Renkai ran.

Every step sent a jolt of pain through his legs, his weak body barely holding itself together. His lungs burned, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He wasn’t built for this—not yet.

The village trembled behind him, firelight flickering in his periphery. The sounds of battle—screams, destruction, that monstrous roar—were fading, but not far enough.

Keep moving.

He forced his aching limbs forward, stumbling over rubble. He had no destination. No direction. Just a single goal:

Get away.

Then—a child’s cry.

His instincts sharpened. Renkai skidded to a stop, barely keeping himself upright as he turned toward the sound.

Through the thick smoke, he spotted them—a group of children, younger than him, huddled near a fallen building. A few older civilians stood near them, some gripping makeshift weapons, and their faces pale with fear.

An evacuation point.

Renkai’s mind worked quickly. Where there’s structure, there’s information.

He pushed his way forward, ignoring his burning muscles. A woman saw him approach and immediately waved him over.

"You! Over here!"

He obeyed without hesitation. The less attention he drew, the better.

He slipped into the crowd, pressing himself against the nearest wall, blending in as best he could. The civilians barely acknowledged him beyond quick glances—another orphan in a sea of suffering.

Good.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask questions. He simply watched.

Time passed.

The battle outside raged on, but the people stayed silent, barely daring to breathe. The shelter was cramped, bodies pressed against one another, huddled together for warmth and security.

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Renkai, however, wasn’t focused on his discomfort.

He was listening.

Whispers spread among the civilians, some hushed, and others frantic. However they talked from time to time and every bit of information mattered and he gathered few.

The monster was called a Bijū—a Tailed Beast, specifically the nine tails. The man fighting it was the Fourth Hokage—the leader of this village. No one knew what was happening. Only that the Hokage was still fighting.

Renkai processed it carefully.

The blonde warrior—the one who had bent space itself—was the village’s leader.

That explained why he was the one facing the monster alone. If he lost, everything was over.

But no one here knew the outcome. No one had answers. Some prayed, others simply sat in silence, waiting.

Waiting for someone to tell them whether they would live or die.

Renkai clenched his fists.

I don’t wait for fate to decide my survival I never did before I won’t start now.

His mind worked rapidly. The Fourth Hokage’s ability—the way he had displaced an attack that should have been unstoppable—was more than power. It was control.

And in this new world, control was everything.

He would find a way to learn.

Hours passed.

The battle ended, though no one celebrated. The monster was gone, but the village was barely standing.

Entire districts had been flattened. Houses burned. Streets were unrecognizable, turned into craters and rubble.

And the dead… there were too many.

Renkai moved through the wreckage alongside other orphans, taken in by caretakers who did their best to sort out the chaos. Some children were claimed by distant relatives. Others, like him, had nowhere to go.

So, they were placed in the orphanages.

It was crowded, noisy, and miserable.

Renkai didn’t care.

He had more important things to focus on.

Late at night, when the others were asleep, he sat alone in the farthest corner of the room.

And he focused inward.

He had felt something before—a warmth in his core. It wasn’t mana, but it was something.

The warriors he had seen had called upon it. The golden leader had used it to defy logic.

And so, Renkai began to experiment.

He slowed his breathing, focused on the warmth deep inside him.

It was faint. Weak. But it was real.

He reached for it.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Frustration built up inside him, but he forced himself to remain calm. It was there. He just didn’t know how to grasp it yet.

In his old world, mastering magic had required discipline—years of training, precision and careful study.

This would be no different.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk.

So that’s what he will do.

Days turned into weeks and time passed while he was in a haze.

The village began stabilizing and with it his mind as well. Supplies were scarce, but order slowly returned. People rebuilt.

And with it, came opportunity.

At the orphanage, Renkai listened. He paid close attention to the older children—the ones who talked about joining the Shinobi Academy.

A place where children trained in combat, in strategy. Where they learned to use that energy—chakra.

A school… for warriors.

Renkai’s decision was instant.

He would enter the Academy.

He would study their power, their techniques.

And he would learn everything this world had to offer.

He was done being weak. Done being a helpless orphan, caught in the chaos of others.

The next time the world shook—he would be the one causing it.