Foreknowledge isn't entirely a gift. It was also a suffocating weight.
In the stories from my previous life, individuals who traveled back in time or transmigrated into fictional realities inevitably adopted a messianic complex. Armed with the knowledge of impending tragedies, they would boldly alter the timeline, saving beloved characters and changing the course of history through unyielding heroism.
I was not a hero. I was a parasite clinging to its life, and I was unapologetically committed to my own survival as a top priority.
The signs were everywhere. The atmosphere in Konoha had shifted from the tension of the Third Shinobi World War to an electric anticipation. The caretakers in the orphanage spoke openly of the peace treaties. But more importantly, they spoke of the transition of power.
Hiruzen Sarutobi was stepping down to take responsibility for the catastrophic casualties of the war. Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash, was taking the seat of the Fourth Hokage.
I knew the timeline. From the moment Minato took the hat, a countdown was initiated. In roughly one year, on the night of his child's birth, a masked man would breach the village's security, extract the Nine-Tails from Kushina, and unleash an apocalypse.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, would be slaughtered. Minato and Kushina would die, sealing the beast inside Naruto.
I sat on my thin futon in the dim light of dawn, staring at the callouses forming on my small hands.
I could do nothing to stop it.
The thought was a bitter pill. Could I warn them? How? If a nameless orphan marched up to the Hokage's administration building and claimed that a dead Uchiha was going to summon a demon fox, I would not be hailed as a prophet.
In a village that employed the Yamanaka clan, my adult consciousness and memories of another universe could be discovered in seconds. The Torture and Interrogation force, overseen by Danzo, would dissect my mind. I would spend the rest of my short life strapped to a metal table.
And even if, by some miraculous suspension of disbelief, I was believed and the attack was stopped, what then? Minato lives. The Uchiha clan massacre is potentially averted. The Akatsuki's timeline is completely disrupted.
The canon shatters.
My only advantage in this world was my knowledge of the future. Since I was this weak, I couldn't afford to alter the foundation of this era, the future would become chaotic. I would lose the only map I had to navigate this place.
So, I made the conscious decision. I would let the Fourth Hokage die. I would let the village burn.
The door of the orphanage room slammed open, ripping me from my thoughts.
"Up! Everyone up, faces washed, and lined up in the hall!" The head matron's voice lacked its usual venomous edge. She was actually wearing a kimono rather than her usual work apron. "Today is a village holiday. The rationing board has authorized a full breakfast. We are going to the plaza."
A ripple of confusion, followed by excitement, spread through the orphans. A full breakfast. Leaving the compound. It was unprecedented.
I fell into line. The inauguration ceremony was today.
The "full breakfast" consisted of a steamed bun filled with red bean paste and a boiled egg for each child.
The matrons herded us out of the orphanage and into the streets of Konoha.
I had gone out of the orphanage dozens of times, but I had never seen the village like this. The transformation was quick. The roads between buildings were covered in red and white banners. Paper lanterns were strung between the power lines.
It was a carnival. They were celebrating the end of a war that had exterminated a generation of their youth.
The sheer volume of bodies was overwhelming. Tens of thousands of people were converging toward the massive administrative plaza at the base of the Hokage Mountain. The matrons, realizing they were losing control of the orphans in the tide of the crowd, formed us into a tight shape, linking our hands.
We were stationed into the back of the plaza, a designated area for the civilian wards. It was a terrible lookout position. Surrounded by the adults, my field of vision only captured kneecaps and waistbands. I couldn't see the stage.
I needed to see it. Not out of childish curiosity, but out of need to verify the timeline. I needed to see Minato Namikaze to confirm his identity.
I slipped my hand out of the grip of the toddler next to me. The matrons were distracted, looking toward the front of the plaza. I dropped low, engaging the silent footsteps I had practiced in the forest, and vanished into the crowd.
I navigated the area, slipping past drunken civilians and groups of chatting genin. I moved toward the eastern edge of the plaza, where the stones of the courtyards met the treeline of a small park.
I found a tree with a thick trunk located just behind a row of stalls. Its lowest branch was roughly eight feet off the ground, something impossible for me to leap on.
But I was not an ordinary child anymore.
I stood at the base of the trunk. I pressed my right hand against the bark.
For the past few days, I had been practicing the Leaf Concentration Practice. I could hold a leaf to my forehead for ten minutes without breaking the vacuum of chakra. But applying that principle to the soles of the feet to climb a vertical surface was entirely different.
The forehead was a flat surface. The sole of the foot, however, was way more complex. To walk up a tree, I had to continuously adjust the output of my chakra to match the shifting center of gravity with every step, fighting the pull of Earth's gravity.
I had practiced this in the forest, managing to take one or two clumsy steps before the vacuum shattered and I fell into the dirt. I had never attempted to scale eight vertical feet.
But I needed that right now.
I took a deep breath. I turned my focus inward to the dense pool of chakra in my chest. I engaged the counter-clockwise rotation.
I directed the current downward, pushing it down to the soles of my bare feet.
Emit. Spin. Suction.
I placed my right foot flat against the trunk of the tree. I felt the chakra engage, the rotation creating a powerful localized vacuum against the bark. It held, albeit barely.
I shifted my weight, pulling my left foot off the ground and placing it above the right.
The moment my entire body weight transferred to the vertical plane, the demand on my chakra skyrocketed. Gravity grabbed me, attempting to pull me down. I gritted my teeth, my core trembling as I manually forced more chakra into the rotation to strengthen the vacuum.
I took a third step. Then a fourth.
My thighs burned. The strain of manipulating the chakra output required for the shifting pressure of my footsteps was crazy, especially when I had not fully mastered the Leaf Concentration Practice yet.
Perhaps I could only do this because my spiritual energy was way above normal, letting me calculate things more easily. If I got distracted for a second, the vacuum would break, and I would fall backward.
Five steps. Six.
My fingers brushed the rough bark of the lowest branch. I desperately killed the chakra output to my feet, letting it dissipate, and lunged upward. I caught the branch with both hands, allowing me to pull myself over the wood.
I collapsed against the trunk, my chest heaving and my legs shaking. I had done it.
Once my breathing steadied, I turned my attention to the plaza.
From this elevated point, the scale of this event was clear. A sea of people stretched out toward the base of the Hokage Monument. At the very front were the shinobi. Hundreds of jonin and chunin in standard flak jackets.
And on the roof of the administrative building, standing before the village, were two figures.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, looking incredibly old, wore the white robes of the Hokage. Beside him stood a young man with spiky, bright blonde hair, wearing a white haori adorned with red flames.
Minato Namikaze.
Even from this distance, the aura he projected was fascinating. He looked bright, hopeful, and very sharp.
Hiruzen stepped forward, his voice washing over the waiting crowd. He spoke of the sacrifices of the Third War. He spoke of the Will of Fire, the deeply ingrained philosophical doctrine that convinced people to gladly march into their deaths for the sake of the village.
Then, he removed the wide brimmed red hat bearing the kanji for 'Fire' from his own head and extended it to the blonde man beside him.
Minato took the hat. He placed it on his head and stepped to the edge of the roof, looking down at the tens of thousands of people who now entrusted him with their lives.
The plaza erupted.
It was deafening. Cheers, and the sound of celebration shook the air. Civilians wept openly.
I sat on the branch, my face with a mix of emotions, watching the spectacle unfold.
They were cheering for a dead man. They were celebrating their savior, completely unaware that in one year, his corpse would be lying in a ruined wasteland alongside his wife and hundreds of the very people screaming his name today.
The reality of this world was unforgiving. It did not care about hope, or heroism, or the Will of Fire. It only cared about power.
I had seen enough. The timeline was confirmed. The clock was ticking.
I turned away from the roaring crowd and began to maneuver my way down the tree.
I dropped, landing softly in the dirt of the park. I dusted off my pants, preparing to go back into the edges of the crowd and locate the orphanage group before my absence was noted.
As I turned the corner of the tree trunk, I stopped dead.
Standing five feet away, was another child.
He was exactly my height, meaning he was roughly my age. He wore a dark blue shirt, and his dark hair framed a pale face.
But it was his eyes that froze me.
They were obsidian black, and held a depth that no four-year-old should possess. There was no joy in them, no childish excitement for the fireworks or the new Hokage.
He was exactly like in the show.
Itachi Uchiha.
We stood there in the quiet shade. He looked at my ragged clothes, and then up to my eyes.
I did not flinch. I did not offer a smile, nor did I attempt to speak. I simply met his gaze, acknowledging his presence.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, Itachi blinked. He turned his head, breaking the connection, and went seamlessly back into the shadows of the park.
I let out a slow breath, my heart beating faster.
The prodigy of the Uchiha. Encountering him was a reminder of the monsters that walked these streets.
I didn't linger. I turned and walked back toward the civilian partition, my mind clear.
The inauguration was over. The era of the Fourth had begun.