Relentless Chapter 3 : Cruel World, a naruto fanfic

Chapter 3

Cruel World.

It had been over a month since Uchiha Matsuri first saw Naruto training in her family's grounds. What started as a surprise meeting turned into an unspoken routine. Every day, she found him there, training with endless determination. His raw energy was different from her careful and precise way of doing things, but somehow, they worked together.

The training grounds became their shared space. They didn't talk much, but the sound of hard work and effort filled the quiet.

Today was no different. The air echoed with the sounds of training: fists hitting wooden posts, kunai slicing through the air, and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

Matsuri moved with grace, her strikes smooth and careful, showing years of practice. Naruto, however, was full of raw strength and passion. His punches weren't neat, but his unstoppable energy made him hard to ignore.

As the sun reached its highest point, making the heat almost unbearable, Matsuri finished her latest set of moves. Sweat dripped down her face, and she looked toward the shade where their lunches waited.

"It's already past one," she called out, her voice cutting through the humid air. "Time for a break, brat."

Naruto stopped mid-strike, his breath coming in steady yet heavy bursts. His orange hoodie clung to his back, darkened by sweat, but his face still held that familiar bright determination. "Alright, Matsuri-san," he replied, walking toward the shade.

Under the canopy of a large tree, they sat in companionable silence. Matsuri opened her bento, revealing a meal carefully prepared with precision—steamed rice, grilled fish, and a side of pickled vegetables. Naruto, meanwhile, pulled out a familiar sight: a cup of instant ramen.

He tore off the lid and poured in hot water with a practiced ease, leaning back against the tree trunk as he waited for the noodles to cook. Matsuri, observing the scene, couldn't help but smile faintly.

"You really like cup noodles, don't you?" she asked, her tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

Naruto glanced at her, chopsticks in hand. He hesitated, then offered a sheepish grin. "Y-Yeah. There's nothing better than cup ramen."

It was an answer she might have accepted at face value a month ago. But after spending so much time with him, Matsuri had come to notice the subtle cracks in his armor. His quick smile, the slight pause before answering—it told her there was more to the story.

"You know," she began, her voice soft but pointed, "eating only cup noodles isn't good for you. There's no real nutrition in them."

Naruto shrugged, his casual demeanor faltering slightly. "I don't eat them all the time," he said quickly. "Just here. When I'm home, I make real food."

The words tumbled out in a rush, and Matsuri could hear the rehearsed quality in them. She didn't press further, though her dark eyes lingered on him. "I hope so," she said, her tone gentle. "A good meal is just as important as training. Your body needs more than fuel—it needs care."

Naruto nodded, though his focus remained on his ramen. "I know," he muttered, quieter this time, as if convincing himself as much as her.

Matsuri watched him in thoughtful silence, the conversation lingering in her mind. Despite his raw energy and confidence, there was a vulnerability to Naruto that intrigued her—a quiet fragility hidden beneath his stubborn exterior.

The following day, the sun rose high in the sky as the two trained once more. By now, their sessions had settled into a comfortable rhythm, a balance of effort and camaraderie that neither of them acknowledged but both silently appreciated.

As the heat became unbearable, Matsuri called for their usual break. Naruto, drenched in sweat but still radiating energy, walked over to the shade of the tree and retrieved his familiar cup noodles.

But this time, as he prepared to go through the motions of tearing off the lid and pouring in hot water, something caught his eye. Matsuri reached into her bag and pulled out not one, but two bento boxes.

Naruto paused, his curiosity piqued. "Why do you have two bento today, Matsuri-san?" he asked, his tone more surprised than accusatory.

Matsuri glanced at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's for a friend," she replied simply, setting the bento boxes neatly in front of her.

Naruto blinked, processing her words. "Oh," he said after a moment, nodding slowly as if that explained everything. He turned back to his cup noodles, the steam rising lazily as he poured the hot water in.

They sat in silence for a while, Naruto focused on his ramen and Matsuri on her bento. But just as Naruto was halfway through slurping his noodles, Matsuri's voice broke the quiet.

"Here," she said, holding out one of the bento boxes. "Take it."

Naruto froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "B-But I thought it was for your friend?" he stammered, looking from the bento to her in confusion.

Matsuri raised an eyebrow, her expression calm but laced with faint amusement. "And I'm giving it to him," she said matter-of-factly.

Naruto blinked, pointing a hesitant finger at himself. "W-What? Me?"

She nodded, her dark eyes steady. "We're friends, aren't we, brat?"

Her words hit Naruto harder than he could have anticipated. The word "friend" wasn't something he was used to hearing. It felt foreign, almost unfamiliar, but warm in a way he couldn't quite describe.

For a moment, he could only stare at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure how to respond. Was this what friendship looked like?

But then a darker thought crept in—was she pitying him? Naruto's stomach twisted at the idea. He didn't want to be a burden to Matsuri. He was already grateful enough that she let him train here, a kindness no one else had shown him. Bringing him food as well felt like too much.

Still, her words lingered. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"I… I think we are," Naruto said finally, his voice uncertain but sincere. He didn't fully understand what it meant to be a friend, but if being with Matsuri made him feel better, then maybe it was true.

With a mix of hesitation and gratitude, he reached out and took the bento box. "Thank you, Matsuri-san," he said quietly, his words carrying more weight than she could have anticipated.

As he opened the box, the aroma of freshly made food filled the air. It was simple but nourishing—steamed rice, sautéed vegetables, and a piece of grilled chicken. It wasn't just the food itself that struck Naruto—it was the thought behind it. The care Matsuri had taken to include him in something so ordinary yet meaningful.

Matsuri didn't press the moment further, returning to her own meal with a faint smile. But as Naruto ate, something shifted within him—a small, tentative step toward understanding what it meant to let someone in.

As the days turned into weeks, their routine developed a comfortable rhythm. The shared training sessions became as natural as breathing, a silent understanding growing between them. Occasionally, Matsuri would bring an extra bento, offering it to Naruto without fanfare. At first, he hesitated, but hunger and her calm insistence won him over.

Over time, the gestures became more frequent until one day, Matsuri began bringing a bento for him every single day. It wasn't anything she announced—just a quiet ritual she incorporated into their routine. Naruto accepted her kindness, but each time he did, a knot of unease twisted in his chest.

He wasn't used to people caring for him. The thought of being a burden to Matsuri gnawed at him, the doubt growing heavier with each passing day.

One afternoon, as they sat beneath the shade of their usual tree, Matsuri handed him the familiar bento. Her movements were casual, practiced, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Here, take it," she said, extending the neatly wrapped box toward him.

Naruto froze, his hand halfway to the bento. His throat tightened as conflicting emotions swirled within him—gratitude, guilt, and an unshakable sense of inadequacy.

"Matsuri-san..." he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Matsuri raised an eyebrow, her expression curious. "What is it, brat?"

Naruto hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He lowered his gaze, staring at the ground as if it might somehow offer him clarity. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at her.

"I appreciate what you're doing for me," he said, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. "But… I don't think I can keep taking this."

Matsuri's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. "What?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"I'm already grateful that you let me train here," Naruto continued, his hands clenching into fists. "I don't want to make things harder for you. Bringing food for me… it's too much. I don't want to be a burden."

Matsuri blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his tone. For a moment, she simply studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, she set her own bento aside and leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes locking onto his.

"Burden?" she repeated, her voice firm but not unkind. "Brat, do I look like the kind of person who does things I don't want to do?"

Naruto opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Matsuri's gaze softened, and she gave him a small, knowing smile.

"I bring you food because I want to," she said, her tone patient but unwavering. "Not because I have to. If it were a burden, I wouldn't do it."

Naruto's breath hitched, her words cutting through the haze of his guilt. "But why?" he asked quietly.

Matsuri shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "Because you're my friend," she said simply.

Her response was so matter-of-fact, so devoid of pretense, that it left Naruto speechless. Friend. It was such a simple word, yet it carried a weight he hadn't realized he'd been longing for.

"I don't need you to repay me," Matsuri added, her voice softening. "You're not a burden, Naruto. You're just... you. And that's enough."

Naruto felt his chest tighten, the knot of guilt slowly unraveling in the face of her quiet reassurance. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe her words, to accept the idea that her kindness wasn't transactional—it was genuine.

Naruto swallowed hard, his chest tightening as the weight of Matsuri's kindness pressed against the wall of his defenses. "Thank you," he managed to whisper, the words trembling with unspoken emotion.

Matsuri studied him for a moment, her dark eyes soft yet unwavering. Then, with a playful smirk, she added, "And just so you know, I'm very proud of my cooking. If you don't take this, I'll take it as a personal insult."

Naruto's eyes widened, startled by the sudden shift in her tone. "I-I didn't mean to—" he stammered, but Matsuri cut him off, her smirk turning into a teasing grin.

"And," she continued, her voice laced with mock seriousness, "if you don't accept it, I might just have to ban you from training here altogether."

Naruto straightened, panic flashing in his eyes as if she might actually follow through. "No! Don't do that! I'll take it, I promise!" he said quickly, his hands reaching out for the bento with almost comical urgency.

Matsuri chuckled softly, the sound warm and unguarded. "Good. That's more like it." She pushed the bento closer to him, her expression relaxing into something more genuine. "Now eat before it gets cold," she said, her voice light but carrying a quiet insistence.

Naruto hesitated for only a moment before nodding, cradling the bento in his hands like it was something precious. As he carefully unwrapped it, the aroma of freshly cooked rice and grilled fish wafted up, making his stomach rumble in anticipation. But it wasn't just the food that stirred something inside him—it was the care that had gone into it, the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

Taking his first bite, he felt warmth spread through him, not just from the food but from something deeper, something unfamiliar yet comforting. He glanced up at Matsuri, who had already returned to her own meal, eating with an ease that belied the weight of what she had just given him.

For the first time in as long as Naruto could remember, the ache of loneliness that had been his constant companion began to fade. In its place, a fragile but undeniable feeling took root—a sense of belonging, of being cared for, even if just for this fleeting moment.

He took another bite, savoring the food and the quiet companionship, and allowed himself to believe, just a little, that he wasn't alone anymore.

Present time...

Uchiha clan district, police force headquarters.

Matsuri stirred awake, her vision hazy as her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the room. The familiar architecture of the police force headquarters came into focus, the distinct wooden beams and faintly flickering lanterns giving away her location. Her body felt heavy, her limbs reluctant to move, and as she tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through her head.

"Gah," she grunted, instinctively clutching her forehead as the ache throbbed mercilessly.

The sound was enough to rouse the Shinobi seated nearby. He blinked awake, his tired eyes narrowing in concern as he quickly stood and approached her. "You're awake," he said, his tone steady but laced with relief. "How are you feeling?"

Matsuri winced, lowering her hand from her temple as she steadied herself against the edge of the bed. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her words weighted with disbelief. "I-I wasn't dreaming, was I?"

The Shinobi's expression shifted, his features tightening as the reality of her words sank in. He didn't offer her empty reassurances or platitudes. Instead, he gave a solemn nod. "No," he said quietly. "You weren't dreaming."

The confirmation hit harder than she expected. Matsuri's shoulders slumped, her breath catching in her throat as the memories flooded back in sharp, unforgiving detail.

The Shinobi stepped back slightly, glancing toward the door. "I'll get Fugaku-sama," he said, his tone measured yet urgent. "Please, stay here and don't try to move."

Matsuri gave a faint nod, the motion almost imperceptible. She watched as he left the room, her gaze unfocused and distant. Her fingers curled into the sheets beneath her, gripping them tightly as if anchoring herself to the present.

The silence that followed was suffocating, her thoughts racing with questions she wasn't ready to confront. The ache in her head paled in comparison to the weight pressing down on her chest, the reality she'd been avoiding now inescapable.

All she could do was wait, the quiet room offering no solace, only a stark reminder of the truth she couldn't deny.

That her brother is dead.

The her last remint of family is gone.

Matsuri sat on the edge of the bed, her posture tense and unmoving as minutes passed in silence. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavily in the air, a crushing presence she couldn't escape. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, though her gaze remained fixed on a single spot on the floor, unseeing and distant.

The sound of the door opening broke through her haze, and she lifted her head slightly as Uchiha Fugaku entered the room. He was flanked by two Shinobi, their steps deliberate but subdued, as if they were careful not to disturb the fragile calm of the room.

Fugaku approached her, his expression unreadable yet tempered with the quiet authority he always carried. He stopped beside her bed, hands clasped behind his back. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and measured.

Matsuri didn't respond immediately. Her gaze dropped again, her dark eyes staring blankly at the space between her feet. When she finally spoke, her voice was hollow, stripped of its usual strength.

"How am I supposed to be feeling?" she asked, the words more of a statement than a question.

Her tone was devoid of anger or accusation, but the emptiness in her voice was more unsettling than any outburst could have been. She remained motionless, her shoulders stiff and head bowed as though bracing against an invisible storm.

Fugaku watched her carefully, his expression softening ever so slightly. There were no words of comfort he could offer that wouldn't feel inadequate. He gave a small nod, acknowledging her grief without intruding upon it.

He turned to the medic standing nearby, signaling them with a slight gesture. The medic approached cautiously, kneeling by Matsuri's side to begin their examination.

Fugaku stepped back, his gaze lingering on Matsuri. He understood all too well the pain she carried. Shisui was her brother, her only remaining family—a bond that had been severed in the cruelest way.

As the medic worked, Matsuri remained still, her emotions locked away beneath a fragile shell of composure. Fugaku's presence was steady, a quiet reminder that she was not alone, even in her darkest moment. But for now, words would only cheapen the weight of her loss. All he could do was stand vigil, allowing her the space to grieve in her own way.

After the medics had finished their work and quietly departed, leaving the room heavy with silence, Matsuri lifted her head to look at Fugaku. Her face was pale, her dark eyes brimming with a pain she didn't know how to contain. Her voice, though soft, was unwavering as she asked, "How?"

Fugaku met her gaze, his expression grim but steady. He took a breath, choosing his words with care, knowing there was no way to soften the truth.

"Uchiha Shisui was found near the edge of a canyon by the Naka River," he began, his tone low and somber. "Far beyond the village walls."

Matsuri's fists tightened on the blanket in her lap, her knuckles turning white.

"He fought bravely," Fugaku continued, his voice heavier now. "Hundreds of unknown Shinobi were found dead around the area. The sheer destruction... it was a testament to his strength."

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation that spoke volumes. Fugaku's jaw tightened before he finally forced himself to say the words. "When his body was recovered, his eyes were gone."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Matsuri's breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she gripped the fabric tighter. The weight of those words pressed down on her chest like a boulder. She didn't need Fugaku to say it outright—the implication was clear. Her brother had been ambushed, overwhelmed, and mutilated for the power of his Sharingan.

The very thought made her stomach churn, a bitter wave of anger rising to mingle with her sorrow.

Fugaku's gaze remained steady, though there was a flicker of emotion behind his otherwise composed demeanor. "Your brother fought until the very end," he said quietly, his words both a tribute and a reassurance. "He didn't surrender. He gave everything to protect his clan."

Matsuri swallowed hard, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers—but all she could do was sit there, paralyzed by the weight of her loss.

Her brother, the last piece of family she had left, was gone. And his sacrifice, as noble as it was, left a void that no amount of words could ever fill.

Two days later, 01:24 p.m.

Uchiha Clan Cemetery, The Cremation Yard

The air was heavy with sorrow, as if the sky itself mourned the loss of Uchiha Shisui. Gray clouds stretched endlessly overhead, casting a somber pall over the cemetery. The stone pathways of the Uchiha clan district were lined with mourners, their faces grim and silent. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, the soft rustling a muted accompaniment to the weight of grief that hung in the air.

At the heart of the cemetery, beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient tree, stood the cremation site. The pyre, built with care and precision, was layered with wooden logs and adorned with torches that flickered faintly against the ashen light of the afternoon. Draped in white, Shisui's body rested atop the pyre, a stark contrast to the dark hues worn by the mourners.

Matsuri stood at the front of the crowd, her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed red and swollen, though no fresh tears fell. She had none left to give. Her gaze was fixed on her brother's still form, the finality of the scene carving a deep hollow in her chest.

Uchiha Fugaku stepped forward, his movements measured and deliberate. His face, usually a mask of unwavering authority, bore the faintest cracks of grief. He stood tall before the gathered clan, his voice steady but laden with sorrow.

"Today, we come together to honor one of our own," Fugaku began, his voice carrying over the hushed crowd. "Uchiha Shisui was more than an elite shinobi. He was a beacon of strength, a guardian who dedicated his life to protecting this clan. His courage, his loyalty, and his unwavering resolve will forever be remembered."

Matsuri's heart ached at the words, each one cutting deeper into the raw wound left by her brother's absence. Shisui had been her family—her guiding star in a world that often felt too dark to navigate. The thought of moving forward without him felt unbearable.

"Shisui gave everything for the safety and future of this clan," Fugaku continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "He stood as a testament to the ideals we hold dear: strength, unity, and sacrifice. It is our responsibility to ensure that his legacy lives on through our actions."

The crowd stood in silent solidarity, their collective grief palpable. Matsuri, however, could barely hear the words. Her focus was consumed by the figure on the pyre, draped in white, a cruel symbol of finality.

The torches surrounding the pyre were lit, the flames climbing quickly, hungrily devouring the wood. The fire crackled to life, its heat palpable even from a distance. Matsuri flinched as the flames reached her brother's shrouded form, the reality of the moment hitting her like a physical blow.

The smoke rose in thin spirals, drifting into the gray sky, and Matsuri's vision blurred with unshed tears. The firelight flickered across her face, highlighting the storm of emotions raging beneath her stoic exterior. Each crack and pop of the flames felt like an echo of her breaking heart.

Memories flooded her mind, vivid and relentless. She was no longer standing in the cemetery but in the past, a moment that had once brought her solace.

It was a week after their father's death. She remembered Shisui kneeling beside her in the dimly lit room, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. His voice, calm and steady, had been the only thing anchoring her to the present.

Flashback

A dimly lit room. The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from a small lamp on the bedside table. A five-year-old Matsuri sat curled up on her bed, her small frame trembling as she buried her head into her arms, which were wrapped tightly around her knees.

Her sniffles echoed faintly in the quiet room. It had been over a week since her father had died on a mission, but the pain was as fresh as the day they'd received the news.

'He promised me he'd take me to Ichiraku's today,' she thought, the promise ringing hollow in her ears. She cried harder, her tiny shoulders shaking with the force of her grief.

The door creaked open slowly, letting a sliver of light from the hallway spill into the dark room. Matsuri didn't look up, but she heard the soft, deliberate footsteps approaching. A ten-year-old Shisui stepped inside, balancing a plate of food in his hands.

He walked quietly over to the bed and sat down beside her. His presence was steady and calm, like an anchor in the storm of her emotions. Setting the plate down on the nightstand, he turned to her, his voice gentle but tinged with worry.

"Matsuri, you need to eat something," he said softly. "You haven't had a bite in two days."

"I don't want to," Matsuri mumbled, her voice muffled as she pressed her face deeper into her arms.

Shisui sighed, a long, weary sound that carried the weight of his own grief. But he didn't let it show. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and tried again. "Not eating isn't going to bring him back," he said quietly. "And you know he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

His words hung in the air, but Matsuri didn't respond. Her small fingers clutched at her sleeves, her body tense.

"He's gone," she whispered finally, her voice raw and trembling. "Why would he even care? He's not here anymore."

Shisui inhaled deeply, his heart aching at the pain in his little sister's voice. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. The truth was, he missed their father too—more than he could put into words. But Matsuri needed him to be strong, just like their father would have wanted.

He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze soft but resolute as he looked at his little sister. "Yes, he's gone, Matsuri," he said gently, his voice steady despite the weight of his own sorrow. "But we're still here. You and me—we're all we have left. We need to look after each other."

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "Not eating, shutting yourself away like this... it's not going to help, Matsuri. Not you, not me, and definitely not him. Do you think this is what he'd want for you?"

Matsuri's face twisted in pain, her lips trembling as tears welled in her eyes. She kept her head down, refusing to meet his gaze, but Shisui wasn't going to let her retreat any further into herself.

"I'm grieving too," Shisui admitted, his voice firmer now, tinged with vulnerability. He gently but firmly cupped her face, lifting her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes, filled with a quiet strength, bore into hers. "But life doesn't stop, Matsuri. It won't wait for us to catch up. No matter how much it hurts, we have to keep moving forward."

His voice softened, the edges of his words wrapping around her like a warm embrace. "I'll move forward for you, Matsuri. And I need you to do the same—for yourself and for me. We're a team now, okay?"

Matsuri's lips quivered, her tears spilling over as she finally let herself cry. Shisui pulled her into a gentle hug, his arms strong yet comforting. She sobbed into his chest, her small fists clutching his shirt as if he were the only solid thing in her world.

And for Matsuri, in that moment, he was.

Flashback ends...

As the memory faded, Matsuri blinked, the warmth of Shisui's words lingering in her heart. Tears flowed freely now, her face wet with the unrelenting sorrow of loss. But beneath the grief was a flicker of gratitude—gratitude for the moments they had shared, for the steadfast love Shisui had always shown her.

A gentle touch on her shoulder jolted her from her thoughts. She turned to see Uchiha Mikoto standing behind her, her kind eyes filled with compassion.

"Mikoto-sama," Matsuri managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, raw with emotion.

Mikoto crouched slightly to meet Matsuri's gaze, her tone soft but firm. "Nothing I say can bring your brother back, Matsuri-chan," she began. "But you don't have to endure this alone."

Matsuri frowned, her tear-streaked face showing a flicker of confusion. "Alone?"

Mikoto nodded gently. "Until you feel ready to face the world again, I want you to stay with us," she said, her voice steady. "That is the least we can do, as your family and as your clan leaders."

Matsuri opened her mouth to protest. "Mikoto-sama, I don't want to be a burden—"

But Mikoto raised a hand, silencing her with a warm but unyielding smile. "That's not for you to decide," she said firmly. "It's an order."

Matsuri's lips trembled as she tried to hold back another wave of tears. For a moment, she simply stared at Mikoto, her emotions tangled between reluctance and relief. Then, slowly, she nodded, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Thank you."

Mikoto's hand gently squeezed her shoulder, a quiet reassurance that Matsuri wasn't as alone as she felt...

More then a week later...

04:00 AM, Konoha...

In the stillness of the pre-dawn hour, the darkness was disturbed by a faint, red glow. A pair of crimson eyes with slit-like pupils snapped open, cutting through the shadows like twin embers in the night.

Eight-year-old Naruto stirred in his bed, his vibrant orange hair falling messily across his forehead. The restless night had done little to ease the tension in his small but sturdy body—a body that, despite his age, bore the marks of relentless training. He exhaled deeply, the sound soft in the silence, before stretching his arms above his head.

The sharp crack of his joints echoed faintly through the room as he rolled his neck and shoulders, shaking off the sluggish grip of sleep.

Still half-awake, Naruto swung his legs off the bed and onto the icy floor. The chill bit at his skin, sending a shiver up his spine, but he paid it no mind. With a slow, deliberate motion, he flicked the switch on the wall. The light sputtered to life, bathing the small room in a muted, golden glow.

Naruto's gaze fell on the mirror mounted across from him. Slowly, he padded forward, his steps silent on the worn wooden floor. Staring back at him was a reflection that seemed both familiar and foreign.

His fingers unconsciously brushed the edge of the mirror as he leaned closer, examining his eyes—their unnatural red hue and feline-like slits where round pupils should have been. Those eyes weren't his. At least, they hadn't been.

"Looks like this is permanent…" he muttered quietly to himself, his voice a low whisper. The words hung in the air, unanswered, as though he feared saying them too loudly would solidify their truth.

It hadn't happened all at once. The change had been gradual, creeping into his life like an unseen shadow. A year ago, his eyes had been as blue as the summer sky, with only faint hints of violet betraying something off. Then the red began to bloom, subtle at first, until it consumed the blue completely. The pupils were the last to change, sharpening over time into their current, predatory form.

'This isn't normal,' he thought, his brows knitting in frustration.

He recalled Matsuri's voice from months ago, gentle yet tinged with concern as she activated her Sharingan to study him. 'Your chakra feels different, Naruto. It's growing—too fast. It's shifting too. What used to be warm and bright, like sunlight, is… turning fiery red.'

Her words had lingered in his mind ever since, gnawing at him like an unanswered question. Matsuri was the one person he trusted, the one person who trained with him and seemed to genuinely care.

But now...

Naruto frowned deeper, his reflection forgotten as his thoughts spiraled. "It's been more than a week since I've seen her," he murmured, his voice firm despite the flicker of unease in his chest.

Normally, Matsuri might miss a day or two of training—everyone needed a break—but an entire week? That wasn't like her. And it wasn't just training. Matsuri hadn't shown up at the academy either.

Something was wrong.

Naruto clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he straightened his back. The unease in his gut twisted tighter, but he pushed it aside, his crimson eyes burning with determination.

He couldn't just sit here, stewing in his worry. If something had happened to Matsuri, he needed to know.

And if someone had hurt her...

His jaw tightened, and a faint flicker of red chakra swirled around him, barely visible in the dim light.

"I'll find out," he muttered, his voice hard with resolve.

Whatever it took, he wouldn't let her face it alone.

04:30 AM

Naruto stepped out of the washroom, the faint sound of the toilet flushing fading into the stillness of the early morning. The cool air greeted his skin as he adjusted his sleek black shorts, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. He moved toward the fridge, his sharp crimson eyes narrowing with purpose as he pulled open the door.

A large jug of fruit juice sat on the middle shelf, its condensation dripping lazily down its sides. Naruto grabbed it without hesitation, twisting off the cap with one smooth motion. He brought it to his lips, taking a deep, satisfying gulp. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat, refreshing and sweet, a small pleasure amidst his relentless routine.

Jug in hand, he moved through the narrow hall toward his training room, his focus already shifting to what lay ahead. By the time he reached the doorway, the jug was nearly empty. He set it down with a heavy thud on the table nearby, the sound echoing faintly against the walls.

Naruto's gaze swept over the room, landing on the meticulously organized array of training equipment—tools designed to break limits, to demand more from him than yesterday had. He stepped to the far corner, where a pair of heavy-duty fabric pouches lay on a low table. They looked simple, almost harmless, but their weight told a different story. Iron bars, chakra-infused and unforgiving, were packed tightly inside.

With practiced ease, Naruto strapped the pouches to his forearms and shins. Each pouch added a brutal 300 kilograms, the crushing weight pressing into his limbs the moment they clicked into place. The faint, metallic groan of the fabric bending under strain filled the room.

But that was just the start. Naruto turned toward the harness hanging on a nearby rack. It was bulky, reinforced with chakra seals that amplified its density—a punishing 900 kilograms of dead weight. He lifted it in one hand, the muscles in his arm flexing as he brought it over his shoulders. The harness settled against his chest and back with a heavy clank, its weight anchoring him to the floor like an immovable force.

For a moment, he stood still, his chest rising and falling as he adjusted to the burden. Sweat beaded lightly at his temple, though his expression remained steadfast, his crimson gaze sharp as a blade.

'That makes 2100 kilograms total,' he thought, rolling his shoulders experimentally. The familiar strain radiated through his body, a feeling he had grown to crave.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he let out a low chuckle. 'Good thing I live on the ground floor, or the roof would've caved by now.'

The humor was fleeting, his focus already shifting inward as he tightened his fists. Every muscle in his body braced itself, veins beginning to pulse with energy. The weight didn't intimidate him—it fueled him. This was the price he paid to grow stronger, to prove to himself, and the world, that he could carry anything.

As the room settled into silence, Naruto took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he steeled himself for the grueling challenge ahead.

"Let's get to work."

Naruto's muscles rippled with tension, each fiber working in unison as he lowered himself toward the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. His body, burdened by the crushing weights strapped to his arms and chest, moved with mechanical precision.

"One thousand ninety-six... one thousand ninety-seven..." he counted silently, his voice echoing faintly in his mind, a steady rhythm driving him forward. Sweat trickled down his forehead, falling in slow drops to the ground below, darkening the concrete as if marking each push-up like a tally of his resolve.

"One thousand ninety-eight... one thousand ninety-nine..."

With each rise, the sheer pressure against the ground intensified, the weight of his body and the chakra-forged iron strapped to him becoming an immovable force. A faint, sharp sound broke the silence. Crack.

Beneath his single hand, the concrete floor began to splinter. Fine lines spread out from his palm like veins of a tree, a spiderweb of fractures testifying to the power coursing through his young frame. Naruto's brow furrowed, his focus unshakable as he reached his mark.

"One thousand one hundred."

He didn't pause. Without hesitation, he shifted his balance, his body moving with the efficiency of someone who had repeated this sequence a thousand times. He planted his opposite hand onto the floor, his fingers spreading wide as they gripped the cracking concrete. A new groan filled the training room, low and deep, as the weight transferred to his other arm. The ground resisted for only a moment before surrendering, another crack bursting out in jagged lines.

But Naruto paid it no mind.

"One... two... three... four..."

His voice murmured softly in the quiet of the room, matching the rhythmic rise and fall of his body. The arm that had carried him before now rested against the small of his back, its muscles trembling faintly from exertion. Yet his breathing remained steady, deep and controlled, a testament to his unrelenting discipline.

The air grew heavy, the faint tremors of the cracked floor beneath him feeling alive, vibrating with the raw force of his efforts. Every push-up demanded more of him, straining his bones, testing the limits of his endurance. But Naruto thrived on that challenge. The burn in his arms, the weight pressing down on his shoulders, the dull ache in his chest—he welcomed it all.

Each breath seemed to stretch into an eternity, and yet his movements never faltered. His crimson, slit-pupil eyes burned with quiet determination, a fire that refused to be extinguished. He needed this—this grueling work, this constant push beyond what was possible. To grow stronger. To be unshakable.

"Five... six... seven..."

His voice grew softer but no less steady. The cracks beneath him crept farther with each motion, threatening to swallow him whole.

And still, Naruto pushed on.

The air crackled with tension as Naruto moved, his breathing deep and controlled, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the training room. He stood poised, the crushing weights strapped to his limbs anchoring him to the ground like invisible chains.

Then, in an explosion of movement, Naruto let loose.

"HA!" he roared, his voice reverberating off the walls as his fists tore through the empty space with startling speed and force. Each punch was a thunderclap of raw strength, his knuckles cutting through the air like a blade. Despite the crushing resistance of the weights, his strikes were fluid, precise—each movement the product of thousands of hours of unrelenting training.

His hips twisted with every blow, channeling his entire body's power into each strike. A straight punch drove forward, the force behind it like a battering ram aimed at an invisible opponent's chest. Naruto snapped his arm back immediately, his muscles flexing with an audible whip as he coiled for another blow.

"Grrr…!" A low growl rumbled from his chest, his expression locked in razor-sharp focus. His next jab flashed forward, targeting the phantom enemy's face—quick and deadly. Retracting with precision, he twisted into a devastating cross punch, his fist extending with bone-crushing force toward the imaginary core of his opponent.

The concrete beneath him trembled with the echoes of his power.

In a seamless shift, Naruto bent his knees slightly and drove upward with an earth-shattering uppercut, his body coiling like a spring before releasing the strike. "RrrAH!" he grunted, sweat dripping from his brow as his fist tore through the empty air. His arm froze at its peak, his eyes glowing fiercely as he imagined the blow landing, sending his opponent reeling.

But Naruto didn't stop. He couldn't.

"Haaa!" he shouted, unleashing a blinding flurry of punches. His fists moved so fast they blurred, each strike snapping toward vulnerable points—chest, stomach, throat, ribs—every blow calculated, every movement executed with surgical precision. His body flowed like water, yet hit like iron.

Then came the shift. Naruto's weight sank onto his back leg, his front leg drawing in, muscles tensed and primed. He coiled like a loaded spring, his face twisting into a determined snarl. "GRRRAH!" he roared, exploding into a roundhouse kick. His leg swept through the air like a storm, the chakra-enhanced weights adding crushing momentum. The force of the strike sent a gale whipping through the room, as if the very air flinched under its power.

Before the imaginary enemy could recover, Naruto unleashed a sequence of brutal kicks—each executed with deadly precision. A hook kick curved around like a reaper's scythe, followed by a front kick that drove forward with the weight of a battering ram. He flowed into a slicing side kick aimed at the ribs, then pivoted into a back kick, his body twisting with practiced grace as his foot cut through the air like a cannonball.

"Hyaaah!" Naruto's voice rang out with every strike, the room vibrating under the intensity of his movements.

Finally, his leg froze mid-air in a perfect stance—balanced, controlled, powerful. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, every muscle in his body quivering from the strain, the tension. Then, like a wave receding, Naruto retracted his leg with seamless fluidity, planting his foot softly on the ground.

He circled slowly, his crimson eyes scanning the space, as though his invisible enemy might still rise for more. His chest heaved, sweat streaming down his face and arms, yet his stance remained steady—unshakable.

With one final cry, Naruto twisted sharply, his body pivoting into a final, devastating kick. "HAAAH!" The blow was monstrous, the weights amplifying the force as the strike ripped through the air, sending a shockwave across the room. The walls seemed to groan in response, the invisible enemy obliterated by the sheer force of his will.

When he finally came to a halt, his breathing deep but steady, Naruto stood victorious. His sharp gaze was focused, his body still poised for battle. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his breath—a quiet reminder of the relentless fire that burned within him.

Naruto wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, a small smirk tugging at his lips. 'Still not enough…' he thought, his mind already set on what came next.

07:08 AM.

The morning sun peeked through the thin curtains of Naruto's small apartment, casting soft streaks of light onto the wooden table where he sat. The aroma of freshly cooked rice, boiled vegetables, seared meat, and eggs lingered in the air—a rare and satisfying accomplishment.

Naruto leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand as he scooped up the last bite of his meal. "Not bad," he murmured to himself, the faintest hint of pride tugging at the corner of his lips. The meal was hearty, warm, and far better than the instant ramen he used to rely on.

He paused, chewing thoughtfully. The saltiness hit his tongue a little too hard, breaking his satisfaction. "Tch... Less salt next time," he noted quietly, narrowing his crimson eyes in self-critique. Cooking, he realized, was as much about balance as it was about skill.

It had been a few months since Naruto swallowed his pride and asked Matsuri-san to teach him how to cook. He'd grown tired of depending on her kindness and wanted to stand on his own two feet. She had laughed gently at first, but agreed without hesitation. "You'll thank me when you're older," she had said with that knowing smile of hers.

Now, the results spoke for themselves. He wasn't a master by any stretch—his food could still be uneven, sometimes over-seasoned—but it was real food, his food. Each meal he prepared brought a small burst of pride to his chest. He could see Matsuri-san's lessons taking root, and that meant everything to him.

Reaching for the jug of juice, Naruto tilted it back, taking a long, refreshing gulp. The cold liquid soothed his throat, washing down the meal. "Ah... that hits the spot," he exhaled with satisfaction, setting the jug down with a soft thud.

As he began clearing the table, his thoughts drifted to his budget. Cooking, as it turned out, was expensive. Before Matsuri-san's influence, his meals consisted of nothing but cup ramen, milk, and the occasional loaf of bread. Cheap, simple, and monotonous. But now? Now he knew what real food tasted like—nutritious, filling, and energizing—and there was no going back.

Still, he grimaced slightly at the realization: half his allowance went straight to fresh ingredients. He'd need to learn how to budget better, maybe cut back on extras. "Maybe fewer snacks..." he grumbled under his breath as he scrubbed the dishes clean, his movements quick and purposeful.

Once finished, Naruto wiped his hands dry, standing tall. His gaze shifted briefly to the small manga he'd left on the counter—Dragon Ball. The protagonist, Son Goku, always seemed to be eating or training, his life a simple but inspiring cycle of hard work and unrelenting determination. Naruto liked that. In a way, he saw a bit of himself in Goku.

But no matter how much he admired the character, Matsuri-san would always remain his greatest role model. She'd shown him not only how to fend for himself but also the value of perseverance, humility, and kindness. Her words, her patience—everything about her made him want to be better, stronger.

With those thoughts grounding him, Naruto turned toward the door, stretching his arms above his head until his shoulders popped. Today was another step in his journey, and he would face it head-on, as he always did.

"Alright," he said aloud, his voice steady, almost defiant, "time to get moving."

Naruto moved like a shadow across the rooftops, his movements fluid and precise, honed by years of navigating these silent paths. The early morning sun stretched long, golden fingers across the village, but its warmth never quite reached him. Below, the streets bustled with life—vendors setting up stalls, mothers ushering sleepy children, shinobi rushing off to their assignments. It was a scene of normalcy, of connection, yet Naruto remained above it, apart from it, like a ghost no one wanted to acknowledge.

He leapt to another rooftop, his feet barely making a sound as he landed. This route had become second nature to him. It was efficient, quiet, and—most importantly—it spared him the stares. The piercing, judgmental gazes of the villagers below clung to him like a second skin when he walked their streets, heavy and suffocating. The whispers were worse, their voices low but their words as sharp as kunai.

"Stay away from him."

"Isn't he the one…"

"Just look at those eyes now—demon."

Naruto's jaw tightened as the words echoed in his head. He didn't need to hear them to know what they were saying. He could feel it—he always could. The weight of it bore down on him every day. But ever since his encounter with Matsuri-san, something inside him had shifted.

"Stop taking their shit, Naruto." Her voice rang clear in his memory, fierce and unwavering. "You've got the strength to stand tall—so do it. Don't let them decide who you are."

She was the first person to say those words to him. The first to tell him what he had always felt in his heart but never knew how to express.

Landing on the edge of a tall building, Naruto paused, crouching low as he gazed down at the streets below. From this height, the villagers looked small—insignificant. He clenched his fists, his crimson eyes narrowing, their slit-like pupils glinting faintly in the light. Those eyes... another mark that set him apart. His once bright, ocean-blue irises had darkened, transformed into something fiery and unrecognizable. Matsuri-san had called them powerful. The villagers? They called them cursed.

"Funny," Naruto muttered bitterly, his voice low. "They go on with their lives, pretending everything's fine... while treating someone like dirt."

He could feel his anger simmering, coiling like a viper in his chest. It wasn't fair. None of it was. The villagers didn't even know him, but they judged him all the same. Some of his teachers were no better, their contempt poorly hidden beneath thin veils of professionalism.

But those days of quiet acceptance were over.

Naruto took a deep breath, the cool air stinging his lungs as he rose to his full height. He was done being the victim. Matsuri's words echoed in his heart, fueling the fire burning within him. He no longer needed their approval or their kindness to understand his worth. He'd grown stronger. Tougher. They could call him a demon all they wanted, but he would show them just what that meant.

The academy came into view as Naruto dropped from the rooftop, landing smoothly in an alley hidden from view. The building loomed ahead, its walls familiar but burdened with memories. As he walked toward it, his thoughts drifted to a year ago—a time when everything had changed.

The memories stirred like an old wound, raw and vivid. The day that set him on this path, the day when he began to see the truth of the world and his place in it. He felt a swirl of emotions rise within him, each one a sharp edge cutting deeper into his resolve.

*Flashback*

Naruto stood at the entrance of the Nakamura Grocery Shop, a place he'd never set foot in before. His usual store had closed early that day, leaving him with no other option. The heavy wooden door loomed in front of him, its chipped paint and smudged glass giving off an unwelcoming air. It was his fourth attempt to buy supplies—three other shops had already turned him away, their excuses thinly veiled behind scornful glances.

He took a deep breath, the knot in his stomach tightening. This time will be different. It has to be.

Pushing open the door, a bell above chimed softly, though the sound felt more like a warning than a welcome. Inside, shelves were lined with bags of rice, jars of pickled vegetables, and crates of fruit. It was nothing extraordinary, but to Naruto, it felt like walking into enemy territory.

Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper—Nakamura-san. A tall, broad-shouldered man with thick arms and graying hair, his face seemed carved from stone, every line etched with years of hard work. He looked up as Naruto entered, his eyes narrowing instantly. They were the kind of eyes that could make a person feel small—cold, unyielding, and filled with something Naruto had long since learned to recognize. Disdain.

Naruto hesitated but forced his feet forward, walking up to the counter with a determined step. In his hand, he clutched a crumpled list of groceries he needed for the week.

"Nakamura-san," Naruto said, his voice steady but small, "could I please have these items?" He laid the list down carefully, as though the slightest wrong move might set the man off.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until finally, Nakamura-san spoke.

"No."

The single word was clipped, final, as if it weighed nothing to the man who said it.

Naruto blinked, stunned for a moment. "W-What? But why?" he asked, his voice sharper this time, tinged with confusion and frustration. He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it. Some part of him needed to hear why they treated him this way.

The shopkeeper's eyes flashed, his lip curling into a sneer. "I don't sell to the likes of you."

'The likes of me?' Naruto's stomach twisted, his frustration bubbling up into anger. The words struck a familiar chord, one he had heard his entire life, but every time, they still cut him open. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.

"The likes of me?" Naruto shot back, his voice hardening despite himself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The shopkeeper's face darkened, blotches of red creeping up his neck. For a moment, Naruto thought the man might yell or throw him out right then and there. But instead, Nakamura-san's sneer widened into something colder.

"Give me that list," he demanded, his hand thrust forward like a weapon.

Naruto froze, his instincts telling him to walk away, to leave, but something in him refused to back down. He uncurled his fingers and handed over the list.

Nakamura snatched it from his hand, the paper crumpling in his thick, calloused fingers. For a moment, the shopkeeper just stared at it, a cruel glint in his eyes. Then, in one brutal motion, he tore the list clean in half.

Rip.

Naruto's breath hitched.

Rip.

The sound echoed louder in his ears as the pieces fluttered to the ground like dying leaves, landing in a scattered mess at his feet.

The man leaned over the counter, a sharp sneer twisting his face. With a flick of his hand, he hurled the remaining fragments at Naruto's face. The torn paper stung as it hit his cheek before drifting to the ground, but the words stung worse.

"Now get out of here, boy!" Nakamura snarled, his voice thundering through the small shop as he jabbed a finger toward the door.

Naruto staggered backward, his feet skidding across the wooden floor as the shopkeeper's cruel words hit him like a physical blow. The disdain in the man's voice echoed in his head, each syllable sharper than the last. His chest tightened, the familiar sting of rejection bubbling into something hotter—something angrier.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He had been kicked out of three shops already that day. Turned away with sneers, whispers, and shaking heads that followed him like shadows. But not this time. Not here.

"I'm not leaving until you sell me what I came for," Naruto said, his voice hard and steady, carrying none of the uncertainty he felt deep down. His blue eyes, darkened by determination, locked onto the shopkeeper's sneer.

The man's scowl deepened, the lines on his face etching deeper with every passing second. He stepped out from behind the counter, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. "This is my shop, boy," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And I decide who buys here. I don't sell to the likes of you."

Naruto flinched. 'The likes of me.' Those words scraped against an old wound, a festering cut he had long tried to ignore. But this time, the sting didn't send him running. Instead, it lit a fire in his chest.

"I said," Naruto repeated, his voice rising like a challenge, "I'm not leaving."

The air crackled with tension. For a moment, the shop was deathly silent—save for the low hum of Naruto's steady breathing.

Then the shopkeeper snapped.

"You damned brat!" The words erupted from the man like a clap of thunder. Before Naruto could react, the shopkeeper's thick hands shot forward, grabbing him roughly by the collar. The world blurred for a split second as Naruto felt himself being thrown.

His body flew through the doorway, weightless for a heartbeat, until he collided with the unyielding cobblestone street.

The street seemed to tilt as Naruto sprawled across the ground, his palms scraped raw and his knees stinging where they hit stone. He gasped for air, blinking hard against the bright afternoon sun that burned his eyes.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, his hands trembling slightly as he planted them against the rough cobblestones. Around him, murmurs rose like a low hiss, and when he looked up, he saw them—the villagers.

A small crowd had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Their faces were like masks: twisted in disdain, curled in contempt. He saw mothers shielding their children, as if he were some rabid animal. Others stood with arms crossed, sneering down at him as though his very presence offended them.

Naruto's chest heaved as he dragged in shaky breaths, Above him, the shopkeeper loomed in the doorway, his silhouette cast in harsh sunlight. His broad shoulders were still heaving with anger, his glare drilling into Naruto like a weapon.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

The shopkeeper sneered one last time before turning his back and stomping back into the store, his contempt palpable. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him, leaving Naruto to the mercy of the crowd.

The murmurs grew louder. Words floated through the air like barbed wire—sharp, cutting, impossible to ignore. "Serves him right…" "Filthy brat…" "Why doesn't he just disappear?" Each whisper was like a dagger driven into his skin, the weight of their hatred pressing down on him, thick and suffocating.

Naruto sat there on the rough cobblestones, shoulders hunched and fists trembling at his sides. Shame burned deep in his chest, spreading like fire until it reached his face. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sound as his vision blurred. For a moment, the world seemed to close in on him—the jeering faces, the sneers, the sharp whispers—and it all became too much.

His breath hitched, uneven and shallow, and a bitter voice inside him asked the same question he'd been asking for years. 'Why? What did I do?'

Then something in him snapped.

The crowd's voices fell into a hush as Naruto moved. They hadn't even noticed him get to his feet, but there he stood—tense and trembling, eyes shadowed by the sharp tilt of his head. Without a word, he turned back toward the shop, his steps slow, deliberate. A sense of purpose radiated from him, heavy and undeniable, like the calm before a violent storm.

A ripple of unease passed through the onlookers. Mothers pulled their children closer. Some of the men frowned, shifting nervously where they stood. The whispers stopped altogether.

The shopkeeper, who had been rearranging goods with an air of smug satisfaction, looked up just as Naruto stepped into the doorway. His scowl returned instantly.

"You just don't learn, do you, brat?" he spat, his voice a sharp bark of fury. He stormed toward Naruto, one meaty hand raised to grab him by the collar and throw him out—again.

But this time, Naruto was ready.

As the man lunged, Naruto's hand shot out like lightning, snaring the shopkeeper's thick wrist in an iron grip. The sudden force stopped the man cold. For a moment, the shopkeeper's face froze in shock, his anger replaced by a flicker of confusion.

Then Naruto squeezed.

The shopkeeper winced, a pained gasp escaping his lips as Naruto's fingers tightened like a vice. He tried to pull his arm back, but Naruto didn't let go. The strength behind that grip was startling, unnatural even, and it sent a tremor of unease through the man's broad frame.

The shopkeeper's face went pale, his bluster crumbling as his eyes met Naruto's. For the first time, there was no hatred in them—just fear.

The street fell deathly silent, every onlooker holding their breath as they watched the scene unfold. Naruto's hand shook slightly, though not from weakness—from restraint. He stared into the shopkeeper's eyes, his gaze steady, unflinching. The fire burning in him was visible now, no longer hidden beneath the surface.

"What the hell…?" the shopkeeper stammered, his voice trembling as he stared at the boy in front of him. His free hand curled into a fist, knuckles white with rage, as he raised it to strike. "You little—!"

Before he could finish, Naruto's grip tightened like iron around his wrist. The veins in Naruto's arm stood out, his small frame radiating raw, uncontained power. His eyes—once bright blue—blazed a deep, fiery red, glowing with a fury that seemed to pierce straight through the man.

The shopkeeper's face contorted with pain. He let out a sharp, choking gasp, his knees buckling as Naruto's fingers dug into his skin, bending his wrist unnaturally. Panic flashed across his face as he realized—he couldn't move. A seasoned jonin, a man who had fought and survived countless battles, was being held down by a child.

"GRRRAAHHHH!" The cry tore from his throat, desperate and primal, echoing through the narrow street outside the shop. The noise sent shivers down the spines of onlookers who now pressed closer, watching with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Naruto didn't let go. His breath came in sharp bursts, his body trembling—not from weakness, but from the storm raging inside him. For years, he had swallowed their scorn, their hatred, their cruel whispers. He had clenched his fists and looked away. He had learned to pretend. But not today.

The shopkeeper's mind reeled as he stared up at Naruto, his wrist still locked in the boy's iron grasp. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. 'This power… How could a brat like this have such strength?'

And then he saw it—those eyes.

The crimson glow, vivid and unnatural, burned into his memory like a mark. The slit pupils stared back at him, unrelenting, inhuman. A chill ran through his spine as his lips quivered soundlessly.

'The nine tails fox…'

Before the thought could fully form, Naruto's fist moved like lightning.

CRACK!

The blow struck like thunder, sending the shopkeeper sprawling backward through the air. His body slammed into the wooden wall behind him, the impact rattling shelves and knocking goods to the ground in a cascade of clattering debris. He crumpled to the floor with a thud, his breath escaping in a ragged wheeze.

For a long moment, there was silence.

The shopkeeper's trembling hand pressed against the wall as he tried to steady himself, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. His entire body shuddered, and when he looked up at Naruto again, he didn't see a child. He saw something much larger, much darker.

Outside, the onlookers froze, their murmurs reduced to stunned silence. The whispers they had once thrown like stones at Naruto now vanished into the air. They watched him, no longer with contempt, but with something else—something close to fear.

Chaos erupted. The street rang with shouts and cries as villagers scrambled to get away, stumbling over each other in their desperate need to flee. Fear rippled through the crowd, their gazes darting between Naruto and the shop door as if the boy himself might explode into fire and ruin.

Inside, the shopkeeper sat sprawled against the wall, his face ashen, eyes wide with terror. He watched Naruto advance toward him—slow, deliberate steps that echoed in the silence left by the fleeing crowd. Fists still clenched, Naruto's fiery red eyes burned like coals, the unnatural glow reflecting on the shopkeeper's sweat-soaked face.

'This isn't a boy,' the man thought, frozen in place. 'This is… something else.'

Naruto's hand shot forward, gripping the front of the man's collar. The shopkeeper let out a sharp gasp as he was hauled upward, his body limp and powerless against the boy's inhuman strength. Naruto's other hand curled into a fist, red chakra snapping and flickering around it like living flame. The eerie glow cast jagged shadows across the room, painting Naruto's face with something primal, something monstrous.

The shopkeeper couldn't breathe, couldn't look away. Staring into Naruto's eyes felt like staring into an abyss—terrifying and endless. He could hear whispers of the fox, the thing sealed away, but to see it… to feel its presence thrumming in the air around him...

Naruto's fist pulled back, ready to strike, the weight of his anger and years of mistreatment hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

"STOP!"

The shopkeeper's scream tore through the silence, shrill and desperate. It wasn't pride or rage anymore—just fear. "Please, please," he begged, his voice cracking, his hands rising to shield his face. "I'm sorry! Take whatever you want! Just don't—don't hurt me!"

Naruto froze, the scream breaking through the haze that clouded his mind. His breath caught as he stared at the trembling man in his grip, the flickering red light reflected in the shopkeeper's pleading eyes.

For a moment, everything was still. Naruto blinked, his vision clearing. The fiery glow faded from his gaze, replaced by his usual blue, and the red chakra vanished like smoke into the air. His fist slowly uncurled, his shoulders slackening as the storm inside him calmed.

Naruto let go. The shopkeeper collapsed in a heap, his body shaking, face pale as though he'd seen death itself. He stared at the boy, disbelief and terror warring on his features, unable to process what had just happened.

Naruto didn't say a word. He simply turned and walked out, each step slow and measured, his expression unreadable. Outside, the villagers stood frozen in place, hushed whispers rising among the crowd. They'd seen it all—the chakra, the strength, the eyes.

As Naruto emerged onto the street, people instinctively moved aside, their faces drawn tight with a mix of fear and awe. For the first time, the jeers and mocking whispers were gone. In their place was silence—heavy and uncertain.

Naruto didn't look at them as he passed. He kept walking, his footsteps echoing like a drumbeat in the uneasy quiet. Behind him, the shopkeeper remained slumped on the floor, his chest heaving, unable to stop the tremors running through his limbs.

He had come face-to-face with something he couldn't understand—and in that moment, he had learned what true fear felt like.

And as Naruto disappeared down the street, the villagers watched, their eyes following him with wary respect… and a newfound caution.

Flashback end

The memory of that day clung to Naruto like a second skin, an inescapable shadow that followed him wherever he went. It had been a brutal awakening to the truth he had long tried to ignore: no matter how polite, how respectful, or how kind he was, it would never change the way people saw him. He could try to force a smile, but their contempt and disdain would remain. But that moment, the one where he had finally snapped, where he had let his power surge—something had shifted. In an instant, their sneers had turned to fear.

Word of the confrontation spread quickly through the villagers. It wasn't long before the entire town was buzzing with the tale. Naruto learned, much to his surprise, that the shopkeeper he'd faced off with wasn't just any ordinary man—he was a retired Jonin. The news sent ripples of shock through the villagers, and with it came a fresh wave of fear. The same shopkeepers who had once closed their doors in his face now regarded him with wary respect, their glances furtive and cautious.

Naruto's lips curled into a bitter sneer as he recalled the events. "Spineless cowards," he muttered, the words seething from his mouth like acid. "They treat a kid like dirt, but the moment they see he's strong enough to make them pay, suddenly they're all smiles."

The hypocrisy was suffocating, gnawing at his insides. The villagers, who had long treated him as if he were nothing more than a nuisance, had suddenly become docile in his presence. They had learned to fear him, not respect him, and that realization stung more than any insult they could have thrown his way.

Gone were the taunts and dismissive looks. In their place, a tense, brittle silence had settled over the streets. The villagers no longer dared to provoke him, avoiding eye contact, stepping aside when he passed. They no longer mocked him; they cowered. Their behavior had shifted, but not because they had come to understand him, or accept him—no, it was because they were scared. They were scared of the monster they thought he was, scared of the power they knew he could unleash.

Naruto could feel their eyes on him as he moved through the village, but now there was a distance in their gaze, a hesitation that was born from something far less sincere than respect. It was the kind of fear that made them back off, not the kind that made them want to stand by his side. And that realization made his stomach churn with disgust.

A bitter laugh escaped him. He had forced the villagers to change, but it hadn't been out of kindness or empathy. No, it had been through intimidation, through the sheer weight of his power. They were all afraid of him, and while that gave him control, it gave him nothing else. He didn't want their fear. He didn't want them to see him as a monster. But in the end, it was the only thing that had made them listen.

With a deep breath, he shook off the bitter thoughts and moved forward, his footsteps light as he vaulted onto the next rooftop. The Shinobi Academy was within reach, and he would be damned if he let his anger over what had happened control him now. He had his own path to walk, and the villagers' opinions—whether out of fear or respect—meant nothing. Not anymore.

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses and slid them over his eyes, concealing the glowing crimson irises, slitted pupil he had been hiding for months.

Konoha Academy, 08:00 AM...

Naruto approached the academy gates with the precision of someone who knew time all too well. The clock struck exactly 8:00 AM, its chime ringing through the crisp morning air. His gaze swept across the crowd of students that filled the courtyard, a blur of faces and conversations, each lost in their own world. But Naruto's focus was sharp—he was searching for a particular face.

His eyes darted over the sea of familiar classmates, but Matsuri was nowhere to be found. A brief pang of disappointment flickered in his chest, but it didn't linger long. He had a plan. 'I'll check her classroom,' he thought, his resolve solidifying.

With purposeful steps, he pushed through the entrance of the academy, weaving through the throng of students, each step taking him closer to his goal. His heart beat a little faster now, the anticipation of seeing her again propelling him forward, despite the sea of people and the distractions around him.

Naruto sprinted down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the quiet morning air. His heart pounded in his chest as he weaved between groups of students, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pair of older boys. One of them, a lanky teen with an arrogant air, shot him a sharp glare.

"Watch where you're going, kid!" the boy sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Naruto, unphased but still a bit flustered, quickly muttered an apology as he kept moving. There was no time to dwell on it. His mind was set on one thing—finding Matsuri. His feet carried him faster as he approached the door to her classroom, and without hesitation, he peeked inside, scanning the desks for her familiar figure.

But the room was empty. No Matsuri.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping with the weight of disappointment. He turned to leave, heading toward his own class, when a voice from behind stopped him in his tracks.

"So, she's still absent, I take it?"

Naruto recognized the calm, steady tone immediately. He didn't need to look back to know who it was.

"Morning, Shino-san. Yeah, she's still out," Naruto replied, keeping his focus ahead as they began to walk together.

Shino fell into step beside him, his expression as inscrutable as always. "Have you tried meeting her at your training spot?"

Naruto's gaze dropped, the words sinking in like a weight. "I've been there... she hasn't shown up either. It's been more than a week now." His voice trailed off, thick with the frustration and concern that had been gnawing at him for days.

Shino's brow furrowed as he considered the situation. "Have you tried visiting her at home?" he asked, his voice thoughtful.

Naruto nodded, his expression darkening. "I did. But they won't let non-Uchihas into the district without a permit. It's strange. I used to be able to just walk in no problem, but now everything's locked down tighter than ever."

Shino's eyes widened in surprise. "That's odd," he remarked, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in the Uchiha district's policy.

Naruto shrugged, the frustration still evident in his posture. "I don't know what's going on. But enough about me. What about you? Did you get those bugs you were talking about?"

Shino's face turned slightly stern. "Kidaichū," he corrected, a touch of annoyance lacing his voice. "Not 'those bugs'."

Naruto winced. "Right, right. Sorry. Did you get the Kidaichū?"

Shino's lips quirked into a small, satisfied smile. "I got them, and more. I also managed to acquire some Rinkaichū. They're extremely rare, and my father said I'm too young to handle them without putting myself in serious danger."

Naruto's eyes widened in shock. "How dangerous are we talking?"

Shino's tone remained calm and factual, though there was an undeniable edge of seriousness in his voice. "Dangerous enough to reduce a shinobi to nothingness. Given enough time, they could eat away at a person's chakra, slowly draining them until they're nothing."

Naruto let out a low whistle, his voice filled with disbelief. "Shiiiit…"

As Naruto and Shino neared their classroom, the peace of the hallway was suddenly shattered by a rising cacophony. A chorus of high-pitched voices filled the air, unmistakably carrying the shrill excitement of a group of girls in full pursuit of their latest obsession.

Naruto's eyes narrowed as he instinctively stepped aside, allowing the incoming storm of high-pitched voices and overzealous energy to pass. He sighed deeply, his patience already fraying. "Here we go again," he muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to cover his ears.

The self-proclaimed "Sasuke fangirl brigade" surged down the hallway, led by Haruno Sakura with her usual determined grin, followed closely by Yamanaka Ino and their entourage of equally smitten girls. Their eyes were locked on their target—Sasuke Uchiha—who might as well have been a god in their eyes.

Naruto didn't care about their obsession with Sasuke. What grated on his nerves was their sheer volume and how they always seemed to disrupt everything with their over-the-top antics. Naruto had a notoriously low tolerance for loud, pointless chatter, and these girls were a perfect storm of both.

He had even been tempted, once, to yell at Sasuke to take his "little fan club" somewhere far away so the rest of them could have some peace. But then, he'd caught a glimpse of Uchiha's face—a mix of thinly veiled annoyance and resigned misery—and decided against it. Poor guy was just as fed up as everyone else.

As the fangirls descended upon their unsuspecting prey, Naruto groaned audibly, rubbing his temples. "Can they be any more obvious?" he muttered, watching them flutter around Sasuke, giggling and showering him with exaggerated compliments. The chaotic symphony of their voices was enough to make him seriously consider skipping class altogether.

"They are persistent, that's for sure," Shino said in his usual calm tone. After a brief pause, he added, almost offhandedly, "But Ino-san is kind of cute."

Naruto snapped his head toward his friend, his eyes wide with surprise. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Shino didn't so much as glance at him, adjusting his glasses instead. "Nothing," he replied flatly, continuing toward the classroom with a composed stride.

Naruto hesitated for a moment, staring at Shino's retreating figure as if trying to process what he'd just heard. Finally, he shook his head and jogged to catch up. "You're seriously weird sometimes, you know that?" he muttered, more to himself than to Shino.

The shrill chatter of the fangirls began to fade as the two boys reached the classroom door. Naruto and Shino exchanged a brief glance before stepping inside, bracing themselves for whatever fresh chaos awaited them within.

As Naruto and Shino entered the classroom, they were immediately thrust into the chaos unfolding before them. The air was thick with the noise of girls clamoring for attention, all of them fixated on one thing: Sasuke. At the heart of the storm sat Sasuke himself, a picture of annoyance, his arms crossed and his sharp eyes darting between the girls. Beside him, his sister Hikari occupied the seat next to him, her presence doing little to quell the madness.

The fangirls, led by the relentless Sakura and Ino, were in full battle mode, each one jostling for the last empty seat next to Sasuke. It was a prime spot, right in the middle of the row, and the competition was fierce. They giggled, whispered, and nudged each other aside with a zeal that bordered on absurdity. Sasuke, visibly irritated, barely acknowledged them, his focus flicking over the room but never truly landing on the girls clamoring for his attention.

Meanwhile, Hikari's cold, calculating gaze swept over the classroom like a predator sizing up its prey. Her eyes were sharp, intimidating, and as they locked onto Naruto, the atmosphere in the room seemed to freeze. A low growl rumbled from her throat, a sound that sent an involuntary shiver down Naruto's spine.

'Shit,' he thought, his stomach sinking. 'She's still pissed about that fight...'

It had been months since the sparring match where Naruto had decisively defeated her, Hikari had held a grudge, and her dislike for Naruto was as clear as day. His victory had been a blow to her pride, and it seemed she wasn't ready to let it go.

Naruto quickly averted his gaze, not daring to meet her eyes as he made his way to his seat. He didn't need any more trouble today, and Hikari—proud and unpredictable as she was—wasn't someone he wanted to provoke. Shino, walking beside him, seemed to sense the tension in the air. The corners of his mouth twitched in understanding, and as they settled into their seats, he leaned in slightly, speaking in a voice so quiet only Naruto could hear.

"You sure know how to draw attention to yourself, Naruto-san," Shino remarked with a dry tone, his eyes flicking toward the chaos that still simmered in the room.

Naruto chuckled weakly, his gaze drifting over the scene with a mix of frustration and resignation. "Unfortunately, yeah. I'd give up this special ability if I could," he muttered, his words tinged with exasperation. It was the same story, over and over again—trouble followed him like a shadow, and it seemed there was no escaping it.

Shino didn't respond to the commotion. Instead, his expression turned serious, and he shifted his focus to something else. "So, did you hear? We're getting two new homeroom teachers starting today."

Naruto's interest piqued. "Really?" he asked, leaning forward. "Who are they?"

Shino nodded, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "One's named Umino Iruka, but the other one... I haven't heard their name yet."

Naruto frowned, curiosity sharpening his features. "Iruka, huh?" He glanced around the classroom, his expression shifting into a more thoughtful one. "Well, let's hope they don't bore us with theory and lectures," he muttered, half to himself. His skeptical grin returned as he added, "And let's hope they're nothing like the villagers."

The weight of his words lingered between them. The memories of the villagers' disdain, their cold stares and whispering behind his back, still haunted him. He could only hope that his new teachers wouldn't follow that same, unforgiving pattern. But with his luck, he wasn't holding his breath.

As Naruto and Shino settled into their seats, the low hum of classroom chatter filled the air. A few minutes later, the door slid open, and in walked Saito, as he scanned the room briefly, his sharp gaze landing on Naruto. For a moment, their eyes locked.

Saito gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment. Naruto returned the gesture, his expression calm and unreadable. It was a small exchange, but one that carried weight.

After their fight a year and a half ago, they had developed a mutual respect for each other. They weren't friends; they didn't engage in casual conversation or spend time together. However, they understood one another in a way that only rivals could.

Naruto watched as Saito moved to his seat, his demeanor as composed as ever. A faint smirk tugged at Naruto's lips. 'He's still as stoic as ever,' he thought. Despite their lack of camaraderie, there was an unspoken understanding between them, a recognition of strength that set them apart. They didn't need words; their actions had spoken loud enough.

After Academy...

As they stepped out of the academy, Shino cast a sidelong glance at Naruto, his expression thoughtful yet measured. "So, what's your plan now?" he asked, his voice as calm and steady as ever.

Naruto's gaze lingered ahead for a moment before he replied, his tone carrying a hint of frustration he couldn't quite mask. "Nothing much. I'll head to our usual spot and see if Matsuri-san's there," he said, his words tinged with a quiet hope.

Shino studied his friend for a moment, catching the determination in Naruto's voice. There was a relentlessness to him, an edge sharpened by more than a week of unanswered questions. "You're not planning on doing anything reckless, are you?" Shino asked, his voice low but direct.

Naruto turned to him sharply, eyebrows furrowing in mild offense. "What do you take me for? Even I'm not dumb enough to pull something like that," he retorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Shino nodded, unconvinced but unwilling to press further. "Alright then. Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Naruto said with a small wave as he began to walk away.

"Take care," Shino called after him, watching as his friend disappeared into the distance. They didn't need to say much—after years of friendship, understanding had long since replaced unnecessary words.

Naruto was, without a doubt, doing something incredibly reckless. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, his movements were swift and deliberate, as he made his way toward the Uchiha Clan district. His destination was clear: the Kagami household, where Matsuri lived with her older brother, Shisui.

The plan—or lack thereof—was simple: bypass the curfew and meet Matsuri. The logic behind his actions was flimsy at best, but Naruto's determination overpowered any second thoughts.

An hour after leaving the academy, he reached the outskirts of the Uchiha district. The towering walls loomed ahead, and his sharp gaze fell on the main entrance. He stopped on a rooftop, crouching low as he assessed the situation. Two guards stood stationed at the gate, their stances relaxed but their presence anything but casual. Their chakra signatures screamed Jonin-level, and Naruto knew better than to risk a direct confrontation.

"Yeah, that's not happening," he muttered under his breath, dismissing the idea of waltzing in through the front door. He scanned the perimeter with a calculating eye, his mind working quickly to identify alternative routes.

Naruto moved carefully along the district's perimeter, his sharp eyes scanning every checkpoint and patrol. The entrances were heavily guarded, each post manned by seasoned shinobi whose mere presence radiated authority. Every guard seemed alert, their movements precise and disciplined. "Damn," he thought, his frustration simmering. "They've locked this place down tighter than a drum."

Determined not to give up, he circled the perimeter again, this time keeping a greater distance. He crouched behind a low wall, studying the guards with unwavering focus, observing their patterns and movements. Minutes ticked by as he carefully noted every rotation, every moment when their attention wavered.

And then, finally, he saw it.

The genin on duty weren't as seasoned as the others. While they were vigilant, their movements were a beat slower, their focus lacking the razor-sharp edge of their senior counterparts. They didn't have the Sharingan, which meant his chakra signature wouldn't stand out like a beacon.

Naruto smirked, a flicker of confidence lighting up his expression. "There's a gap," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves. "Their patrols don't overlap here for a few seconds. If I move fast enough, I can slip through."

He crouched low, muscles tensing as he prepared to make his move. Timing would be everything.

Hidden among the shadows of the Uchiha district's perimeter, Naruto crouched low, his mind racing as he fine-tuned his plan. He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves, and formed a quick series of hand seals. In a swirl of chakra, he cast Henge no Jutsu, transforming into a flawless likeness of Uchiha Saito, his classmate. His messy orange hair was replaced with Saito's sleek black locks, and his features shifted to mirror the Uchiha's sharp, confident expression.

Naruto gave his new appearance a quick once-over, ensuring no detail was out of place. He couldn't afford mistakes. "Alright," he muttered to himself. "Just act natural. Be Saito."

Stepping out from his hiding spot, Naruto adopted Saito's laid-back stride, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. His posture screamed nonchalance, but his heart hammered like a drum in his chest. "Cool and calm. I belong here. No big deal," he reminded himself.

As he approached the checkpoint, he locked eyes briefly with the genin guards. One of them, three to four years older than him, nodded in recognition. Naruto returned the nod, a casual dip of his head, all while keeping his pace steady.

The guards didn't even question him. Their focus shifted back to their conversation as Naruto passed through the gate without so much as a second glance.

Once he was out of earshot, Naruto exhaled quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "That went smoother than I thought," he admitted to himself, but he didn't let his guard drop completely. He was inside now, but the district was still crawling with patrols.

His sharp eyes scanned the streets ahead, calculating the quickest and safest route to the Kagami household. His target was clear in his mind: Matsuri-san.

"Alright," Naruto thought as he slipped into the district's inner paths. "Just one last stretch, and I'll be there."

Naruto, still cloaked in the guise of Uchiha Saito, arrived at the Kagami household fifteen minutes later. Standing before the modest yet elegant front door, he paused to take in his surroundings. The silence of the Uchiha district felt heavier here, the air tinged with a sense of stillness that pressed against his nerves.

His gaze dropped to the door, and his heart sank when he noticed the lock firmly in place.

'The door's locked...' Naruto thought, his brows furrowing. 'Has Matsuri-san gone somewhere?'

He glanced up and down the quiet street, scanning for any sign of her. The faint glow of lanterns cast long shadows along the stone-paved road, but there was no trace of Matsuri in sight.

Naruto's mind raced. Matsuri wasn't one to leave without a reason, especially not at this hour. He turned his attention to a small shop nearby, its warm light spilling onto the street. It seemed to be one of the few places still open, and he decided to investigate further.

Naruto, maintaining the guise of Saito, approached the shop with calculated ease. The faint aroma of freshly brewed tea drifted through the cool evening air as he neared the modest establishment. His sharp eyes scanned the humble exterior, noting its quaint charm.

Inside, a middle-aged shopkeeper with salt-and-pepper hair methodically tidied his wares, his movements unhurried and precise. Naruto stepped in and cleared his throat to announce his presence, careful to mimic Saito's relaxed demeanor.

The shopkeeper glanced up, his expression softening into one of polite recognition. "Ah, Saito-kun. It's been a while. How can I help you this evening?"

Naruto nodded, keeping his tone steady and casual. "Evening. I was just passing through and noticed the Kagami household is locked up. Do you know if Matsuri-san or Shisui-san went somewhere?"

The shopkeeper's expression shifted almost instantly, his cheerful demeanor dimming to one of solemn confusion. He studied Naruto closely, as if trying to piece something together. "Saito-kun… were you outside the village these past few weeks?"

Naruto felt his pulse quicken, though he kept his face neutral. 'What?' he thought, panic creeping into the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to falter now. He forced himself to nod, improvising quickly.

"Y-Yeah," he said, feigning a casual air. "I've been training at a new spot I found on the outskirts. Wanted some peace and quiet to focus, you know." Internally, he repeated mentally 'Please work, please work, please work.'

The shopkeeper seemed to buy the explanation, his gaze softening again, though his tone remained grave. "That explains it, then," he said, shaking his head. "You wouldn't have heard."

Naruto's heart sank, a foreboding sense of dread settling over him. "Heard what?" he asked carefully, his voice calm despite the storm building inside him.

The shopkeeper sighed, setting aside the cloth he'd been using to clean the counter. "Shisui-san was found dead a little over a week ago. The entire clan was shaken. Matsuri-chan… she's been staying at the clan leader's house ever since. Poor girl. She's been through so much already."

Naruto froze. His breath hitched, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from reacting visibly. His mind screamed, 'No. This can't be true.'

He almost took a step back but caught himself just in time. The shopkeeper's words hung heavily in the air, each syllable echoing in his ears. Shisui… dead? And Matsuri-san… alone, forced into yet another upheaval?

Naruto clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his emotions in check. This wasn't the time to falter. The shopkeeper might notice something if he wasn't careful.

"I see," Naruto managed, his voice measured and steady despite the turmoil raging within. "Thanks for letting me know."

The shopkeeper gave him a small nod, his expression sympathetic. "Of course, Saito-kun. Take care, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Naruto nodded and turned to leave, his steps deliberate as he walked out of the shop. The moment he was back in the shadows of the street, he let out a shaky breath. His mind raced, the weight of the revelation threatening to crush him.

Shisui's gone…

Naruto sat crouched on the edge of a rooftop, the dying light of the setting sun painting the horizon in shades of orange and gold. He had spent hours lost in thought since hearing about Shisui's death, his heart heavy with an unfamiliar weight. Matsuri was all he could think about. He needed to find her, to make sure she was okay.

Disguised as Uchiha Saito through his Henge no Jutsu, Naruto's sharp eyes scanned the sprawling streets below. The Uchiha district was vast, a maze of identical stone paths and near-identical houses marked by the clan's crest. He gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

"I can't just go around asking for directions," he muttered under his breath. It was a risk he couldn't afford. Drawing attention to himself would mean exposing the disguise and blowing his cover. The Uchiha clan wasn't known for their hospitality, especially toward strangers pretending to be one of their own.

His gaze drifted to the sky, now streaked with deepening hues of twilight. The pressure of time bore down on him. He knew he couldn't afford to delay any longer, but finding the clan leader's home in such a large district felt impossible without raising suspicion.

Naruto clenched his fists, his mind racing. "Think," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rustling evening breeze. If he couldn't ask, he'd have to rely on his instincts and observation.

Naruto's thoughts wandered aimlessly as he sat, lost in contemplation. After about ten minutes, his eyes caught sight of two familiar figures walking along the bustling street. He squinted, recognizing them instantly—Hikari and her twin brother, Sasuke.

His brows furrowed slightly as he observed them. 'Aren't they the kids of the Uchiha clan leader?' he mused, piecing together a memory from the Academy. He recalled overhearing a few girls giggling and gossiping about Sasuke one day, swooning over the fact that he was the son of the renowned clan leader.

Naruto's eyes widened as realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. 'They live in the Uchiha clan leader's home,' he thought, his heartbeat quickening with the realization. A surge of determination coursed through him. If he could follow them, they would lead him straight to Matsuri.

Keeping his movements fluid and silent, Naruto leapt onto the rooftops, sticking to the shadows as he trailed Hikari and Sasuke below. His body moved instinctively, each step calculated to remain unseen. The streets were bustling, but Naruto's focus never wavered, his sharp eyes locked on his targets.

As they weaved through the streets of the Uchiha district, Naruto matched their pace, his breath steady despite the intensity of the situation. He crouched low, keeping to the cover of chimneys and walls, every sense on high alert. 'Stay hidden,' he reminded himself. One wrong move, one misstep, and he'd be exposed.

Below, Hikari and Sasuke seemed unaware of the shadow silently trailing them, their casual conversation blending into the ambient hum of the village. But Naruto wasn't taking any chances—his entire being was honed in on the goal ahead.

The memory crept into Naruto's mind as he followed Hikari and Sasuke through the rooftops. It lingered like a phantom from the past, a moment that refused to fade—etched into his heart, a secret he couldn't erase.

Flashback...

October 10, 8:48 PM

Naruto moved across the rooftops with practiced ease, his body a fluid shadow against the night. The village lanterns below flickered, casting faint, golden glows along the edges of his path. Though his steps were quiet and measured, a restless energy churned within him. Training had been exhausting as always, but tonight felt different, like something was about to shift.

Matsuri had left early—something she never did. It gnawed at him, a subtle warning deep in his gut. She was never one to cut training short without a good reason.

Where could she be?

Landing lightly on the roof of his modest home, Naruto's gaze shifted to the front door, which was slightly ajar. The lock was intact, but there was an undeniable wrongness in the air. His pulse quickened. He dropped into a crouch, kunai already in hand. His senses sharpened, instincts honed over years of training kicking into overdrive.

"Dammit," he muttered, voice tight. Someone was here.

Circling around the house, Naruto crouched near the back door, his breath steady and measured. The world around him seemed to hold its breath as well, the silence thick and oppressive. The faint creak of a floorboard, the rustle of the wind, every sound felt amplified. 'One… two… three.'

With a sharp kick, the door flew open, splintering wood as he moved inside. His kunai remained raised, every corner of the room examined with precision. The dim light from outside barely cut through the heavy darkness, but Naruto's eyes were keen, scanning for any movement, any threat.

Then, the lights flickered on.

"Happy birthday! Happy birthday!"

Naruto froze, kunai still poised in the air, his wide eyes locked on the unexpected scene before him. Matsuri and Shisui stood in the middle of the living room, their faces beaming with excitement. The space was transformed—streamers hung crookedly from the ceiling, and a small, slightly lopsided cake sat on the table. A hand-painted banner, its edges uneven and hastily crafted, read, Happy Birthday, Naruto.

Matsuri held the banner high, her mischievous grin lighting up her face. Shisui, standing beside her, crossed his arms, his smirk dripping with amusement at Naruto's wide-eyed shock.

"What..." Naruto's voice faltered as he lowered his kunai, blinking in disbelief. "What is this?"

Matsuri stepped forward, her eyes sparkling with playful warmth. "Your birthday, did you really forget it?" she teased, her smile widening with pride.

"I—" Naruto stammered, his eyes darting from the cake to the banner and then to the two of them. A wave of realization hit him, and he swallowed hard. He hadn't forgotten, not really, but birthdays had always been an empty space in his heart. They had been reminders of the family he never had, of celebrations he was never a part of.

Shisui chuckled, stepping closer with his usual laid-back confidence. "You looked like you were ready to fight for your life," he teased, giving Naruto a light clap on the shoulder. "Relax, kid. Matsuri-chan put a lot of effort into this." He smirked and added, "And she dragged me into it too."

Matsuri shot him a mock glare, clearly amused. "We worked on this together, nii-san," she corrected, but the smile on her face softened as she added, "I clearly didn't have to drag you into it."

Naruto blinked, his mind struggling to process the sight before him. He hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. 'They did this for me?'

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he almost stumbled back. The kunai slipped from his fingers, the sharp metal clattering against the floor, but he barely noticed. All he could focus on was the scene in front of him—the cake, the crooked streamers, the hand-painted banner, and, most of all, Matsuri and Shisui, standing there with those wide, sincere smiles.

"You… you did all this?" His voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of disbelief and something else he couldn't quite name. "For me?"

Matsuri's smile softened, her eyes warm with quiet affection. "Of course," she said, her voice calm and knowing. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't remember your birthday?"

Naruto's heart stuttered, a sudden wave of unfamiliar emotion swelling within him. The warmth in her voice, the care in her eyes, it was almost too much to bear. He swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat, desperate to push down the overwhelming surge of feelings that threatened to rise to the surface.

For a long moment, words failed him. How could he possibly respond to this? To the kindness, the thoughtfulness, It was like a floodgate had opened inside of him, and he was drowning in it, but he had no idea how to swim.

Shisui, ever the presence of lightheartedness, gave Naruto a gentle nudge, his grin mischievous as he tried to ease the tension. "Don't go getting all teary on us," he teased. "It's just a cake and some decorations." His grin widened as he glanced at Matsuri. "But hey, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Naruto's lips quirked into a shaky smile, a laugh escaping him that was more unpracticed than anything else. It felt strange, but also... real. "Yeah... yeah, it does," he said, his voice thick with unspoken gratitude. "Thank you. Both of you."

Matsuri's smile bloomed, and in that moment, something inside of Naruto shifted. It wasn't just gratitude, and it wasn't just friendship anymore. Her presence, her care, it meant more to him than he could ever put into words. She wasn't just the girl who trained beside him. She was the person who had made him feel like he wasn't invisible, like he wasn't just a passing shadow in a world full of brighter lights. She was the first person who had ever truly made him feel like he mattered.

"Well, the cake won't eat itself," Matsuri teased, her playful voice cutting through the thick silence that had settled between them. It was a welcome interruption, a breath of fresh air that brought Naruto back to the moment. Her tone carried a lightness that seemed to brush away the weight in his chest. "Come on, we're waiting!"

Naruto blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the lingering thoughts that had pulled him away. He moved to join them, but before he could take a step, Matsuri caught his attention by picking up a small bag and walking toward him.

"What's this?" Naruto asked, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion.

"It's your birthday present," she replied, her voice steady and warm, with that familiar spark of mischief in her eyes. She reached into the bag, then with a flourish that made Naruto's pulse quicken, pulled out two gleaming kukri knives.

The blades were stunning. Sleek, curved steel that seemed to capture the dim light of the room, reflecting it with a subtle glow. Their handles were crafted with meticulous care, polished to a deep, rich luster, as though they'd been forged with the same precision that went into their design.

Naruto's eyes widened in recognition. The design was unmistakable—he had seen them before. They were identical to the ones Shisui had gifted Matsuri during their training sessions over a year ago, a gift that had held deep meaning between them.

"These are for you," Matsuri said softly, her smile uncharacteristically tender as she held the knives out to him.

Naruto hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking between her and the blades. Something about the gesture felt heavier than the gift itself. Finally, he reached out, accepting the knives with careful hands. The weight surprised him—they were solid, sturdy, yet balanced in a way that felt natural.

As he unsheathed one of the blades, something caught his eye. Etched into the handle in clean, precise Kanji, was his name: 渦巻き鳴門.

Matsuri noticed his stunned expression and smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. "See? Just like mine," she said, holding up her own kukri. Her name was etched in the same elegant script, a mirror image of the one Naruto now held.

Before Naruto could speak, Shisui, who had been watching quietly, stepped forward. His voice held a quiet pride as he explained, "These aren't just ordinary blades. They're forged from chakra-conducting metal—top-grade material. Try channeling your chakra through one."

Naruto's curiosity flared, and he tightened his grip on the blade. Closing his eyes, he focused, letting his chakra flow from his palm. It swirled around the kukri, enveloping it in a fiery red aura that pulsed and flickered with energy.

"Focus," Shisui's voice rang out, firm and encouraging. "The chakra will resist at first. You have to align your intent with the blade's purpose."

Naruto narrowed his focus, steadying his breath. Slowly, the flickering chakra began to stabilize, settling around the blade's edge like a second skin. The kukri hummed faintly, resonating with the energy that now coursed through it.

A grin tugged at Matsuri's lips. "Told you it was cool," she said with a smirk, crossing her arms and watching him with quiet satisfaction.

Naruto let out a low whistle, his eyes widening in awe as he marveled at the craftsmanship and the power the blade now contained. "This... this is incredible," he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips, filled with a sense of wonder.

Shisui nodded, his expression softening as he looked at Naruto with approval. "Treat them well, Naruto. They're an extension of you now."

The atmosphere in the room softened, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as they gathered around the table. The flickering light of the candles danced on their faces, casting a warm glow that matched the camaraderie in the air. Laughter bubbled up, spontaneous and genuine, as they dug into the cake, the easy teasing and shared joy a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the day.

Naruto's eyes wandered, drawn to Matsuri. Her smile was radiant, her laughter a clear, vibrant melody that filled the space between them. It was a sound that seemed to reach deep into him, tugging at something that he couldn't quite name.

There was a lightness to the way she moved, the way her eyes sparkled as she spoke, as though the world was momentarily at peace. Her presence was like the calm after a storm—steady, comforting. And as the laughter around him swirled, Naruto realized that despite the ease of the moment, there was something within him that had shifted.

He found his thoughts lingering on Matsuri in a way he hadn't before. She had always been his anchor, his mentor, and his friend. But now, there was a deeper connection that tugged at him, something that made the room seem smaller, more intimate. His heart fluttered with the quiet weight of a truth he could no longer ignore.

The feeling was unfamiliar, overwhelming, and yet undeniably clear. He couldn't put it into words—not yet. But one thing was certain: he couldn't imagine a world without her in it. Not anymore.

Flashback ends...

Back in the present, Naruto moved with calculated precision, trailing Hikari and Sasuke across the rooftops. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the pressure a reflection of the storm brewing inside him. The mere thought of Shisui's death—and the pain Matsuri was enduring—was enough to ignite a fury in him that felt unstoppable.

'She doesn't deserve this,' he thought, struggling to keep his rage in check. The thought of Matsuri, so strong yet so fragile, losing everything—the family she had left, one cruel loss after another—gnawed at him like an open wound. The world had taken so much from her, and yet she continued to fight. It was unfair. She doesn't deserve this.

The fire within him grew hotter, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he wondered if it was all he could do to keep from lashing out at the very world that had torn her apart. He wanted to destroy it—to burn it all to the ground, to tear down the injustice that had scarred her soul.

Naruto's breath quickened as he leaped from house to house, silently shadowing Hikari and Sasuke, his every movement a careful calculation to stay hidden. The familiar ache of frustration surged through him, a constant reminder of how helpless he felt in this moment.

'She doesn't deserve this cruel world,' he thought again, barely able to contain the intensity of his feelings. His heart pounded as he followed, feeling a cold rage build, like an unstoppable force within him, ready to break free at any second.

To be continued...

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