Otis had been alive for maybe two hours when he noticed it.
His arms were longer than they should be.
Not freakishly long — but… bigger. Stronger. His muscles didn’t bulge like a bodybuilder’s, but when he flexed, something moved under his skin.
At five years old, he looked like a kid who’d been secretly doing push-ups in his crib.
And it wasn’t just his arms.
His legs had that same thick, sturdy shape — not fat, not stocky, just… powerful. His bones felt dense. Heavy, but never slow.
The other kids at the orphanage didn’t notice at first.
But by the second day, someone asked:
“Hey… when did you get so tall?”
Otis didn’t answer.
He didn’t know.
He sat in the back courtyard, throwing pebbles at an old, crooked fence. Not for fun. For practice.
It was the only thing he had.
No jutsu.
No family.
No answers.
Just his hands… and a skill that the system insisted was “legendary.”
It didn’t feel legendary.
It felt like missing a target seventeen times in a row.
Still, he kept throwing.
Because every time he did, something inside him clicked — he felt himself improving, even if very slowly.
That’s when the screen appeared again.
[WARNING: Auto-Stabilizing Body Trait…]
[Due to your Throwing Skill™ and projected power potential, your body has been pre-adjusted]
[Frame: Giant (Class D)]
[Passive Strength Growth: Moderate → Accelerated]
[Bone Density: Enhanced]
[Side effects: You will gain some Fat]
Otis raised an eyebrow.
“So… I’m just gonna get huge?”
The system chimed.
[Well, not instantly.]
[You’ll grow gradually. At five, you’ll look seven. At ten, you’ll look fifteen. You’ll be massive by adulthood.]
Otis blinked.
“That… actually sounds kinda cool.”
A pause.
[Downsides may include: awkward stares, bad posture, doors not made for you, and early back pain. ♥]
He groaned.
“Why are you like this?”
No reply.
Just a final shimmer on the edge of the glowing blue screen.
And then—
[Core Trait Installed.]
[Throwing Skill Registered.]
[No further system support required.]
[Logging out permanently… good luck, kid.]
“Wait, wait—what?!” Otis shot up.
The screen flickered.
Gone.
The courtyard was quiet.
Just wind and birds and the soft clink of stones.
“…You're seriously leaving me with nothing but rocks?”
Silence…
Otis sat down.
He picked up another pebble. Closed one eye. Aimed at a target drawn in the dirt.
He threw.
Thunk.
Dead center.
He blinked.
Then grinned.
“Okay. Maybe it’s not nothing.”
The system never came back.
But Otis didn’t need it anymore.
The village moved around him like a dream — rooftops, streets, people. It all felt normal now. Familiar.
Not home… but close enough.
He turned seven last week.
He didn’t tell anyone.
Not that he needed to.
At seven years old, Otis stood nearly five and a half feet tall.
When he stood beside other kids his age, he looked like he’d swallowed one of them.
A little bit fat. Thick arms. Heavy bones. A back like a slab of stone.
And strong.
So strong it scared him sometimes.
He once lifted a water barrel to help a caretaker and cracked the wooden handle in half without meaning to.
He said sorry.
She just stared at him.
But despite his size, Otis never yelled. Never shoved. Never bragged.
He sat in corners.
He often read alone in a corner — a habit he developed since he had so much time now. He wasn’t busy doom-scrolling or reading NovelBin stories all day, procrastinating with the excuse of “doing it tomorrow.”
He practiced throwing behind the tool shed, where no one watched.
And every now and then… he would hit a bullseye from twenty feet away, and whisper a quiet “yes” to no one in particular.
Otis could feel himself getting stronger and stronger.
The other kids didn’t mess with him.
Not because he was mean.
Just because he was… different.
Some called him “the Boulder.”
Others, “Tree Boy.”
One kid just called him “Sir.”
Otis never responded.
He didn’t mind the names.
He just minded the distance.
Sometimes, he saw Naruto running through the streets, chased by shopkeepers, laughing like a wildfire with legs.
One morning, Otis sat in the shade, sharpening a flat rock on another. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately.
He didn’t throw it.
He just held it.
The wind brushed through his hair.
His shirt was already too tight again.
He’d need new clothes.
Again.
He looked at the sky.
So blue.
So wide.
“Still here,” he murmured.
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t frown either.
Just… existed.
Solid. Quiet. Waiting.
By the time Otis turned ten, people had already stopped calling him “kid.”
They called him “that big guy.”
He was six feet tall. Wide shoulders. Heavy steps. Arms like logs.
He was accepted into the academy four years earlier than Naruto — not because of his grades, but because of his strength and size.
Otis wasn’t talented in chakra control. His giant physique seemed to interfere with it.
He had gained something… and lost something.
Strength and throwing skill had replaced precision.
Otis didn’t really train. He just… existed.
And existing, in his case, meant accidentally breaking doors, beds, and one unfortunate swing set at the orphanage.
He still remembered that one:
“I just sat on it!” he shouted.
“You split the whole beam in half!” the matron cried.
Still, Otis couldn’t complain.
When other kids trained for hours to throw shuriken and hit a log from five meters, he casually flicked a stone across the yard… and shattered a tree branch.
“Did you see that?” one boy gasped.
“Yeah,” another whispered. “He’s like a walking catapult!”
He was different — and not always in a good way.
Some villagers looked at him sideways.
Kids whispered.
A few ran away when he walked too close, like he might trip and crush them.
Even though six feet isn’t that tall, Otis was built like a boulder — like a giant and he is big sideways too, and still growing.
He learned to move gently. Slowly.
He never raised his voice.
Still, he heard things:
“Monster.”
“Freak.”
“Fatty.”
He didn’t respond.
He’d lived one life already. He knew people feared what they didn’t understand.
So he focused on his one gift: Throwing.
If the world gave him boulders for hands…
He would learn to shape the wind with them.
...
(A/N)
This Fanfiction is written by me.
This is not a translation or adaptation.
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