Konoha, the top floor of an apartment building on Second Ring Old Street.
"Adoptive father!!!"
Uzumaki Naruto opened his tear-filled eyes and stared vacantly from a bed less than ten square meters in size.
His adoptive father, the strongest man alive, with magnetic-field power of 990,000 horsepower, ruler of Heaven and Hell, was dead. He had died on a coral island in the Indian Ocean, fighting the world's strongest alone.
Naruto, with 400,000 horsepower, had died alongside his father after his heart was shattered while protecting him from Hakujinan's sneak attack.
Eight years of his father's teachings swirled through his mind. It took a long time for him to come back to his senses. By then, dawn had broken.
Naruto numbly walked to the window and looked out at rows of wooden houses with grass-covered eaves and round, smoke-belching rooftops.
His intelligence had already given him the answer. This was Konoha, the place where he was born.
The date on the calendar was the day he'd met his adoptive father while wandering. He was twelve that year. It was as if everything had been a dream, as if he'd never eaten instant noodles and told his father he wanted to become Hokage.
Naruto smiled. That's impossible.
His adoptive father had been a true man, and so was he—a true man unlike anything he could have imagined in his twelve-year-old dreams.
He had returned. He was back in this ignorant village.
When he accepted the truth, his expression settled into calm. The son of the ruler of Heaven and Hell would never wallow in self-pity. He would only keep moving forward.
Naruto reached out and tried to rub his cells together, to turn his magnetic field. But no magnetic force emerged. What came out instead was Chakra: weak, pitiful, and helpless.
As he had eight years ago, he sat back down at the table, opened the fridge behind him, took out a carton of milk, and poured himself a glass. He finished his breakfast with some bread.
An old yellow jacket hung from a cracked, peeling wall. Naruto didn't like the style, but he put it on anyway.
"I need to buy a trench coat."
A strong man's first requirement was good fashion sense. Clothes affected confidence. How could he ever get stronger dressed in something so ridiculous?
No wonder he'd been at the bottom of his class and failed the graduation exam three times. He'd been wearing the wrong clothes all along.
Naruto went out and climbed down the stairs. Before he even reached the street, the crowd scattered in a flurry.
One disgusted gaze after another landed on him, as if they were looking at something filthy.
His temper flared, and he shouted, "Did I kill your fathers? If you've got nowhere else to look, pluck out your eyes, string them up like grapes, and feed them to the dogs!"
The pedestrians were horrified. Eyes wide, they fled in every direction.
"Whoa! That demon...that harbinger of doom is going to eat people! It's finally snapped!"
"Quick! Call the Security Force!"
Naruto's Chakra surged with his anger, and the faint outline of a fiery red fox flickered around him.
What was wrong with the people in this village? He was a good-tempered guy, yet they'd discriminated against him for twelve years straight.
Before he'd transmigrated, he'd tried to reassure himself by reflecting on his own shortcomings, thinking he was looked down on because he wasn't strong enough.
It was only after receiving a proper education in the Magnetic Field World that he understood: these villagers were just despicable and stupid, subhumans fit only to be ruled and to eke out an existence beneath the wisdom of the strong.
Walking along the familiar yet strange shopping street, Naruto searched for a clothing store. But he noticed that the adults lining the road had picked up sticks and pitchforks, watching him warily.
Naruto smiled.
Was he afraid? Absolutely not!
Even though this body was only five feet tall, not the powerful seven-foot-three frame he'd had before returning, he was still completely confident he could subdue the surrounding subhumans, none of whom even qualified as ninja.
One step, then another.
"Naruto!"
At the familiar call, Naruto turned around. A stern, anxious-looking man came into view, with a low ponytail, a green flak jacket, and a horizontal scar across the bridge of his nose.
"Iruka Sensei." Naruto grinned and waved enthusiastically.
Iruka was his teacher at the Ninja Academy. He was strict, but he'd looked after Naruto and spent more time with him than anyone else. He was a good man who often treated him to ramen.
Iruka panted, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and glanced around at the crowd. Then he put an arm around Naruto's shoulders and led him away.
"Are you all right?"
"Did you run here, Sensei?" Naruto beamed. He was genuinely happy to see him again.
Iruka looked Naruto over. When he'd heard that the Kyuubi had gone on a rampage and hurt people, he'd hurried over across the rooftops. But Naruto seemed perfectly normal now.
He knew the villagers who hated Naruto had made a fuss over nothing. "Want some ramen?"
Naruto nodded emphatically. "Yeah!"
The two of them arrived at Ichiraku Ramen Shop, a privately run townhouse converted into a restaurant, with a slanted tin roof.
Naruto pushed aside the curtain bearing the shop's name and called out warmly, "Uncle Teuchi!"
The middle-aged man, wearing a chef's hat and with eyes narrowed almost into a single line, smiled. "Naruto."
Naruto raised an arm straight up. "Pork-bone miso chashu ramen!"
Iruka smiled helplessly. "I'll have one too."
"Coming right up!"
Naruto savored the moment. Everyone around him cared about him, just like his adoptive father and adoptive brother had when they trained in Tokyo.
When a steaming bowl of ramen arrived, neatly topped with chashu pork, kelp, and egg, he took a sip of the broth and then wolfed it down, mouthful after mouthful.
When you were happy, you should enjoy yourself; when it was time to work hard, you should work hard. Controlling your emotions was a compulsory lesson for the strong.
First he'd accomplish the small goal of becoming Hokage. Only then would he have a chance to pursue bigger goals. His adoptive father was watching over him from heaven and would never want him to fall into ruin.
Iruka: "Naruto, are you upset about failing the graduation exam?"
"Not at all." Naruto finished the broth and set down the bowl with a flourish. "It's a disgrace."
Iruka froze. He hadn't expected Naruto to use such an exaggerated word as "disgrace." The emotional harm he'd suffered was far beyond what Iruka had imagined.
"Naruto, you're a smart boy..."
"I'm a genius!" Naruto cut him off, thumping his chest. "This is an undeniable disgrace. Don't worry, Iruka Sensei. I'm definitely passing the makeup exam next time. I'm completely confident!"
Iruka smiled kindly. He'd worried for nothing. Naruto would always be an optimistic, cheerful boy.
"You two really are here."
The curtain was pushed aside, and a handsome man with white hair reaching his cheeks on either side smiled as he looked at Naruto.
"Mizuki." Iruka greeted him casually. He was a good friend of his.
But Naruto's eyes turned cold—ice-cold.
He remembered the day before, when Mizuki had failed the graduation exam and urged him to steal the Scroll of Seals from the Third Hokage's house.
If he hadn't entered the Magnetic Field World, the naive boy would have gone.
Stealing? What a shameful act!
And to urge a child to steal was even more despicable!
On top of that, Mizuki was a teacher. One could judge the whole from a part: he was a complete hypocrite.
No wonder Naruto's grades were so bad. How could he do well with trash like that for a teacher?
Naruto knew that if he confronted Mizuki now, he wouldn't admit anything. It would only put Iruka in an awkward position, torn between believing his friend or his student.
He decided to play along.
Steal—no, borrow it once.
He didn't believe Mizuki had told him to steal the book without some ulterior motive.
"Mizuki Sensei." Naruto called out, but nausea roiled in his chest and his stomach clenched. He almost threw up.
No—he had already thrown up!
Pfft!
Chewed-up noodles and bits of meat mixed with thick stomach fluid shot powerfully from Naruto's mouth. They splattered all over Mizuki's head, coating his white hair before sliding down.
Mizuki's smile froze. His muscles twitched as he held back his anger. He wanted to strangle Naruto, but he didn't want to lose his temper with a child in public.
He wanted to wipe the filth from his face, but raised a hand and stopped. Even his hand felt too dirty.
Iruka froze, then turned away, unable to watch. He scolded Naruto, "Apologize, now!"
But when he saw Naruto leaning over the table as if he'd eaten something bad, he hurriedly slapped some money down, picked Naruto up, and left. "Sorry, Mizuki. Naruto seems sick. I'm taking him to the doctor."
Mizuki left the ramen shop without a word and ducked into an alley. He scraped the filth from his face and twisted his features into a snarl, both hands clenched like claws.
"You evil little fox demon! Once I get the Scroll of Seals, I'll pin you to a tree with a Kunai and roast you like an orphan from a defeated nation!"
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