When one Uzumaki Naruto kept his presence hidden after being condemned to the filthy streets of Konohagakure, a single apartment remains empty, and a day is marked as the birth of a legendary shinobi, Akisu nerai no Konoha. The thief of Konoha.
A blonde child with cerulean blue eyes and dimmered amber hair scampered through the dark, the comfort-less toy lay lone on the muddy floor, it's beady eyes almost separated. His clothes were clawed apart, covered in a mass of crusty, dry blood that contrasted in comparison to his sickening skin. The antiquated cans were discarded as the remaining scraps were removed. Said boy was no master in the art of stealth, still oblivious to the commonly used tricks. He had only managed to place his hands on the minimal food because the general population had no intentions of touching the contaminated food.
Stealth was needed in order to effectively steal, to reach that esteemed level, training was required, which could only be obtained through use of the shinobi academy; a place reserved for the more noble ninja and civilian clans of Konoha. His non-existent lineage, and the unknown source of his unnecessary and inhumane punishments meant seclusion was vital for survival.
If only he knew.
For all nights that he chose to remember, the comforting, isolated ground that had been deemed his home had also been his bed. The starry sky could be seen, as the street was only dimly lit, unlike the more crowded places of Konoha, in which, the luminous lights hid the unknown beauty. But alas, it was their choice to remain idiotic and oblivious to what lay beneath a mere facade.
Sleep did not come easy that night, nor was it restless. As soon as dark came, nightmares would flood his mind, causing him to shiver and tremble from the frightening scenes that replayed within his mind. All attempts of forgetting the past were with no avail.
It showed him what he did not have, along with hope and determination. The warm, silky sheets of a bed and the loving nature of a parent were all achievements he strived for, even if claimed impossible, the thought of it was enough to make even the weakest of men, including himself, capable of accomplishing any feat.
The orphanage had kicked him out a few months ago, and each night grew colder, and each step was in the direction of the feared death lord. The warden had granted him independence, smiling as she wished him a happy birthday, while pointing to the street. He wasn't reluctant to leave, even if the independence would be a false claim, so long as he was forced to roam this cruel world, independence was not possible, but the great Naruto would never succumb to such level.
When morning finally arose, he quietly crept in the shadows of Konohagakure, indulging in the secrets of the shinobi way, watching as the newly instated genin practiced jutsu, something foreign to measly civilian like him.
While practice would prove beneficial, he was no god who could control thunder with a flick of the wrist. His only hope was to practice his art.
He rushed from the training grounds, slowly creeping along the darkness located even in the brightest of lights. He continued until an empty lot was reached, fascinated by the unfamiliar place, he entered, noting the rustic odor.
He knelt down on the ground beside a nearby body, choking as he glanced at the unsuspecting victim. Blood was splattered across the ground, in a pattern only obtainable by a single method. Bruises were spread along the victim's muscular body, indicating a lost fight.
Even to an innocent boy such as Naruto, it was no mystery as to why the man lay still, on the obviously uncomfortable stone.
He was dead.
Naruto brushed his fingers along the man's forehead, before silently praying for the deceased. He claimed the weapons as his, before moving along.
Eventually, he came to a shrine, decorated with towering pillars and perfectly carved statues of warriors and warlocks. He slowly strolled through the building, sound echoing as his feet came in contact with the ground. Naruto came to a stone boulder, embodied with foreign language and symbols. He placed his hands upon the gold case that stood on a tripod of forms. Not bothering to open it, he left in the direction originally walked.
"Shit," were the only thoughts of a watching individual.