In this story Naruto has red hair like his mother and golden blonde tips like his father.

Honestly, I always liked Naruto with red hair better. It makes more sense, he is half Uzumaki.

Eight years later, Konoha:

It's been eight years since the Nine-Tails attack, the village managed to rebuild itself, but many things were lost that could not be regained. Many shinobi and civilian lives were lost as well, husbands, wives, children, becoming paralyzed, or losing a limb—nearly everyone lost something or rather someone. The biggest hit to the village was the death of the Fourth Hokage and his wife. The Fourth Hokage sacrificed his life to seal the Nine-Tailed fox away…or rather that's how it was told, but in reality half of the beast was sealed in a young boy—-named Naruto uzumaki.

Naruto had just been born when the Nine-Tailed fox was sealed within him, a secret kept from the young boy. Though the general public was unaware of this, most of the adults in the village knew the truth. Unfortunately, Naruto suffered greatly due to this, facing mistreatment, starvation, and ostracization from the villagers. And that wasn't all. Fate had already been cruel to Naruto by snatching away his parents, whom he had never known, leaving him an orphan and knowing nothing of them, not even their deaths. So being an orphan, he had once lived at the orphanage, but that had ended abruptly when he turned four. The matron had shoved him out the door without explanation, her muttered words about "curses" and "bad omens" the only clues to her reasoning.

He had wandered aimlessly after that, cold and confused, until an ANBU with a dog mask found him shivering in the streets. The next day, the Hokage had taken him in, giving him a small apartment and enough money to survive. The old man had been kind, and Naruto appreciated it, but it couldn't fill the void in Naruto's heart. He often saw parents with their children, or siblings together, but Naruto had none of that-–—–no family, legacy, or inheritance. He didn't even have relatives or kinfolk. He was just an orphan, with no family, no answers, and no one to call "tou-chan" (Dad) or "kaa-chan" (Mom), no one to call him "son".The words felt strange to Naruto, and he sometimes said them to himself alone. He knew what it meant—knew that families called each other that—but he couldn't imagine what it felt like to hear some say it to him and mean it.

Often the Hokage stopped by his apartment every month to check on him and give him his spendtip for the month, just enough to cover rent and a few other necessities, but even those came at a steep price. Shopkeepers and vendors would often overcharge him for basic necessities—food, clothing, even soap. A loaf of bread that cost anyone else a few coins was double, even triple the price for Naruto; even stale bread seemed too expensive at times.

Fresh fruit or vegetables were entirely out of reach. He quickly learned not to argue, as protests only earned him more scorn and, sometimes, a shopkeeper throwing him out entirely. Because of this, Naruto relied on instant ramen to keep his stomach full. But there was one place that didn't make him feel like an outsider: Ichiraku Ramen.

And when the Hokage did stop by, Naruto tried to ask about his parents about his parents many times

"Who were they?" Naruto would ask, his voice small but hopeful, as though the answer might somehow explain everything.

"They gave their lives for the village," the Hokage always replied, his tone kind but distant.

It was a comforting lie, the kind of lie meant to protect someone too young to handle the truth. But Naruto wasn't stupid like many believed him to be. He saw the way the old man's gaze shifted, how his answers never went deeper than those vague words. And Naruto could feel it—the weight of something unsaid, something the Hokage didn't want him to know. So he often pressed the old man, but as usual got nowhere.

The loneliness hurt more than any words or glares could. He had learned to survive it, to pretend it didn't bother him, but some nights, when the village was quiet and there was no one to see him, he would sit by the window of his tiny apartment, staring at the moon, and wonder.

Because of this Naruto often pulled pranks and did other things just to get attention, even if it made them upset, getting some attention was better than none at all.

Naruto's pranks were his way of coping with the pain of loneliness, a way to force people to see him, even if it was through angry glares and shouted reprimands. He knew it wasn't the right kind of attention—knew it only made the villagers hate him more—but it was better than being invisible.

When he painted the Hokage Monument or dyed the water in the village fountains bright orange, for a brief moment, he wasn't just "that kid" the villagers avoided. He was Naruto Uzumaki, the prankster who had everyone talking. For a few fleeting seconds, they couldn't ignore him.

Still, those moments didn't last. Once the mess was cleaned up and the scolding was over, the silence crept back in, heavier than before. Sitting alone in his tiny apartment, staring out at the village that seemed to loathe him, Naruto would feel the weight of it settle in his chest again.

"Why does it have to be like this?" he often wondered.

Even when the Hokage visited, offering his gentle smile and kind words, it wasn't enough to fill the aching void. Naruto appreciated the old man's efforts, but it wasn't the same. It couldn't be. What he wanted wasn't the Hokage's pity or kindness—it was answers. It was a family. It was someone to look at him and call him "son."

But Naruto had learned to live without those things. He had no choice. So, he put on his biggest smile, laughed the loudest, and acted as if nothing could touch him. Because in a world that hated him, the only thing worse than being despised was being forgotten.

Currently:

Naruto was walking through the streets of the village with his hands tucked into his pockets. He had just finished a delicious bowl of ramen at Ichiraku's, the warm broth and noodles filling his stomach in a way that made the world feel a little less heavy—at least for a while.

But as he walked, the familiar weight of the villagers' stares pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating like a shroud. He didn't need to meet their eyes to know what kind of looks they were giving him. He could feel them—sharp and unrelenting, boring into his back like daggers, each glance a silent condemnation. Hatred, disdain, disgust—expressions that had shadowed him since he was old enough to notice them. If looks could kill, he would have died a thousand times over by now.

Their gazes carried no warmth, only cold, unyielding judgment, as if his mere existence were some unforgivable crime. He despised it—the way they stripped away any shred of his humanity with every glare, reducing him to a single, damning label. A monster. A mistake.

Still, Naruto forced himself to keep moving, his lips stretching into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was the same grin he'd practiced for years, a mask carefully crafted to shield the pain gnawing at his chest. He wore it like armor, hoping it would deflect the sharp edges of their words and the weight of their glares. But the villagers didn't seem to care. If anything, his defiance only seemed to provoke them further, as if his smile mocked them.

"Demon brat," someone muttered, the words slicing through the air like the edge of a kunai.

"Misfit," another spat, their voice laced with venom.

"Bastard," a man growled.

"I can't believe the Hokage still lets that thing live here, let alone walk around," an older villager sneered, their tone dripping with disgust.

"Yeah if I was him I'd 'gotten rid' of the thing a long time ago." another villager agreed.

Naruto's grin faltered for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the cracks to show, before he forced it back into place. He had heard these words for as long as he could remember, but their sting never dulled. Each word was a fresh wound, another reminder of his isolation.

What had he done to deserve this? What could a small child have possibly done to make an entire village hate him so much? The adults glared at him with cold disdain, and the other kids avoided him at best—or, worse, joined in their parents' mocking cruelty.

Whenever he had summoned the courage to ask why, the answers had always been the same—sharp, angry, and laced with bitterness. Sometimes, the words came with a shove or a kick for good measure.

"You know damn well what you did, you damn monster!"

"If it wasn't for you, my wife and daughter would still be alive!"

"You exist—that's what's wrong!"

Naruto had heard it all, over and over again, but the words never made sense. They only deepened his confusion. What could they possibly mean? He didn't understand how he could be responsible for their pain. He'd been just a baby when their hatred had begun.

He didn't know who his parents were, didn't know if they'd done something so terrible that it had earned him this punishment by association. He didn't know why he had been left alone to bear the brunt of the village's scorn.

All he knew was that no matter how much he smiled, no matter how many jokes he cracked or pranks he pulled, nothing ever changed. Their hatred remained, cold and unyielding, a wall he couldn't break through.

He once asked the Hokage directly, his voice small but heavy with the weight of years of confusion and pain. It was late one evening after another day of whispered insults and cold glares, and the old man had come by to check on him as usual. Naruto had stared down at his hands, clenched into small fists on the table, before finally finding the courage to speak.

"Old man," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "Why do the villagers hate me? What did I do to them?"

Hiruzen's hand paused mid-reach for his pipe, his expression tightening for a moment before he quickly masked it with a kind smile. He placed the pipe down, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he looked at the young boy. The weight of Naruto's question lingered in the air, pressing down on both of them.

"People fear what they don't understand, Naruto," the Hokage said gently, his tone filled with an almost paternal sadness. "Sometimes, that fear turns into anger, and that anger becomes hatred."

"But I didn't do anything!" Naruto blurted out, his voice rising with frustration. His fists pounded lightly against the table. "I don't understand—what don't they understand about me? I'm just... me."

Hiruzen's eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something guarded. He reached across the table and placed a hand on Naruto's, stilling his movements.

"You must have faith," he said softly. "One day, the people of this village will see you for who you really are, Naruto. They will see your strength, your kindness, and they will respect you. You just have to be patient."

Naruto looked up at him, searching the old man's face for answers he knew he wouldn't find. Faith. Patience. Respect. Those were nice ideas, but they felt so far away—like a dream that wasn't meant for him.

"Do you really think that'll happen?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hiruzen smiled, his hand giving Naruto's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I do. You are destined for great things, Naruto. I believe in you."

Naruto nodded slowly, forcing himself to smile in return. But as the Hokage excused himself and left for the night, the question still lingered in his mind, unanswered.

If people feared what they didn't understand, then why didn't anyone try to understand him? Why did they look at him like he wasn't even human? And how was he supposed to have faith when he didn't even know what he was waiting for?

Faith. It was a nice idea, but faith couldn't quiet the whispers, stop the glares, or fill the emptiness that lingered in his chest.

It didn't change the fact that he had to hunt for his own food some nights or eat cheap instant ramen because it was all he could afford. He'd spend hours in the woods hunting small animals

rabbits and squirrels, and sometimes he'd fish in the streams outside the village. His catches were far from perfect—stringy meat, tough skins, and bony fish—but it was better than starving. Still, it was exhausting, and he often wished he didn't have to rely on the woods to keep himself fed. Most nights, all he had to eat was instant ramen, cheap and easy to make but hardly enough to keep him full. Still, ramen was better than nothing, and it was all he could afford.

The stares and whispers followed him as he walked, but Naruto didn't stop. He wouldn't let them see how much it hurt. The grin stayed plastered to his face, and he kept his head high, even as his chest ached with the weight of their hatred. He had learned long ago that showing weakness only made things worse. So, he kept walking, ignoring the voices that tried to drag him down.

Thankfully, there was one place in the entire village where Naruto didn't feel the weight of scorn: Ichiraku Ramen. Teuchi, the owner, and his daughter, Ayame, were the only people who treated him with genuine kindness. Teuchi never overcharged Naruto for a bowl of ramen, and their prices were already fair compared to the rest of the village. Sometimes, when Naruto looked especially thin or hadn't eaten in a while, Teuchi would give him a bowl for free.

"You're growing, kid. You need to eat," Teuchi would say, ruffling Naruto's red and golden-tipped hair with a fatherly grin. Ayame would nod in agreement, sliding him an extra portion of pork or sneaking an egg into his bowl when her father wasn't looking.

Ichiraku Ramen wasn't just food to Naruto—it was a rare sanctuary, a place where he could eat without fear of judgment or scorn. Teuchi had been the first person in the village to truly see him as Naruto Uzumaki—not "that thing" or "the demon brat." For Naruto, that small act of acknowledgment meant the world. It wasn't just about the ramen; it was about being treated like a human being, like he mattered to someone. For that, Naruto would always be grateful.

Now, as he walked through the streets with his hands tucked into his pockets, the warm broth and noodles still lingering in his belly, he thought about how much worse things would be without Teuchi and Ayame. The thought gave him a flicker of warmth, a fleeting moment of solace. But even that warmth couldn't shield him from the weight of the villagers' glares or the whispers that followed him everywhere he went.

Naruto sighed softly, his grin faltering for just a moment before he forced it back into place. His steps slowed as a strange chill ran down his spine, a sudden, inexplicable feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end

Meanwhile deep inside of him, an unexpected presence had awakened.

Inside The Seal:

Deep within the confines of the seal, an oppressive and malevolent presence stirred in the endless void. The Nine-Tailed Fox lay coiled within its cage, its massive form illuminated faintly by the eerie glow of the seal's intricate design. The cage itself was colossal, large enough to keep the Nine-Tails contained. The oppressive energy of the space was suffocating, pressing down on everything within it, a constant reminder of the beast's imprisonment.

The fox's massive head rested on its front paws, its crimson eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. Its nine long, fiery tails swayed behind it, each moving with a life of its own, brushing lazily against the bars with a soft, rhythmic hum.

For years, the beast had remained dormant, conserving its energy, the oppressive seal keeping its immense power in check. Its slow, deliberate breaths filled the silence, occasionally broken by the faint scrape of claws against the floor. Yet even in its slumber, the beast's aura radiated a cold, predatory malice, a force that seemed ready to burst forth the moment the chains weakened.

But today, something had changed. One of the fox's crimson eyes snapped wide open, the glow piercing the void like a blade. Its ears twitched, picking up a faint disturbance in the oppressive silence, a shift that seemed almost as if the seal itself were responding to the sudden tension. The beast growled low, a sound that reverberated through the space like distant thunder.

"What is this…?" the fox rumbled, its voice guttural and sharp, carrying both curiosity and irritation. It lifted its head slightly, as its eyes scanned the void outside the cage. The oppressive air thickened further, as if the cage itself was reacting to the fox's heightened awareness.

It wasn't the boy's usual turmoil of emotions that had caught its attention. Those faint echoes—confusion, pain, loneliness—were always there, pulsing weakly through the seal like a heartbeat. No, this was different. There was another presence—a faint, ominous energy, lingering just beyond the edge of perception. The air around it felt colder, darker, carrying a weight that was both unfamiliar and hauntingly familiar.

The fox's gaze sharpened, its slitted pupil narrowing as it tried to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. Its tails flicked sharply, the motion sending a gust of oppressive energy rippling through the void. It bared its sharp teeth in a slow, deliberate snarl, its lips curling back in both irritation and intrigue.

"This presence…" the fox muttered, its voice lower now, almost contemplative. "Familiar, yet not. A shadow from the past, perhaps… or something far worse."

Its claws scraped against the floor as it leaned closer to the bars. The presence wasn't fully there—more like an echo, faint and distant—but it was enough to disturb the beast's rest. It hated being caught off guard, especially in this confined state.

"Whatever you are," it growled, "you'd better not interfere with what's mine."

FYI: MAJOR SPOILER FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ THE END OF THE JUJUTSU KAISEN MANGA:

Elsewhere:

Far within another part of the seal, he awakened—a man once feared by all and worshiped by some as a god. In his prime, he crushed the strongest of his era, rising to unparalleled heights. Yet even he, the King of Curses, met his end in battle, defeated not by betrayal, but by the combined strength of those who came after him.

Now, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, awakened once more.

"Where am I?" Sukuna muttered, his crimson eyes scanning his surroundings. The space around him stretched endlessly, dim and suffocating. Shallow water rippled beneath his feet, reflecting faint, warped patterns on the damp walls. Shadows clung to every surface, broken only by the occasional glimmer of distorted light. The air was heavy, stale, and devoid of life, pressing down like an unseen weight. "A sewer?" he said, his tone calm, almost dismissive.

The last thing he remembered doing was walking alongside Uraume after his brief exchange with that brat Mahito after dying. The memory was fragmented but clear enough. "The afterlife? Rebirth?" he mused, his voice low as the words hung in the stagnant air. "If so, perhaps this is a strange path to either. And where is Uraume?"

After standing there for a moment, Sukuna began walking. Standing idle wouldn't give him the answers he sought, and he wasn't one to indulge in pointless waiting. His footsteps echoed softly in the stillness, each splash of water rippling outward in the silence. The sewer-like environment felt unnaturally quiet, not just devoid of sound but of something far more fundamental.

He noticed it quickly, stopping mid-stride as his eyes narrowed. The realization crept in like a slow chill. The air itself was dead—empty of the energy he had always known.

"There's no cursed energy here," he murmured, his voice quiet but deliberate. He extended his senses reflexively, searching his surroundings more. Then he checked himself, searching for the familiar immense power that had defined his existence for centuries. His gaze hardened as the truth became clear. "Not just here… but in me. I don't even feel my own."

There was none. No cursed energy flowed within him—not even the faintest trace. It was a void he hadn't experienced in lifetimes, a complete absence of the power that had made him feared as a God to some and a demon to others among men. Sukuna's expression didn't shift, but the faintest flicker of intrigue danced behind his eyes.

"Tch," he muttered softly. "No cursed energy. No techniques. Which means I'm left with only my wits and physical strength." He said out loud, but more to himself as he analyzed his current situation. "How amusing." Despite being stripped of his arsenal, Sukuna couldn't help but feel intrigued—excited even.

He resumed walking, his pace deliberate as his mind worked through the possibilities. The silence seemed to press heavier with every step, but Sukuna remained unfazed. "For all I know this could very well be a death trap," he said aloud, his voice calm and measured. "Though if it is, whoever set it clearly doesn't understand what they've invited." His smirk deepened slightly, though his gaze remained sharp. "A pity. " No matter, it's not like I haven't danced with death before, and having entered its domain once, well…"

The oppressive stillness of the corridor stretched on, the faint sound of water dripping in the distance, the only break in the silence. Yet, Sukuna moved without hesitation. His crimson eyes darted across the shadows, cataloging every detail with precision. As he moved deeper into this strange space, he began to notice the details—details that only served to reinforce how unnatural it all felt.

The walls, if they could even be called that, were an oppressive, sickly shade of yellow. The color seemed to radiate faintly, casting an eerie glow that illuminated the corridor just enough to reveal its twists and turns. The yellow wasn't bright or warm—it was dull, almost sickening, as if the place itself had been stained by something long ago. Sukuna's eyes traced the uneven texture of the walls, noting the streaks and patches of darker shades running along them like veins.

"Even the walls are yellow," he muttered, glancing around. "But it's not piss, or this whole place would stink of it."

The air remained thick and heavy, carrying none of the stench one might expect from such an environment. It was oddly clean, sterile even, which only made the setting more unsettling.

The corridor twisted sharply ahead, forcing Sukuna to turn. Each bend in the path looked nearly identical to the last, the same yellow hue stretching endlessly in both directions. Yet, he pressed forward, his eyes scanned over every surface, noting the faint lines and grooves etched into the walls. The patterns seemed random at first glance, but Sukuna's sharp gaze caught the faintest suggestion of structure beneath the chaos—subtle curves and angles that didn't belong in a mere sewer.

"This place," he murmured, his voice low, "wasn't built for something as mundane as waste." He allowed his fingers to trail briefly along the wall as he walked, the texture rough and uneven beneath his touch. "No… there's more to this."

The water beneath his feet deepened as he moved further in, ripples widening with each step. The air grew heavier, the silence pressing down on him, broken only by the soft splashes of his steps and the faint drip echoing in the distance. Each twist and turn of the corridor looked the same, endlessly monotonous, but Sukuna continued without pause. His pace was steady, deliberate. He wasn't lost; he was simply learning the layout of the space.

"There's something deeper here," he said, his voice low, barely louder than his steps. The faint glow of the yellow walls reflected in the water, casting distorted patterns that twisted as the path curved again. "This place isn't natural… nor is it simple. Whoever designed it wasn't being subtle."

He rounded another corner, and his steps halted abruptly. In front of him stood a massive cage, its bars stretching high into the shadowed ceiling, faintly illuminated by the eerie glow of the walls. A tag hung at the center of the cage, its bold characters stark against the dim light: "Seal."

"A cage?" Sukuna murmured, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. His gaze swept over the structure, every inch of it radiating an oppressive energy. "Interesting. I wonder what's in there—or perhaps, who."

He moved carefully, deliberate in his approach as his senses sharpened. But as he drew closer, he suddenly stopped. His body refused to move. The energy from the cage hit him hard, slamming into him with a force that froze him in place.

"What… is this?" The oppressive energy radiating from the cage wasn't just strong—it was suffocating, filled with raw malevolence and hatred that seemed to dig into Sukuna's very core. He tried to push forward, to will his body to move, but it was no use. His legs refused to obey, his muscles frozen as though bound by invisible chains.

'Fear?' The word echoed in his mind, sharp and unfamiliar. His crimson eyes stayed locked on the towering bars of the cage, his instincts screaming at him to retreat. 'Is that what this is?' The realization felt alien, unwelcome. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this since his battle with Satoru Gojo.

'I feel like I'll die if I take another step… or even breathe wrong.' The sheer intensity of the presence pressed down on him, suffocating and unrelenting. Sukuna's breath came slow and shallow, his mind working furiously to piece together what he was feeling. Whatever was sealed in that cage wasn't just powerful—it was overwhelming, something entirely beyond the ordinary.

Then, movement.

From the darkness within the cage, a crimson eye snapped open, its glow piercing through the shadows like a dagger. Sukuna's breath hitched, his body stiffening further as the weight of the energy grew heavier. The eye shifted, locking onto him with a cold, predatory focus. Slowly, the massive figure inside the cage began to stir. Chains rattled faintly as it moved, the oppressive energy ebbing and flowing like waves crashing against the walls of the corridor.

The beast inside straightened slightly, its hulking form partially illuminated by the faint yellow glow of the surroundings. The creature stepped forward, its claws clicking against the ground with deliberate menace. As it drew closer to the bars, Sukuna could finally see it clearly—a massive fox, its fur blazing like fire and its nine tails swaying ominously behind it. Each step exuded power, raw and ancient, and Sukuna felt his instincts scream louder than ever.

'What… is that thing?' he thought, his mind racing. He had fought legends, crushed countless foes beneath his feet, dominated the Heian Era, tamed Mahoraga, and defeated Satoru Gojo—the strongest Six Eyes user to date—yet this presence was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It wasn't just the power—it was the sheer malevolence, an unrelenting tide of hatred and destruction. His crimson eyes narrowed, his thoughts calculating even as his body remained paralyzed.

'It's not just strong… it's vile. Pure hatred given form.'

The fox's gaze bore into him, its crimson eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Slowly, its lips curled back, revealing sharp, glinting teeth as it spoke.

"To think you'd make it this far," it said, its voice deep and rumbling, carrying a weight that seemed to vibrate through the air itself. "Who are you? Such ominous chakra, but a mere fraction compared to my own."

Sukuna's body tensed further as the words echoed through the corridor. He tried to push back against the oppressive force, but his body refused to respond. His mind churned, weighing his options, searching for a way to regain control. But the sheer presence of the beast kept him pinned in place.

The Nine-Tails tilted its head slightly, its gaze sharp and unyielding. As though sensing Sukuna's plight, the fox's energy shifted slightly, lessening its overwhelming killing intent just enough for Sukuna to breathe a little deeper.

"Pathetic human," the fox growled, its disdain palpable. Its eyes narrowed as it leaned closer to the bars, the oppressive energy still radiating in waves. "Now, answer me."

The Nine-Tails demanded as Sukuna stood before him.

And that's it for now! Chapter 2 will come out soon