When you think of reincarnation, you think of happy childhoods, hyper-intelligent children who aren't actually children, jokes galore and smiles for days. At least, that's how it goes in the fanfics I've read. So you'll understand when I say nothing – even with foreknowledge – could have prepared me for the absolute fuck up my life had become just an hour after my birth.
Looking at it differently, I suppose it was obvious. I know – knew – who my parents were. I also knew they were destined to die almost immediately following my birth. Before… well, whatever this could be called, there was an obvious detachment from the situation.
Beyond the physical one of screen and person.
I felt bad seeing it, sure. It's hard not to given what the story shows of Naruto's childhood and his parents's love for him. But at the end of the day, none of it was real. Naruto is a character created by the mind of a single man and his life unfolds between the covers of a manga.
Or so I thought.
Let me tell you this, though: there is little else more agonising than seeing your parents massacred by the very beast sealed within your stomach. Made even worse by the knowledge that the orchestrator of all this was the boy who was practically their surrogate son.
No amount of rationalising had helped the tsunami of grief, rage, and hatred. Not after they held me in their arms and looked at me with eyes filled with nothing but unconditional love, even as they condemned themselves to death.
Nobody had looked at me like that before. Talked about me like that before. Of all the plans and hopes they had for me when I would be born. They were so damn hopeful about it that I really believed their plan would work.
…Until Obito held a kunai to my throat and ransomed me with my mother's life as the price. As much as I wished my father didn't – he chose to save me.
Laid upon the altar of their sacrifice, I begged them to run – at least, I tried to form the words. Yelled until my throat was hoarse for them to leave me behind. I'd died before and wasn't afraid of dying again. But the smaller, calmer part of me knew that even if they could understand me, they wouldn't.
And so, I watched my parents die on the night of Konoha's near-destruction.
Grief – a thick, chilling spike of a thing – ran my chest through. My throat burned, leaving me gasping like a fish for air. Tears pooled and blurred the world to my eyes. A pair of nimble hands slid beneath me and lifted me off my mother's quickly cooling corpse.
"It's alright now, Naruto," a soot-stained face smiled. Deep wrinkles trailed and dug weathered lines into his skin, joining the crinkle of his smile. He smelt of ash, smoke, and polished wood. I blinked up at his kind, dark eyes. "I'll take care of you now. I promise."
As it had for many others on that fateful night, everything crashed down in ceaseless destruction and death for Hiruzen Sarutobi. All within a single night. His wife? Dead. His successor? Dead. The village's Jinchuriki? Dead. Leaving their infant son an orphan and the new host of the Nine-Tailed Fox.
Those damnable tails and ear-splitting roars would haunt his dreams for the scant years left of his life.
Hiruzen leaned against his chair, surrounded on either side by mountains of paperwork weighed to his desk by numerous mission requests. What Minato was thinking, unfortunately, he would never know. He took a deep drag from his pipe and looked upon the village that had become the purpose of his existence since his wife died
The Nine-Tails's path of destruction had at last begun to fade from the minds of the people, but as a village, they had barely recovered from the tragedy.
Were it not for Minato and Kushina's sacrifice, the village would have ceased to exist that night. Still, they had certainly seen better days. The other hidden villages were no doubt plotting around the tragedy and while he doubted war would be on the table, it did not mean that everything was peaceful in the Elemental Nations.
Let alone the internal problems the village was facing.
Every day, Hiruzen regretted his decision to let Danzo live. Seeing Naruto live a miserable existence when he should, by all rights, be lauded as a hero was heartbreaking and it was all because Danzo wished to take advantage of the boy's pain and create an emotionless weapon bound to his every beck and call.
He expelled the hot smoke, slowly. Thick coils of misty white slipped between his lips. His shoulders sagged and relaxed but the weight of his guilt remained. For his own sake, Naruto would remain blind to his status for now. For all its vaunted kindness, the Leaf could be cruel.
Yet they would be kinder than Naruto, were he to hold himself responsible for his parents's deaths. Their harsh words and glares would be nothing compared to the unimaginable cruelty of one's mind – Hiruzen could attest to that.
The thought remained in his mind as he released the last puff of smoke and it followed him through the village until he reached the door of Naruto's home.
As he usually did, Hiruzen knocked. Once. There was no reply. Regrettably, this was normal for them now. He knocked twice more before he heard scuttling behind the door.
"Come in, sir."
He winced. The cold reply slipped beneath his robes and skewered him precisely in the centre of his chest.
"...Then, excuse me." Hiruzen entered the house, removing his shoes beforehand. He crossed the spotless floor, peering into the kitchen at the neatly organised dishes on the washing rack. "You've been taking care of yourself, I see."
Naruto rounded the corner and stared at him with unblinking blue eyes. Hiruzen struggled to maintain eye contact. How could he when he saw the faces of those he failed?
And it was clear that he had failed Naruto too.
"I have to, sir," said Naruto. "I live alone and I'm responsible for everything that happens to me. Now, can I get you anything to drink? Some tea? Coffee? I might have some orange juice in the fridge too."
"Tea would be nice, child." He stroked his beard, before adding: "With milk."
As Naruto busied himself in the kitchen, Hiruzen took the opportunity to inspect the one-bedroom apartment – starting with the living room.
Like the rest of the house, it was almost devoid of anything personal. The blinds were down and the light from the television spilt across the room. It cast long, flickering shadows on the wall and ceiling.
The tape of last year's Chunin Exam was paused and a half-empty glass of water sat on the coffee table between the sofa and screen.
The bedroom, however, was even more impersonal than the living room. There were no posters on the walls – not of Lord Hashirama and Lord Tobirama, himself or Minato. There was nothing that would lead him to believe he was in the home of a young boy.
The more he searched, the closer Naruto's home looked like that of a Chunin's. Every month since the start of the year, he searched to see if anything had changed. Especially given that he had recently joined the Academy. Hiruzen had hoped that the presence of other children so close to him would help ease the grip of cold caution around his heart.
Because evidently, he was not enough.
The Academy's first year mandatory reading list stacked the bedside table, as well as what seemed to be a journal at the very bottom of the list. Hiruzen stopped there. While he had no problem looking through Naruto's home, he did not want to alienate the boy from him more so than he already was.
The rattling whistle from the kitchen led Hiruzen back to the living room. He took a seat at the dining table just before the walk-out balcony overlooking the village.
Naruto entered with a tray, carrying a teapot, two mugs, and a dozen biscuits. It was an odd food combination, all things considered, and not one Hiruzen had encountered until he started visiting Naruto – that being said, it had grown on him.
"So, how are you finding the Academy so far?" he asked between bites.
"It's… interesting, but not as interesting as I had hoped."
"How so?"
"If I had to divide the eight-hour school day, we spend two hours towards the end of the day sparring and training, with the rest being split equally between Mathematics, History, and… teaching us how to read and write."
"Do you not think reading and writing are important skills for a shinobi?"
"I don't think listening to the same question being asked three times in a row is important for a shinobi."
"A fair point," Hiruzen chuckled. "But it will be good for you, being around children your age that is."
"Will it? I don't think so because – and I say this at the risk of stating the obvious – people don't like me very much."
At the reminder of Naruto's poor social status, he fought to not recoil as another one of his blunders reared its head again.
"Okay," he sighed. "If you're so smart, I'll ask you a question. You have four tries to figure it out. If you get it right, you can ask me one question of your own."
"...Any question?" Naruto asked.
Hiruzen's heart almost shattered at the doubt laced in the voice. At the stuttering hesitance. At the child whom he saw in equal light to Konohamaru looking at him how he did – speaking to him how he did.
At the implication that Naruto did not trust him to be truthful. Yet despite the pain, he knew he only had himself to blame.
"Any question," he repeated, gentler this time.
Before his eyes, the caution dissolved a little. Just barely enough that Hiruzen noticed it, and the sight gave him hope that his relationship with the boy was not unsalvageable.
Naruto adjusted his position, elbows propped in front of him as he leaned over the table. "Alright, hit me."
"Very well," Hiruzen smiled. "What has four legs, a body, yet cannot walk?"
"A riddle? I thought you'd ask me a mathematics question, or one about some weird historical fact."
"When did I say so? Why, do you want me to give you a clue?"
Naruto chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "...Any drawbacks to this clue?"
"One less guess. Do you still want it?" At his nod of agreement, Hiruzen said, "It's in this very room with us"
Immediately the child's eyes fell to the tray, scanning its contents. Then, he looked left and right. "The sofa?"
"Not quite the object I was thinking of, but you're not wrong."
He clicked his tongue and returned to searching. A minute passed, during which Naruto scarfed down two biscuits, chewing them intensely.
"...The coffee table?" he frowned.
Hiruzen grinned, a small snort escaping him. "I said that the clue to the answer is in the room with us, not the answer itself."
"...So did I get it wrong?"
"No, no." Hiruzen waved his hands. "The answer is correct."
Naruto clenched his fists and laughed softly to himself. "I knew it!"
"Well done, Naruto," he sat back and smiled, placing his hands in his lap. "What would you like to know?"
"I…" Naruto frowned and clenched his jaw. "I want to know what's so special about me, sir."
"What do you mean?"
"You visit me every month. Just me. There are so many orphans in the village but I'm the only one you personally give their stipend. Why?"
And there was the crux of the matter. Hiruzen shrunk back at the pleading light in Naruto's eyes. He could not tell Naruto the truth. Not yet. But if he were to lie to him, the scant bit of trust he managed to build over the last half an hour would burn to ash.
Unfortunately, his duty as Hokage superseded his guilt.
"You certainly don't ask easy questions," said Hiruzen. "As for your monthly stipend, what can I say? You are a special boy."
He eked out a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. Unconcealed hurt flashed across Naruto's face and Hiruzen's hand froze halfway across the table – the distance between them felt far greater.
"Alright then." He reached within the folds of his robes and slid the wad of note across the table. "Here's your monthly stipend. Make sure it lasts."
He turned to leave as fast as possible, swallowing thickly as the door slammed behind him. The setting sun's orange and purple hues lit the sky. Nebulous, dark clouds curved around the village while looming shadows crept after Hiruzen. Their cries of, "Have a good evening!" or "Hello, Lord Hokage!" fell on deaf ears.
He was locked in conflict with his guilt. It was a raging sea storm, with waves that rose and crashed against his flimsy resolve. Like he would a dinghy, all he could do was hold firm against its cracked wooden edges, praying that it remained steadfast.
He cursed Danzo's name again. It felt hollow to him, though. Danzo may have been the one responsible for the villagers ostracising the boy, but the blame for Naruto's ignorance landed squarely on his shoulders.
But as per usual, Hiruzen would lament. He would suffer in silence; perhaps even break out a case of sake if it became too much to bear sober. Because Naruto could not know the truth – not yet.
And if that meant taking all of the boy's enmity onto himself, then so be it. Hiruzen had done – and would continue to do – grislier things for the sake of the village.
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Spoiler: Author's NoteLast edited: Jul 14, 2024852Eternal YujinOct 9, 2023View discussionThreadmarks Chapter 1.2 [2] View contentEternal YujinSuffering eternally, as per my nameOct 19, 2023#47- - -
Chapter 1.2 [2]
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I'm used to being alone.
Not in the super-edgy, I-hate-company kind of way, though. Loneliness has simply become a part of my life. Not a constant companion, but more like a visitor – one I stopped trying to keep away.
You see, I'd simply grown numb. Numb to the villagers veering their children away from me when I pass by in the street. Or on the better days, when I'm completely ignored. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that the way they treat me is horrendous, but as much as I want to, I can't hate them. Not when I understand exactly what they feel and why they feel it.
Regardless, I'm the one who receives their glares and muttered curses and that makes me angry. Because while theymight not know the true culprit behind their grief, I do.
There are vicious cycles, and then there is the hell that is my existence in the Hidden Leaf.
Sometimes, I wonder if it's the Nine-Tails's fault. That maybe, he's manipulating me and nurturing my hatred for his own benefit. But then I remember the spray of blood and the huge ivory nail running my parents through and the possibility burns to ash.
No, my hatred for Obito and the Nine-Tails is definitely mine. The Nine-Tails manipulating me, though… is a whole other can of worms. After a nightmare a few years back, I went through a period of second-guessing my every thought. Even now, despite knowing Dad's seal is airtight, there's a small voice in my head terrified of the possibility.
I'm used to being alone. Which is what scares me the most. In a handful of years, I've turned into someone who I don't recognise sometimes. Then, I'm left staring at the mirror, wondering when I changed.
I'd like to say I know the exact moment it happened, but truth be told, I've got no idea.
My faith in genuine human kindness hasn't quite bottomed out yet – mostly thanks to Mr Teuchi and Ayame. See, I didn't know exactly how attention-starved I was until I decided to visit Ichiraku Ramen for the first time -- a given when one finds oneself reborn in Konoha.
One visit became two, three, and then four, until I was going there daily.
Hell, I blew almost all my stipend on it a couple of years back. Not the wisest decision, I know, but the food was worth it and thanks to that, Mr Teuchi offered me a job. I was pretty sceptical at first, given my age, but it really wasn't anything difficult. Mostly, my job's to shadow Mr Teuchi – and Ayame when she's around – and do whatever I'm told to.
In other words: washing equipment and prepping ingredients. Neither allow me anywhere near the actual cooking no matter how many times I swear that I know my way around a kitchen.
All in all, against the grim backdrop of my childhood, those two have made for some of the brightest memories of my life.
A small grin swept the frown off my face as I trailed through the empty streets. Well, relatively empty. Konoha's a fairly early-rising place where people either produce stuff for a living or sell things from people who do.
Case in point: Ichiraku Ramen. Despite being open for a few decades now, it's a small restaurant that can seat about six people at a time so most take their food to-go. Ayame and Mr Teuchi live above the shop but spend more time downstairs than they do up.
The morning freeze seeped through my jacket and trousers, chilling me to the bones. Though winter wasn't quite in full swing yet so it hadn't begun snowing. Still, I could see the white sheen over the grass and the fogged windows of houses as I walked through the village.
I entered the shop through the back, making sure to lock the door behind me. My eyes tingled at the heat in the room and I immediately shrugged off my jacket, straining to hang it up on the rack behind the door.
A light voice chuckled at my misfortune. "You're not tall enough for that yet, Naruto."
"Ayame," I looked over my shoulder, voice strained. "Would you please help me out instead of judging me from across the room?"
She snorted and took the jacket out of my hands.
"Thank you."
"Dad's in the middle of making some ramen broth but we've got last night's leftovers in the fridge if you want them. Unfortunately, there's no miso, but there's tonkotsu and salt. Which one do you want?"
"I'll have scrambled eggs instead, please."
We moved into the kitchen where Mr Teuchi stood over four boiling pots with a mesh sieve in one hand. Every so often, he would scoop the scum off the top of each pot and empty it into the sink.
I guess he couldn't hear us over the sound of the bubbling pots – which was good for me. I made a beeline to the other stove, but before I could go any further, Ayame steered me away.
I fought to break out of her grip for a few seconds and she laughed. "Nope. Not today, kid."
"Really?" I sighed when she smirked. "No, really? I can't even do that? It's scrambled eggs. It won't even take me longer than five minutes to make!"
She opened the latch separating the restaurant's kitchen and dining area and ushered me out. "You will take a seat and I will make you breakfast. Go do some homework or something while you wait."
"Already done it all," I muttered – mostly to myself.
With the morning cold at my back and the kitchen's warmth at my front, I watched as Mr Teuchi tossed a whole onion, about two cloves of garlic, and a ginger stick into each pot. Eventually – when he had placed a lid over each pot – he noticed me.
"Oh!" He wiped his hands on his apron. "Hello there, Naruto. Would you like me to make you a bowl for breakfast?"
"No thank you," I smiled. "Ayame's making me some eggs."
"Speaking of eggs…" Ayame glided across the kitchen with a steaming plate balanced carefully beneath a towel on the palm of her hand. She slid a fork across the table. "... here you go!"
I muttered a brief thanks and dug into my food, mood quickly plummeting in the face of the school day ahead. Not only that, but after Itachi went and butchered the Uchiha clan last week, the Konoha Council (in other words, the ex-members of Team Tobirama) decided to put an end to letting kids graduate early on grounds of – and I quote – "emotional instability".
I suppose it makes sense if you squint your eyes. Kakashi is an emotional wreck of a man who tried to kill himself through a blaze of high-rank missions and… well, Itachi killed his entire clan save for Sasuke.
But that's ignoring the fact that they were capable shinobi who were forced to dance to the tune of the powers that be.
It's not all too bad, though. There's nothing difficult to do since I find most things on the academic side a breeze. History is interesting too – at least when I put aside the blatant propaganda against enemy villages.
The sting of onion filled my nose as Ayame snapped her fingers in my face.
"Huh?" I wiped the thin film of tears out of my eyes.
"Dad was wondering how you find the physical side of the Academy."
"Don't say like that. He'll think I'm doubting him," Mr Teuchi admonished her. "What I meant was that back in my day, the Academy was faster-paced so I was curious if they changed how they teach you things."
"I can see that," I nodded. "It's not anything too difficult, to be honest. We spar every week and do something physical daily, but right now, the focus is bringing everyone up to standard – so lots of running. For those of us with decent stamina, they've started us on flexibility and complex obstacle courses."
"No kunai or shuriken training yet?"
"That's after the winter break. Most of the class can't even do the basic Academy taijutsu style properly yet. Hell, we're not even doing anything chakra-related until summer."
"You know, it's things like this that have me appreciate the shaky peace we've got right now."
"Really?"
"Not so long ago, children entered the Academy and graduated as full-fledged shinobi in no more than three years before being immediately shoved onto the battlefield." His eyes almost glazed over before he pulled himself out of the reverie. "But do your best, Naruto. Just because we're in a time of peace, doesn't mean it will remain peaceful forever."
I blinked away the image of a swirling orange mask and the crimson eye burning behind it.
"I know, Mr Teuchi."
He smiled and passed me my coat. "Good lad. Now get out of here. You'll be late if you hang around any longer."
"See you after school," I smiled and zipped it up.
Ayame stuck her head out of the stall's blinds and waved me up the street. "Have a nice day!"
When I really think about it, it takes a special kind of caution to willingly curb your own progress. Both by accepting that I was in for a long five years and that I wouldn't be able to use the shadow clone jutsu to make things easier.
…Nope, that's bullshit.
There's just no way for me to realistically get my hands on a forbidden jutsu guarded by ANBU. I don't care that canon Naruto did it, I'm not going to play games with my life or hinder my progress onto a team that would fit my disposition just to get it.
I'm not so close to the Third Hokage anymore either. He still comes by to visit, but our conversations are stilted. He's stopped making efforts to bridge that gap and I… just stopped caring.
Why should I? I tossed him an olive branch, a helping hand, a goddamned lifeboat that he decided to throw back in my face.
There are other ways to get my hands on it. Maybe I do well on a mission and get to ask for a reward or bring it up to my jonin sensei.
I huffed explosively, slightly picking up the pace of my run. My thoughts flitted from the shadow clone jutsu to Ichiraku Ramen to the complicated frown on Iruka's face every time our eyes met. The rhythmic thud of footsteps and laboured breaths followed me as I jogged around the track.
Sasuke was close behind, his pale face red and slick with sweat. Kiba lagged just barely behind him – neck and neck more often than not – and over the gulf was a cluster of people spread across the track.
In no time at all, I lapped Choji, who looked dead on his feet.
During the winter, the physical portion of the school day is moved to the morning. According to Iruka, it's supposed to warm us up and get us energised for the day ahead. When he called it to an end, I was sweaty, but no worse for wear.
I could probably have gone for another hour or so too. We trailed back into the classroom, cutting across the track field.
"Goddamn it," Kiba grunted, taking a swig from his water bottle. "I'll beat you one of these days, Uzumaki."
I snorted. "Beat Sasuke first, then set your sights on more."
"I'll definitely beat him," Kiba huffed. "And then I'll leave you in the dust."
Sasuke turned around and scowled at me. I sighed and shrugged my shoulders.
Kiba doubled down. "Yeah, I said it, Uchiha. I'm going to beat you one of these days."
Sasuke deepened his frown and marched into the classroom. Kiba followed, probably angry at his dismissal. I shrugged again and walked to my seat, relieved. The trick to dealing with kids is to divert their attention and I've neither the patience nor the mind to deal with my classmates all day long.
Thankfully, I'm not the centre of attention in the classroom – beyond when my teachers make me. That honour goes to Sasuke. I snorted and pulled my notepad and pen out of my bag, reviewing last week's notes.
Quickly, a grimace crawled across my face. I crossed a line through a misspelt word and rewrote the correct one top. Learning how to read and write will always be a pain. Especially since Japanese is so far removed from English.
It's not the most difficult thing in the world – or it wouldn't be, if not for the constant suspicion of sabotage I have to carry with me at school.
The teacher, a chunin called Fujino, is an anomaly where my teachers are concerned.
My mathematics teacher, for instance, is deadset on somehow making sure I can't properly learn multiplication, and my history teacher is an overzealous marker who treats me as if I pump out academic grade work.
But Fujino completely breaks away from the norm.
It's been a little over a month at the Academy and I still don't know if she's teaching me wrong. Nothing about her suggests it. There's no visible enmity when she speaks to me. She doesn't one-sidedly zero in on any perceived misbehaviour like Iruka does either.
After a while, my suspicion wore away. But there are moments when I think twice because blindly trusting her could screw me over big time.
The class around me settled down as Fujino entered the room. She had waist-length purple hair and warm brown eyes framed by circular red glasses. Bundled within her arms was a stack of paper – last week's tests.
"Good morning everyone," she beamed. "As promised, I've marked your tests!"
The apprehension in the room was heavy in the air.
She giggled. "Don't be like that. The punishment for failing isn't that bad. You'll be staying behind after school for a month to work on your reading and writing skills, okay?"
Gliding around the room, she handed back each paper with either a smile or a conciliatory pat on the arm alongside a slightly smaller smile.
"Naruto," she looked at me over her glasses. "Well done. Keep going and you'll be writing pages of work in no time."
I glanced over my paper, feeling a swell of pride. This is the one subject I genuinely had to try at and to see my effort rewarded brought a different kind of pride to placing first on a maths test.
Fujino moved on swiftly, breaking the bad news to an already tuckered-out Choji.
"Hey, Naruto?" a voice sounded from the row above me.
I looked up at a civilian kid – Taro, I think his name was. "What's up?"
"Why is your wrong answer marked as right?"
"...Wrong answer?" I glanced down at my paper and then back at Taro. "Hold on, mind passing me your paper for a sec?"
Taro shrugged. "Sure."
I placed Taro's paper beside mine – and even used my deskmate's to verify. Barely able to stop myself from snapping, I returned the papers and glared at Fujino from across the room.
"T-That little…" I dug my hands into my thighs.
A very large part of me wanted to march up to the bitch and rip her a new one but that would see me kicked out of class before I could really get going. Complaining to her face wouldn't work either. She could throw up whatever bullshit reason she wants.
And if I were to take it to another teacher, she can straight up lie and call me a horrible student.
I felt a hot burn in the back of my throat as she laughed at something Ino had said. The harder I puzzled over it, the more I realised Fujino had thought this thing through. It dawned on me that were I actually a child, she would've destroyed the best opportunity I had to learn to read and write.
And for what? Grief displaced on a seven-year-old? Some kind of sadistic perversion? What the fuck drove her to do something like this?
My pulse thundered in my head. There was no questioning that I'd make her pay – I just had to be smart about it.
And while I'm no Shikamaru, I can be cunning when I need to be.