Book One: The Rise of the Blue-Haired Devil.

      I was thrown into the memories of the person who had been in this body before me. This boy lived the normal life of a child, except for a few things: first, his family lived in the forest, separate from the rest of the world. That was very strange to me; secondly, his parents talked a lot about ninjas and their abilities. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything, but damn, how can you blow fire out of your mouth? How can you manipulate air or earth with the movement of your hands? How can you theoretically create lightning from your body without getting electrocuted? It even sounds like magic, or maybe it is; thirdly, there is almost no technology in this world. This is very good, because with my knowledge I can improve everything here. Among the vast array of child’s memories, I found a single one that contains a possible reason for me to be in this body.       A memory…       The boy, about seven years old, opened his eyes. He slowly got up from his cot, lazily pushing away the warm, fluffy blanket. The child looked around his room, which was small but cosy. Everything necessary for a boy’s life was present in this room. The bed was located against the south wall, which bordered his parents' bedroom. Next to the bunk was a small nightstand that held all the essentials. There were two windows in the room, one on the north side and one on the east. There were two cupboards next to the first, one of which was about two metres high and about a metre wide. It held a lot of books of various contents.       It was a small library where a child could find a book for every taste and colour. There were five shelves in the cupboard. On the lowest shelf were books containing fairy tales, proverbs and parables. The boy could reach this shelf from the age of four, but then his mother read them to him. On the next shelf were books for learning. On this tier could be found the alphabet, copybooks, different dictionaries. This shelf became available to him at the age of five. In two years he had almost finished dealing with all its contents, gradually moving on to study the books from the centre shelf. It included material about the world, about the ninjas who are the embodiment of the superhumans in this universe, and what makes these ninjas so dangerous. The books on this shelf detailed the clans that existed in the world. The books on the fourth and fifth shelves the child couldn’t reach yet, but his parents had told him a little about them.       From their words, the fourth shelf contained teachings about the chakra, how it could be awakened and how to develop it. The books described in detail the process of developing the chakra circulation system. Also on this tier could be found materials about human anatomy. The last, the fifth shelf, was the benchmark. A boy must complete its study by the age of sixteen. The books of the fifth shelf contained information about all the uses of chakra, as well as the stages of their development. The material of these teachings was the most difficult to master. A whole four years were allotted in the child’s training programme for complete familiarisation.       The second wardrobe held the boy’s belongings: t-shirts, shirts, tights, shorts, and other underwear necessary for any man.       Against the eastern wall, directly opposite the window, was a desk with a few things on it: ink and a pen for writing; a paraffin lamp so that he could work in the evening; several notebooks and a diary with the curriculum. The child had a clear daily routine, which he followed.       The boy walked over to the mirror. He wanted to assess his appearance. He had tanned skin, hair the colour of the sun that fell to his shoulders. He had attractive facial features. Already the child’s cheekbones were clearly visible, standing out even against the background of a smooth, almost perfect, small nose. If one did not look closely at the face, the boy could be mistaken for a girl. But it was the eyes that stood out the most. They were a pure moon colour. There was no pupil visible in them, which gave them a kind of mystery.       - Michiko, are you up? Breakfast is already on the table! — There was a soft female voice that distracted the boy from studying his appearance.       - I’ll wash up and come down, mum! — replied in his thin, age-appropriate voice as the child went to the bathroom. After washing up, Michiko went down from the first floor to the kitchen.       - Good morning, son! — A woman in her thirties said hello. She had an attractive appearance: a slim waist, emphasised by a lilac kimono with a red knotted sash; long dark brown hair that fell below her shoulder blades. She had a well-defined chin line, which was emphasised by her even cheekbones, which were clearly visible on her face due to her slim build. The whole image was complemented by pure white eyes, looking at her child with warmth and care.       - Good morning, mum! — answered her child, hugging her. The woman bent down to hug her son in return.       - Go eat, because your father is probably already waiting for you. — She whispered softly, sending the boy to the table. The child quickly ate a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon before running out of the house. Michiko looked round and found her father in the barn, and rushed over to him.       A man with short-cropped yellow hair had eyes as black as pitch. He wore a dark blue cloak with white trousers and a mesh sleeveless shirt underneath. Michiko’s father had a good build, standing out from the rest of the people. He looked at the boy approaching him, finishing smoking a pipe of tobacco.       - Ready? — decided to clarify the man to his son, already knowing the answer in advance.       - Always! — shouted the joyful child, running forwards. The father only smiled slightly, quickly equalling his son while running.       The morning run was a kind of ritual for the family. It had taken place every day since the boy turned five years old. The child’s father soberly assessed his strength, gradually increasing the load on the boy’s body, but at the same time he did not slack off, fulfilling his norm in training. So Michiko had time to catch her breath before the physical exertion began while the man finished the last exercise. The morning workout lasted until about eleven in the morning, after which father and son would return home.       The child went to his room, getting an hour and a half of well-deserved rest. The boy usually read books during this time, but sometimes he was too tired from training, so he fell on his bed, sinking into the realm of Morpheus for this time. At half past one his parents called their child for lunch.       The afternoon meal lasted about twenty minutes, after which another ten minutes were spent clearing the table and washing the dishes. At exactly one o’clock the mother turned into a strict teacher, teaching the boy knowledge about everything. The child easily learnt new information, because it was not complicated for his age. Two hours of lectures and practice, followed by a fifteen minute rest at three so Michiko could unwind. During this time, he and his mother usually had tea and biscuits, and sometimes candy.       Father would leave at that hour to go on business in the forest nearby. There the man hunted animals.       After a little rest, the boy would take a test from his mother to consolidate the material he had learnt.       At four o’clock the father would return from his hunting trip. He would take his son to the evening training session, where the man would teach him various defence and close combat stances. This set of exercises had only recently entered the boy’s daily routine. Until the age of seven, he continued to perfect his body at this time. The training would end around seven in the evening. The boy was very tired by this time, but he never refused dinner, but even after the meal he was not in a hurry to sleep, because it was his favourite part of the day. He would go with his father to a cave not far from their home.       The cave was part of a long-dormant volcano. The lava was still flowing somewhere underground, heating the whole grotto from the inside. It felt especially good in the water. A small recess filled with liquid was a hundred metres after entering there. The room had ceilings about ten metres high. It was illuminated by a hole in the ceiling, through which bright rays of light passed. The water had a very pleasant temperature, about twenty-eight degrees. For any person it was bliss to be in such a spring, and for a child after exhausting physical exertion — this place turned into a heavenly abode. After such therapy, which lasted about an hour, the man and his son returned home. The time was approaching nine o’clock, so Michiko’s mother would go to the cave with an oil lamp, which the father and the boy sometimes took with them when it was winter.       Although it should be noted that the boy never saw snow, because the local climate always kept the temperature at least fifteen degrees.       The child would get ready for bed and then lie down in the cot. To make him fall asleep faster, the father would tell his son various stories from his life, to which the child would listen attentively. At about ten o’clock in the evening Michiko’s mother returned. The boy was asleep by this time, but the loving mother could not help but wish her son good dreams by kissing him on the forehead. This was supposed to be the case today, however something went wrong.       After a morning workout, father and son were on their way home. Nothing portended trouble, but when they came to a clearing from which their home was visible, the man was greatly frightened. The boy’s home was on fire. Tongues of flame had already spread all over the walls of the building, smashing out the windows.       - If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, run north. Find Uncle Jun there. He will help you. — The father spoke in a serious voice, kneeling down to look into his son’s eyes. — This is for your self-defence. You will become an outstanding man. I believe that. — The man continued to speak, smiling at the boy. He already realised that everything would end badly, but he wanted to give his son some hope for a bright future. The man reached for the pouch on his belt. He took out a small, cold weapon from the bag and handed it to the boy, whose hands began to shake violently. The boy knew from his lessons that it was a kunai. Tears began to roll down the child’s cheeks. He didn’t want to lose his parents. The father hugged his son goodbye, then ran towards the burning house. Michiko began to nervously count the seconds. He was scared, even very scared. Each moment stretched like an eternity, tearing the boy’s soul into a thousand shards. He endured fifteen minutes, yet he failed to move when it was time to leave. He knew it was necessary, so simply necessary, but the boy’s body and heart said otherwise.       - What if I leave and he comes back in a few minutes? What if he’s just running late? — flashed through the young man’s mind. He was only able to pull himself together when another five minutes or so had passed. He calmed his mind and senses, though he could tell from the rhythm of his heart that the boy was still hesitant. Michiko started to walk away towards the nearest town, where his uncle lived, but he hadn’t even made it a hundred metres before a heavy hand hit him on the back of the scruff of the neck. The boy felt nothing, having lost consciousness.       Everything further was preserved in the child’s memory only in fragments, from which only two things became clear: the first — he is now in the land of Water; the second — he is going to be sold at auction as a slave to some barin.       The end of the memory…