Player Uchiha - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Rebirth in the Shinobi World

The world swam into focus slowly, painfully.

The first thing he became aware of was the sterile smell—sharp, clinical, mixed with something metallic that made his stomach churn. Then came the sounds: distant footsteps echoing down hallways, muffled voices speaking in hushed tones, the occasional clatter of metal instruments. Everything felt wrong, disjointed, as if reality itself had been pulled apart and hastily stitched back together.

His eyelids felt heavy, so heavy, but he forced them open anyway.

White. Everything was white.

A ceiling he didn’t recognize. Walls painted in that particular shade of institutional beige-white that seemed to exist only in hospitals and government buildings. He blinked once, twice, trying to clear the fog that seemed to have settled over his thoughts like morning mist over a lake.

Where am I?

He tried to sit up, and that’s when the second shock hit him.

His body didn’t respond the way it should. His arms—when had they become so small? He lifted one hand before his face, and his breath caught in his throat. It was tiny. A child’s hand, complete with pudgy fingers and smooth, unblemished skin. No calluses from years of typing on keyboards. No slight tan from his daily commute to work.

Panic fluttered in his chest like a caged bird.

He forced himself upright despite the weakness in his limbs, looking down at himself with growing horror. The hospital gown hung loosely on his small frame. His legs dangled off the edge of the bed, far too short, far too thin. Everything about this body was wrong—compact, juvenile, utterly alien.

“What the hell…?” The voice that emerged from his throat was high-pitched, childish. Not his voice. Not his voice at all.

His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Had he been in an accident? Was this some kind of bizarre dream? Maybe he’d fallen asleep watching anime again and this was just an unusually vivid nightmare. Yes, that had to be it. He’d been watching Boruto just before bed, hadn’t he? The latest episode where—

The thought cut off abruptly as pain lanced through his skull.

It started as a dull ache behind his eyes, then exploded into something far more intense. Images—no, memories—began flooding his mind in a chaotic torrent. They came in flashes, disjointed and fragmentary, like scenes from a movie played out of order.

A woman’s face, young and beautiful, with dark hair and eyes that crinkled when she smiled. She was singing something, a lullaby perhaps, though the words were indistinct. Warmth. Safety. Love.

A man’s laugh, deep and rich, accompanied by strong hands lifting him into the air. The world spinning, his own childish giggles echoing. Pride shining in dark eyes so similar to the woman’s.

Playing with wooden toys in a room filled with warm afternoon sunlight. The texture of rice balls in his mouth. The feeling of being tucked into bed, of gentle fingers running through his hair.

These weren’t his memories. They couldn’t be. He was—had been—a twenty-seven-year-old office worker living in a cramped apartment, surviving on instant ramen and energy drinks, his only escape the anime and manga that lined his shelves. These memories belonged to someone else entirely.

A child.

A child named… Yami.

Uchiha Yami.

The name resonated through him like a bell being struck, and with it came more memories, these ones sharper, clearer, though they only spanned roughly five years. Most of the early ones, from birth to about age three, were fuzzy and indistinct—which made sense for a child’s memories. But the last two years were more concrete, more real.

Simple memories, mostly. The taste of his mother’s cooking—rice and miso soup and grilled fish. The warmth of the sun on his face as he played in a yard he now recognized. His father’s firm but gentle corrections when he misbehaved. The sound of his own laughter. The comfort of his parents’ presence.

Normal childhood memories for the most part.

But then came the last one.

This memory was different. It hit him with the force of a physical blow, so vivid and terrible that he gasped aloud, fingers clutching at the thin hospital sheets.

Night. Screaming. The world shaking like it was coming apart at the seams.

His mother’s face, terrified but determined, as she scooped him up in her arms. His father beside them, shouting something he couldn’t make out over the cacophony of destruction. They were running, stumbling through streets filled with debris and smoke.

And then he saw it.

Orange fur, massive beyond comprehension. Eyes like burning coals. Nine tails whipping through the air, each one capable of leveling buildings. The Kyuubi—the Nine-Tailed Fox—a monster from legends made horrifyingly real.

His parents pushing him behind them. His mother’s arms wrapped around him protectively. His father’s back, broad and strong, standing between him and death itself.

The tail coming down.

Too fast. Too massive. Unstoppable.

The sickening crunch of impact. Warm liquid spraying across his face. His mother’s arms going slack. His father’s body crumpling.

Blood. So much blood.

Darkness.

He came back to himself gasping, tears streaming down his small cheeks. His hands were shaking—no, his whole body was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a storm. The grief hit him in waves, even though these weren’t truly his parents, weren’t truly his memories. But they felt real. God, they felt so real.

The Kyuubi attack. The Nine-Tails. His—no, Yami’s—parents had died protecting him, their bodies crushed like insects beneath the demon’s overwhelming power. And then the child, unable to cope with the trauma, with the loss, had simply… given up.

The body had survived, but the original soul hadn’t.

And somehow, impossibly, his own soul had taken its place.

“No,” he whispered to the empty room, though he wasn’t sure what he was denying. The reality of the situation? The memories flooding his mind? The impossibility of it all?

He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the panic threatening to overwhelm him. Think. He needed to think logically about this, piece together what had happened.

He remembered his previous life clearly. Remembered falling asleep in his apartment after the latest Boruto episode. He’d been frustrated, actually—the show had been focusing on how much weaker the older generation had become, how even the legendary Uchiha clan had been reduced to just Sasuke and his daughter. It had felt like a betrayal of everything Naruto had built up.

He’d gone to bed depressed, wishing the Uchiha could be great again, that someone would restore the clan to its former glory.

And now… now he’d woken up here. In the body of a five-year-old Uchiha child, in what appeared to be a hospital, in what could only be the Naruto world itself.

It should have been impossible. It was impossible. Things like this didn’t happen in real life. Reincarnation, transmigration, whatever you wanted to call it—those were concepts from the light novels and manga he read, not reality.

But the memories in his head were real. The body he inhabited was real. And if those things were true…

“The Naruto world,” he murmured, testing the words. “I’m actually in the Naruto world.”

The implications were staggering. This wasn’t just a dangerous world—it was one of the most dangerous fictional universes he could have ended up in. A world where children were trained as weapons, where wars erupted regularly, where beings of godlike power could reshape reality itself. Where people died by the thousands in conflicts over ideology and power.

And he wasn’t just some civilian either. He was an Uchiha. The Uchiha clan—blessed with the Sharingan, one of the most powerful abilities in this world, but also cursed. Cursed by their own passion, their tendency toward extremes, their tragic history.

The clan massacre. Itachi. Sasuke’s revenge. The revelations about Madara and Obito.

How much of that had already happened? When exactly was he in the timeline?

His parents had died during the Kyuubi attack, which meant… which meant this was the night Naruto was born. Or shortly after. The beginning of the series timeline, more or less. Which meant he had time before the massacre, before—

The door to his room suddenly opened, interrupting his spiraling thoughts.

A woman entered, wearing a standard medical uniform with the Konoha symbol emblazoned on the shoulder. She was young, perhaps in her late twenties, with her dark hair pulled back in a practical bun. She carried a clipboard and wore the expression of someone who had been on duty far too long.

But it was her eyes that made him freeze.

There was something in them when she looked at him—something cold, something that might have been contempt poorly masked by professional courtesy.

“Uchiha Yami,” she said, her tone clipped and formal. She glanced at her clipboard briefly before looking back at him. “I see you’re awake. Good. Your physical examination shows no lasting damage. You’re cleared for discharge.”

He blinked, caught off-guard by the abruptness. “Discharge? Already?”

“We have too many patients and not enough beds,” she replied, her voice flat. “The Kyuubi attack left hundreds injured. We need the space for those who actually need medical attention.” There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘actually’ that didn’t escape his notice.

“But I—”

“You’re fine,” she cut him off. “A few bumps and bruises, mild shock. Nothing that requires hospitalization. Your clan will be notified to collect you.” She made a note on her clipboard, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called out, confused and more than a little disturbed by her obvious hostility. “Is there—”

She was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her with an air of finality.

He sat there in the sudden silence, processing what had just happened. The woman’s barely concealed enmity had been obvious. But why? He was just a child—a five-year-old orphan who’d lost his parents in a disaster. Shouldn’t that have elicited at least some sympathy?

Unless…

Unless it was because he was an Uchiha.

The thought settled in his stomach like a lead weight. He’d forgotten—or rather, hadn’t fully considered—how the Uchiha were viewed by parts of the village. Especially after the Kyuubi attack. There were rumors, weren’t there? Suspicions that the Uchiha had been involved somehow, that only a Sharingan could have controlled the Nine-Tails.

Even a child wouldn’t be immune to that prejudice, apparently.

He was still grappling with this realization when something impossible happened.

A panel appeared before his eyes.

He jerked back instinctively, but the panel moved with him, hovering in his field of vision like some sort of augmented reality display. It was semi-transparent, with text that seemed to glow faintly against the background of the hospital room.

[CONGRATULATIONS]

You have successfully formed a contract with Indra Ōtsutsuki.

Contract Terms:

Conditions from Indra Ōtsutsuki:
– Contractee must surpass Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki (Level 500) in power
– Failure to meet this condition will result in soul entrapment
– Death before contract fulfillment will result in soul entrapment
– Method of entrapment: Yin-Yang Eternal Seal

Benefits provided to Contractee:
– Restoration of life in new vessel
– System assistance for accelerated growth
– Access to progression mechanics

[Contract is binding and irrevocable]

The blood drained from his face as he read the words. Then read them again. And again, hoping desperately that he’d misunderstood.

He hadn’t.

“What the hell is this?” he whispered, his small hands clenching into fists. “I never… I didn’t sign any contract!”

But even as he said it, he knew protesting was pointless. This wasn’t something he’d agreed to. This was something that had been forced upon him, a deal made without his consent. Someone—or something—calling itself Indra Ōtsutsuki had bound his soul to a contract, and the terms were absolutely insane.

Surpass Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki. The Sage of Six Paths himself. The man who had founded ninshū, who had defeated the Ten-Tails, who was essentially a god among shinobi. Level 500? What did that even mean in practical terms? That was beyond Kage level, beyond even the legendary Sannin. That was power on par with the final arc of Naruto, where people were throwing around techniques that could reshape landscapes.

And if he failed? If he died before achieving this impossible goal?

Eternal entrapment. His soul sealed away forever in something called the Yin-Yang Eternal Seal.

The panic he’d managed to suppress earlier came roaring back with a vengeance. His breathing quickened, his small chest heaving as the reality of his situation crashed down on him.

“No,” he said firmly, trying to force conviction into his voice. “No. I don’t accept this. I didn’t agree to any of this. Send me back. Send me back to my world, my life. I don’t want this!”

Another notification appeared, this one even more ominous than the first.

[CONTRACT CONFIRMATION]

Do you wish to deny the Contract?

WARNING: Denial of the Contract will result in immediate soul entrapment via Yin-Yang Eternal Seal.

[YES] / [NO]

His heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat.

They’d backed him into a corner. Accept the impossible task, or be sealed away for eternity. Those were his only options. It was a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all.

He stared at the two options, his mind racing through possibilities. Could he somehow cheat the system? Find a loophole? Refuse to engage with it entirely?

But even as the thoughts formed, he knew they were desperate fantasies. This was real. Whatever entity had done this to him—whether it was truly Indra Ōtsutsuki or something else entirely—had the power to enforce its will. Fighting it directly would be suicide.

Or worse than suicide. Eternal imprisonment.

He’d faced a lot of fears in his previous life. Fear of failure, of loneliness, of wasting his life away in that tiny apartment. But this was different. Death he could have faced, maybe even accepted. But being sealed away, trapped in darkness for eternity, conscious but powerless, unable to move or speak or do anything…

That was a horror beyond comprehension.

His hand—Yami’s small, trembling hand—reached out toward the panel. He hesitated for just a moment, one final second of rebellion, before his finger touched the [NO] option.

The panel flickered, then transformed.

[CONTRACT ACCEPTED]

Welcome, User: Uchiha Yami

Initializing System…

[System Initialization Complete]

A new interface materialized before him, this one more elaborate, resembling the status screens from the RPG games he used to play.

—
User: Uchiha Yami
Level: 1 (0/3)
Bloodline: Uchiha
Ability: Sharingan Lv1 (0%)

Health: 7/10
Chakra: 5/5

Stats:
STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 5
INT: 3
PER: 1

Skills: Accelerated Perception

[Quest] x1
—

Despite everything, despite the fear and anger and confusion roiling inside him, he found himself analyzing the display with the detached part of his mind that had spent countless hours min-maxing characters in video games.

It was straightforward enough. A leveling system, apparently, complete with stats and skills. His health was at 70%—probably because of the injuries from the Kyuubi attack. Chakra at full, which made sense; he hadn’t used any.

The stats were abysmal, but that was to be expected for a five-year-old body. STR, AGI, and PER all at 1—barely functional. VIT at 5 was probably the only reason he’d survived at all. INT at 3 suggested he retained at least some mental acuity from his adult mind.

The Sharingan notation caught his attention. Level 1, 0% progress. Did that mean he already had the Sharingan, or that it was available to unlock? The Sharingan typically awakened during moments of extreme emotion, usually trauma. Given what this body had just experienced…

And there was one quest available.

With a mental command that felt oddly natural, he pulled up the quest details.

—
[Basic Training Quest]

Objectives:
Pushups: 0/300
Squats: 0/300
Situps: 0/500
Pullups: 0/100
Run: 0/10km

Reward: 100 EXP
—

He stared at the requirements, then let out a laugh that was equal parts hysteria and disbelief. It was absurd. Completely absurd. They expected a five-year-old child to do 300 pushups? 500 situps? Run ten kilometers?

But as the laughter faded, reality set in.

This was his life now. This system, this impossible quest to surpass a god, this dangerous world filled with ninja and monsters and wars. He was trapped—completely and utterly trapped—and the only way out was forward.

No, not out. There was no way out. The only option was survival, and the path to survival meant becoming strong enough that even death couldn’t claim him before he’d fulfilled this insane contract.

He rubbed his small hands over his face, feeling the wetness of tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed. Everything about this situation was overwhelming. He’d gone from a mundane life of routine and anime to this—orphaned in a world where children fought and died, bound to a contract that demanded he become stronger than one of the most powerful beings in existence.

Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki. The Sage of Six Paths. Level 500.

And before him? Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, the progenitor of chakra itself, would be first. Isshiki Ōtsutsuki, the other survivor of the Ōtsutsuki pair that came to Earth, would be second. Hagoromo was third.

Third strongest being on the planet, and he had to surpass that.

How was that even possible? The Sage of Six Paths had been the stuff of legends even in the Naruto series. His power had been such that he’d sealed the Ten-Tails within himself and survived. He’d created the moon. He’d founded the entire shinobi system.

And they expected him—a five-year-old child in a world he’d only ever seen through a screen—to surpass that?

But what choice did he have?

He looked down at his small hands again, turning them over slowly. These hands would have to become strong enough to reshape the world. This body would have to be pushed beyond its limits, again and again, until it could stand among gods.

The alternative was too terrible to consider.

With shaking fingers, he dismissed the system panels. They vanished from his vision, though he could still feel them there, waiting at the edge of his consciousness, a constant reminder of the chains binding his soul.

The hospital room felt even emptier than before, the white walls seeming to close in around him. Somewhere outside, Konoha was picking up the pieces after the Kyuubi attack. His clan—the Uchiha clan—was likely already being viewed with suspicion. In a few years, that suspicion would turn to paranoia, and eventually to genocide.

But he couldn’t think about that now. That was a problem for the future, assuming he survived that long.

For now, he had to focus on the immediate challenges. He had to get stronger. Level up. Complete quests. Build his stats until he could actually defend himself in this world of superhuman warriors.

He slipped off the hospital bed, his small feet touching the cold floor. His legs wobbled slightly—the body was still weak from the ordeal—but he forced himself to stand straight.

“Uchiha Yami,” he said softly, testing the name. His name now, whether he liked it or not. “Okay. If this is my life now… if I’m really stuck here… then I’ll make it work. Somehow.”

The words felt hollow, a desperate attempt at confidence he didn’t truly feel. But they were something. A starting point.

Outside the window, he could see smoke still rising from parts of the village. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded him uncomfortably of the Kyuubi’s fur. Somewhere out there, Naruto Uzumaki was taking his first breaths, an infant bearing the burden of the very demon that had destroyed so much.

And somewhere out there, the mechanisms of fate were already in motion, setting in place the events that would define the next fifteen years of this world’s history.

He was part of that now. A new variable in an equation he’d once thought he understood.

Uchiha Yami clenched his small fists, feeling the determination harden in his chest alongside the fear.

He would survive this. He would become strong. Strong enough to break free of this contract, or at least strong enough that the world couldn’t break him first.

The path ahead was impossible, but impossibility had never stopped a shonen protagonist before.

And if he was going to be trapped in a shonen world, he might as well act like it.