Chapter 1: I Woke Up in a River and All I Got Was This Existential Crisis
You know your day's going off the rails when you wake up underwater, can't breathe, and the first thing you think is "Huh. This isn't lava. I guess that's progress."
I flailed my way to the surface like a drunk Koi fish, gasping and sputtering like I'd just run a mile uphill—blindfolded, backwards, and with a kunai in my spleen. Which, coincidentally, was exactly what I'd been doing five minutes before.
Okay. Maybe not the blindfold part. Or the hill.
Anyway, I flopped onto the riverbank like a soggy pancake and groaned. My clothes were soaked, my hair felt like a drowned fox tail, and I smelled like pond scum and betrayal. Classic ninja problems, right?
So, here's the rundown: one minute I was trading fists, jutsu, and emotionally charged speeches with Sasuke—the usual bromantic smackdown stuff. The next, I let my guard down because yay friendship! and Sasuke pulled a "surprise!" kunai to the face.
Seriously. The. Face.
"Bloody hell," I muttered, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kakashi on a Monday. "He stabbed me. In the face. After all that talk about bonds and brotherhood…"
I sat up and ran a hand over my cheek. No blood. No scar. Not even a paper cut.
Okay, that was weird. But not as weird as what happened next.
I tried to gather my chakra to dry myself off—you know, basic post-battle hygiene stuff—and almost blacked out. My chakra levels? Not even one percent. I'd had more chakra after fighting Pain, climbing cliffs, and eating expired ramen in one sitting.
"Okay. So, either I'm dead, or Sasuke shoved me into some kind of messed-up genjutsu limbo dream. Again."
But the thing is… genjutsu usually doesn't come with bird chirping, river sounds, or the distinct smell of someone barbecuing hot dogs. (Also, Sasuke doesn't even know what a hot dog is.)
I took a deep breath. No illusion. No chakra distortion. No infinite Tsukuyomi glow in the sky. Just… real life. Real, incredibly unfamiliar life.
And the city in the distance? That was the cherry on this confusion sundae.
Riverview City. Tall, weird buildings with blinking neon signs. Hovering billboards with cartoon mascots. Kids in bizarre metal armor. And… tiny robots?
Yup. Little robots. Fighting. Talking. Being dramatic.
"Oh man," I said, wide-eyed as one of them fired a laser beam from its chest. "Did I hit my head so hard I invented an entirely new filler arc?"
I walked into the town, dripping wet and totally ignored by the locals who were way too invested in their robot street brawls. One kid with purple hair shouted, "Go, Warbonnet!" and a short, lion-shaped robot started pummeling a rival mech with rocket punches.
…Okay. Sasuke definitely didn't know about this. Which meant—this wasn't genjutsu. This wasn't the afterlife. This wasn't even Kaguya's weird moon dimension.
This was somewhere else entirely.
And despite the low chakra, betrayal trauma, and possible time-space travel whiplash, I had one burning question on my mind.
"Do they have ramen here?"
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So, good news: the people here speak my language.
Bad news: I still had no idea what planet I was on.
But let's be real. After surviving exploding clones, brainwashed jinchūriki, and one (1) emo boy trying to stab my soul out, a new city with robot cage fights was basically Tuesday.
I walked down the sidewalk like I totally belonged here. Sure, my clothes were kinda singed, I was dripping water on the pavement, and I smelled like damp fox, but hey—I used a teensy bit of chakra to dry myself off. Now I looked fresh.
Hair? Fluffy and heroic.
Smile? Irresistibly foxy.
Attitude? 80% confused, 20% ramen-focused.
That's right. I was following my nose like a bloodhound on a mission. And I'd caught the scent.
Ramen.
Oh yes. The glorious aroma of boiling broth, sizzling pork, fresh noodles and salty miso wrapped around my heart like a warm hug from Iruka-sensei.
I sprinted. People blinked as I zipped past, maybe because my ninja sandals made this awkward squelch squelch noise with every step. I didn't care. My ramen senses were tingling.
There it was—Uncle Tanaka's Noodle Palace. A small stand wedged between a robot repair shop and a retro arcade. The old man at the counter had a sleepy mustache and a thousand-yard stare like he'd seen things. Probably too many late-night noodle rushes.
I slapped my hand on the counter. "One miso with pork and egg, please!"
He blinked. "...You're not from around here, are you?"
"Nope!" I said cheerfully. "But I'm extremely hungry and emotionally unstable, so feed me and no one gets hurt."
"...Right."
The bowl was in front of me in under a minute. Piping hot. Absolutely perfect. I almost cried.
And then came the money part.
I patted my pockets. Luckily, I still had my ninja pouch—though Sasuke had apparently left me just enough chakra to not die, the jerk. Inside were my usual tools, a photo of Team 7 (I may or may not have kissed Sakura's half once for luck), and a few gold coins from the Fire Daimyo's treasury. Emergency mission funds.
I flipped one onto the counter.
The old man squinted. "This is… real gold?"
"Yup."
"This isn't Rivencoin or NeoYen or any kind of legal tender here."
"Nope."
He stared at me. I stared back. I slurped noodles with the intensity of a man whose entire universe just crumbled.
"I'll be coming for seconds," I said between bites, "and thirds. And dessert. You just let me know when the tab's up."
He blinked.
"I've had a really rough week," I added, sniffling slightly, because honestly? I was feeling all the feels.
Somewhere between bite five and six, I thought about Sasuke. About the kunai. About how I thought we'd finally made it—finally reached that point where friendship wins and nobody gets stabbed.
And then bam. Face stab.
I sniffed again. Emotionally. Not from the spice.
"…I'll throw in a tip too."
The old man grunted and picked up the coin. "Kid, I don't know what dimension you crawled out of, but this'll buy you noodles for the next year."
I grinned. "Perfect. I'm staying until I figure out if I'm dead, dreaming, or stuck in a weird robot anime."
He walked away muttering something about "kids these days."
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You ever try walking around a high-tech robot city in soggy, battle-scorched ninja gear with absolutely no idea what day, year, or multiverse you're in?
No? Just me? Cool.
After devouring three bowls of miso ramen, half a dozen gyoza, and something called "mecha-slaw" that I'm pretty sure was just spicy cabbage with robot branding, I leaned back with a happy sigh and the blessed fullness of a ninja who had very nearly died—twice—in the same hour.
With my belly full and my heart slightly less broken, I did what any rational teen ninja stranded in an unknown dimension would do next: I decided to go shopping.
"Okay, Uzumaki Naruto," I told my reflection in the window of a clothing store called ThreadZilla 9000, "time to level up the fashion game. No more 'soggy battlefield survivor chic.' Time to look like I actually belong here."
Inside the store was… wow. Imagine if a rave and a cosplay convention had a baby, and then that baby grew up and got a job designing clothes for breakdancing androids. Yeah. That vibe.
There were jackets with glowing zippers. Pants with built-in speakers. Hoodies that hovered slightly over your shoulders like they were embarrassed to be worn. It was glorious.
I grabbed a few outfits that screamed, I'm a lost time traveler but I'm rocking it, and made my way to the counter.
The cashier, a teenager with magenta hair, gum popping like explosive tags, looked me up and down.
"That'll be 6,250 NeoYen."
I proudly pulled out one of my gleaming gold coins and plunked it down like a boss.
She blinked. "Uhhh… What is this?"
"Gold," I said, beaming. "Straight from the Fire Daimyo's treasure vault. Totally legit."
"…Sir," she said in a tone that somehow sounded like both customer service and personal judgment. "This is not NeoYen. This is, like… pirate money."
"No, no, I'm a ninja," I corrected helpfully. "Pirates are the guys who wear eye patches and say 'yar.' Totally different."
She chewed her gum, unimpressed. "You need to go to a currency exchange, ninja guy."
So now I had another quest.
Objective: Find the currency exchange.
Reward: Pants.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk, clutching my coin like a coupon to a better life.
"Okay," I muttered, "I just need to find someone who looks like they exchange weird shiny things for robot cash."
Which… sounds way easier than it actually is. I asked a lady walking a robo-poodle, who gave me a look like I'd asked if her dog could do taxes. I asked a vending machine that turned out to be just a vending machine. (Don't judge me—it blinked at me first.)
Eventually, I found a small booth near the city square with a big neon sign that said "Currency Converter: All Worlds Welcome!" Which was both promising and weirdly specific.
Inside was a guy with suspenders, glasses, and a stack of paperwork that looked like it was plotting his demise.
I slid the coin across the counter. "Hi! How much robot money can I get for this?"
He picked up the coin, examined it, bit it (rude), then whistled. "Real gold, huh? You a collector or a dimension traveler?"
"Yes."
He blinked. "...Right. I can give you about 250,000 NeoYen for this, after processing fees."
"Do I need to fill out a form?"
"Nope. You look like you've had a rough day."
Bless this man.
I walked out of the booth with a fistful of NeoYen, a spring in my step, and a new mission:
Get clothes. Look awesome. Figure out why I'm here.
Possibly stop a robot uprising. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
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Back at ThreadZilla 9000, I stepped inside with a fistful of NeoYen, a determined mind, and one goal:
Buy. Two. Outfits.
Not five. Not ten. Two. Because I was a disciplined shinobi. A master of willpower. A beacon of control.
Narrator: He was not any of those things.
As soon as I entered, I was ambushed.
"Hey, he's back!" called a voice from behind the display of fluorescent parkas.
I turned and nearly choked on my own breath.
Two girls waved at me, looking like they'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine and a cartoon crossover. One was tall, redheaded, with emerald eyes and confidence that could knock you over — and I've faced tailed beasts. The other had rich brown skin, a high ponytail, and that kind of smile that said she could get you to buy a jet ski and thank her for it.
"Kim," said the redhead.
"Monique," added the other.
"Welcome to ThreadZilla 9000," they chorused like fashion ninja.
And I?
I stood there in my damp orange jacket, hair still slightly poofy from the chakra drying, holding a bag of gold-change money and looking like a lost tourist from Feudal Japan.
Kim tilted her head. "You planning to cosplay a swamp samurai or…?"
"I just need a couple pairs of clothes," I said quickly, trying not to stare. "You know. Just basic stuff. For… life."
"Riiight," Monique grinned. "Come with us, mystery boy."
And reader?
That's where I messed up.
The first outfit was simple: dark joggers and a black T-shirt with orange trim. I looked sharp. Stealthy. Ready to drop into a robot fight or sneak past a teacher with equal ease.
I said, "Perfect. This is it."
Kim shook her head. "You need a backup. And something casual."
Monique added, "And workout wear. Oh! And a jacket that says 'dangerous but cuddly.'"
They kept throwing clothes at me. Every time I came out of the fitting room, their eyes did that shiny anime sparkle thing, which made my brain short-circuit.
"Whoa, you've got like—seriously amazing abs," Kim said as I tried on a sleeveless tank.
"Right?" Monique whispered. "What do you eat? Pure protein and explosions?"
"Mostly ramen," I muttered.
Let me be clear: I was not used to girls acting like this around me.
Sure, Sakura occasionally hit me with a smile when I wasn't being annoying. And Hinata—well, Hinata was sweet, but also a flustered ninja tomato. But this? This was danger. Cute girl danger. They were laughing. Teasing. Adjusting my collar while standing way too close. My brain was melting faster than an ice cream in the Sunagakure.
So obviously, I agreed to everything they suggested.
And I do mean everything.
When I finally reached the counter, my stack of clothes was taller than I was. I had jackets. I had boots. I had something called techno-denim. There were even a pair of sunglasses shaped like fox ears. I don't even wear sunglasses.
Kim rang it all up with a smirk. "So that'll be… just about 249,980 NeoYen."
I blinked. "Out of… 250,000."
"You wanna keep the change?" Monique asked sweetly.
"Sure," I said. "I don't need lunch. Or a place to sleep. Who needs savings when you've got style?"
Kim leaned on the counter. "You've got good taste. And you wear it well, mystery ninja."
"Yeah," Monique added. "Come back anytime. Seriously."
I left the store with three bags, a mostly empty wallet, and a face that was probably redder than Gaara's eyeliner.
"Stupid cute girls," I muttered, tugging down my new hoodie. "They weaponized fashion. I never stood a chance."
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I've been stabbed in the chest. Blasted by tailed beasts. Punched through a mountain by a goddess. But nothing… and I mean nothing… is more painful than walking into a library.
Especially when you're me.
Don't get me wrong. Libraries are cool. Big buildings filled with knowledge. Mysterious places where you learn things and pretend to be smart while trying not to knock over a display and cause a scene.
Also, they're quiet. Which is hard when your personality is loud.
Still, I was stuck in this new world — Riverview City — and I had no scrolls, no Hokage, and only 20 NeoYen in my pocket. If I was going to survive, I had to learn the rules. And no, unfortunately, no one just gives you an info dump with dramatic background music.
So... Library time.
Before I went in, I sealed all the clothes into the storage seal I had drawn on my left forearm. Handy trick from the old days. Just press the symbol, puff of smoke, boom — ninja closet. I changed into my new outfit: white shirt, orange jacket (of course), black pants, and red sneakers.
I looked like I'd walked out of a comic book. Or maybe an edgy dance competition. Either way, I felt awesome.
Inside the Riverview Public Library, the air smelled like paper and quiet judgment. Tall shelves. Holo-terminals. Kids sitting in beanbags arguing about Medabot rarity tiers. It was weird, futuristic… but kinda cozy.
I made my way to the front desk where a bored-looking teenager with blue hair and wireless glasses looked up at me.
"Uh… hi," I said, flashing my best not-a-troublemaker smile. "Where can I learn about this city? And… the world? Maybe, like, a Beginner's Guide to Not Being Confused as Heck?"
They blinked. "You mean... geography? History? Current events?"
"Yes," I said. "All the above. And also anything about these… robot things everyone keeps talking about."
"You mean Medabots?"
"Sure. Metal robots. Beta bots. Whatever they're called."
They rolled their eyes, stood up, and led me to a terminal. "Start here. This has basic data on Riverview, the Medabot league, the International Medabot Corporation, and more. Try not to break it."
"I don't break things," I said confidently.
Narrator: He broke many things.
So I sat down and started scrolling.
And look — I'm not the best reader, okay? But I've fought mind-control genjutsu and survived D-rank missions involving angry cats. I could handle a few articles.
Here's what I learned, ninja-style:
Riverview City: A major hub for Medabot battling. Super techy, peaceful-ish, but also full of random robot fights on the street. Kinda like Konoha during Chunin Exams, but with less fire.
Medabots: Sentient mechanical partners powered by a medal. People customize them with different parts. Some are built for battle, others for things like gardening, cooking, or competitive hip-hop dance. No, seriously.
Medals: The heart of a Medabot. Like a soul, but shiny and possibly with a USB port.
Medafighters: People who partner with Medabots to fight in organized tournaments. Kids, teens, and apparently even grannies if they're spicy enough.
The World: Still Earth. Still humans. No chakra. No ninjutsu. But full of advanced tech that makes even Katasuke's inventions look like cardboard boxes with buttons drawn on.
Also, I might have watched a few videos on Medabot battles. Some of those bots moved fast. And the bond between them and their human partners? Kinda reminded me of the bond between ninja and summons… or tailed beasts. But, like, way more mechanical sass.
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You know that moment when you realize you're the dumbest guy in the room?
Yeah.
That was me.
Because apparently, I had landed in a world where tiny robots — no taller than Konohamaru on a bad day — were equipped with muscle cables, energy reactors, self-repairing nano armor, and souls made of ancient alien metal.
Meanwhile, I had a jacket with pockets and a couple of shadow clones.
Still cool, but wow.
After spending a good hour diving into Medabot anatomy — which, yes, is a thing — I felt like I had stepped into a different kind of ninja war. One where the battles were fought by pint-sized robots wearing mechanical pants and laser cannons.
Let me break it down:
Tinpet = robot skeleton. Kinda like a puppet, except with cool parts and no chakra strings.
Muscle Cables = fake ninja muscles. Flexible, responsive, invented by some tech wizard named Dr. Aki. I immediately respected the man.
Medals = robot souls. Literal tiny brain-discs with personalities. That also unlock a special move called Medaforce. So, like chakra nature release, but techno-mystic.
Parts = head, arms, legs. Change the loadout, change the fighting style. Super modular, super tactical.
Armor = made of stuff like Neuron Fiber Resin Polyester (which sounds like a shampoo) and Cyplasmium Alloy (which is just cool). These materials can simulate pain, temperature, and even touch. Robots that feel. Let that sink in.
Engine = solar-powered, heat-based energy converter. These bots can run indefinitely.
And to top it off…
Slough System = self-repair nanobots. You break a Medabot? Come back in an hour. It's good as new.
I leaned back from the terminal, whistling low.
"This place might actually be able to build a portal," I muttered. "I mean… if their toasters have AI, their teleporters probably serve snacks."
The more I read, the more hope started to bloom in my chest. Yeah, I'd been thrown into another world — again — but this time, I had landed somewhere that actually understood science. Real science. Crazy science. Science that made flying islands and sentient mechas a Tuesday problem.
And that meant…
There might be a way home.
To Konoha.
All I needed was the right lab, the right minds, and maybe someone with a soft spot for dimensionally displaced shinobi.
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Okay, so let me explain something.
I didn't want to buy a Medabot.
I mean, what was I gonna do with a tiny robot with machine guns for hands and a laser for a head? Throw it at people? Ask it to get groceries? Start a lemonade stand?
No, I was here on ninja business. Mission mode. Undercover. Disguise and all that.
That's why I needed to blend in.
So obviously, I had to buy a robot.
For the disguise.
Definitely not because they looked cool or because one of them could do a railgun blast from its face.
Totally not the reason.
Step one: trade in my gold coins.
Yeah, remember those? I still had like a hundred from that weird elemental vault or treasure cave or whatever it was. Guy at the exchange desk almost fainted when I dropped them all into the tray.
"H-How old are these?!" he squeaked, staring at one coin like it might bite him.
"No idea," I said, smiling. "I just pulled them out of a frog's mouth."
"…What?"
I left before he asked questions I couldn't answer. Mission, remember? Ninja stuff.
Step two: find the best Medabot shop in town.
Enter Hikaru Agata's Mecha Emporium, which I'm 90% sure was the coolest place I'd ever walked into. The walls were lined with sleek, high-tech Medaparts glowing like chakra crystals. There were demo battles happening in tiny arenas. And in the middle of it all stood Hikaru — ex-Medabot champion of Japan.
He was tall, chill, had this calm "I'm-too-handsome-to-care" vibe, and wore a mechanic's apron like he was fixing a bicycle instead of a tiny death machine.
"Looking for something special?" he asked, voice as smooth as Iruka's ramen recommendation tone.
I scratched the back of my head. "Uh… something long-range? Strong? Explode-y, maybe?"
He didn't even blink. Just turned and pointed at a gleaming red beetle-looking bot sitting like a king on the display stand.
"Arcbeetle," he said. "High firepower. Great agility. And he's got beam attacks that could melt your eyebrows off if you stand too close."
I liked him already.
The bot looked like it had crawled out of an action movie and eaten three Gundams for breakfast. Bulky legs. Two massive horns that looked like lightning could shoot out of them any second. Arm cannons. Foot cannons. Probably had butt cannons too. I wasn't gonna ask.
"He's based on a Hercules beetle," Hikaru explained. "That horn? Charges up energy between the tips and fires it like a railgun. The Beam attack is called Prominence. Just don't use it indoors unless you hate ceilings."
I stared at the thing with sparkles in my eyes. "How much?"
He gave me a number.
I gave him the coins.
We both smiled.
Step three: customization.
With Hikaru's help, I picked out the best parts available for regular people — because apparently, the top-tier secret sauce stuff is hoarded by government teams and creepy masked organizations (you know, usual villain stuff). But what I got?
It was enough to make even Sasuke jealous.
High-end arms with Rifle and Gatling options.
Speed-focused legs that let Arcbeetle slide like a breakdancer.
And the glorious head part: Prominence. Not compatible with most medals, Hikaru warned me — but if I could handle it, the beam could knock out most opponents in a single shot.
Oh yeah. I was ready.
Then came the personality setup.
Because apparently, Medabots have starter personalities like video game companions. You want cheerful? Loyal? Sassy? Sleepy? (Yes, that's a real one.)
I picked Serious.
Not because I'm a serious guy — obviously — but because I wanted someone who could balance out my chaos.
You know. Like Kurama.
The shop screen blinked. A mechanical voice spoke:
"Configuration complete. Medabot online. Awaiting orders."
And just like that, Arcbeetle stood up, glowing eyes flashing, and looked at me like I owed him rent.
"…Hello," I said.
"…Master," he replied in a deep, robotic tone that sounded like it could narrate a thunderstorm. "Do not worry. I will not fail."
Oh, this was going to be fun.
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After dropping a small fortune on a red mechanical beetle that could blast holes through mountains, most people would've strutted out like a boss.
Not me, though.
Nope. I stuck around and chatted with the store owner, Hikaru.
Why?
Because the guy had major brain vibes. He wasn't just a handsome ex-champion with robot-summoning powers — he actually knew stuff. Like serious, useful, top-tier mission intel type of stuff.
Plus, Arcbeetle was still uploading system data and humming ominously like it was preparing for Judgment Day, so I figured I had time.
"So, uh… what's the deal with this place?" I asked, leaning on the counter like I was cool and casual and totally not watching the charging robot with one eye in case it came alive early.
Hikaru chuckled. "You mean the town? Or the scene?"
I blinked. "There's a scene?"
"Yeah. Medabot battling's serious business around here. Tournaments. Local rankings. Broadcasts. There's even a gang."
That made me straighten up fast.
"A gang? What kind of gang?"
"Robogang," he said, his tone suddenly less "chill mechanic" and more "grizzled war veteran." "They steal Medabots. Mostly high-end ones like your Arcbeetle."
"Great," I muttered. "I knew buying something expensive would end in people trying to mug me."
"You're not wrong," Hikaru said with a sigh. "Keep your Medabot close and your activation key closer. Don't flash him around in sketchy areas, and if a guy in a trench coat offers you upgrades for 'five easy payments,' run."
"Noted."
At that moment, the bell above the door jingled and two kids walked in — one guy, one girl, both probably around 14. The guy had brown hair, an earnest look, and eyes that practically screamed "I WILL PROTECT MY TOASTER-LOOKING FRIEND WITH MY LIFE." The girl? Brown hair, camera slung around her neck, confident walk. Definitely the one in charge between them.
"Yo, Hikaru!" the boy called. "Got any budget Medabots today?"
The girl chimed in, grinning. "Preferably one that doesn't fall apart when you breathe on it!"
I raised an eyebrow.
Hikaru crossed his arms and sighed like this happened a lot.
"Still broke, huh, Ikki?"
The boy — Ikki, apparently — gave a sheepish grin. "I'm… financially challenged."
"More like a Medabot maniac with no wallet," Hikaru muttered, rubbing his temples. "You know I can't keep giving away stock, right?"
"But I take good care of them!" Ikki said quickly. "I still have that broken KBT model you gave me last year! He only catches fire sometimes now!"
"Uh-huh," Hikaru said, and walked over to a dusty cabinet behind the counter. "Fine. I've got an old model from a decade ago. Metabee, Version 1."
"Seriously?" Ikki squawked. "That thing's from the Stone Age!"
Erica smirked. "You sure it doesn't run on steam?"
Hikaru glared at both of them. "You don't get to be picky when you're broke. I should charge you just for the air in here."
I was watching all this from the sidelines, trying not to laugh. Honestly, I liked these two. They reminded me of me and Sakura back when we were younger and mostly harmless.
Ikki turned to me. "Hey, you're new! You got a Medabot too?"
I looked at Arcbeetle, who was now standing perfectly still and glowing faintly like a bomb that hadn't decided if it wanted to explode yet.
"Yeah," I said casually. "Arcbeetle."
Ikki's jaw dropped.
"You got that?! That's a top-tier battle model! How'd you even afford it?!"
"I sold my dignity and most of my future," I replied.
He nodded solemnly. "Respect."
Erica blinked. "Wait, are you rich or something?"
"No, I'm undercover," I said before I could stop myself.
There was an awkward pause.
"...Undercover rich?" she asked.
I wisely changed the subject.