Kakashi crouched on the rooftop, his gray eyes scanning the bustling street below. The city humd with life.
The people, the machines, the glowing signs—all of it scread of a world far removed from the Elental Nations.
But Kakashi was a shinobi, the Copy Ninja, and adaptation was his strength. He couldn't afford to stand out, not until he understood this place. His tattered flak jacket and headband marked him as an outsider.
He focused on a man crossing the street below, one of many who seed to blend into the city's pulse. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with short brown hair and a clean-shaven face.
He wore a fitted jacket over a white shirt, dark trousers, and polished shoes—a style Kakashi had noticed was common among the n here.
'Perfect.' Kakashi's hands moved in a familiar sequence, his chakra flaring briefly. "Transformation Jutsu," he muttered under his breath. A puff of smoke enveloped him, and when it cleared, he no longer resembled the silver-haired shinobi of Konoha.
He glanced at his reflection in a nearby glass panel. His hair was now brown and neatly combed, his face broader, his skin a shade paler. The flak jacket and headband were gone, replaced by a navy blazer, white shirt, and black pants.
He adjusted the jacket as he silently body flickered to the street.
Kakashi kept his posture relaxed, his eyes half-lidded, projecting the calm indifference he'd mastered over years.
'First step: gather information.' He needed to know where he was, what this world was, and how to return to his own. But asking directly—"Where am I?" or "What's this place?"—would raise suspicion. He needed subtlety, a way to blend in while probing.
He approached a man standing at a corner, typing on a small, rectangular device that glowed with light. The man was middle-aged, with thinning hair and a harried expression, his fingers moving rapidly over the device's surface. Kakashi cleared his throat, keeping his tone polite but neutral. "Excuse , can you help with sothing?"
The man looked up, frowning slightly. "Uh, what'd you say?" His words were sharp, clipped, and utterly incomprehensible. Kakashi's brow furrowed beneath his mask. The language was nothing like the tongue of the Land of Fire, nor any dialect he'd encountered in the Elental Nations.
'A different language.' The realization hit him like a kunai. This world wasn't just different in appearance—it was fractured by communication.
Before Kakashi could respond, the man's expression softened, as if recognizing his confusion. "Hold on," the man said, tapping his device again. He pressed a button, and to Kakashi's shock, the device spoke in his own language, its voice chanical but clear: "This should help us. You should keep a Google Translator with you. Not many can understand Japanese out here."
Kakashi's eye widened, though he masked his surprise with a slight tilt of his head.
'Japanese?' That's what they called his language here? The term was unfamiliar, but it confird a suspicion: this world had parallels to his own, however distant.
The device, though, was another matter. It had translated the man's words instantly, bridging a gap Kakashi hadn't anticipated.
'A tool for communication. Ingenious.' His mind, ever tactical, latched onto its potential. 'If I can use that, I can learn more without drawing attention.'
"Japanese, huh?" Kakashi said, his tone light, as if the revelation was no surprise. "Thanks for the tip. That… Google Translator. How does it work?"
The man chuckled, seemingly amused by Kakashi's ignorance. "You're not from around here, are you?" He tapped the device again, and it spoke: "It's just an app on my phone. Type or speak, and it translates to whatever language you need. Here, let show you."
Kakashi's curiosity spiked, but he sensed an opportunity. This man was open, unguarded—a perfect source of information. But asking too many questions risked exposure.
'I need more control.' He glanced at the man's eyes, he activated his Sharingan. The red glow flared, the three tomoe spinning in both of his eyes "Look here," Kakashi said softly.
The man's gaze t Kakashi's, and his expression slackened, his pupils dilating under the genjutsu's influence.
Kakashi kept the illusion light, just enough to ensure compliance without causing harm. 'No need to hurt him. The world doesn't seem hostile.'
"Tell about this device," Kakashi said, gesturing to the object. "What is it, and how do I use it?"
The man nodded chanically, his fingers moving over the device as he typed. The translator spoke: "This is a mobile phone. It's for communication—calling, texting, and accessing the internet. The internet is a network of information, like a library you can search from anywhere. The Google Translate app lets you convert languages. You type or speak, select the output language, and it translates."
Kakashi listened intently, his Sharingan morizing every detail. The man demonstrated, typing in his own language—English, he called it—and selecting "Japanese" from a nu. The screen displayed Kanji, perfectly legible to Kakashi.
'A library of information…' The implications were staggering. In the Elental Nations, knowledge was guarded, often sealed in scrolls or passed through oral tradition. Here, it was accessible with a few taps. But he knew that so information would not be available just like that.
"Show more," Kakashi said, his voice calm but firm. "How do I find information on this… internet?"
For the next hour, the man explained, his words translated by the phone. He showed Kakashi how to use a "browser" to search for answers, how to navigate nus, and how to switch the phone's language to Japanese.
Kakashi absorbed it all, his mind sharp despite the flood of new concepts.
'It's like a jutsu, but chanical. No chakra, just technology.' He'd always been a quick learner—hence the "Copy Ninja"—and this was no different. By the end, he could navigate the phone's interface with ease, its Kanji interface now familiar.
Satisfied, Kakashi decided to secure the device. He deepened the genjutsu, weaving a subtle illusion. "Your phone was destroyed," he said, his Sharingan spinning. "It fell and shattered. You'll buy a new one later."
The man nodded, his face blank. "It… broke," he mumbled, as if convincing himself. Kakashi slipped the phone into his pocket, then stepped back, breaking the genjutsu with a snap of his chakra.
The man blinked, confusion clouding his features. He patted his pockets, frowned, and muttered sothing in English before walking away, heading toward a building down the street.
Kakashi watched him go, his conscience twinging. 'Not my proudest mont, but I need this." The phone was a lifeline, a tool to navigate this world. He'd return it if he could, but for now, survival trumped ethics.
He slipped into an alley, pulling the phone out to experint. The screen lit up, and he navigated to the browser, typing in Japanese: 'Where am I?" The results ntioned "New York City," a na that ant nothing to him but confird this was no shinobi village.
As he explored, Kakashi's senses prickled. He wasn't a sensor-nin, but years of battle had honed his awareness of chakra. The people here had it—faint, barely perceptible, but present. 'Like civilians back ho.' In the Elental Nations, even non-shinobi had chakra, a blend of physical and spiritual energy. Here, it was weaker, as if diluted.
'Hmm, It makes sense since all living beings have chakra. As for why it's weaker, their ancestors for centuries must not have been shinobi.'
Another realization hit him, this one lighter. His chakra was recovering—steadily, without the constant drain of the Sharingan.
In his world, Obito's transplanted eye had sapped his reserves, leaving him perpetually low on stamina. Now, with the Sharingan sohow integrated into his body, that burden was gone. He activated it briefly, the red glow confirming his control, then deactivated it with a thought. No strain, no exhaustion.
He leaned against the alley wall, a rare grin tugging at his lips beneath the mask. "Would you look at that?" he said to himself, his tone dry but amused. "I won't be facing chakra exhaustion every other day now."
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