His body felt like it was made of lead. Every muscle ached with a deep, unfamiliar soreness, as though he'd run a marathon without warming up. Even lifting an arm felt like wading through water. The sensation of being out of sync with his own body lingered, a strange disconnection that made his movements clumsy, as if he were trying on someone else's skin. The hum of the Tenseigan pulsed faintly inside him, like an electric current running just beneath the surface. It wasn't painful, but it was there—an odd buzz that he couldn't ignore. He lay sprawled on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
A dull ache throbbed at his temples, and he winced, pressing a hand to his forehead. Maybe it was the strain of trying to piece together too many scattered memories, or maybe it was just plain exhaustion. His stomach growled, a hollow reminder of how long it had been since he'd last eaten, but even that wasn't enough to motivate him.
Just a little longer, he thought, pulling the blanket over his head. He wasn't ready to face the world outside this tiny, warm cocoon. Not yet.
His eyes slipped shut, and despite the ache in his muscles and the buzz in his head, sleep crept up on him, gentle and inevitable. The tension slowly melted away, and he drifted off, sinking into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only comes when you're completely drained.
---
When he finally woke up, it felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. Twice. Every joint popped and cracked as he stretched, his body stiff like he'd slept on bare concrete instead of a mattress. He dragged himself into the bathroom, fumbling for the light switch. The bulb flickered once before settling into a dim, uneven glow.
He splashed cold water onto his face, gasping at the icy sensation. It was like a jolt straight to his brain, shaking off the lingering fog of sleep. He glanced up and froze, staring at his own reflection. It was a face he knew well, but something about it felt... different. Slightly off, like seeing a familiar portrait painted with new, sharper strokes.
His right eye flickered suddenly, and he stumbled back in shock. The Tenseigan's pupil had flared to life, a brilliant, otherworldly blue that seemed to pulse with an inner light. He leaned closer to the mirror, eyes wide.
"What the hell?" he muttered, squinting. The vibrant glow seemed too vivid, almost unreal. He let out a half-nervous chuckle.
"Well, you're looking flashy today."
The glowing eye blinked back at him, almost as if it had a mind of its own.
"Okay, okay, calm down," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple.
He concentrated, taking a deep breath as he tried to suppress the chakra flow to his eye. Slowly, the Tenseigan's glow faded, and his eyes returned to their deep blue color. He exhaled a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from his brow.
So, I can control chakra already? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He gave his reflection a weak smile and a thumbs up.
"Not bad for a guy who barely knows what he's doing."
With a shrug, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit his skin, and he let out an involuntary groan of relief. The tension in his muscles melted away, replaced by a pleasant warmth. He leaned against the cool tiles, letting the steam surround him, the hot water easing away the last remnants of stiffness.
"This is ridiculous," he laughed, closing his eyes, the sound of the running water drowning out his voice.
"One minute I'm in my world, minding my own business, and now… this. A shower in the Naruto universe." He shook his head, a small, incredulous smile tugging at his lips.
"What's next? Breakfast with Madara? A Date with Kaguya?"
"No…no… he doesn't need that with Madara and Kaguya,"
"Maybe having dinner and drinks with Tsunade would be a better choice."
He snorted at the thought. Tsunade was well over 50, but her appearance was youthful and undeniably sexy—like someone in their 30s. She could make herself look even younger if she wanted to.
Honestly he likes sexy women even though they are underage.
No..No..Forget the last part.
(AN: please don't report me, I never imagined that children could grow up so quickly these days. Sometimes, they appear much older because they look more mature than their actual age.
Hey... it's not my fault. They're just too proactive, and I haven't had the chance to ask their age.)
The absurdity of it all hit him like a wave, and he couldn't help but laugh quietly. It wasn't a joke; it was just so far beyond anything he ever thought possible.
He finished rinsing off and stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a towel that was worn and a bit scratchy. The steam had fogged up the mirror, and he wiped it clean with his hand. He stared at his reflection once more, combing back his wet hair.
"Who are you?" he asked, half-jokingly. He couldn't help but feel like an actor who'd been cast in the wrong role.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head, and he winced, clutching his temples. It felt like a needle drilling into his brain. His vision blurred as a fragment of memory surfaced—fleeting, blurry, but unmistakable. It was just a name, yet it echoed in his mind with startling clarity.
What the—? The thought slipped out before he could stop it.
Tomaru… Minakura.
He repeated the name quietly, testing the words as if he were speaking them for the first time.
"That's my name," he whispered.
"Tomaru Minakura."
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. The buzzing in his head ceased, the storm of confusion quieting into a strange, calm clarity. He didn't know much yet, but this—this felt right. It was as if a missing piece of the puzzle had clicked into place.
It's just a name. Just an identity.
But he could feel it now, starting to unite and synchronize with his body, like a thread weaving together the fragments of his past and present.
He stared at his reflection, really seeing himself for the first time.
"Tomaru Minakura," he said again, more certain this time. And somehow, it felt like he'd just taken the first real step toward understanding who he truly was.