In the 39th year of Konoha, the Second Great Ninja War was drawing to a close.
Though sporadic conflicts still erupted across the land, the light of peace had begun to shine through the clouds of war.
Whether they were battle-worn shinobi constantly on the move or ordinary villagers tucked safely within the village, people no longer wore the anxious expressions of days past.
Instead, their faces now bore the confidence and calm of victors.
The good news was that it could finally be said, the war was winding down. Life in Konoha was beginning to look hopeful again.
Mito Uzumaki, now seventy five, remained a deterrent to the other nations.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, forty eight, had firmly consolidated his rule.
Sakumo Hatake, at twenty six, stood at the height of his youth, now a father and twelve year old Minato Namikaze was growing stronger by the day.
The bad news? Only the Second War was ending.
Compared to the First, the Second Ninja War was marked by the massive loss of Genin and Chunin, signaling a sharp escalation in the brutality of warfare.
But the truth of the Second War? It was merely a prelude to the next.
Throughout this conflict, Kumogakure and Kirigakure remained relatively quiet. The real chaos was a four way melee between Amegakure, Sunagakure, Iwagakure, and Konoha.
Seven years from now, the true storm would arrive. The Third Great Ninja War, far bloodier, far more devastating.
"Hehehe.… Sixteen year old me survived another day. What a monumental achievement... Thanks to every single God out there."
At the village's edge, amid crumbling homes, a thin figure let out a low, raspy laugh as he slowly stepped from the shadows.
Yoshida Arata loved the sun.
When he first arrived in this world, he was driven by the simple will to survive, just one more day, then another, until he couldn't hold on any longer and finally dropped dead.
It wasn't that he lacked effort, more often than not, he simply couldn't afford to try.
The reason was simple, this wasn't a soul transmigration. It was physical.
He had crossed over in body, not just spirit.
Back in his original world, just as death loomed over him, Arata's consciousness, along with his physical form, was hurled into this one.
He reverted to his childhood body somewhere in the process, landing smack in the world of Naruto, an experience that nearly shattered his psyche.
A regular human from Earth contains about 40 trillion cells. In the Naruto world? A baseline individual had 130 trillion.
This wasn't just a matter of tripled physical stats, it was a completely different species.
Which meant that nearly every bacterium and virus Arata carried from Earth was harmless here.
To locals, they were like a gentle breeze, maybe causing a sneeze or, at most, a brief cold lasting a few hours.
But for Arata, with his Earthling child's body, even the most innocuous native microbe spelled all out war with death itself.
From the very first day, his life was a brutal, unrelenting battle against disease.
So unending and painful was the torment, he began to believe it would never stop, that he'd be locked in this agony until every organ in his body collapsed from overexertion.
Why didn't he just grow his chakra reserve, the miraculous energy that could convert matter and energy, and suppress disease?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Chakra in this world was produced from the energy of 130 trillion cells, plus spiritual energy.
And Arata? He only had 40 trillion cells, actually far fewer now, given his condition, and was constantly under attack from unidentifiable, lethal pathogens. Increase chakra reserve? With what strength?
And if he managed to extract some chakra, the amount was so pitiful it couldn't circulate through his entire body, let alone target and purge harmful microbes.
Plus, chakra control required enormous amounts of chakra to practice. That's assuming someone was even around to teach him.
If he tried to push it, train just a little more, or do it a bit more frequently, he'd just drop dead on the spot.
Now, at sixteen, Arata's body had been whittled to skin and bone.
Every usable fat cell, sugar molecule, and protein had been drained in his endless tug of war with death, all so he could achieve this one, glorious thing, survival.
Only now could he finally say, he'd adapted. He had earned the right to live "normally" in this world.
Even so, his physical state had deteriorated too far. Unless he never got sick again, his lifespan was drastically shortened.
But he didn't dwell on his lifespan anymore. For all these years, he hadn't simply waited to die. He had been searching for a path, and he had found one.
"Year after year, I gathered chakra, what little I could, and experimented constantly to find a way that worked for me. And finally, there's something to show for it…"
Arata stared at his reflection in the mirror, he looked like Nagato Plus.
Then he lowered his gaze to his hands, slowly clenching them. The power he'd acquired, in local terms, could be summed up in one word.
Zombies.
Arata could control a zombie virus, he could "resurrect" the dead.
Yet, even now, no one else knew of this ability. For good reason. Revealing such a jutsu without the strength to protect himself would lead to a swift and ugly death.
From any angle, manipulating corpses was naturally labeled a forbidden jutsu, and not just any kind, but one of the most dangerous and universally reviled.
It would immediately spark suspicion, had Arata been secretly hoarding bodies? Capturing people to experiment on?
Because how else could someone develop a technique that reanimated the dead?
Besides, a power that could, in some measure, reverse death… At this moment in history, between the Second and Third Wars, it was far too outrageous.
"Tobirama's Edo Tensei hasn't even been learned by Orochimaru yet," Arata muttered.
He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. Inhaling deeply, he felt no wheezing, no crackling in his lungs. It almost made him emotional.
The worst days, for now, were behind him. There was still so much he needed to do.
First and foremost, he had to escape this broken, disease-ravaged earthling body. He didn't have the luxury to brood. Staying alive had to be priority number one.
"The gap between forty trillion and one hundred thirty trillion is just too wide. And with my current state, my actual cell count is far below forty trillion.
If I try to control chakra like this, I could train my whole life and still end up a genin."
Arata squinted. Orochimaru was likely just beginning his research into Living Corpse Reincarnation.
That path was a dead end, for now. But that was fine. Arata would reach his goal in his own way.
Which meant taking advantage of every opportunity, even if it meant becoming a workhorse for Konoha. He would seize whatever "non-opportunities" he could.
Even workhorses have their value. Konoha was always good at making the most of what it had.
Just like now, someone had come calling.
"Lord Tatsuma has issued an order. A team of medical-nin is to mobilize and head to the northern border for immediate deployment." A figure approached swiftly, concern etched on his face.
"Looks like there's been another infiltration. The war may be over, but tensions between nations haven't gone away. These squad-level incursion ops just keep coming, nonstop.
It's gotten to the point where even talentless nobodies like me have to go out under the title of 'medical ninja'… But it's an honor to serve the village," Arata replied as he looked at the man in front of him.
The man's name was Kazematsuri Takano. During the war, he'd been part of a medical team under Jiraiya's command.
In the original anime, he died on the battlefield in Amegakure, succumbing to the toxic mist while treating wounded allies.
But thanks to Arata's timely intervention, Takano had dodged that fate.