I do not own Naruto.


The Paradox Offer
Chapter 2


Waking up, everything seemed sharper somehow. And for some reason he made the immediate connection that it had to do with the absence of his overused Sharingan. Sasuke blinked and shot up, head whipping around to confirm that, indeed, his bedroom walls were the same shade of blue as those from his youth.

He closed his eyes, breathed, and opened them. Again. And again. Nothing changed. Maybe the scroll had really worked. The thought brought something strange sparking inside his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was nausea or excitement that he had an opportunity to change everything. However, he stemmed this feeling and focused on being logical. He needed to ensure that something hadn't gone awry in his little trip, and to do that, he needed to explore his surroundings.

He warily eyed the blankets covering his form before he flung them off his body and stood, landed on the ground roughly, stumbling. He blinked, somewhat amused, realising that his shorter limbs would definitely take time getting used to. He shivered; the coldness of the wood beneath his feet had taken him by surprise. He padded cautiously to the door and swung it open. Looking at the mahogany wood floor and the hallway that seemed to stretch for miles ahead, he realised that everything was just as he remembered even though he remembered very little.

"Sasuke? What're you doing up so early?"

He jumped at the sudden intrusion of a voice and spun around only to freeze at the sight of Uchiha Mikoto. As a mother she had always been more tolerant of Sasuke than his father, always the parent who was more doting and encouraging. She was as tall and graceful as he had seen her in his vague memories, with long black hair that fell across pale skin, and wide eyes that regarded him with concern. He had always been told that he looked more like his mother than his father.

She blinked before her features morphed into concern and she crouched down before him. "Sasuke, what's wrong? Did something happen to you?"

When Sasuke felt her warm hand – which was real and solid and not at all a figment of his imagination – he had to remind himself to not hint at any unusual reaction lest he aroused suspicion. But this was futile. His eyes flickered to his mother's, an onyx mirror, which were now only centimetres away. He could feel the heat transferring from her hand to his. He reached out towards the fabric of her yukata, expecting his hand to pass right through. His fingers enclosed around the cool fabric. His breath hitched. She was actually…there.

"Sasuke?" Her tone was higher, more alarmed than anything else.

He could barely move his mouth, much less swallow. "I…"

He couldn't handle it when she laid her hand on his forehead, the lines deepening on her face. He tore himself from her touch, ignoring how she flinched in surprise, and stumbled backwards. He could see her bloodied corpse before him, silent and unmoving, the pool of blood underneath her growing larger and larger. Between them stood a man who he admired yet hated, whose bloody sword was held in his hand and whose dark eyes pinned him, challenged him…

"…–suke? Are you feeling okay?"

No. No. Sasuke swallowed hard and shook his head to push the images away. This was real. She was real. His mother was alive. It was too much;he felt as if he was undergoing sensory overload.

"…bothering you? Sasuke, you don't look too–"

"I'm – I'm fine," he choked out.

The concern in Mikoto's features hadn't left. "Alright honey, but maybe you should rest for a bit. Breakfast won't be ready until a while later."

Sasuke nodded mechanically and retreated to the silence of his room where he closed the door behind him and exhaled shakily. His hands were cold and trembling, and he couldn't help but wonder where all his earlier determination had gone. Perhaps he really wasn't ready. He had come in without an opportunity to plan, and because of that he cursed Kurama for what seemed to be the tenth time already.

How old was he? He looked down at his stubby fingers and significantly shorter limbs with a vague feeling of disgust. His neck twisted around and his eyes found the calendar against the wall, brain swiftly calculated the years. He was currently six years old. Whether or not that was advantageous didn't matter – it was something he'd have to work with. However, that left only a year until the Uchiha massacre, a year until Sasuke would need to flesh out his plans and bring them into fruition. Until then, he had to be careful under the watchful eyes of his clan and his family.

Uchiha Mikoto… Sasuke recalled her warm eyes that held genuine concern as they inspected his form for injury merely ten minutes ago. As much as her emotions were real and her affection for him was evident, he knew he needed to distance himself. She was not his mother; his mother had died more than ten years ago. The woman was simply Mikoto, and he would remember her in this timeline as such. He knew he would not be able to cope with his situation otherwise.

His alarm buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts, rendering him momentarily frazzled by the unexpected sound. He reached over and turned off the alarm, scoffing. The memories of him waking up early to train were some of the few that had been retained in clarity – his eagerness and determination to prove himself at a young age despite the blood and sweat it cost him each day…However, he had more important things to consider this time around. He allowed another minute to collect himself before he left his room.

He climbed down the stairs and ducked around corners, his feet seeming to remember the route to the kitchen. He peered through the doorway and saw Mikoto wearing an apron, in front of the chopping board. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, smiling at him. There was a twinge of pain in his chest at the affection she conveyed through that single expression.

"You're already awake! You scared me for a bit earlier on, Sasuke," Mikoto's eyes made another careful sweep over his features, "but you're looking better now. Why don't you sit at the table, breakfast is just about ready."

He nodded and carefully manoeuvred his clumsy six year old body into a comfortable chair. Soon enough, Mikoto hung up her apron and took a seat opposite him. "Your father is at another meeting and will be out for most of the day, and Itachi should be arriving back from his mission sometime tomorrow, so it's just you and me."

He stared blankly at the plate that was pushed towards him. Slices of tomato were piled high and next to the plate was a bowl of miso soup. His only reaction was to blink. Had he really eaten such a bland breakfast at this age? Nonetheless, he picked up his chopsticks that were laid before him and reached for a slice of tomato, eyes glancing up to catch Mikoto's, who only smiled indulgently. As he chewed on the cooked tomato slowly, he compared it to the raw tomato he'd occasionally eat after, well, everything. It had been more bitter and acidic, and he found that he preferred the taste of the tomato that Mikoto cooked.

After he ate a few more slices of tomato and swallowed the miso soup, he stood but paused, unsure what to do or say. "Thank you for the meal."

Mikoto looked at him in concern, and Sasuke was beginning to suspect that perhaps he was acting out of character. "Are you going out to train? Maybe you should rest a bit. You've been out a lot these past few days."

Sasuke blinked and nodded slowly. "I think I'll stay in my room."

As he turned on his heel to leave, he didn't miss the thoughtful glance she cast his way. He would need to be careful around her.

In his room, he parted the curtains and took in the cloudless blue sky and the buildings that stood tall and proud against the backdrop of a thriving village. He beheld a sight that was the complete opposite to what he had last seen of his home; all around him was a Konoha untouched by the devastation of the Fourth Shinobi World War.

He pondered over the strange emotion that had settled over his initial trepidation. He felt, for lack of a better word…optimistic. He sighed. Those years away from Konoha had not erased everything he had obtained from his days within its wall. For one, Naruto's bright outlook on life had remained as a factor that influenced his way of thinking, if only just a little bit. And at the moment, Sasuke was nothing but grateful for that.