A bizarre Ninja world: The revolution

[Eneel_M]

Late at night, in the Uchiha Compound of Konohagakure.

[You have obtained 70 soul fragments. Would you like to proceed with your first Stand draw?]

A ringing in his ears mingled with distant static, echoing through Henry's mind.

He sat there in a daze, slumped in a pool of blood. The stab wound piercing his chest was knitting itself shut, agonizingly slow, while the courtyard's gravel dug uncomfortably into his backside.

He dipped a finger into the blood on his chest.

Still warm.

His face went blank, a thousand jumbled thoughts boiling down to a single syllable:

"Huh?"

Shards of chaotic memory flooded his brain:

Uchiha Ryuji, 18 years old. A total slacker, utterly talentless. Dropped out of the Ninja Academy, he scraped by on the clan's bare-minimum welfare stipend—the black sheep of the Uchiha, a walking embarrassment.

Tonight, beneath a full moon, his predecessor had been boozing it up and stargazing when he spotted a figure crouched on a nearby utility pole.

And then...

Henry had logged in. Body-swapped right into the driver's seat.

"I... transmigrated?"

"Into the Naruto world?"

Naruto. Henry had heard the name before.

But that was it—just the name.

Hailing from a sleepy small town, he'd buried his nose in textbooks from the day he could read, with zero time for anime. His Naruto knowledge was surface-level at best, scraped from viral memes and online buzz.

He knew bits and pieces that had blown up online:

Naruto Uzumaki had the Nine-Tails fox sealed inside his gut.

Sasuke Uchiha's "Amaterasu"—that inextinguishable black flame.

And...

Well, the more adult intel on characters like Tsunade, Ino Yamanaka, and Sakura Haruno, courtesy of certain P-sites that started with "P."

But the actual plot? Zilch. He couldn't tell you the difference between a genin and a jinchuriki if his life depended on it.

Transmigrating into an anime world without a clue about the storyline?

How the hell was he supposed to play this game?

[You have obtained 70 soul fragments. Would you like to proceed with your first Stand draw?]

Lost in thought, the tinnitus finally ebbed away. The cold, mechanical voice returned, crisp and alien.

He let out a shaky breath, cracking a grin despite himself. "Whew. A system, huh? Thank god for small mercies."

He pulled up the system interface with a mental flick:

JoJo's Bizarre Stand System.

Derived from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, this system catalogs every Stand that ever appeared in the series. Acquire them through gacha draws, then level them up and evolve their powers.

The JoJo series? Henry drew a blank there too. Never touched it.

Sensing his ignorance, the system had tucked a "Plot Recap" tab into the corner menu. Full access to manga Parts 1 through 8, ready to binge.

But comics could wait. He tapped into the draw screen.

Stands: psychic manifestations of a user's fighting spirit and mental energy. Supernatural entities that handle combat, defense, reconnaissance—whatever their wielder needs. They're as versatile as they are deadly.

One catch: As extensions of the soul, any damage to the Stand rebounds onto the user. Two halves of the same whole, bound tighter than blood.

The draw page bloomed with shadowy silhouettes of countless Stands. Below them: options for a single pull or a ten-roll batch. A sidebar tooltip laid out the basics:

"Normal Gacha Pool: Yields 4-5 Star Stands, upgrade materials, special items, and more. Costs 10 soul fragments per single draw."

"4-Star Examples: Stone Free, The Emperor, Hermit Purple, Silver Chariot..."

"5-Star Examples: Crazy Diamond, Metallica, Star Platinum (Time Stop disabled), Whitesnake..."

The list sprawled on, a dizzying array of options.

He zeroed in on that opening line. "Normal pool, eh? So there are limited-time banners or event pools too?"

The system stayed silent—no sass, no fanfare.

It just reprompted the draw confirmation. Then, a golden banner flashed across the interface:

[First Ten-Pull Guarantee: One 5-Star Stand!]

Now that was music to his ears.

No pity system in sight? Without this newbie mercy, he could've dumped a fortune chasing scraps.

The killer who'd offed his predecessor might still be prowling nearby. A guaranteed 5-Star would at least give him a fighting chance—something to hide behind while he figured out the rules.

He glanced at the top-right counter.

Soul Fragments: 70.

Ten per draw meant he was 30 short of a ten-pull. Not even close.

Fragment acquisition methods? Three options, crisp and clinical:





Defeat powerful enemies.



Alter world lines (shift the plot's trajectory).



Mortgage a portion of your own soul.

The first two were straightforward: Grind mobs, butterfly-effect the canon.

But soul-mortgaging? The fine print chilled him:

"Pledge a slice of your soul for fragments. Repay the full amount within 24 hours to reclaim it—or forfeit that soul quota permanently."

Current Soul Pledge Value: 500 fragments.

Five hundred. Fifty draws' worth.

'My soul's only blue worth a single 648 whale package?' Ryuji griped internally. (From here onwards, he shall be Ryuji.)

What happened if you defaulted? Lost creativity? Shorter lifespan? Black-hole emotions?

No clue. And he wasn't about to find out.

Ryuji was not the type to debt-dive for pixels. Or Stands, in this case.

He hauled himself up from the sticky blood, mind already mapping a survival plan:

Play it safe. Leverage the Uchiha bloodline and this busted system. Develop in the shadows. Bide time until he pulled a god-tier Stand. Then? No more soul-crushing overtime, no more scraping by—just enough cash for ramen runs, and a girl (or three) to cuddle up with on lazy afternoons.

The fantasy alone tugged his lips into a smirk.

"Ryji... s-save... save me..."

A feeble whimper from inside the house shattered the daydream.

Someone alive?

His brow furrowed. He shoved the door open and stepped into the dim room.

There, sprawled on the tatami mat, was a little girl of four or five. Twin horn-braids framed her tear-streaked face. A vicious gash across her belly wept crimson, soaking her clothes.

She stretched a trembling hand toward him.

He clasped it—icy, quivering, impossibly small. Flashes of borrowed memory flickered to life:

Her dad, KIA in some forgotten war skirmish. Mom, drowning grief in sake, lashing out at the kid in drunken rages.

His predecessor? A deadbeat through and through. But he had a soft spot for the village brats. He'd blow half his welfare check on candy, doling it out like a pint-sized Santa.

This one in particular—terrified of home—had latched onto him like a barnacle. Days spent crashing at his place: arcade games on the floor, sneaking bites of his instant noodles.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna marry Brother Ryuji!"

Her favorite line, delivered with gap-toothed glee.

Tonight? Another bender at home. She'd bolted straight to his door.

"Brother... I don't wanna die..."

The system's giddy rush evaporated like mist. In its place: a hollow ache.

No time for words. He scooped her up—feather-light, limp—and bolted for the door.

Doctor! Need a doctor!

He burst into the courtyard, feet pounding gravel. Halfway across, it hit him: the system. Some Stands could heal—Crazy Diamond's restoration, maybe. If he pulled lucky...

"Just hang on a sec, kid. We're gonna—"

The words died in his throat.

Her eyes had dulled to ash-gray. No rise and fall. No pulse.

She was gone.

Ryji barely knew her—the original's memories came in fits and starts, like a corrupted file.

But he was no shinobi savage. Just a guy from the modern world, schooled in the fragility of life. Watching that spark—vibrant, breakable—snuff out in his arms? It carved something raw into his chest.

The original Ryuji? Fair game, maybe. Adult waster, leeching Uchiha prestige. Someone snapping? Harsh, but... logical, in this dog-eat-dog world.

A five-year-old? What "threat" was she? Babbling nonsense and begging for sweets?

Caw—caw—

The harsh cry of crows yanked him back. Dozens wheeled overhead, blotting the stars. The night sky hung in absolute, suffocating black.

He wrinkled his nose. Stepping beyond the courtyard wall, the metallic tang of blood only thickened, coating his throat.

A lazy breeze tugged at the clouds. Moonlight spilled down, merciless.

And there it was.

Corpses. Everywhere.

Elders frozen mid-stumble. Youths twisted in final defiance. Infants, silent in their mothers' arms.

Not a soul stirred. The Uchiha Compound—a tomb.

Hiss scalp prickled, gooseflesh racing down his spine. "What the—? Did the Japanese roll through like it was Nanking?"

He stood frozen at the street's edge.

Behind him: the warm glow of Konohagakure's lanterns, oblivious and alive.

Ahead: the Uchiha sector, drowned in red haze. The wind clawed at his clothes, cooling the sweat on his skin—and half his resolve with it.

Fear first, sharp as a kunai. But fear burned off quick, leaving fury in its wake.

Not some sappy echo from Ryuji's ghost-memories. No.

This was pure, baseline human outrage. The kind drilled into every civics class: Life's not cheap. Massacring the defenseless? That's not "shonen grit." That's atrocity.

Naruto was probably no stranger to brawls and body counts—hot-blooded manga staple. But this?

Slaughtering grannies who could barely hobble?

Butchering toddlers fresh out of diapers?

'Who the fuck does that?'

Beasts. Only beasts.

"AAAAAHHHH!!!"

The raw scream pierced the night—not far off. A kid's voice, shrill with terror.

A survivor.

His leg twitched forward on instinct. Then locked.

The butcher who'd carved through a whole clan? God-tier. No ninja force from the village in sight meant backup—orders from on high, sweeping the mess under the rug.

Power. Pull. Premeditation.

Charge in, play hero for some random brat? Dice roll with his neck on the line.

Worth the gamble?

The doubt flickered—and died. He took that second step.

'Worth it? Fuck worth. I'm already ahead—transmigrated with a cheat code. What's one extra swing?'

Hiding? Curling up like a kicked pup? Nah. A grown-ass man without that spine? That's the real dog.

Ryuji surged forward, strides eating ground. Gale-force wind whipped his hair into a frenzy, but his gaze? Ironclad.

Deep in his pupils, a golden ember of resolve kindled.

In the midnight veil, it blazed like a noonday sun.

...

Itachi Uchiha loomed over his crumpled brother Sasuke, gaze a storm of icy detachment laced with feverish zeal.

The masked figure—Obito Uchiha, posing as "Madara"—leaned against a wall, arms folded, savoring the drama like front-row theater.

Then: the thunder of footfalls, barreling from the shadows.

Not steps, exactly. No cadence, no grace.

Breaths ragged, untrained. Amateur hour.

Ryuji exploded around the corner.

He clocked the scene: Tiny Sasuke, curled fetal and sobbing. Across from him: Itachi and the masked freak.

"A stray?"

Obito's hidden eye flicked to the blood crusting Ryuji's shirt. "Itachi, you slacking? Leftovers on the board. Want me to mop up?"

"Unnecessary."

Itachi slid his tanto free, voice flat as frost. "Didn't peg you for round two, Ryuji."

He knew the face. All too well.

Uchiha Ryuji: Clan punchline. Welfare king. The kid who turned "dead weight" into an art form.

Third Shinobi World War? Every able Uchiha shipped out—Fugaku's orders.

Ryuji? Prime fighting age, but weaker than a chunin washout. Zero ninjutsu, couldn't seal a scroll without fumbling. Logistics? Ha—they'd laughed him off the roster. He'd "served" from his futon, bingeing sake through the whole damn thing.

Wastewater levels like that? Infamous. A clan joke.

Sasuke's eyes—flicker of desperate hope—snuffed out at the sight.

"Ptoo!"

Ryuji hawked a bloody loogie onto the dirt. "Don't 'Ryuji' me, you animal. Save the buddy act for the grave."

He sucked in a steadying breath, then closed the gap. Gentle as a breeze, he ruffled Sasuke's dark mop.

"Go on, kid. Squat over there. I got this."

Ryuji wheeled on the duo, steel in his spine. To the system, a silent command:

"Pledge my soul. All of it."

Then...

"TEN-PULL, NOW!"

 

[Eneel_M]

Seventy soul fragments clattered like coins into a pachinko machine, a crisp, satisfying cascade.

The digits flickered, vanishing into twinkling stars that poured into the draw screen.

Not enough!

"Pledge my soul."

A thread of golden light drifted from Ryuji's essence.

It surged into the interface.

[Ten-pull secured.]

Draw!

The night sky's stars erupted in brilliance. Ten meteors streaked down, carving radiant arcs across the heavens.

Ding, ding, ding, ding.

Four chimes rang out as four stars materialized.

Their glow coalesced into a coil of purple vines.

[Stand Name: Hermit Purple.]

[Four-Star.]

[Owner: Joseph Joestar.]

[Ability: Spirit photography—shatter a camera or medium to view distant scenes. Conducts Ripple energy and electricity; can extend as vines for mobility.]

[Current Level: 1.]

[Note: "Old man's Stand is the most useless—DIO."]

"Four-Star?"

Ryuji blinked, stunned.

Wasn't it a guaranteed five-star on the first ten-pull?

And what's with the "most useless" jab in the notes?

Suddenly, the chimes resumed.

This time... five rings!

A star's radiance flashed, summoning a towering, muscular humanoid—blue-purple skin, flowing hair, built like a fortress.

[Stand Name: Star Platinum.]

[Five-Star.]

[Owner: Jotaro Kujo.]

[Ability: Close-range power type with superhuman strength, blinding speed, and pinpoint precision.]

[Current Level: 1.]

[Note 1: Time stop ability not yet unlocked.]

[Note 2: Invincible.]

A double Stand pull on his debut ten-roll!

What insane luck.

No—not just luck. A cosmic nod, an affirmation from the Stands themselves.

Ryuji had a million reasons to hide, to run.

Stepping out meant risking his life, betting his soul on a long shot.

But one reason pulled him forward—

The guts to face injustice head-on.

These two Stands answered that call.

Ryuji didn't know these killers' identities or what shadowy pull kept the village from intervening.

He knew one thing: As a grown man with his wits about him, he couldn't stand by while these monsters targeted a kid—not when he had a choice.

Save yourself when you're weak; save the world when you're strong.

Right now, though? No grand philosophy.

Ryuji just wanted to smash these bastards.

He drew a deep breath. When his eyes reopened, fear was gone.

Fists clenched, he dropped into a boxer's stance.

"Come on! Trash!"

Labeled "trash" by the Uchiha clan's biggest failure? A flicker of complexity crossed Itachi Uchiha's eyes. He hadn't expected Ryuji to be the one standing here.

Fate's mockery?

The emotion vanished. Itachi advanced, blade in hand.

No chakra wasted on ninjutsu, no Sharingan activated.

The masked man beside him was too enigmatic, too dangerous—Itachi needed reserves to watch his back.

More crucially, he figured Ryuji didn't warrant the effort.

He drew his sword not for kunai flings, but out of respect for Ryuji's suicidal stand.

Itachi blurred forward like a specter, steel whistling through the air.

He fixed Ryuji with a cold stare:

"I retract my underestimation. You're a man worthy of respect."

"Unfortunately, for Konoha... for peace... please die."

The blade arced upward, poised to bisect Ryuji.

Obito yawned, bored.

Young Sasuke, numb from tonight's horrors, squeezed his eyes shut.

Then—

"ORA!!!"

A thunderous roar, followed by the thud of fist on flesh!

Sasuke's eyes snapped open.

"Hm?"

Obito frowned, peering through his mask.

The lethal swing halted mid-air.

Inches from Ryuji, it hit an invisible wall, frozen.

Blood sprayed, glittering like ruby shards under the moonlight. The source...

Obito's pupil contracted.

Itachi was hurt?!

Star Platinum's opening punch had caved Itachi's nose, blood gushing.

And that...

Was just the start.

Star Platinum's range: two meters.

If Itachi hung back with ninjutsu, Ryuji was toast.

But stepping into range? Ryuji wouldn't waste it.

One hand in his pocket, Ryuji channeled the massacre's rage into a pointing finger at the dazed executioner.

"ORA! ORA! ORA!"

Star Platinum seized the blade with one hand. The other balled into a fist the size of a cauldron, hammering Itachi's skull.

Each punch fiercer!

Heavier!

By the third, bone cracked audibly.

Obito snapped to.

Too fast!

Too vicious!

From swing to near-skull-shatter: fractions of a second. Terrifyingly, no tell—what ninjutsu was this?

No seals.

No incantations.

Bloodline limit?

But he's Uchiha—Sharingan?

Yet...

Obito saw no tomoe, no Mangekyo in Ryuji's eyes.

Thoughts raced; battle instinct kicked in. He flickered to Itachi's side, grabbing for his shoulder.

Itachi's power was key to Obito's plans.

He'd warp him to Kamui space.

Ryuji's ability was too weird—Obito avoided direct contact.

As his hand neared...

"Star Finger!"

Star Platinum released the sword, fingers spear-like, thrusting at Obito.

Obito couldn't see the Stand but sensed danger, phasing intangible.

He evaded the strike,

But his rescue grasp phased through Itachi's shoulder.

In intangibility, Obito couldn't pull others in—ability's flaw.

Intel: the ninja's edge.

One-on-one or two-on-one, Itachi and Obito's arsenal, skills, experience—they'd crush Ryuji.

But that first-move gap.

Pure first-sight kill.

No matter the jutsu's might or taijutsu's finesse.

Flesh is fragile.

Level 1 Star Platinum, unupgraded, hit like a highway semi-truck.

Itachi Uchiha?

More like a speed bump!



Star Platinum hurled Itachi skyward, right fist cocked, drawing breath.

"T-Too strong..."

Sasuke stared from the corner, agape at his airborne brother.

Unreal.

Like a dream.

Itachi slaughtering the clan: dream.

Ryuji about to kill him: dream.

But Sasuke knew—it was real.

"ORA!"

The bellow echoed.

Fist wind whipped up a gale, unstoppable force barreling toward Itachi's face.

Hit? Instant death!

"Susanoo..."

A crimson barrier encircled Itachi.

On death's brink, survival instinct jolted him awake.

Obito exhaled in relief.

Susanoo. Saved.

Crack.

Star Platinum's punch landed, a faint snap.

Hairline fractures spiderwebbed.

Ryuji stepped closer, calm:

"Pledge my remaining soul. Convert all to resources—upgrade Star Platinum."

[Star Platinum upgraded to... Level 2.]

[Soul pledge at 0. Acquire 500 fragments in 24 hours, or soul vanishes permanently.]

His soul fully staked, yet Ryuji's eyes blazed brighter with golden fire.

Star Platinum's swings stirred winds, tousling his hair.

Moonlight hid behind clouds, plunging the world dark—save Ryuji's golden-glowing eyes, divine in the void, fixed on Itachi.

He raised a finger, commanding:

"End him."

Level 2 Star Platinum: strength, speed—elevated across the board.

"ORA ORA ORA!"

In a blink, countless strikes.

Itachi's fresh Susanoo cracked, fractures webbing until the final blow—

Bang!

A breach shattered open.

Star Platinum's arm thrust through, seizing Itachi's throat.

Slim neck.

After all, Itachi was just 13.

But...

Demons know no age.

Ryuji didn't hesitate.

Star Platinum squeezed—hard.

 

[sandro3000117]

Fuck itachi

 

[Eneel_M]

Several kilometers from Konohagakure.

Space warped into a swirling vortex. Obito and Itachi Uchiha emerged from the distortion.

Itachi collapsed to the ground, hacking violently.

A massive handprint bruised his throat.

Just a hair's breadth away.

Fractions of a second more, and Star Platinum would have snapped his neck like a twig. Without Obito, Itachi would be dead.

"He was really that strong?"

Obito couldn't believe it.

This was Itachi Uchiha—the 13-year-old prodigy who'd awakened the Mangekyo Sharingan!

Even Obito—no, even peak Madara Uchiha—couldn't have pummeled him that fast.

"Very strong."

Itachi replayed the fight.

He'd underestimated, handing Ryuji the initiative.

But underestimation was no excuse.

"That 'invisible enemy'—its speed, power, explosiveness... it surpassed human limits."

Seizing the first move? Manageable.

But paired with unbeatable velocity, accuracy, and overwhelming force?

Terrifying.

"Like a mini-tailed Beast incarnate."

Itachi rose, gazing back toward Konoha.

But failure was a one-time thing.

The element of surprise wouldn't work twice.

What Itachi didn't know: Ryuji wasn't static.

Given time, he'd pull Stand after Stand—each with wildly new abilities.

Obito slipped back into his casual slouch.

Uchiha were always pulling off miracles.

"Head back and finish him?"

Itachi shook his head. "No need. Let's go."

He'd fulfilled his pact with Danzo.

One survivor—or two—changed nothing. Konoha's shinobi weren't fools; circling back risked unnecessary conflict.

Obito shrugged. Space twisted again, and they vanished.

...

Uchiha Compound.

[Defeated Itachi Uchiha: Gained 800 soul fragments.]

]Repaid soul mortgage: Deducted 500 fragments. Remaining soul fragments: 300.]

Three hundred left—that's...

Thirty draws!

Ryuji itched to pull immediately.

Glancing at Star Platinum, vigilant at his side, he restrained himself.

His initial soul value: 500 fragments.

Mortgaged 30 for the ten-pull.

Upgrading Star Platinum from Level 1 (0%) to Level 2 (7%) burned 470.

Math checked out: Level 1 to 2 cost 400 fragments.

Level 2 to 3?

A whopping 1,000.

Expensive as hell.



But worth it.

Strength, speed, reactions—all leaped ahead from Level 1.

What was once impenetrable—Susanoo—shattered under Level 2's assault.

Of course, Itachi's rushed summon and foggy mind played a part.

Still, Star Platinum was only Level 2.

Max level tied to star rating.

Four-Star Hermit Purple topped at Level 4.

Five-Star Star Platinum? Level 5.

At max, its raw power and speed could pulverize anything in range.

Ryuji mulled it over, deciding to hoard fragments—adapt based on threats: draw or upgrade.

He checked the system prompt.

"So that kid was Itachi Uchiha."

Ryuji sifted through his fragmented memories, unearthing Itachi's profile.

"Meaning he's Uchiha too? Kin slaying kin?"

Ryuji's face twisted like an old man squinting at a smartphone meme.

Why?

The Uchiha clan—wealthy, sprawling. Even a leech like Ryuji boozed through life on welfare.

Itachi, clan prodigy, got the lion's share of resources.

Killing them all for bigger gains?

Only explanation, right?

Schooled in history and ethics back home, Ryuji couldn't fathom Itachi's "greater good"—averting clan unrest to prevent war.

Clan unrest sparking war...

Related to frail elders?

To kids crashing for games?

To "wastes" like Ryuji, gasping after two steps?

"Ryuji... you okay...?"

Sasuke's small voice piped from behind.

Ryuji snapped back, eyeing the tiny kid. He rummaged memories.

"So you're Sasuke."

Heard the name plenty.

Even anime-illiterate, Ryuji caught Sasuke in memes: Hand over face, peeking through fingers, yelling "Amaterasu!"

He ruffled Sasuke's hair, evoking a back-in-the-day pal in suspenders.

"Ryuji, my brother..."

Sasuke choked on the word, switching: "Is Itachi dead?"

"He got away."

Sorrow flickered in Sasuke's eyes—then hatred.

He couldn't grasp why his once-gentle brother massacred the clan.

Reasons didn't matter. The deed was done. For family, for the clan...

Vengeance!

"What now?" Sasuke asked.

"Wait for rescue. This big a mess—even if they played deaf, they've gotta show now."

Ryuji nodded toward the village.

"See? Incoming."

A dozen figures leaped like fleas across rooftops, closing fast.

Ryuji exhaled.

Tonight's nightmare—temporarily over.

He pictured himself bundled in a blanket, hot cocoa in hand, watching rescuers bustle.

Disaster flicks always wrapped like that.

Massacre done, the puppet-masters—arrogant as they were—wouldn't off the survivors in broad moonlight, right?

Naruto was shonen, after all. Couldn't be that dark.

...

"How many times do I gotta say it?"

"We're victims. Killer's Itachi Uchiha—fled. Sasuke and I are witnesses; you're experts—find the evidence onsite."

"What more you digging for? Or—"

Ryuji locked eyes with the interrogator, suspicion and disgust boiling over:

"What answer you fishing from my mouth?"

The room's lights dimmed low. Ryuji's wrists cuffed to the table.

Four Root shinobi—Danzo's elite—posted at corners, zero blind spots on him.

Like he was the butcher.

Yamanaka Shiro sat opposite.

Yamanaka clan: Masters of the Mind Body Switch Technique, soul probes, memory dives. Prime interrogator.

As a pro, Shiro read truth in Ryuji's tone, posture, gaze—no lies.

But truth? Often irrelevant.

Power-holders' whims ruled.

Danzo's call.

Knock, knock.

Door thumped. Heavy metal groaned open.

A Root ninja beckoned Shiro out.

Shiro exited.

Ryuji extended a palm toward his back.

"Hermit Purple."

Purple vines snaked around Shiro's boot, trailing out. One end hugged Ryuji's ear.

Bang.

Door sealed.

Root voices funneled clear through the vine.

"Lord Danzo's order: Kill him. No traces."

One Uchiha left in the village—enough.

No need for two.

Danzo's deal with Itachi covered Sasuke—no buy-one-get-one.

"Understood."

Shiro didn't question, didn't probe why.

Danzo commanded; they obeyed.

Rule of thumb.

"The other?" Shiro asked.

"Not your concern."

Shiro nodded faintly. "Apologies."

Overstepped.

"Leave it to me."

Silent kills? Yamanaka specialty. He gripped the thick handle, twisting halfway—

Boom!

The ten-centimeter steel slab slammed like a giant's palm, swatting Shiro against the wall like a fly.

The messenger gaped, instinct yanking kunai for defense.

"ORA!"

Star Platinum's punch crushed: Kunai, arm, ribs—all splintered.

Messenger flew, crumpling onto the door.

Two bodies sandwiching steel—like a human burger.

Clang—they toppled, gasping last breaths, terror fixed on Ryuji stepping out.

Ryuji sighed softly:

"This is supposed to be a shonen manga? Way too dark!"

 

[Eneel_M]

Ryuji had figured Konoha hid its skeletons.

But turning a blind eye to the butcher while targeting the survivors? That crossed a line. Law? Justice? He wanted to demand: Does this village serve the Hokage—or Danzo?

No more waiting. "Can't stay here," he said to the dim cell, pulse racing. "One close call tonight, and tomorrow they'll finish the job. With the JoJo system, the world's open—plenty of places to lay low."

Worst case, Star Platinum could handle farming or hunting. Steady life, no strings. Why endure this mess?

Decision locked. Priority: Escape.

Root's underground hold: A tangle of corridors like real roots, twisting and trapped.

Breaking the interrogation room was one thing; getting out clean? Another challenge.

But Ryuji had his tools.

"Hermit Purple."

Purple vines crept ahead, scouting paths and marking dangers.

He ran the halls, stopping at a locked door.

Sasuke inside.

Bringing a kid along? It would slow him down...

A moment's pause—then Star Platinum ripped the metal door free.

One rescue or two, it didn't change much.

"Ryuji!"

Sasuke's eyes were red and swollen, his voice thick.

Ryuji met his gaze: "Danzo wants us gone. You with me?"

"Yes!"

Neither the young Sasuke nor the story-blind Ryuji knew the truth: In that night's horror, Sasuke was the safest mark.

They just followed the facts, making the right move.

Wail—wail—

Alarms pierced the air.

Ryuji lifted Sasuke, sending Star Platinum charging forward.

The tight spaces, combined with Danzo's order to spare the boy—Itachi's threat lingered; lives of underlings versus his own, the man knew priorities—meant no loose kunai or wild jutsu. Hand-to-hand only.

Without Konoha's blue beast, who could match Star Platinum in close quarters?

Ryuji pushed through like a storm, untouched. Ambushes and traps meant nothing against his stand's precision and speed.

A two-meter zone of absolute control around him.

From below to the surface, smashing through dozens of sealed doors.

Root's forces started confident: A failure and a child—why the numbers?

The first clash turned to anger, then disbelief.

Now, watching Ryuji step into the moonlight, the veterans' faces showed clear fear.

The Third War had ended less than a decade ago.

Many were old soldiers... hardened fighters.

Ryuji's figure reminded them of battlefield legends—one against many.

Even restrained by orders...

They looked back: A trail of blood, elites down in pools—fates uncertain.

This power was too much.

As Ryuji moved to leave, one Root stepped forward on instinct, catching his glance.

"Stay back!"

The group froze, held by that single word—no one followed.

Star Platinum struck the entrance.

Beams collapsed, stones fell, burying the access point.

...

Thud!

Danzo's fist cracked the desk, his face twisted in rage, eyes like daggers on the screen—as if ready to carve into Ryuji.

"Danzo, you've gone too far."

An aged voice came from behind.

Danzo shut off the feed.

The dark screen reflected the speaker.

Third Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi.

"What exactly?" Danzo asked.

Hiruzen's voice rose, anger building.

"Do I need to say it?"

"Yes. Tell me."

Danzo turned, meeting Hiruzen's eyes—direct, without flinch.

"Ordering Itachi to end the Uchiha?

Or trying to eliminate Uchiha Ryuji, causing this chaos?

Or gathering the clan's remains?"

Danzo stood, hands behind his back, facing Hiruzen.

"You're no fool—if you were, I'd have taken your place by now. You know everything. So name the 'too far' for my answer."

Hiruzen stayed silent.

Thirty seconds passed. He turned and left.

...

Tonight was far from over.

Blades flashed from shadows—familiar faces or strangers—kunai aimed at Ryuji. Genjutsu users pulled him into brief visions now and then.

But pain broke the hold. Ryuji had Star Platinum give him a light tap every five seconds.

Covered in blood, Sasuke in his arms, Ryuji moved like a legend—charging in and out, unbreakable.

Anyone who knew the village would notice: No major names among the fallen.

No Hyuga byakugan, no Ino-Shika-Cho teams, no Aburame insects—major clans stayed away.

Ryuji wasn't one for overconfidence.

Itachi was just a boy—hardly Konoha's strongest.

Why no real powerhouses in the way?

Ryuji thought it through during the run, reaching a conclusion:

The whole thing was dirty.

The true elites and major clans weren't blind.

Uchiha gone in one night? A scandal like mud in the wrong place—who touched it got stained.

The clans had found reasons to sit it out.

The pursuers were mostly low-level types, pulled from their beds by late orders, quick to respond like dutiful workers.

They weren't the strong ones.

"Hold on—we're almost out."

Ryuji patted Sasuke's head.

Sasuke looked toward home.

Without family, it wasn't home anymore—just a box full of sad memories.

"Where are we going?" Sasuke asked.

"I don't know."

Ryuji's knowledge of the world was no better than Sasuke's. "But there has to be a place where we can live like people."

"What if there isn't?"

Ryuji paused. "There will be."

Sasuke nodded hard.

He heard the wind from behind, saw a glint of metal heading for Ryuji.

"Watch out!"

Before the words finished, the kunai stopped in mid-air.

Star Platinum caught it perfectly. It turned, body bending like a bow, arm whipping out—the kunai flew back.

Boom!

A sharp crack echoed, the blade grazing an ear.

"Ah, that was close. So this is the 'invisible guard' from the reports? Never heard of such a thing."

A relaxed voice came from the shadows.

A man landed lightly, blocking the path—stance casual, book in hand, mask on, forehead protector covering one eye.

"You two—can't go any further."

Ryuji stopped.

White hair, easy manner, one eye hidden...

He recognized the look—a famous figure. The name slipped out:

"Gojo Satoru?"

 

[Eneel_M]

"Kakashi Hatake."

Kakashi made the correction.

Hearing "Gojo Satoru" stirred an unexpected irritation in him.

He looked back at the kunai, which had flown off, piercing the clouds until it disappeared.

"Is that your technique? Or a summon?"

Ryuji offered no reply. Instead, he said calmly: "We only want to leave. Away from this village that rejects us. Please step aside."

If Konoha no longer desired Uchiha power, a silent departure was the most dignified choice for everyone.

By custom, with the clan gone, all possessions would belong to the survivors: Ryuji and Sasuke.

They sought nothing.

Not even compensation for their loss.

As Ryuji had stated, he simply wished to depart quietly. That was all.

Was total elimination truly necessary?

Snap—

Kakashi shut his Icha Icha volume, lifting the forehead protector from his left eye. Chakra flowed in, allowing a faint glimpse of the imposing figure standing behind Ryuji—like a sculpted sentinel.

"Apologies. This is not personal—merely duty."

He withdrew three shuriken from his waist pouch and threw them in reverse grip.

Clang-clang-clang!

Star Platinum deflected them all.

Kakashi vanished from sight. A faint breeze rose from behind.

Star Platinum turned.

Moonlight spilled silver light; the Stand's broad shadow fell over Kakashi as he approached from the rear.

Its hair whipped wildly, eyes stern and commanding—like a vigilant protector, the mere sight carrying an overwhelming pressure.

Kakashi moved to evade, but Star Platinum was faster.

It grasped his head and slammed him to the ground.

Splash—

Water sprayed in all directions.

Kakashi broke into liquid form.

Water Clone Technique.

A mere test.

From the shadows ten meters away, Kakashi reflected:

"As the reports indicated: Invincible in close combat within two meters. This intensity—even Guy has never imposed it on me."

"In that case, ninjutsu it is."

Danzo's directives held no sway over Kakashi, and his precision would spare young Sasuke.

His hands formed seals with astonishing speed.

"Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet Technique!"

The signing was so rapid that the clone's splashing water had not yet settled before reforming into a dragon, surging upward.

The dragon advanced with terrifying force, its crimson eyes filled with intent to kill, jaws gaping wide as it lunged toward Ryuji.

"ORA!"

Star Platinum delivered a heavy punch, denting the dragon's head.

Without pause, amid the Stand's roars, fists rained down, methodically dismantling the B-rank technique with bare hands.

Abruptly, the ground beneath Ryuji gave way—he was pulled underground.

Earth Style: Headhunter Jutsu.

In mere moments, three techniques linked flawlessly.

The clone probed, the dragon drew focus, and the headhunter restrained—all while Kakashi kept his distance, simulating an entire ninja squad single-handedly.

A true master of ninjutsu.

The dragon's fading form wrapped Star Platinum, delaying its return by half a second—time enough for Kakashi's kunai at Ryuji's throat.

"Victory."

The idea surfaced—

Star Platinum disappeared from the fray. Vines surged forth.

Purple tendrils anchored to nearby structures like ropes. In the final instant, they hauled Ryuji free, launching him high into the air.

Strong winds disheveled his hair.

Kakashi saw it clearly: Ryuji's eyes remained utterly composed.

A sense of danger arose.

The vines receded; Star Platinum reemerged.

It seized Ryuji's arm, whirling twice before hurling him toward Kakashi like a pitched ball.

Seeing Ryuji hurtle closer, Kakashi's instincts alerted him. He pushed off the ground, retreating beyond the attack range.

It was too late—

"ORA!"

A fist unyielding as diamond struck Kakashi's face.

Boom!

Smoke billowed.

A wooden log lay in his place.

Substitution Jutsu.

Sasuke, experienced in combat despite his age, noticed the paper tag affixed to the log.

"Be careful! It's an explosive tag!"

The fight's rhythm was relentless—Sasuke had only now found a moment to warn.

Star Platinum pulverized the log; its fingers extended with surgical accuracy, severing the tag from the wood and cutting the chakra—preventing ignition.

Ten meters distant, Kakashi reappeared, his expression serious.

Prior to full engagement, he had harbored a trace of underestimation—merely a unique ability.

Such specialized fighters were common; identify the weakness, resolve swiftly.

Now, however, the matter proved more complex.

The issue lay not in the Stand's capabilities.

It was the wielder: Ryuji.

His composure in battle, instantaneous decisions... exceptional.

Nearby, Sasuke sensed the gravity, his small fists tightening.

This confrontation held more observers.

In the Hokage's office, the Third—Hiruzen Sarutobi—puffed his pipe, gazing into a crystal ball.

Over a dozen flies hovered, their compound eyes transmitting the scene to the Aburame clan.

For the Hyuga, it was simpler: Byakugan pierced barriers for a direct view.

Numerous eyes, each with their own concerns, followed the exchange.

"Kakashi has grown stronger—his strategies flawless, seal speed impeccable."

"Yet he holds his own against this Kakashi..."

All attention converged on Ryuji.

His records were straightforward: The Uchiha clan's most notorious idler, steadfast in a life of minimal effort.

Had it all been a facade these past years?

For what purpose?

Espionage?

Unlikely—spies ascend; remaining at the bottom yielded no vital secrets.

Thus... a genuine recluse?

The gazes carried varied sentiments, united by one query:

Who exactly are you?

If Ryuji could respond, it would be:

"An ordinary unfortunate soul."

Years of diligent study from dawn till dusk, on the cusp of a career—then, Isekai.

Isekai aside, awakening to an eradicated clan stripped even the option of idleness.

Those in power offered no comfort—instead, pursuing utter elimination.

The system? Less a boon of fate, more a counterweight to calamity.

"Ryuji, can we win?" Sasuke inquired.

Ryuji had wrought miracles this night, yet Kakashi was a veteran forged in true conflict. The rapid volleys had laid bare Ryuji's strengths—and vulnerabilities.

Unrivaled dominance up close; frailty at mid-to-long range.

Kakashi could harass with ninjutsu, maintain separation, await reinforcements—leaving Ryuji defensive.

Using Star Platinum to propel Ryuji for closure? The physical toll was considerable, and the interval provided ample opportunity for evasion or substitution.

Even Sasuke discerned it; the concealed watchers did as well.

"The battle concludes."

Hiruzen shook his head slightly, leaning his aged, weary frame into the chair.

A hand appeared, capturing attention.

Ryuji softly touched Sasuke's head, disheveling his neat part, and smiled:

"We will win."

Win?

How?

Ryuji pressed forward once more, clashing with Kakashi. Star Platinum seized an opening—a fist descending.

Familiar smoke; Kakashi substituted, emerging fifteen meters away, poised for the follow-up.

Ryuji did not advance.

The constant aggressor stood motionless; Star Platinum vanished.

Danzo, viewing the monitors, gave a cold snort: "Bold claims—yet in the end, surrender."

It voiced the sentiment of many.

Even Sasuke believed defeat imminent.

Only Kakashi felt a chill: Imminent threat. He attempted to reposition—

He could not move?!

Purple vines erupted from the soil, encircling his legs and waist—constricting like iron cables, anchoring him in place.

"When?!" Kakashi demanded.

"From the moment you believed you had identified my weakness—and secured victory."

Kakashi had observed during the fight.

So had Ryuji.

Chakra reserves limited: No reckless large-scale distant techniques.

Substitution range approximated ten to fifteen meters.

Based on these, Ryuji had alternated Hermit Purple throughout—deploying a twenty-meter vine network centered on himself.

Any substitution? Direction irrelevant—the vines would bind.

Substitution was no teleport; fully restrained, escape was impossible.

Yet... what then?

Ryuji could manifest only one Stand's power at a time.

Kakashi's assessment.

Hermit Purple inflicted no harm. Upon switching, a prepared substitution would evade the assault.

"I understand your reasoning."

Ryuji withdrew a wrinkled sheet from his pocket.

Kakashi stared: The explosive tag from his initial substitution log.

"I cannot injure you directly. But this...?"

Ryuji reignited the fuse, dropping it at Kakashi's feet. He patted Sasuke's head.

"We are leaving."

Sasuke glanced at the discarded tag.

"Should we attach it to him?"

Ryuji shook his head.

Unnecessary.

Kakashi had restrained his strikes—aiming away from vital points. No grudge existed; no need for lethality.

Kakashi watched the pair recede into the night.

Known as the Copy Ninja, he had replicated countless techniques; wartime exposed him to myriad bloodline secrets.

The Stand exceeded his understanding.

Ryuji, however, surpassed it.

Kakashi offered a faint smile:

"A truly intriguing guy."

Boom—

The explosion illuminated the sky.

Ryuji left the flames in his wake—along with his ties to Konoha.

He raised a hand, waving farewell.

The image imprinted like a renowned artwork in the minds of the observers.

The blaze faded; the two figures merged with the darkness, vanishing entirely.

 

[Eneel_M]

The second morning.

In a forest far from Konohagakure.

Birdsong filtered through the trees. Sasuke stared blankly.

Dawn's light slanted from the east, piercing the canopy to cast dappled patterns—warm on the skin.

Sasuke had not yet shaken off the haze.

"Lost in thought?" Ryuji asked.

Sasuke voiced his inner doubt: "I just... we walked right out. It feels unreal."

Ryuji nodded, grasping the confusion.

After leaving the village, he had sifted through his fragmented memories, learning Konoha's standing in the shinobi world.

If Konoha's forces had truly committed to capture, Level 2 Star Platinum and Level 1 Hermit Purple alone would not have sufficed for escape.

Pondering through the night until sunrise, Ryuji pieced it together.

Multiple factors at play.

First, the major clans and powerhouses abstained from the pursuit.

Itachi Uchiha's role factored in—no one wished to provoke a man who had slain his own kin.

Another element: Shared peril among foxes when the rabbit falls.

The Uchiha purge carried suspicion.

No hard proof, but they were no fools.

If one clan could fall today, another—Hyuga, Aburame—might follow tomorrow.

Many elites steered clear, unwilling to entangle.

Second, the Third Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi's—choice.

Had the Hokage issued direct orders or intervened personally, Ryuji could neither have fought nor fled.

Perhaps from guilt toward the Uchiha, the legendary "Professor of Ninjutsu" remained absent throughout.

Hesitation breeds disorder.

Finally, the sole interceptor: Kakashi Hatake.

His position intrigued.

Not Uchiha by blood, yet bearer of the Sharingan—a bond with the clan both close and complicated.

Kakashi was among the few who could engage without irredeemable stain.

Ryuji recalled the clash.

"...He held back. Less a fight, more an evaluation."

Sasuke blinked in surprise: "Evaluation? Of what?"

Ryuji pointed to his eyes: "Whether we can keep them safe outside."

The Uchiha Sharingan symbolized enigma and might.

Kakashi proved it: One eye elevated him to "Copy Ninja."

Who wouldn't covet such ascent?

News of Ryuji and Sasuke's flight would draw countless shinobi, bounty hunters.

Without strength, better a village prisoner than dissected for eyes.

"Leaving Konoha required a threshold—face for all sides. Kakashi served as that: Testing, while easing the path."

"But why help us?"

Ryuji considered: "His Sharingan, likely."

A debt to the Uchiha, perhaps—his speculation from available clues.

Ryuji's guess neared truth, but another motive existed:

Kakashi's own assessment.

He knew not the purge's depths, but having worked with Itachi, such atrocity seemed impossible.

Something amiss.

Thus, Kakashi acted.

Letting them escape exposed the shadows: Hands reaching out left traces. The farther, the clearer—Kakashi could unravel the threads.

The night seemed singular—the Uchiha case—but wove intelligence, gambits, balances like a chessboard.

Ryuji: An unforeseen piece.

Danzo, Hiruzen, Itachi played shogi.

Ryuji swept lines and shadows aside.

"You're incredible," Sasuke said sincerely. "Ninjutsu aside, deducing all this... like a seer from tales."

Ryuji smiled.

Inference from facts was straightforward.

Logic and data sufficed.

"Want to learn?"

"Of course!"

Sasuke's eyes brightened: "I want to be like you!"

"Start with mathematics. Builds logical thinking."

"Eh?"

By midday, sun high, hunger gnawed—stomachs empty.

They skirted small settlements, too close to Konoha; fear of Danzo's trackers kept them distant.

With Hermit Purple's vines, Ryuji snared a wild rabbit.

But preparation stumped him.

"Kill it, skin it, gut it, roast. Simple." Sasuke tilted his head: "Ryji, you can't handle a rabbit?"

Ryuji truly could not.

He'd never gutted fish, let alone game.

Not unwillingness—ignorance of method.

Sasuke placed hands on hips, smiling.

Finally, something he excelled at. He took the rabbit, drew a personal kunai, and worked deftly—slitting belly clean—while saying:

"I'm good at this. Training kunai with my brother, we'd catch rabbits, fish... back then..."

His voice trailed, motions slowing; bright eyes misted.

Sasuke sniffled hard.

"Why did Itachi do it? Was there no choice?"

Sasuke hoped the capable Ryuji could deduce an explanation for the night's enigma.

"Of course there was a reason."

Sasuke looked up sharply.

Ryuji continued: "But reason does not equate to right. Judge by actions, not intentions."

Clever villains falter; simple insights prevail.

"Reasons spark paths—countless divergences from one cause. Itachi chose the simplest, and most foolish."

Sasuke half-understood.

Ryuji patted his back: "No rush. Ponder slowly—you're young; time is long."

Sasuke murmured agreement, focusing on the rabbit; Ryuji crouched nearby, observing, asking occasional questions. In the exchange, Sasuke emerged from sorrow.

No salt, no spices—the roast tasted plain.

Ryuji ate earnestly: His first meal in this world.

In the brief rest, he reviewed the night's gains.

[Soul fragments: 652.]

Sixty-five draws.

From the original 300.

Climbing from Root to village edge yielded 52.

Defeating Kakashi outright: 300.

Itachi's clash gave 800; Kakashi's 300—not from weakness.

Mindsets differed.

Itachi struck to kill; Kakashi held water—Chidori, and other deadly jutsus unused.

Itachi suffered from intel gap; Ryuji's combo denied openings.

652 fragments.

Ryuji opted for a draw first.

Level 2 Star Platinum sufficed for close combat; saving for Level 3 at 1,000 was refinement, not necessity.

The Kakashi fight revealed a flaw:

Lack of mid-to-long range options.

He needed a new Stand to fill it—else, foes could kite him to death.

Weighing merits, Ryuji opened the system interface.

"Draw."

 

[goget]

I hope he'll get an automatic stand so he can order it to protect him while he sleeps or shits. Otherwise, he'll get killed within days.