Naruto: Reborn With An AI Chip

When Renjiro finally woke up, three full days had passed.

He found himself lying in a makeshift ward inside Konoha's battlefield hospital, nestled in a camp far from the front lines.

It was a large room partitioned with hanging white cloths, where groans and murmurs blended with the heavy scent of antiseptics.

The first thing Renjiro saw upon opening his eyes was Maemon's face—hovering far too close, his forehead almost touching Renjiro's.

With a frown and a grunt, Renjiro shoved him aside in disgust: "Back off, man! What are you trying to do, kiss me?"

Maemon didn't flinch. He wasn't interested in Renjiro's sarcasm.

The moment he saw Renjiro wake, his eyes lit up with relief—then immediately darkened with frustration.

"Do you know what the medic said after examining you?" He began, already scolding directly: "Mental exhaustion. And not just that—severe overuse of spiritual energy. You're lucky you didn't fry your brain and turn into a drooling idiot."

"Haha..." Renjiro chuckled softly.

While his condition had indeed been dangerous, and the coma was caused by severe mental fatigue, it wasn't as dramatic as Maemon made it sound. Renjiro knew his limits better than anyone.

Arkain embedded in his consciousness, wouldn't allow permanent damage. It had built-in safeguards. If Renjiro's mental strain had neared critical levels, the system would have warned him well before he collapsed.

Still... seeing Maemon this agitated stirred something in him. He felt strangely appreciated. He hadn't risked his life just for himself—but for his teammates too.

Seeing that Renjiro was still smiling carelessly, Maemon clicked his tongue, annoyed.

He grabbed a piece of folded clothing from the bedside table and threw it at Renjiro.

"You're smiling like an idiot. Since you're awake, stop hogging the bed. There's a line of people waiting to see you." Maemon said in a calm voice.

"Hey, hey—don't I get any post-injury sympathy? I almost died, you know. You could at least treat me a little more gently." Renjiro grumbled as he stood and began getting dressed.

"You're not physically injured." Maemon replied, adjusting his glasses with that logic-nerd expression he wore far too often:

"At most, you strained a few muscles. Mentally, you just overused your spiritual energy. And both problems should have resolved by now after sleeping for three straight days. That means you're no longer a patient... and you've officially lost all patient privileges."

"You're impossible to argue with." Renjiro raised a brow, then gave Maemon a dramatic shrug.

He knew he couldn't win a verbal battle against this guy—Maemon had what could only be described as Detective Conan disease.

Still, just to be safe, Renjiro silently issued a command to Arkain: "Perform full health scan."

When it came to diagnostics, he trusted the futuristic tech of his original world far more than the field medics of this war-ravaged era.

Arkain's scans were incredibly precise—not even a single damaged cell could hide from its detection.

"Where's Meri? And how's everyone else?"

Renjiro asked as he dressed, his voice tinged with concern.

Maemon's expression softened:

"Meri's still working here in the hospital. After the battle, we were stretched thin—she's helping with triage and wound care. Most of the others are doing fine. Minor injuries. A few are still being treated, but no more fatalities."

"That's good..." Renjiro murmured, though he felt a little deflated.

Why was it that, in anime, when a protagonist wakes up in the hospital, there's always a cute girl crying at their bedside?

Yet here he was—stuck with this guy.

"Let's get you out of here." Maemon smiled with relief as he saw Renjiro on his feet.

They left the ward together.

Calling it a "hospital" was generous—it was more like a giant tent divided by thin hanging sheets, each partition barely wide enough for a single stretcher.

On the way to discharge processing, they passed many familiar and unfamiliar faces.

What caught Renjiro off guard was how many people nodded at him—some greeted him warmly, others even with subtle admiration.

"Did... I hit my head too? Why's everyone suddenly acting like I'm some kind of hero?" Renjiro blinked, as he asked in a confused voice.

Looking at Renjiro's baffled expression, Maemon replied calmly: "You risked your life to protect your comrades. And the ones you saved? They talked. Word got around. That's why people are looking at you differently now."

Then Maemon leaned in and lowered his voice: "And here's something else—every person showing you that kind of respect? They're all civilian-born. Not clan-born."

Renjiro blinked again, slower this time. The social divide in Konoha was no secret. Civilian shinobi were often looked down on—subtly or otherwise—by those from the old clans.

That was why they tended to stick together.

And Renjiro was one of them—a commoner.

So, when one of their own stood up, put his life on the line, and survived a battle with someone as infamous as Zabuza... well, to them, that meant something.

Especially since Renjiro hadn't done it for glory—he'd done it for them.

"They think I'm some kind of hero..." Renjiro muttered under his breath, feeling a strange tightness in his chest.

But the truth was... he hadn't done it out of heroism. He just wanted to stay alive.

Helping others had been a tactical decision—more people alive meant fewer enemies focusing on him.

And Zabuza... Zabuza wouldn't have spared anyone if he'd succeeded in eliminating the squad.

Still... if that misunderstanding gave others hope—If it earned him respect in the eyes of the civilian ninjas, the people like him—

Then he could live with that.

It was a useful image, and in this world, image could be very important especially in villages like Konoha.

---

The two of them exited the hospital tent and stepped into the camp.

But the atmosphere had changed. Compared to the noisy chaos inside, outside was eerily still. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension.

Renjiro frowned and said: "This feels... wrong. We won, right? The bridge was destroyed. Mission accomplished. So why does it feel like we lost?"

Maemon hesitated before replying. His voice was low, yet serious: "That's... a long story. Let's wait until we're back at your tent. I'll explain everything."

The gravity in Maemon's tone made Renjiro drop the question—for now.

They walked through the camp in silence, passing other shinobi who barely made eye contact. Eventually, they reached the row of tents assigned to their unit.

Once inside Renjiro's, they sat down.

Renjiro turned to him, no longer able to contain his curiosity, and asked: "Can you tell me now? What happened while I was unconscious?"

Maemon took a breath, and said in a grim voice: "It's about the aftermath of the operation." He exhaled slowly, then continued: "The tension in the camp—it's not about the Mist. It's about us."

Renjiro leaned forward, listening intently as Maemon began to lay everything out in his usual calm, clear way.

And finally— Renjiro understood. Why the air in the camp felt so heavy.

The destruction of the bridge had been a strategic success—but not without cost.

And that cost had sent ripples through the very heart of Konoha's military command.

Casualties among civilians? Overlooked—as always. It was expected. Acceptable.

If civilian-born shinobi died, it was rarely mentioned. Neither the command tent nor the village paid much attention to such losses during wartime.

But when a genius from one of the noble clans dies? That changed everything. It was a matter of status—not just loss.

Two clans dominated this warfront: the Uchiha and the Hyuga, and both had sent their elite into the operation.

On the Hyuga side, one of their brightest prodigies had been killed—and worse, his Byakugan was taken, a humiliation of immense magnitude for their clan.

He wasn't mentioned in the manga, but Maemon had told Renjiro enough to understand: this Hyuga had been extraordinarily gifted, not much inferior to Uchiha Shisui.

In fact, he was far ahead of Hyuga Neji, who would later become known as a prodigy in his own right.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to compete with Shisui, who was already famed as the most talented young ninja in the current Uchiha generation.

In contrast, Uchiha Shisui had not only survived—he had excelled. So much so that the name "Shisui of the Body Flicker" was now spreading like wildfire.

Two prodigies. One dead. One glorified.

The Hyuga Clan was furious, they whispered of foul play, conspiracy, and sabotage.

Why else would two equally gifted shinobi face such different fates?

The Uchiha Clan was outraged by the accusation. To them, it was a baseless, dishonorable smear campaign—an insult to both Shisui and their entire lineage.

What began as quiet suspicion soon escalated into a full-blown standoff.

Both clans—proud, powerful, and deeply rooted in prestige—refused to back down.

Renjiro sat back, dumbfounded: "They're seriously going to start fighting each other over this? We're at war. Everyone is at risk of death. Isn't that obvious?"

Maemon nodded solemnly and replied: "The atmosphere is like a spark in a gunpowder barrel. One wrong word, and we'll have a civil war on top of everything else."

Renjiro rubbed his temples, exasperated: "This village… is filled with some crazy people."

---

Author's Note:

If you'd like to support my work or read up to 10 chapters ahead, feel free to check out:

👉 Patreon.com/NarutoAI

And if not, no worries at all—I'm just glad you're here.

I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it.

Have a great day! 😊

---