Naruto’s Dump Station

Chapter 1: Kiba Village

“Alas… to come to such a world. I do not know if it is the favor of the Goddess of Luck or the mischief of the Goddess of Doom.”

A child spoke, his small face clouded with both disappointment and frustration.

This child was Ruofeng, who appeared no older than four or five. He rested his chin on his hands, sitting in a clear and light courtyard, a modest pool stretching out before him. His simple yet clean garments suggested wealth—not just any wealth, but one tied to power and influence.

If I were on Earth, living like this, I would be a rich second-generation. But in this world, being rich is useless. One wrong move, and you are dead!

A faint sadness flickered in Ruofeng’s eyes as he gazed into the distance. There, against a mountain wall, stood several stone statues.

“First generation, second generation, third generation… where is the fourth? Why do we not see the fourth generation?” he muttered. “The Third Hokage’s reign was not long ago, and the Second Shinobi World War has already turned the land to scorched earth. This era is tragic no matter how you look at it. After all, this is the wartime period of the Naruto world. It may not be the bloody beginning of the war, but we are already deep into its most destructive phase. And at my age, if I become a ninja, I will surely be thrown into the war’s final battles. Even if I survive that, World War III is just on the horizon.”

Yes, Ruofeng had crossed into the world of Naruto. Originally, he had been an ordinary earthling—neither a full-fledged otaku nor a complete social outcast. Yet somehow, he had found himself here. The absurdity of it still baffled him.

Ever since his birth, Ruofeng had known that he was in the Naruto world. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw a familiar pair of scarlet eyes staring at him. There was no mistaking it—if those were not the Sharingan, then nothing was.

Although he had never seen those eyes again, he had gathered enough information over time to confirm that this was indeed the world of Naruto. But this was not the anime from Earth, nor the manga. This was a real, living world, one where things unfolded differently from the idealized version he had known.

In the manga, everything seemed to be about passion and heroism, but Ruofeng understood that behind that idealistic vision lay a much grimmer reality.

From the moment he could comprehend the world, he had realized how high the status of ninjas was. Those who possessed chakra stood above others by default. Perhaps in Kiba, civilians and ninjas coexisted somewhat peacefully, but outside the village, such harmony was rare. In many other shinobi villages, civilians were either tolerated or outright ignored. Outside the security of a hidden village, commoners were no different from ants before the power of a shinobi.

Even among ninjas, hierarchy existed. Those from bloodline clans were the elite. Those with secret arts held power. And civilian-born ninjas? They were at the bottom.

Knowing this, Ruofeng harbored no delusions of mediocrity. He had come to the Naruto world, and if he did not become a ninja, what else could he do? When the village faced destruction, money would not save him.

He refused to let his fate rest in the hands of others. His destiny would be his own.

But there was a problem—Ruofeng had no family name, just like the commoners. Although he had a wealthy grandfather who controlled two-thirds of Kiba Village’s hot springs business, that wealth meant nothing compared to the power of a true ninja clan.

And yet, Ruofeng could not shake the feeling that his origins were extraordinary. After all, those scarlet eyes had looked at him with a hint of hatred. There was no mistaking it—those had been the Sharingan. Why would a wielder of the Sharingan look at him with such emotions? His connection to them could not be ordinary.

As Ruofeng grew older, he learned that his parents had died when he was born. His only living relative was his grandfather. But his grandfather never spoke of ninja matters. He never mentioned Ruofeng’s parents, nor did he train him in any way. The only thing he provided was money, ensuring Ruofeng lived in comfort.

Ruofeng had tried searching the house for anything related to ninjas but found nothing. He had even considered using his wealth to purchase ninjutsu, only to realize that money could not buy such things. Unless one belonged to a prominent family, the only way to learn ninjutsu was through the Ninja Academy.

He had once thought of hiring a ninja to be his teacher. Unfortunately, he was no Nara Shikamaru, who had an elite guardian at his beck and call. The reality was far harsher. Hiring a shinobi as an instructor was nearly impossible, and even if he managed to do so, they would never teach him their true techniques. At most, they would instruct him in the basics—the same things he could learn at the academy. Throwing techniques, basic movement skills, and the Three Basic Jutsu. Anything beyond that was out of reach.

To learn more, he had to enter the academy. But even that required him to awaken chakra.

He had thought about chakra a great deal. While everyone possessed it in some measure, the key was being able to extract and cultivate it. The Ninja Academy taught a common chakra extraction method, but Ruofeng knew better than to settle for that. Clans had their specialized extraction techniques, just like how martial arts worlds had superior internal cultivation methods.

Ruofeng was not willing to settle for mediocrity. So instead of blindly rushing ahead, he had focused on another route—medicinal baths. Using his grandfather’s wealth, he had procured valuable herbs, immersing himself in treatments typically reserved for clan heirs.

Poor in literature, rich in martial arts—this was a universal truth. Clans produced powerful ninjas because they were raised on resources that enhanced their bodies and chakra from an early age.

Meanwhile, civilian-born ninjas trained in the most basic ways, relying on talent and effort alone. That was the difference.

Even within the academy, students were divided into classes based on potential. The more promising ones received better instructors. Exceptional students were taken under the wing of experienced Jonin. The truly gifted ones might even become personal disciples of elite ninjas.

Ruofeng understood this reality. He knew his path would not be easy. But if he wanted to survive in this world, he had no choice but to forge his way forward.

And so, his preparations continued.