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The quiet of the night was suddenly disrupted by a bright flash that filled Hitoshi Shinso’s room. He shot up in bed, instincts honed by years of combat training kicking in immediately. But before he could move, he felt something cold and sharp pressed against his neck. The blade was precise, and its wielder was not someone to underestimate. His gaze traveled up the figure's face to a pair of crimson eyes that glowed with the power of the Sharingan.
Shinso’s breath caught, not in fear but in shock as recognition hit him. “Itachi?” he whispered, the name slipping out in disbelief.
The figure hesitated, the sharpness in his eyes softening just slightly. “Senpai?”
The blade eased away from Shinso’s neck, and he let out a sigh of relief, a sense of familiarity washing over him. The face, though younger, was unmistakable. Itachi Uchiha, only this version looked far too young—just thirteen or so. He couldn’t be older than that.
“You’re…here? How?” Shinso managed to ask, still processing the impossible reality before him. “And why are you so young?”
Itachi’s expression grew pensive as he took in his surroundings, the confusion and cautious suspicion never leaving his gaze. “I don’t know. I was… in the middle of a mission. Then there was a flash, and…here I am.” He paused, scrutinizing the room before his gaze landed back on Shinso. “Is this the afterlife?”
Shinso chuckled softly. “No, not the afterlife. Just… a different world, I guess.” He shifted slightly to give Itachi more space on the bed, taking in the familiar yet startling sight of his former comrade now somehow younger, perhaps even more haunted.
“What do you remember?” Shinso asked, his tone gentle.
Itachi blinked, eyes thoughtful. “I was in the midst of a mission. Something went wrong, a chakra anomaly—then, everything went white.” He looked away for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts, then looked back at Shinso. “And now… here. Wherever ‘here’ is.”
Shinso’s brow furrowed. He’d read a lot about reincarnation since arriving in this world with his memories intact. But something like this—a direct transfer without the loss of age, skill, or memories—was new. “It’s… a long story, but the short version is that I was reincarnated here. I’ve been living here as Hitoshi Shinso. I still have my memories, but not chakra… I had to blend in. To start over.”
Itachi nodded, as if understanding Shinso’s predicament entirely. “I see.” He looked around, assessing every shadow in the room, every sound outside, and every change in his environment. It was almost instinctual, his sharp, methodical mind never ceasing. But then, his gaze softened as he returned his attention to Shinso.
“What will we do now?” he asked, the weight of his question hanging in the air.
Shinso yawned, glancing at the clock on his nightstand—it read 1:00 a.m. “Right now, we get some rest. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.” He patted the spot on the bed beside him, noting that Itachi’s expression remained tense. “I know it’s strange, but you need rest. You’ve… well, technically just traveled across dimensions, or something close to that.”
Itachi gave him a skeptical look, but there was something endearing about it, the way his thirteen-year-old self was trying to stay stoic despite the surreal situation. He eventually relented, lying down beside Shinso but keeping a respectful distance.
After a few moments of silence, Shinso reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in darkness. “It’s good to see you again, Itachi,” he said softly.
“Likewise, senpai,” Itachi whispered back.
As Shinso drifted back to sleep, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort knowing Itachi was there. Somehow, even in this strange world, the presence of his former comrade brought a sense of peace.
The next morning, a very confused Hizashi Yamada stood outside Shinso’s door, blinking at the sight. He’d come to wake up his adopted son, but the sight that met him was… unexpected. There, curled up next to Shinso on the bed, was a figure with long black hair. The figure’s delicate features and hair length gave the immediate impression of a girl, and Hizashi, stunned, could only slowly back away and close the door.
He made his way to the living room, where Aizawa sat with his morning coffee, a rare moment of peace. Hizashi sat down across from him, visibly perplexed.
“Uh, Shota?” he began, his voice uncertain. “Did you know Hitoshi had…a guest?”
Aizawa’s eyebrows raised. “A guest? What are you talking about?”
Hizashi nodded, as though confirming it to himself. “Yes…a girl, I think. Long hair, looks about his age?”
Aizawa choked on his coffee, nearly spilling it. “A girl? In his bed?”
They exchanged bewildered glances, and Aizawa set his mug down. “I’ll handle this.”
Marching down the hall, Aizawa opened Shinso’s door without preamble, fully prepared to drag his son’s mysterious “guest” out of the room. But what he found only confused him further. Shinso lay half-awake, one eye lazily watching Aizawa, while next to him sat…a young boy with long hair, looking eerily comfortable yet detached, like he was waiting for orders.
Aizawa cleared his throat. “Hitoshi,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Care to explain?”
Shinso blinked, seemingly confused himself, and then sighed. “Explain what?”
Aizawa glanced pointedly at the boy beside him. “Why do you have a…person in your bed?”
Shinso sat up, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Itachi’s not a stranger. He’s…an old friend.”
Aizawa’s gaze narrowed. “An old friend?”
At this, Itachi, still visibly uncomfortable, looked at Aizawa, then turned back to Shinso and scooted a bit closer, his movement protective. Shinso, surprised, placed a hand on Itachi’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. The touch seemed to calm Itachi, who then stayed close to Shinso, almost instinctively treating him as his commander again.
Hizashi, peeking through the doorway, muttered to himself, “What…is happening?”
Shinso sighed and looked at Aizawa, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “I’ll explain later,” he said, patting Itachi’s back lightly. “Just…give us a minute?”
Reluctantly, Aizawa nodded, though he looked like he had a thousand questions. Both he and Hizashi returned to the living room, sharing baffled glances over the morning coffee.
“That…wasn’t just a friend, was it?” Hizashi ventured.
Aizawa gave a though his gaze. “No idea..."