End or Beginning
The Clock Tower was unusually quiet that morning.
The lecture halls echoed with an eerie stillness, the kind that made hearts uneasy. Students, from first-years to seasoned researchers, waited in the great auditorium. They murmured among themselves, checking their watches, wondering.
“Is Professor Fujimaru running late?”
“Maybe he took a day off?”
That would’ve made sense—except Ritsuka Fujimaru never missed a class. Not once in all the years he’d taught.
He was 43 years old, a man who had once saved humanity twice, who had walked through Hell itself and returned with nothing but kindness in his heart. No one ever called him a hero here because his achievements never told to the world.
Everyone simply called him Professor. And to them, he was more than that—he was family.
A quiet knock broke the tension.
An old maintenance worker entered slowly, clutching something in his trembling hands. His eyes were red. He didn’t say a word. He simply walked to the main screen in the hall, placed the file into the console, and turned to face the students. They could all see he was shaking.
“W-When will Professor Fujimaru be back?” one student asked.
The old man didn’t answer.
Then the screen lit up.
---
“If you're hearing this... then it means death finally caught up with me.
I made this message a while ago, just in case. My health’s been declining for some time now. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d make it past 30... but somehow, I pulled through to 40. Guess willpower can buy you a few extra pages in your story, huh?
I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Even now, making this... it feels strange. It’s like I’m talking through a fog. But I didn’t want to just disappear without leaving something behind.
Life... is a movie. Full of plot twists, highs, lows, and surprises you never see coming. And like any movie, it ends."
---
Silence.
Then sobs. Quiet ones at first, from the back rows.
---
“These past few months, my body’s been failing me. Doctors gave up hope. I didn’t. I kept going—not because of medicine or magic—but sheer stubbornness. That’s always been my way.
I could’ve retired, waited quietly for the end... but that’s not me. Never has been.
You see, life is short. Some are lucky enough to reach a hundred. Others, like me, get a little less time. But however long or short it is, what matters is what you do with it.
You’re all still young. You’ve got decades ahead. So promise me—experience it. Chase dreams, fall in love, make mistakes, cry, laugh, break things, fix them again. Don’t sleepwalk through your years. Be alive while you're living.
You’ll face problems, sure. Storms will come. But remember: the future holds promise, and the present is a gift. Don’t let today slip away because you’re worrying about tomorrow.
Some of you are selfish. Yeah, I know. I watched you grow up. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad. Just... don’t lose yourself in that selfishness. Listen to your heart—really listen—before you act. Your heart knows who you are better than your mind ever will.
Death’s waiting for all of us. No one gets out of this alive. We vanish, like dust in the wind.
“A friend of mine—Oberon—once said the world will forget me. He might be right. Time erases names, even the famous ones. But I believe the love we give, the lives we touch, the dreams we share... those ripple through eternity.
So you.....yes, you....you’re still breathing. Then live. Really LIVE..
Don’t wait for some perfect moment—it doesn’t exist. Make your moment. Carve your mark into this messy, beautiful world.
And when your time comes—when death knocks on your door—I hope you smile. I hope you meet it head-on, with no regrets, no shame, and no fear.
Because that’s how I’m going.
I’ve known agony that broke my soul. I’ve known joy that felt like heaven. I’ve made choices that shattered me. I’ve failed, hard. I’ve cried so long I had no tears left. And still, I moved forward.
If someone gave me a chance to go back and change it all... I’d say no. The past is what made me me. Every scar, every laugh, every stupid decision—it’s all part of my story.”
---
Some of the so-called “troublemaker kids” were crying openly now. The class clown hid his face. The prodigy who never showed emotion wiped her eyes with trembling hands.
He wasn’t flawless. He told them that. He wasn't trying to be. But he lived. And he never ran away.
---
"And I don’t regret a damn thing.
I wasn’t perfect. I messed up more times than I can count. But I lived. I lived.
So don’t fear death. Don’t whisper, “I wish I had more time.” Instead, shout, “I made the most of my time!”
That’s your final assignment from me—Live without regrets. Every one of your lives meant something to me. You’re not just students—you’re part of my story. And I want your stories to be longer, brighter, and louder than mine ever was.
So LIVE.
I'm going to watch Sunset earlier than all of you.
Thank you—for being in my life, for giving me memories I’ll carry even in death.
And hey... don’t go dying early, alright? I still want to hear all your stories when we meet again.
Until next time...
– Professor Fujimaru Ritsuka. "
The message ended.
The screen went black.
---
A full minute passed before anyone moved. The silence was sacred.
Finally, the old worker whispered, his voice broken:
“He passed in his sleep… while crying. With a smile.”
That day, the Clock Tower mourned not just a Mage, but the man who had taught them how to be human.
Ritsuka Fujimaru, the last Master of Chaldea, died not as a warrior or Mage—but as a teacher, a friend, a mentor, and the kindest soul they'd ever known.
---
Konoha Hospital – Night
A boy with long, black, silky hair lay unconscious on a hospital bed, faint traces of breath rising from his lips. Bandages were wrapped around his forehead and leg, his pale form contrasting with the forest-green gown draped over him. The soft beeping of medical monitors was drowned out by the distant chaos outside. Doctors and nurses rushed from one ward to another—there had been no rest since the Nine-Tails had attacked the village.
Few noticed the subtle twitch of the boy’s eyelids.
This boy—known to Konoha as Fujimaru Ritsuka—was the child of simple townsfolk. A quiet, gentle boy who had been caught under debris during the destruction wrought upon the village. No one could have imagined that the soul inside him… had changed.
With a soft gasp, his eyes snapped open.
A stabbing pain erupted in his head. He winced, brow furrowing, but slowly—methodically—he began to take in his surroundings: the sterile ceiling overhead, the fluorescent light buzzing above, the green curtains framing his bed, and the distant sound of muffled voices echoing down the corridor.
“…I died,” he thought, blinking slowly.
But the thought halted as his gaze lowered to the body beneath the blanket. Small hands. A thinner frame. A child’s body.
His breath caught. What—?
"What the hell… is going on?"
Panic crept into his chest, but he forced himself to remain still. Years of surviving humanity’s darkest timelines had forged a will not easily shaken.
This wasn’t a dream.
This was real.
The soul of the older Fujimaru Ritsuka—once a Master of Chaldea, a savior of humanity, a wanderer through burning skies and Lostbelts—had somehow awakened in the body of a child from a world that felt eerily unfamiliar.
His thoughts raced. Was this reincarnation? Isekai? Was I brought here by the Counter Force? Or… was this just fate playing one final joke on me?
He touched his face—soft and smooth. No battle scars. But he had Command Spells. But His circuits felt dormant, as if mana itself was asleep here.
Before he could contemplate further, the curtain swayed, and a man stepped in—a tall doctor with tired eyes and a white overcoat.
“Ah. Ritsuka-kun… You’re awake.” The doctor’s voice was calm, practiced. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”
Ritsuka paused, then offered a weak nod.
“…Just a headache, Doctor.”
“Understandable. You were found under rubble. A minor concussion and some bruising. But you’re lucky—no lasting injuries. Rest, and you’ll be back on your feet soon.”
“Thank you.”
The doctor gave a tight-lipped smile, but his eyes softened with sympathy. He lingered a moment, as if there were more to say, but chose silence instead. With a nod, he stepped out, letting the curtain fall gently behind him.
Ritsuka leaned back, eyes gazing up at the ceiling once more.
“I’ve seen the end of the world,” he whispered as sleep crept in. “Maybe… it’s time I saw its beginning.”
And with that, Ritsuka drifted into sleep—silent, thoughtful, and very much alive.
---
The Next Day
When Ritsuka woke again, a quiet ache gnawed at his stomach and his throat felt parched. He instinctively thought of calling out for someone—but paused. His eyes caught sight of a glass bowl and a cup of water neatly placed on the bedside table. Someone had already been here, silently, and left it for him.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. So, someone’s been looking after me.
He carefully reached out and took the bowl onto his lap. The food was simple, but it was warm and filling. He ate slowly at first, out of habit and gratitude more than hunger, then allowed himself to finish it off once he felt the strength returning to his limbs. The water was crisp and refreshing, enough to chase away the dry heaviness in his throat.
With his hunger eased, Ritsuka leaned back slightly and looked around. The hallway outside the room was quieter than before. Fewer footsteps echoed past his door, and the air felt less rushed, less urgent.
His gaze drifted to the ceiling as thoughts swirled quietly.
What kind of world is this? he wondered. Is it magical? No… the air doesn’t hum with mystery, and the people I glimpsed didn’t wear robes or carry wands. But the technology here is a little different—not exactly modern, not ancient either. Could it be… the past?
Just as he was stringing together his guesses, something shifted inside him. A sudden torrent of foreign memories surged through his mind like a dam breaking. Ritsuka stiffened, wide-eyed, as images and sensations that weren’t his own filled his consciousness.
He didn’t feel pain. Just a deep, unsettling discomfort—like watching someone else’s life play out through a foggy window, yet knowing it belonged to him now.
When the surge finally passed, he sat there in silence, trying to steady his breath. It was a lot to process, but one truth stood out like a beacon in the storm: this world was not a peaceful one.
This was a world of shinobi. A world shaped by constant conflict, where war had ravaged the land not once, but thrice in the span of sixty years. A world where death lurked behind politics, secrets, and shadows.
He’d seen war in his original world too—but this... this was different. The chaos here was personal. Close. It lived in every street, every village, every young eye that learned to wield a kunai before a pen.
And then he remembered.
Of course... I know this world.
A bitter-sweet realization washed over him as he named it in his heart.
This is the world of Naruto. A world I once knew through a screen, through laughter and heartbreak, through battles and bonds. A world created by Masashi Kishimoto.
He drew in a slow, quiet breath as the memories of this body—his new self—filled in the gaps.
He hadn’t been a prodigy or a shinobi. Just a normal boy. A kind son to a pair of hardworking parents who ran a humble bakery in the Hidden Leaf Village. His days were simple—school in the morning, helping in the shop during the evening. He remembered the sweet smell of fresh bread, the warm flour on his hands, the laughter when his mother caught his father sneaking a bite of their baked goods.
His father had come to Konoha as a refugee during the Second Great Ninja War. Despite the scars of his past, he’d found peace and love here. He married, settled down, and built a small, joyful world with his wife.
And then it all vanished.
The night the Nine Tails attacked... everything changed.
Ritsuka clenched the bedsheet in his hand, the weight of it all pressing against his chest. He didn’t know whether he mourned more for these new parents—gone in a night of fire and chaos—or for the ones he left behind in his original world.
Two families... both lost to me now.
He bowed his head slightly, pressing his hands together in silent prayer.
I hope you're at peace... all of you. I'm sorry I couldn't be there.
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and he didn’t wipe it away. It wasn’t weakness. It was memory. It was love.
After a few long moments, Ritsuka lifted his gaze once more, quiet resolve beginning to flicker behind his eyes.
This world may be dangerous… but I’m here now. And if I’ve taken the place of someone who’s gone, then I owe it to him—and to everyone else—to live kindly. To help where I can. That’s all I’ve ever known how to do.
His fingers rested gently over his heart.
I don’t know why I’m here. But I’ll make this life mean something.
---
Note : I got this idea and I worte this.