# Chapter 1: The System
A green figure darted through the rustling, overgrown bushes.
"Is this actually normal? Does this really happen to everyone? Am I losing my mind? Wait — what's real and what isn't? Damn it, why didn't I just *die*? Why did I end up in some random body I don't even recognize?!"
In a plain little room with a wooden floor and shelves lined with real kunai and shuriken, a boy of about twelve sat in seiza on a futon. He had gleaming black hair pulled back into a tail, thick dark brows, and unusually round eyes framed by prominent lower lashes — lashes that trembled right now, giving him an almost comical look. He wore a white kimono-style shirt and dusty pants that marked him as someone with a fondness for traditional clothes.
"I clearly remember the cabinet falling on me…"
He muttered to himself as the last memories of his previous life rushed through his mind.
Ever since childhood, he had been captivated by martial arts masters from movies and cartoons — Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Bolo Yeung, and countless other actors and fighters who had inspired him to start training, to chase the warrior's path. He hadn't been especially talented, but he worked without rest, right up until fate came for him.
On one particular day off, the young karateka had been shadowboxing in his room. Unfortunately, a stray punch clipped a nearby antique cabinet — one he'd always felt too sentimental to throw away. The rickety piece of furniture wobbled, then toppled straight onto him, knocking him unconscious. He came to in a stranger's body.
The lesson was clear: no training indoors.
"My hands… my hands… They're so thin, so calloused, so *small*! And my voice — it's so high-pitched!"
He lamented with a tremor in his throat, staring at his palms in the morning sunlight streaming through the open window. His muscles ached as though he'd been beaten with sticks and left under a bulldozer. Still, he adjusted to the pain quickly — back in his old life, he'd pushed himself to the brink during training often enough to know what bones grinding felt like.
*Alright. Pull yourself together.*
He slapped both cheeks sharply, then rose on unsteady legs and closed his eyes with a slow exhale.
A martial artist must stay calm in any situation.
*First things first — figure out what I look like, then figure out where I am. Proper reconnaissance. No jumping to conclusions. For all I know, I'm behind enemy lines and someone took me prisoner. Although… kunai and shuriken lying around kind of suggest otherwise. Something's off here. Then again, slapping the label of 'isekai protagonist' on myself right away feels a bit…*
He never finished the thought.
Without warning, his mind collapsed under a massive, crushing surge — as if someone had dropped an information bomb directly into his skull. There was no other way to describe it.
His adult spirit literally shuddered as foreign memories began flooding in.
The defective oddball of his class. That was what Rock Lee was to everyone around him. A boy with no future as a proper shinobi in a world where children were trained from an early age to be cold-blooded killers at specialized academies. Relentless training sessions. A constant, grinding depression over the simple fact that Lee simply could not use Ninjutsu or Genjutsu. And on top of it all, the endless humiliation from the other children, who mocked his weakness without mercy. No one had ever given Lee a choice. He simply hadn't had one.
In the end, Rock Lee couldn't take it anymore.
Desperate to prove to the world that Taijutsu alone was enough to make it as a shinobi, he had pushed himself too far — and burned through every last bit of life force in his body.
"Lee! You were a real man!" He clenched his fist against his chest, and he didn't bother being ashamed of the sympathetic sigh that escaped him, or the tears that followed. Why should he be?
He had never imagined, not for a single moment, that a character from the anime *Naruto* had wrestled with so many psychological scars before he'd ever shown the world his smile — the smile of Konoha's Green Beast. Lee's memories had moved him deeply.
When you watch a show as a kid, following the adventures of some energetic blond hero, you never really notice what the side characters are going through. Their suffering, their failures, their struggles on the path of the shinobi. It means nothing to the viewer. The karateka had never given it much thought either.
But now everything was different.
He had died, and he had woken up in the body of Rock Lee.
He *was* Rock Lee now.
Lee's fate was his fate, and no one else's.
*[Ding~!]*
A sharp ringing blared in his ears. He flinched, dropping into a fighting stance, scanning the room in every direction as a tingling spread through his temples. But the shinobi academy student found nothing — nothing at all — until a flat, robotic voice sounded inside his mind:
*[Hell's Training System loading. Please wait for interface connection: 1%… 5%… 15%… 30%… 60%… 80%… 95%… 100%…]*
*What?*
Lee stared, dumbfounded.
*[Name: Rock Lee]*
*[Shinobi Rank: Academy Student]*
*[Health: 100%]*
*[Stamina: 90%]*
*[Chakra: 100%]*
*[Taijutsu Rank: C]*
*[Ninjutsu Rank: —]*
*[Genjutsu Rank: —]*
*[Inventory: Empty]*
*[Hell's Training List: 1]*
In the span of a single second, a holographic panel materialized before his eyes, packed with data. Percentages and letter grades for each ability laid out in a clean, glowing display. And "Hell's Training List: 1" made it fairly obvious what the system was named after — and what its core feature was going to be.
*God… I'm a guy who got dropped into another world, I've got a cheat system, and on top of that I'm stuck in the body of a loser who can't use Ninjutsu or Genjutsu… Could this be any more cliché?*
A herd of goosebumps stampeded down his spine.
That said — who was he to turn down his very own personal cheat code? It was worth remembering that while the original Rock was a genuinely impressive shinobi, even the mighty Eight Gates hadn't been enough against Gaara, the jinchūriki of the One-Tail.
Though honestly, the guy suspected the author of the manga had just thrown Lee under the bus to show the audience how terrifying a shinobi from the Village Hidden in the Sand could be.
"Alright…" he murmured. "First thing's first — let's see what these 'hell's training' exercises actually are. I'm guessing the whole system revolves around them."
Rock Lee whispered the command aloud. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time directing it inward — and to his relief, the system responded:
*[Hell's Training List: 1]*
*[Complete 10 push-ups.]*
*[Reward: Bronze Chest]*
*Pfft. Sounds too easy.*
Lee scoffed — having absolutely no idea yet just what kind of sadist had designed a system this merciless.