Morning in Konoha had always carried a kind of hush—soft and sleepy, as if the village itself was still dreaming. But on the second day of Choji Akimichi's rebirth, that hush was broken by rhythmic thudding against the dirt, deep breaths, and the occasional grunt of effort.
Choji sprinted across the Akimichi clan training field, sweat flying from his forehead, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. He wasn't fast—not yet—but there was an urgency in the way his feet struck the ground. A rhythm he was chasing, buried somewhere deep in the marrow of his bones.
He skidded to a stop at the tree line and leaned forward, hands on his knees, gasping.
"Still slow," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration, but not defeat.
His body wasn't betraying him. It was trying. But he could feel the resistance, the weight—not just physical, but emotional, spiritual. Like every step forward pulled ghosts of his past lives behind him. Aron, who had only begun to live. Luffy, who had lived wildly and brightly… but never for himself.
And now Choji—reborn with all their memories, their battles, their heartbreaks. A new life filled with old burdens.
He stood up, rubbing the sweat from his neck, and walked back toward the field's center where his lunch was waiting: three stacked bento boxes, neatly wrapped in cloth, steam rising from within.
He sat cross-legged on the grass and unwrapped them carefully. There was grilled mackerel, pickled daikon, rice, pork belly glazed with honey miso, and a small bowl of his mother's sesame-coated sweet potatoes.
The moment the food hit his tongue, Choji closed his eyes.
"Mmm…"
The sensation was electric. Real. Familiar. Grounding.
Even after everything—even after dying twice—he still loved food. It wasn't just comfort. It was joy. It was life.
And in that moment, he promised himself:
"I'll never stop loving this."
He ate slowly at first, savoring every bite. But before long, instinct took over. He devoured the rice, polished off the meat, and nearly licked the sweet potato bowl clean.
When he finally finished, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach.
"Still me."
Then, a rustle behind him.
Choji turned his head slightly, lips curled in a knowing grin.
"I know you're there."
Shikamaru stepped out from behind a tree, hands in his pockets, expression as flat and tired as ever.
"You've been here every morning," Choji said, still smiling. "Why not join me?"
"Because I'm not an idiot," Shikamaru replied, stepping into the light. "You've clearly gone insane. Training like a maniac and sweating before breakfast? You even dragged your lunch out here."
"Breakfast," Choji corrected. "And second breakfast. And pre-lunch."
Shikamaru sighed. "Troublesome…"
Choji stood up, brushing off his pants. "Come on. Just one lap around the grounds with me."
"No."
"Two laps?"
"No."
"I'll share my mom's sweet potatoes tomorrow."
There was a long pause. Shikamaru's eyes narrowed.
"…Three laps."
Choji blinked. "Deal."
Shikamaru groaned, tugging his ponytail loose for a moment before tightening it again.
"This is blackmail."
"No," Choji said, grabbing his friend by the collar and dragging him toward the field. "This is friendship."
And just like that, they began running—Choji leading with boundless energy, Shikamaru trailing behind like a leaf caught in a storm.
By the second lap, Shikamaru was wheezing dramatically.
"Why… why am I doing this… again?" he gasped.
"Because I need you," Choji said simply.
The words caught Shikamaru off guard. He glanced at Choji, saw the sincerity in his eyes, and looked away quickly.
"…You're seriously not the same anymore," Shikamaru muttered.
Choji didn't answer right away. He just kept running, face focused, gaze ahead.
After a while, he spoke—not looking at Shikamaru, but with a quiet gravity that made the air feel still.
"You've always been there," Choji said. "Even when I was slow. Even when no one else really saw me."
Shikamaru blinked.
"I didn't realize how important that was… until now."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.
But it hit something deep.
Shikamaru scratched the back of his head, looking away. "…Tch. You're getting all sappy now."
Choji chuckled, light and warm. "Yeah. Guess I am."
A beat passed between them, filled with only the sound of their feet and the morning wind.
"You're not making any sense," Shikamaru said eventually, voice quieter. "But for some reason… I get it."
Choji smiled. "Thanks."
Shikamaru clicked his tongue. "…Just don't expect me to get all emotional too."
"You won't," Choji grinned. "You're too lazy."
"Exactly."
They ran a little more in silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. Like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together in a new, sharper picture.
After a moment, Shikamaru sighed heavily.
"…But if you try to make me run four laps tomorrow, I swear—"
"No promises," Choji said, laughing a sound full of sunshine and salt air, like waves crashing against the hull of a ship long forgotten. And for the first time since remembering everything, he didn't feel like he was carrying it alone.
Later that afternoon, Ino passed by the training grounds with a cart full of lavender pots and peonies. She had paused only because she heard laughter—loud and familiar.
And there he was.
Choji, spinning in the air mid-jump, landing with a roll and springing back into motion like a whirl of muscle and speed.
Not bloated or clumsy.
Fast.
Sharp.
Alive.
Shikamaru flopped nearby, flat on his back, mumbling about death and betrayal.
Ino blinked.
"Choji?" she called, confused.
He looked up and waved. "Hey, Ino!"
"What the heck are you doing?"
"Training!" he called back. "Wanna join?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Did you drug Shikamaru?"
Shikamaru lifted one hand weakly. "Don't… trust him…"
Choji grinned. "C'mon. It's fun!"
Ino wrinkled her nose. "I have a flower shop to run, thanks. And unlike you, I don't like sweating before noon."
He pouted. "Not even a little jog?"
"Nope."
"Push-ups?"
"Still no."
He sighed dramatically. "Fine. But you're missing out."
She rolled her eyes and turned to leave—but she looked back, just once.
And saw him, spinning mid-air again, hair trailing behind him like fire, eyes focused, determined.
"…He's changed," she whispered.
And for reasons she couldn't explain, her heart fluttered.
Just a little.
That night, back at the Nara household, Shikamaru limped into the living room and collapsed onto the couch with all the grace of a dying deer.
His father, Shikaku, raised an eyebrow over his newspaper. "What happened to you?"
"Choji," Shikamaru mumbled into the cushions. "Revenge."
"Troublesome," Shikaku muttered.
But he looked at his son, really looked—and saw something more than bruises and fatigue.
He saw fire.
And that made him uneasy.
At the Akimichi household, Choza watched as his son scarfed down dinner like usual—mouth full, cheeks puffed, eyes gleaming with happiness.
But beneath that joy, there was a focus. A direction.
"He's growing," Choza murmured to Yomiko as they cleared the dishes.
She smiled. "Yes. Into something fierce."
And upstairs, Choji stood once again in front of his mirror. He pulled off his shirt and looked at his torso—still soft, still large—but changing.
His fists glowed faintly. Haki stirred. Steam rose faintly from his arms.
A whisper of power.
But not from the past.
From now.
"I'm Choji," he said to the reflection. "And I'll make this life something new."
The past was behind him.
The weight he carried was his own.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, he'd run four laps—OfCourse dragging Shikamaru.
[Chapter end....]