Prologue: The Grinning Shadow of Konoha
Konoha glowed under a crimson dusk, its streets alive with the clatter of vendors and the laughter of shinobi unwinding after missions. Yet beyond the bustle, in the quiet alleys where graves stood sentinel, a boy named Naruto Uzumaki wove a darker thread. In public, he was a figure of unsettling charm, yellow-grayish hair flowing long, a single braid dangling on the right side, framing chartreuse phosphorescent eyes that gleamed beneath his bangs. A jagged scar slashed across his face, neck, and left pinky, with more hidden beneath his clothes, whispering of battles no child should know. His black robe, tattered yet regal, swirled around him, topped by a crooked kasa hat that cast shadows over his sly grin. A gray scarf strapped across his chest, knotted at the hips, swayed like a specter's trail, while black earrings, an emerald ring, prayer beads, and a chain of seven mourning lockets—one engraved "13 July 1866, Cloudia P.," a cryptic relic, clinked softly at his hip. Black fingernails and that high, eerie giggle made even seasoned ninja pause. To Konoha, he was the village oddity, a prankster orphan marked by the Nine-Tails' curse. Beneath it all, though, stirred a soul older than the village itself, laced with memories of coffins and death's defiance.
Naruto's childhood was a dance of isolation and manipulation. Sealed with the Nine-Tails at birth, his whisker-marked face drew venom from villagers, whispers of "demon" followed him like shadows. Unlike the boy who'd crave their love, this Naruto fed on their fear. By five, he roamed Konoha's edges, yellow-grayish locks catching moonlight, carving skeletal grins into fences,not for attention, but to watch shopkeepers shudder. His giggles, sharp and unnatural, rang through the night, like a man who'd seen souls fray. At six, he haunted the cemetery, kneeling by tombstones, murmuring, "Guests shouldn't be so still." The Third Hokage, observing from his tower, saw a grieving child, not the cold intellect plotting beneath that crooked hat. Naruto's mind churned with designs no boy should hold, each step a move in a game only he understood.
The Ninja Academy, starting at seven, was his stage to unsettle. Enrolled among peers like Sakura and Sasuke, Naruto was a walking enigma, disruptive, elusive, and wrong. He'd slouch in class, doodling scythes/skulls with thorny vines across his papers, smirking when Iruka confiscated them. During breaks, he'd perch on the academy roof, yellow-grayish hair swaying, tossing morbid quips: "Ever wonder what's left when your chakra runs out?" Sakura flinched, muttering "freak," while Kiba steered clear, unnerved by his giggles. Sasuke alone gazed at him, his instincts prickling, Naruto's grin held too much knowing. In sparring, he dodged with eerie grace, never striking back, as if bored by childish taijutsu. Teachers scolded his absence from team drills, unaware he'd slip out the academy to see medic tents, watching bodies carted off, his lockets clinking as he counted losses. History lessons on the Great Wars bored him; he'd hum softly, fingers tracing his scarf, like he'd seen those battles himself. Once, when Mizuki lectured on fallen heroes, Naruto giggled, whispering, "Heroes make the best guests," loud enough for Hinata to pale beside him. Iruka chalked it up to attention-seeking, blind to the Reaper's shadow in his student.
At eight, Naruto's past life clawed free. After a prank, smearing ash across the academy's gate, signed with a skull, he hid in a temple, clutching a stolen prayer bead. Sleep came, and the world melted. A vision swallowed him: silver hair, chartreuse eyes flaring, a skeletal scythe slicing through memories like silk. Coffins stretched endless, lockets gleamed with names like "Cloudia P.," and corpses rose at his touch, eyes empty yet crawling. A voice, his, but ancient, laughed, "Life's a jest if you outplay death." He woke, beads cutting his palm, eyes glowing phosphorescent for a breath. Undertaker's soul, woven into his core, spoke: he wasn't just Naruto. He was a Grim Reaper reborn, a deserter who'd mocked death's laws.
The truth electrified him. Life's meaning wasn't friendship or Hokage titles, it was cheating fate, preserving what he cherished. The Nine-Tails' chakra surged, a feral hymn to his purpose. Konoha's endless wars, its graves piling high, were pointless; he'd rewrite existence, starting with the dead. But a boy needed a mask, a way to cradle death unseen. Kaito, the village undertaker, was his key, a grizzled drunk who prepared fallen shinobi, forgotten by all but the grieving.
At nine, Naruto found Kaito's shop, a crumbling shack by the graveyard, heavy with incense and despair. Kaito, scarred by his son's death in the Third War, drowned in sake and grudges. Naruto saw a tool. He crafted a disguise for his visits: a black-haired boy, unremarkable and plain, with average features that drew no second glances. His clothes mixed white and blac, a loose white tunic stained faintly with ash, paired with black pants, practical yet somber, like a mourner's shroud. No scars, no glowing eyes, no lockets; just a forgettable kid, blending into Konoha's crowds. Slipping into the shop, he offered biscuits swiped from a stall, voice soft but laced with Undertaker's charm: "Heard you fix up guests, ojisan." Kaito, starved for kindness, chuckled at the "quiet boy," blind to the predator beneath. Naruto spun stories of wandering the village, making Kaito laugh, then pried gently, how did bodies keep secrets? Kaito, loose-lipped, shared his trade: embalming, stitching, hiding battle's marks.
By ten, Naruto wove his trap. One night, as Kaito slumped over his bottle, Naruto, still disguised, leaned close, voice dropping to a Reaper's whisper: "What if your son could walk again?" Kaito stiffened, eyes desperate. Naruto spun a lie, a "jutsu" from a lost scroll, one to stir the dead. As proof, he manipulated a rat's Cinematic Record, its corpse twitching, eyes blank but moving. "Help me, and he's yours," Naruto said, voice lilting like Undertaker's giggle. Kaito, broken, pledged himself, bound by hope's cruel hook.
The shift was subtle. Naruto, as the black-haired boy, became Kaito's aide, hauling bodies, learning mortician arts, sealing wounds, masking decay. Alone, he twisted those skills, crafting Bizarre Dolls that lurched and fell, soulless shells. Kaito, shaking, buried the failures, clinging to Naruto's vow. Naruto's hands never wavered, black fingernails, hidden in gloves for his disguise, moved with Undertaker's precision, slicing flesh like a Reaper's scythe. He used Kaito's ties to steal corpses from battlefields, pinning it on rogues. The old man crumbled; Naruto thrived.
By twelve, Naruto owned the shop. Kaito, a ghost of himself, muttered over sake while Naruto, reshaped their lair.
Chapter 1: Shadows of Team 7
The sun beat down on Konoha, its warmth barely touching the shadowed corners where Naruto Uzumaki thrived. Fresh from an academy graduation he'd scraped through, passing every test by the skin of his teeth, his yellow-grayish hair a tangled mess under his crooked kasa hat, he stood apart, a figure both familiar and alien. To the village, he was the Nine-Tails' vessel, a prankster too strange to trust. Beneath it all, though, Naruto hid his mortician's disguise.
Naruto Uzumaki, Sasuke Uchiha, and Sakura Haruno were assigned to Team 7, under the elusive Kakashi Hatake. Sasuke, the brooding prodigy, carried the weight of his clan's ruin. Sakura, sharp and determined, clung to her crush on Sasuke while striving to prove herself. Naruto, though, was the wildcard, his academy performance mediocre, his demeanor unsettling. Whispers followed him: how had a kid who doodled skulls and skipped spars made genin? Iruka had pushed for him, citing "potential," but even he frowned at Naruto's giggles during the ceremony, the lockets at his hip glinting like omens.
--
Team 7 waited for their sensei, hours dragging. Naruto sprawled on his deck, yellow-grayish hair fanned out, tossing a pencil and catching it with a giggle that grated like nails on slate. He hummed a tune too mournful for a twelve-year-old. Sasuke's dark eyes narrowed each time Naruto's laughter spiked. Sakura's patience frayed with every chuckle.
"Cut it out, Naruto," Sakura snapped, pink hair bouncing as she whirled on him. "You're driving us crazy!"
Sasuke's scowl deepened. "Hn. For once, she's right. Shut up."
Naruto tilted his head, hat casting a shadow over his scarred face. His grin widened, sharp and unsettling, eyes glinting green for a heartbeat. "Oh? Bored already?" He sat up, beads rattling, and clapped his hands like a showman. "Tell you what! Each of you, give me a joke. If they're funny, I'll zip it. If not…" He giggled, high and jagged, letting the threat hang. "I'll keep having fun."
Sakura groaned, rubbing her temples. "You're impossible."
Fine, she'd go first. "Okay, uh… Why did the kunai go to therapy? It had too many 'pointed' arguments!" She forced a smile, hoping for a laugh.
Naruto blinked, then snorted, not with amusement but pity. "Oof, Sakura-chan. That's like a shuriken missing the target, by a mile." He giggled again, louder, rolling onto his back. "Try harder next time!"
Sakura's face reddened, fists clenching. "You little, ugh, Sasuke, you deal with him!"
Sasuke's glare could've cut stone. He didn't want to play Naruto's game, but the giggling was worse than enemy taunts. "Fine," he muttered, voice low. "Why don't ninja use lanterns? Because the dark's their only friend." His tone was flat, eyes flicking to Naruto, daring him to mock it.
Naruto paused, tapping his chin, lockets swaying. "Hmm… edgy, Sasuke-kun. Fits you." He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Not funny, though. More like a funeral poem. Guess I keep going!" He burst into another peal of giggles, tossing his pencil high and catching it with a flourish.
Sakura threw her hands up. "This is pointless!" Sasuke just turned away, muttering under his breath. Naruto's laughter rolled on, a chilling reminder that their teammate was no ordinary genin.
--
Three hours later, a puff of smoke signaled Kakashi's arrival. He strolled in, silver hair tilted, mask hiding all but one bored eye. Sakura exploded instantly, stomping forward. "Kakashi-sensei, you're late! Three hours! What's your excuse this time?"
Sasuke's scowl sharpened, arms still crossed, waiting for the inevitable dodge. Naruto, sprawled again, propped himself on one elbow, scarf pooling around him. "Maybe he got stuck in a coffin shop!" he called, giggling, his lockets glinting as he winked at Kakashi.
Kakashi's visible eye crinkled, unfazed. "Well, you see, I was helping an old lady carry her groceries across the village. She was very insistent on thanking me properly." His tone was light, practiced, the lie as smooth as ever.
Sakura groaned, "That's ridiculous!" Sasuke's "hn" dripped with disdain. Naruto just laughed, rolling to his feet, beads clacking. "Good one, sensei! Bet she paid in biscuits!" Kakashi didn't reply, but his gaze lingered on Naruto a fraction longer, noting the scars, the eerie ease.
--
The team relocated to the academy rooftop, the village sprawling below like a living map. Kakashi leaned against the railing, casual but commanding, as he prompted introductions. "Let's get to know each other. Name, likes, dislikes, hobbies, dreams. I'll start." He paused, eye half-lidded. "Kakashi Hatake. That's all you need. The rest? Not your business."
Sakura blinked, frustrated but too intimidated to push. Sasuke went next, voice cold. "Sasuke Uchiha. I like training. I dislike weakness. My hobby is getting stronger. My dream… isn't a dream. It's revenge." His eyes burned, fixed on some distant point.
Sakura hesitated, then perked up. "I'm Sakura Haruno! I like studying and, um, certain people." She glanced at Sasuke, blushing. "I dislike loudmouths." A pointed look at Naruto. "My hobby's reading, and my dream is to be a great kunoichi!"
Naruto's turn came last. He stood, hat tilted back, yellow-grayish hair catching the breeze. His grin was too wide, scars stark against his skin. "Naruto Uzumaki," he said, voice lilting. "I like jokes and giggles. Dislikes? None,everything's a laugh!" He chuckled, lockets swaying. "Hobbies? Annoying others. Keeps things lively. Dreams…" His eyes gleamed, phosphorescent for a split second. "To be eternally with my friends." The words hung heavy, cheerful yet chilling, like a promise carved in bone.
Kakashi's eye narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, filing away the oddity. Sakura shivered despite the heat, and Sasuke's fingers twitched, sensing a truth he couldn't name.
--
Kakashi's next words hit like a kunai. "You're not genin yet." He let the shock settle, Sakura's gasp, Sasuke's clenched jaw, before continuing. "There's one more test. Pass, and you're official. Fail, and you're back to the academy, or out entirely."
Sakura's hand shot up. "But we graduated! That's not fair!"
"Hn. What's the test?" Sasuke demanded, voice low but urgent.
Kakashi's eye crinkled, almost amused. "Here's the twist: my colleagues and I decided to spice things up. My colleague will test you guys, and I'll handle theirs." He paused, letting it sink in. "You'll meet your examiner tomorrow. Training Ground 10, dawn. Don't be late." With a lazy wave, he vanished in smoke, leaving Team 7 reeling.
Sakura clutched her hair. "Another test? And not even with Kakashi-sensei? This is insane!" Sasuke said nothing, but his eyes burned, calculating. Naruto giggled softly, twirling a prayer bead between his fingers. "Sounds like fun," he murmured, scarf swaying as he turned away, his grin a secret no one could crack.
--
Dawn broke over Training Ground 10, a clearing ringed by dense trees, the air thick with morning dew. Team 7 arrived, tense but ready, Sasuke's kunai pouch adjusted, Sakura's stance firm, Naruto lounging against a stump, hat tilted low, humming as his lockets glinted. Their examiner awaited: Asuma Sarutobi, cigarette dangling, his trench knives strapped tight. His easy grin didn't hide the steel in his eyes.
"Yo, Team 7," Asuma said, exhaling smoke. "I'm your test proctor. Kakashi's off playing with team 8, so you're stuck with me." He flicked his cigarette, sizing them up. "Here's the deal: protect the item." He pulled a dummy scroll from his vest, its red wax seal gleaming. "I'm coming for it. You hold me off for one hour without losing it. Simple, right?"
Sasuke stepped forward, hand outstretched. Asuma tossed the scroll, and Sasuke caught it smoothly, slipping it into his pouch with a nod. Sakura squared her shoulders, mind racing with strategies. Naruto tilted his head, giggling. "Ooh, a game of keep-away. My favorite." His tone was playful, but his eyes flicked to Asuma's knives, calculating.
Asuma stubbed out his cigarette, grin widening. "One last thing: I'll give you a ten-minute headstart. Use it wisely." He turned, strolling toward the trees, smoke trailing behind. "Clock's ticking."
Sasuke's gaze hardened, already scanning the terrain. Sakura bit her lip, glancing between her teammates. Naruto stood, stretching, his scarf swaying like a ghost's shroud. "Better run, huh?" he said, giggling, as his lockets clinked with every step.