Naruto: Reborn With An AI Chip

"You're not bad… for a mere Genin."

The Mist Jonin stood up slowly, scanning the surroundings with casual indifference—but it was clear he was searching for Renjiro's hiding place.

Of course, if the Mist Jonin wanted to locate Renjiro, it wouldn't be easy. The moment he escaped, Renjiro had quickly slipped behind a small tree not far away, using it for cover and to break the enemy's line of sight.

As for sensing his chakra—that would be even harder. While Renjiro's chakra control wasn't exceptional, it was solid enough to avoid detection in short bursts. And with Arkain assisting in suppressing his chakra signature to some degree, Renjiro believed even a Jonin would have a hard time locking onto his position right away.

Crouched low behind the trunk of the tree, Renjiro did his best to steady his ragged breathing. His hands were still trembling, and his heart was pounding violently in his chest—residual adrenaline from the brief clash was still surging through him.

"So, this is what a real Jonin is like…" Renjiro muttered, swallowing hard: "I could feel it… no—I'm certain of it. He wasn't even fighting seriously."

"Damn it… I have to be extremely careful. One wrong move, and I can kiss this new life goodbye." Renjiro thought bitterly as he pressed his back against the tree, trying to steady his breath and suppress the fear rising in his chest.

He had barely lasted a few seconds before being forced to retreat. Just one clash—one—had nearly suffocated him.

"You're right, kid. I wasn't serious at all." A clear, mocking whisper rang out—right behind his ear.

"Shit—" Renjiro's blood ran cold. Every hair on his body stood on end.

He didn't need to turn around—he already knew whose voice it was.

Without hesitation, Renjiro tried to spring away—but a wave of killing intent slammed into him like a wall of ice. His muscles locked, and his limbs refused to respond.

"Don't struggle. It's useless."

As the suffocating aura began to fade, Renjiro's vision cleared—and he saw the Mist Jonin standing calmly beside him, as if he'd been there the whole time.

"How?!"

Renjiro's eyes darted in disbelief toward the original Mist Jonin—still standing exactly where he'd last seen him. And yet… another was here, right beside him.

Panic flickered in his chest. Why hadn't Arkain warned him? It didn't make sense. Arkain always flagged danger, always triggered an alert—yet this time, there had been nothing.

The silence was unnatural… almost ominous.

"It was a Water Clone Jutsu." The Mist-nin's voice was almost kind—like a teacher explaining a lesson to a student.

He raised his kunai and tapped it lightly against Renjiro's throat, his tone now filled with curiosity: "You're not from one of the big clans, are you? And yet… you managed to push my clone that far. That's impressive—especially for a Genin."

Then his voice shifted, dropping into something colder, edged with quiet pity: "But you're still a Konoha shinobi. And that means, unfortunately… I have to kill you here."

---

"Arkain… if I'm killed here, activate the final protocol—destroy my brain."

The thought hit Renjiro like cold steel. Death was brushing too close, and he had no intention of leaving anything behind.

The information stored in his brain—the truth of this world, its hidden structure, its plot—was too dangerous. In the wrong hands, it could cause irreparable harm. He couldn't allow that.

Yes, he was just a Genin, and the Mist-nin likely wouldn't bother extracting intel from someone like him… but he wasn't willing to take that risk.

If death was inevitable, then erasing everything would be the last thing he could still control.

Better his brain be reduced to nothing than become the key to this world's destruction.

[Beep! Mission Established.]

[Final Protocol: Pending Execution.]

Arkain's cold, mechanical voice echoed in Renjiro's mind—calm and unfeeling, even as death loomed inches away.

---

The Mist-nin pressed the kunai harder against Renjiro's throat, a cold smile appeared across his face: "So… goodbye."

The blade flashed—and sliced the skin on Renjiro's neck. But only just.

A thin line of blood appeared, but the killing blow never landed.

"…Huh?"

Renjiro had already braced himself for death. He'd made peace with it—had even issued Arkain the final mental command to destroy his brain the moment the blade struck true.

Although he had steeled himself for death, Renjiro was terrified—almost to the point of wetting himself. Dancing on the razor's edge between life and death was far more intense than he had ever imagined. It was utterly terrifying.

But somehow… the kunai stopped. Blood trickled from his neck, but he was alive.

"Ahh!" Renjiro gasped, drawing a sharp breath as he opened his eyes and looked up.

The Mist-nin stood frozen—his expression locked in horror. His eyes were widened, his mouth was slightly opened, and sweat streamed down his temples.

Something had changed, and whatever it was… it terrified him.

"What the hell just happened?" Renjiro whispered in his heart.

He didn't know how—but he knew he'd been rescued.

"I have to get away!"

Without wasting a second, he shoved aside the Mist-nin's restraining arms and leapt back—putting as much distance between them as possible in a single motion.

Landing a few feet away, Renjiro quickly wiped his neck and glanced at his hand—it was slick with blood.

"How much have I lost…?" he muttered bitterly. Then, despite the tension, he couldn't help but grumble: "Damn it… I'm going to need to stew a whole chicken just to get this blood back after the war's over."

"Arkain, can you tell me what just happened?" Renjiro asked inwardly, still trying to catch his breath.

[Beep! Responding to Host: This AI chip was originally designed for civilian entertainment purposes. It is not a military-grade system. As such, my detection capabilities are limited—the speed of the enemy Jōnin exceeded my current tracking threshold.]

Renjiro blinked. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple. He almost shouted: "Of course. Just my luck—I get stuck with a glorified gaming assistant in the middle of a warzone."

He shook his head in frustration: "That's… just wonderful."

"Well done, boy!"

Just as he let out a sigh of relief, a deep and booming voice echoed behind him.

"COME ON—again?! Why do you always talk behind my back?!" Renjiro's heart nearly jumped out of his chest—but his body reacted before his brain could.

Instinct took over. He spun instantly, kicked backward with force, and followed through with a sharp slash of his ninja blade.

"Ah ah—easy now, kid…"

Bang!

Although Renjiro reacted quickly, the man behind him was far more skilled. He moved with calm precision—effortlessly deflecting Renjiro's backward kick, then caught his sword-wielding hand in a firm grip.

Bang!

With a sharp twist, he disarmed him with ease and slammed him to the ground in one fluid motion, pinning him down with brutal efficiency.

Renjiro instinctively struggled, but the man held him firmly, his grip unshakable—like it was forged from iron.

"Calm down." The man said in an even tone: "Take a good look at me."

The moment Renjiro heard those words, something shifted in his gut. As the pressure on his head eased, he quickly looked up.

Standing over him was a man with a calm, deadpan expression—and a distinct pineapple-shaped hairstyle swaying slightly in the wind.

"You're… from the Nara Clan… uh… what's your name again?" Renjiro asked, squinting up at the man.

He was sure he'd seen him before—in the anime, maybe in the background of a few key scenes—but the name escaped him. Still, that deadpan expression and unmistakable hairstyle left no doubt. This guy was definitely a Nara.

The man replied with a calm composure: "Nara Shikaku. And yes, I'm an ally."

Renjiro froze. That name… Nara Shikaku—the brilliant strategist, the mind behind the Allied Shinobi Forces in the Fourth Great Ninja War.

"Wait… really?! You're that Nara Shikaku?" Renjiro asked in shock.

The older shinobi gave a light shrug, as nonchalant as ever, and said: "Yes, that's me."

Renjiro barely had time to process it when two figures dropped from the sky, landing beside them with perfect coordination.

He tensed instinctively—until he saw who they were.

Shikaku remained focused, maintaining the Shadow Binding Jutsu on the Mist Jonin without breaking concentration.

As Renjiro saw the other two clearly, it all clicked. No wonder Shikaku hadn't looked worried.

"The Ino-Shika-Cho combination… they're always together." The realization brought a wave of relief to Renjiro.

The rest of the legendary trio had arrived. The broad-shouldered, round-faced man with kind eyes and a calm, reassuring presence was Akimichi Choza—a literal wall of muscle and strength.

Beside him stood a sharp-featured youth, with piercing eyes, tied-back blond hair, and a quiet intensity: Yamanaka Inoichi.

"Shikaku, everything's prepped." Choza said as he approached, then blinked at Renjiro and asked curiously: "Who's this kid?"

Inoichi raised his hand to his forehead, brushing his fingers through his blond fringe before pinching the bridge of his nose. With a sigh that carried both weariness and exasperation, he said: "Isn't it obvious?"

Shikaku smirked and replied: "Just a Genin. A brave little one."

He turned back to the Mist Jonin—still frozen in fear from the Shadow Binding Technique—and said: "Choza, knock him out. Alive, he's more useful than dead."

"Sure." Choza replied casually. He lumbered over to the Jonin, raised one giant, chakra-enhanced hand—

—and smacked him across the face.

Boom!

Even Renjiro winced as the blow connected. The Mist Jonin crumpled like a rag doll, knocked clean into unconsciousness.

"Now that's a slap." Renjiro muttered.

Choza hoisted the limp Jonin over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and turned back. Shikaku finally looked at Renjiro again and asked: "What's your name, kid?"

"Uh… Renjiro Takane!" Renjiro blurted, snapping out of his daze.

Shikaku gave a single nod: "Got it. Get some rest—you did a good job."

Choza and Inoichi exchanged a glance, then turned their attention back to Renjiro. Their eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity. There was nothing outwardly special about him—no clan insignia, no unique aura. Just a battered Genin in standard-issue gear, sitting against a tree, catching his breath like any other young shinobi.

And yet… Shikaku had spoken to him with the tone that he rarely used even with experienced Chunin. It wasn't casual, nor dismissive—it carried weight, like a subtle recognition for his will and strength.

Renjiro didn't care what they were thinking. Instead, he looked up quickly and asked: "Sirs—your arrival… does this mean our reinforcements are finally here?"

He had never seen the Ino-Shika-Cho trio on the Land of Waves front. Their sudden arrival could only mean one thing.

Shikaku nodded in response to Renjiro's expectant gaze: "Yes. We're the reinforcements the village has sent… and Konoha's counterattack begins now."

Just as he finished speaking, a loud, slightly hoarse—but strikingly powerful and instantly recognizable voice echoed across the battlefield:

"Ninjutsu: Summoning Technique!"

Puffff!

A massive cloud of white smoke exploded into the sky.

When it cleared—a gargantuan creature stood tall in the battlefield, casting a shadow so vast it could swallow entire squads whole.

For a moment, everyone—ally and enemy alike—stood frozen in awe.

---

Author's Note:

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