around them came gazes filled with sympathy, pity—and an almost imperceptible sense of distance.
War orphan.
In an era where human life was cheaper than grass, this was the most worthless label of all.
Ryū felt no grief.
Only a cold that seeped deep into his bones, along with an uneasy restlessness.
He remembered his previous life—an ordinary office worker grinding himself down day after day in a cramped cubicle, pouring everything into survival, yet never able to shake the crushing anxiety about the future.
And now, in this life, he had been reborn into this magnificent yet brutal ninja world.
Once, he had believed he might become like the protagonists of novels, using foresight to change the course of history.
Reality, however, had struck him mercilessly.
No illustrious clan name.
No Bloodline Limit.
Even his Chakra aptitude was painfully average.
His father, Kazama Makoto, had spent his entire life struggling just to reach the rank of Chunin.
That was the ceiling for an ordinary man.
And now, the war sweeping across the entire ninja world had ruthlessly taken away the only shield he had.
His father was only the beginning.
Who would be next?
His mother?
Or himself?
The funeral ended beneath an oppressive, suffocating silence.
When they returned to the familiar home—now unbearably empty due to one person’s absence—a Konoha official was already waiting inside.
The man’s expression was rigid and practiced, his tone carrying the mechanical weight of rehearsed condolences as he handed over a thin envelope.
“Mrs.
Kazama, please accept the village’s condolences.
This is the pension issued by the village.
Please keep it safe.” Misako accepted it with trembling hands, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the envelope.
She bowed deeply, her voice hoarse.
“Thank you… and I’m sorry to trouble the village.” After offering a few more perfunctory words, the clerk turned and left, as though lingering even a second longer would stain him with the household’s grief.
The door closed.
At last, Misako’s strength gave out.
She slumped against the door and slowly slid to the floor, the envelope falling from her hand.
Several small-denomination bills spilled out across the ground.
Ryū stepped forward in silence and picked them up one by one.
He didn’t need to calculate carefully.
The numerical sensitivity ingrained in him from his previous life gave him the answer at a glance.
Even if they lived frugally, this money would only support the two of them for four months.
And after four months?
In his past life, he had worked himself to exhaustion as a corporate slave, only to die unexpectedly because of a single careless moment.
In this life, he had become a war orphan, with death’s shadow following him like a phantom, ready to swallow him at any time.
He didn’t want to die.
Not from poverty.
Not from war.
He wanted none of it.
A fierce desire for power ignited in his chest, blazing like dry tinder thrown into a raging inferno.
He had to survive.
He had to take his mother with him and live well in this cursed world.
At that very moment, the progress bar that had been loading silently in his mind for six long years—something he had nearly dismissed as an illusion—finally reached its end, glowing faintly.
[100%] Six years.
Six full years of accumulation since the moment of his birth, and it had finally gathered enough energy to break free.
[Ding!] A cold, mechanical voice rang clearly in his mind.
[System loading complete.
Proficiency Panel officially activated!] It’s here.
My cheat… has finally arrived.
Ryū’s pupils shrank sharply.
The surge of wild joy hadn’t even had time to rise before— An overwhelming wave of weakness crashed into him, instantly draining all strength from his body.
It felt as though he had been hollowed out.
His limbs went limp, powerless.
The meager, trickle-like Chakra he had painstakingly extracted with his six-year-old body was completely drained the instant the system activated.
“Ryū!
What’s wrong?!” Misako’s cry sounded distant and distorted.
The world spun violently before his eyes, and then everything plunged into darkness.
Just before his consciousness vanished entirely, a pale-blue virtual screen stubbornly lit up in his mind.
It was his only hope of defying fate.
[Name: Kazama Ryū] [Age: 6] [Physique: 4] [Spirit: 6] [Chakra: 100] [Skills:] [Chakra Extraction Technique: LV.0 (81/100)] [Clone Technique: LV.0 (79/100)] [Transformation Technique: LV.0 (78/100)] [Substitution Technique: LV.0 (90/100)] [Basic Taijutsu: LV.0 (98/100)] [Ninja Tool Throwing: LV.0 (90/100)] [Chakra Control: LV.0 (89/100)] … Looking at those pitiful starting stats and the long list of LV.0 skills, Ryū felt no disappointment at all.
Instead, an unprecedented sense of reassurance rose from deep within him.
No Bloodline Limit.
No special physique.
No powerful backing.
It didn’t matter.
As long as effort could be accumulated.
As long as hard work was rewarded.
Wasn’t this system perfectly tailored for someone like him—a lifelong workhorse?
In this ninja world where geniuses were everywhere and bloodlines ruled supreme, this crude Proficiency Panel was the only hope for a small, insignificant ninja like him to defy his fate.