Location — 雨隠れ{Amegakure}
The rain never stopped in Amegakure. It was a constant lullaby, a rhythmic percussion of droplets striking stone and steel, soaked into the daily lives of the villagers until it became indistinguishable from silence. The air was thick with moisture, almost oppressive, yet oddly comforting to those who had long since adapted to it. But this story wasn't about them.
A solitary figure moved through the misty, rain-drenched streets—a tall and slender young man whose footsteps echoed with an unnatural presence, a weight that pressed on reality itself. For a moment, even the rain seemed to quiet as he passed, like loyal subjects bowing in reverence before their sovereign. No—perhaps it was more accurate to say that the world itself adjusted to his existence, as if chaos had been made to step aside in the wake of a king's arrival.
His steps were paradoxically loud and silent—audible to the ear, yet tranquil to the soul. As if nature itself had taken human shape and now walked among mortals.
His appearance was striking: pale skin, sharp blue eyes that shimmered with depth, and long, tea-green hair tied in a low ponytail, with shorter strands elegantly framing his face. He wore a white mid-sleeve shirt over a black undershirt, beige skinny pants tucked into lime-green slip-on shoes, and around his waist, a silver chain with a cube-shaped ornament dangling near his left hip. A black-and-white bracelet adorned his right wrist, while a rectangular yellow tri-bracelet clung to the left. Around his neck hung a sleek pendant, midnight blue outlined with black.
But the most distinct feature was his hat—monochrome in color, its black brim casting a slight shadow over his eyes. Everything about him felt… out of place. Too pristine. Too deliberate. A noble misplaced in a world of ruin.
And then there was the rain—it refused to touch him.
A closer inspection would reveal the impossible: the droplets slowed, almost to a halt, as they neared him, before vanishing entirely—evaporating mid-air as if the laws of the world bent themselves in his presence. As though the world itself declared, "He shall not be touched."
Then, in a voice calm and solemn, he spoke—gazing not at something, but through it, at a lower layer of reality, as though his perception obeyed different laws.
「I believe he should be somewhere around here.」
His words slipped out quickly, matter-of-fact. He resumed walking, his gaze fixed forward. After a few more steps, he spoke again—not to anyone present, but to the very fabric of reality.
'System. Open status window.'
Immediately, a shimmering blue holographic interface appeared in his vision—shifting to a muted silver hue.
"Name: Kaiser Natural
Alias: N
Age: 20
Strength: ??????
Endurance: ??????
Agility: ??????
Energy: ??????
Abilities
Pokémon Summoning, Child of Nature, Swara Punch, Analysis, Mystic Eyes of Death Perception (Root), Player's Body, Laws (Shinza Banshō)"
He looked upon the display with quiet satisfaction. Of course, by the absurd standards of worlds like Shinza Banshō, he would barely register—an ant in a cosmos of gods. In terms of system metrics, he was barely Level 2. Which wasn't terrible… He could be Level 1, stuck at the same tier as something like Rot Spinne.
He shook his head, dispelling the idle thought.
Looking ahead, he spotted a steep rocky slope—around a 60° incline. Without hesitation, he stepped onto it, the smooth surface offering little grip. His pace was slow but steady.
Then he paused.
There, partway up the incline, was a small, fragile figure. A child, cloaked in a tattered yellow raincoat, soiled and fraying at the edges. Red hair clung to his forehead, plastered by moisture. Though trying his best to remain standing, his body trembled from exhaustion. At his side, a tiny brown dog followed faithfully, tongue lolling from its mouth, just as worn down.
'This must be when he first meets Konan…' N mused softly, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. He knew the fate that awaited Nagato. Even if Boruto had revealed that the future wasn't fixed—thus salvaging some of Naruto's ending—he couldn't help but feel pity for the boy.
But sympathy had limits. He was, after all, a vendor—and all he could afford was one free sample.
The boy's knees buckled, giving way. His small body began to collapse—but before he could hit the ground, two arms caught him mid-fall. N's right arm wrapped firmly across the boy's shoulders; his left hand cradled under the child's knees. In one fluid motion, N lifted him into a secure hold.
His gaze lowered, and his eyes scanned the boy as a new window appeared.
"Nagato Uzumaki
Age: 7
Strength: O
Endurance: O
Agility: O
Chakra: J+
Abilities:
Rinnegan, 5 Chakra Nature Transformations, Yin, Yang, Chakra Control
Potential: J++"
N wasn't surprised. A J++ rating for potential was impressive for this world—Super Kage tier at least—but in his terms, it was little more than a child's plaything. Most Kage-level beings in this system hovered around K+ or K++, which explained why Madara could toy with five of them at once—though, in N's opinion, Edo Tensei gave him an unfair edge.
As for the child's current stats? Rank O across the board. It was to be expected—Nagato was a starving, malnourished orphan. The original work never showed it in detail, but N could read between the lines.
「How long are you planning to stand there?」
He turned his head, addressing a young girl who stood nearby. She held a dry piece of bread in one hand and a red oil-paper umbrella in the other. Her eyes were wide with shock.
Konan had been wandering close to the hideout she shared with Yahiko when she saw Nagato struggling. She had been about to approach him—bread in hand—when the man appeared, seemingly from thin air, and caught the collapsing child.
What unsettled her wasn't just his sudden entrance—she hadn't sensed him at all. It was the fact that he wasn't wet. Not a single drop clung to his clothes. And those clothes—so strange, so unlike anything a shinobi wore. No forehead protector. No insignia.
When his words reached her ears—even through the steady patter of rain—she hesitated. There was something… calm about him. Gentle. But Konan knew better. This world was cruel. A man with no headband might still hide dark intentions. Even if he was helping Nagato, who was to say it wasn't just a façade?
Perceiving her hesitation, the man spoke again.
「You were coming to help this boy too, right? I saw him a few minutes ago and figured I'd lend a hand.」
His voice was tranquil, patient. As he walked toward her—still cradling Nagato with meticulous care—Konan instinctively stepped closer. The aura around him was unlike anything she'd felt before—serene, without malice.
She nodded slowly.
"Follow me," she said softly.
Nagato, still conscious, gazed up at the man holding him. There was kindness in his expression—a warmth that seemed to wrap around him like a blanket. His grief, the ache of his parents' deaths, the emptiness… all of it seemed to dull, just slightly, under the presence of this stranger.
He tilted his head, spotting his dog—Chibi—trotting along beside them. The pup looked tired but unharmed. That alone eased Nagato's mind.
As they approached the shelter—a small cave repurposed into a base—another child appeared, sprinting toward Konan with excitement. He was younger than the other two, with short, spiky orange hair and an energetic grin.
「Konan! You brought visitors? Who are they?」
This was Yahiko—one of the original founders of Akatsuki, destined to lead and die for it.
「Forgive my intrusion. You may call me N.」
The green-haired man spoke not only to Yahiko, but to the trio before him. He wanted them to remember the name—for it would matter, someday.
The children exchanged puzzled looks. "N" wasn't much of a name—just a single letter.
As they entered the shelter, the rain no longer fell on them. The cavern was small, but dry. Inside, amidst scattered crates, N gently lowered Nagato to the ground and sat him upright.
Konan handed the bread to the red-haired boy. Without hesitation, Nagato broke it in half and gave a piece to Chibi. The dog eagerly accepted, tail wagging faintly.
N watched in silence as the boy devoured the dry bread. Clearly, he hadn't eaten in days. It was likely his Uzumaki physiology alone that kept him alive. N muttered aloud, his voice drifting like a sigh:
"If only I had someone to buy my wares…"
The remark hung in the air like an afterthought—but it was intentional. He wanted to stir their curiosity.
He sat on a nearby crate, nestled among several others. Stretching his limbs, he let out a small yawn. His long green hair flowed like vines in the breeze.
「Sir… are you a merchant?」
Yahiko asked, stepping forward with wide eyes. He saw nothing resembling merchandise. No bags, no wares. Just an enigmatic man who claimed to sell something.
N smiled faintly. "Of course. Here—let me offer you a free sample."
He extended his right hand slowly, placing two fingers gently on Yahiko's forehead.
In that instant, something flowed into Yahiko—an understanding, a vision, knowledge not born from learning, but from inheritance. His mind filled with clarity and sensation, images and patterns, truths beyond comprehension settling into his very cells.
"Advanced Observation Haki Granted!"
A system notification pulsed within N's mind. He withdrew his hand casually.
Yahiko stood frozen, eyes wide, heart racing. Konan hurried to his side.
The term "free sample" had a special meaning. It was a system function—one-time use per person, strictly limited to items or powers not exceeding H+ in tier. In essence, it allowed N to gift anything up to planetary scale… once.
Yes, the system was generous. Almost as much as its master.
〔I remain neutral in any One Piece vs. Naruto debate. I place them on the same level. If you disagree, I hope it doesn't detract from your experience. For debates, I only engage with power-scaling in the Hoyoverse, Nasuverse, and especially Shinza.〕
Even before Yahiko could give voice to the question burning beneath his tongue—What was that?—the answer had already been born in the fabric of space itself, whispered forth by a voice that dissolved uncertainty like salt in still waters.
N moved first. His body rose with slow, fluid grace—like a dragon unfurling its wings at the dawn of a godless world.
「I merely gave you a taste of the impossible.」
Soft words. But not soft like the breeze—soft like eternity. They didn't sound so much as resound, vibrating not in the air but through the flesh, the bone, the soul. Every syllable a temple. Every pause a shrine where questions knelt in reverence.
And Yahiko accepted it.
Not out of submission. Not out of ignorance.
But because it made sense. Somehow, it made sense.
The world had shifted.
His soul had tasted a drop from the spring of omniscience.
N's aura wasn't gentle because it was weak. It was gentle like a storm that chooses not to destroy. Standing before him, even the most primal certainties seemed to melt into tenderness.
Yahiko smiled.
A smile so pure it made the world feel new again.
With half-lidded eyes, he turned to his friend.
「Konan! Try to hit me!」
It sounded like a child's game, but there was something in it—something deeper. An echo of faith. A flare of unshakable conviction.
Konan froze, puzzled.
「W-What do you mean, all of a sudd—」
「Just do it!」
He cut her off—not with anger, but with a kind of quiet urgency that demanded no explanation. His voice didn't plead. It pulled—like a gentle vortex drawing everything toward a singular truth.
Konan hesitated… but only for a heartbeat.
Then she nodded, wordless, a flicker of anticipation igniting in her chest.
She raised her right hand. The rain still clung to her skin, tracing the contours of her fingers as if the world itself were sculpting the gesture.
And then—she struck.
Quick. Direct. A slap toward his cheek, carried on the wind of doubt and care.
But no sound came.
In the final moment—the breath before impact—Yahiko dipped.
He dodged.
Not from instinct.
Not by luck.
But because he knew.
The world had become glass. And he could see the fractures before they formed.
Konan's eyes widened. A spark. A rupture in reality.
「Yahiko…?」
She whispered.
But there was no answer. Only another smile.
She tried again—harder this time. Faster.
Slaps. Kicks.
Rain swirled around them like an orchestra conducted by invisible gods.
And Yahiko danced.
Around every blow.
With impossible grace.
With the precision of a cosmic clockmaker.
It was as if reality were a book he'd already read.
His feet slid effortlessly across the wet stone. His body folded in angles that unraveled inevitability.
Every attempt missed. And with each miss, Konan's eyes opened wider—until they were no longer eyes, but mirrors reflecting the impossible.
She couldn't touch him.
Eventually, she stopped.
So did he.
Their bodies stilled as if completing a sacred dance.
Yahiko opened his eyes.
And what lay in them…
Was not light.
Was not pride.
It was something far more dangerous:
Unrestrained hope.
He turned to face N.
The man hadn't moved—still seated, elbows resting on knees, fingers loosely intertwined. Watching, not like a teacher, but like a gardener witnessing the bloom of a rare flower.
His smile was faint. Almost nonexistent.
But Yahiko…
Yahiko was smiling like someone who had just been reborn.
A wide, almost absurd smile.
Yet untouched by arrogance.
Unshielded. Pure.
A smile that screamed to the world: "I can! I will! I've seen it!"
As though his body could no longer contain the soul erupting within.
And N, seeing it—that flickering, reckless, innocent flame burning in the boy's eyes—felt something shift inside his chest.
A flicker.
A whisper.
A doubt.
'Maybe… maybe I can change this.'
The thought came and went, like a lone comet tracing the skies of a doomed world.
He knew well: the timeline that crushed these three beneath the gears of fate had already been carved—etched into the bones of the world, locked behind the curtains of history.
But what if…?
What if that flicker was real?
What if that exaggerated, childish, impossible smile…
was the crack through which destiny might bleed?
N let none of it show. His expression didn't waver. His eyes didn't betray the storm behind them.
But deep within him, something warmed.
A piece of his hollow core shifted.
A warmth almost too faint to name.
And yet—for someone like him…
That was enough to be called a miracle.
〔This book will have few words per chapter. Around 1,000 to 3,000 words per chapter.〕