Tsubasa followed the young Sannin into the village—Konohagakure no Sato, the Hidden Leaf.
It was surreal.
He'd seen this place in anime, games, even fanart. But walking through its bustling streets was something else entirely. The scent of freshly baked taiyaki, the laughter of children, the chatter of shinobi—it was all too real.
And that terrified him.
"Hey!" Jiraiya called, turning back. "You spacing out or something, newbie?"
Tsubasa blinked. "Just... taking it all in."
"You said you got separated from your team," Tsunade said suspiciously. "Which squad are you with?"
Tsubasa hesitated. "Squad… Seven?"
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow. "There is no Squad Seven."
Shit.
"I meant… temporary squad. I was on a rotation mission." It was a weak excuse, but the only one he could think of.
Tsunade looked ready to press further, but just then, a jōnin arrived—tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly annoyed.
"There you four are. And who's this?" he asked, eyeing Tsubasa.
"He says he's from the village, but we don't recognize him," Jiraiya offered.
"I'll take it from here," the jōnin muttered, grabbing Tsubasa by the collar and dragging him away.
Tsubasa didn't resist. This was good. He needed to speak to someone official—find out who he was supposed to be.
The jōnin led him to a side office near the academy and flipped through a roster scroll. "Tsubasa, right? Late transfer from the southern district. Your files just came in this morning. Hmph, weird timing."
Tsubasa kept his face neutral. Internally, he was screaming.
So this body does exist in the records? Then I'm not a ghost in the system…
The jōnin handed him a small forehead protector.
"Welcome to the Genin Corps. You'll be placed under jōnin commander Asuka. Squad Nine. Report tomorrow morning. 6 AM sharp. Don't be late."
Tsubasa nodded.
As he left the office, his fingers grazed the metal of the forehead protector. The Leaf's symbol glinted in the sunlight.
I'm a real ninja now. A genin. In the world of Naruto.
But his thoughts darkened quickly. He had no family here. No real identity. His talents—especially the unstable space-time chakra—could make him a target if he wasn't careful.
A tremor passed through his hand.
He looked down.
Space distorted around his fingers for a split second before snapping back.
I'm going to have to learn how to control this. Fast.
But for now, he had a forehead protector, a name, and a squad.
And for the first time since awakening in this world… a purpose.