Naruto darted across the rooftops, moving like a shadow against the early morning light. The wind tugged at his hood, teasing strands of white and orange-tipped hair as he navigated the village skyline with ease. A brief glint of light flashed from the hilts of the two black chokutō strapped in an X-shape at the base of his back. A testament to his and Vision's combined genius, the twin blades had taken three years to perfect. More than just swords, they were deadly works of art—crafted to shift into whips when infused with elemental chakra, capable of catching an enemy off guard with devastating precision.
With each step, Naruto's body flickered in and out of existence, his speed rendering him a blur to any casual observer. His eyes momentarily shifted, cycling through a mesmerizing spectrum of cerulean blue, icy white, blood red, and deep violet. Three tomoe spun lazily in each eye, fractured like the shards of a broken mirror. The sight never failed to amuse him.
Sasuke—or Sasgay, as Naruto liked to call him—had been strutting around like he was Kami's gift to the shinobi world for being able to unlock his Sharingan, basking in the admiration of their classmates. Pathetic. While the Uchiha basked in his own self-importance, Naruto had not only unlocked but mastered his own dojutsu. Unlike the standard Sharingan, his was something entirely different. A fusion of the Sharingan and the Six Eyes, woven together through Vision's intellect and the Reality Stone's influence.
The Mutengan.
Stronger than the original Sharingan. More refined. And best of all? No annoying downsides.
A sharp chuckle escaped his lips as he landed effortlessly on the final rooftop, his destination in sight.
Let's see how this day plays out.
Naruto walked to the edge of the building, glancing up at the Shinobi Academy before him. The street separating the Academy from the rest of the neighborhood was eerily quiet, the usual morning chatter absent as most students had already arrived.
With a sigh, he plopped down on the edge of the rooftop, his legs dangling freely over the side. Stretching out his hand, palm facing forward, he summoned a pulse of the Space Stone's power. The air shimmered, rippling like water before a small void silently tore open before him. Reaching inside, he rummaged around before pulling out a couple of sandwiches and a soft drink—his prize from the kitchen raid this morning, snatched before the chefs could catch him.
Unwrapping the sandwich, he took a bite, chewing lazily as his sharp eyes drifted toward the Academy's imposing structure. The golden rays of the morning sun slammed into the building's stone walls, bathing it in a warm glow—a deception. Because if there was one thing Naruto knew for certain, it was that this place wasn't as great as everyone made it out to be.
From his perspective, the Shinobi Academy was a joke. A glorified daycare for the next generation of Konoha's elite, where clan heirs strutted around like they were already ANBU operatives, basking in the empty praise of their instructors. It was supposed to forge warriors—true shinobi capable of surviving the brutal world beyond the village walls. Instead, it had become a place where nepotism thrived, and real talent was ignored in favor of family names and inherited status.
The building itself was impressive, he'd admit that much—traditional wood and stone architecture, a sloping roof, and the Konoha insignia proudly displayed above the entrance like a badge of honor. It carried an air of authority and history, a place meant to shape the next generation of protectors.
But to Naruto?
It was a cage.
A place where he had to dull his edges, play the fool, and let people believe he was nothing more than a prankster with no real talent. It was suffocating, forcing him to pretend while he honed his true abilities in secret.
Inside, the classrooms were bland and uninspiring, lined with wooden desks that were either too small or covered in years' worth of scratch marks and doodles. The blackboards were filled with oversimplified lessons, catering to students who would never have to fight for survival because their families had already secured their futures. The textbooks? Outdated—barely scratching the surface of what it truly meant to be a shinobi.
Hell, they hadn't even taught them how to walk on walls yet!
Outside, the training grounds stretched out in an open field, complete with wooden dummies and an obstacle course that was rarely ever used to its full potential. It was meant to prepare students for combat, but in reality, it was just another playground for the clan heirs to flaunt their superiority, while civilian-born students struggled to keep up.
The only things Naruto genuinely respected about the Academy were his friends—Shikamaru, Choji—and Iruka-sensei. Unlike the other instructors who either ignored him or sneered at him, Iruka treated him the same as everyone else. He didn't play favorites, didn't look at Naruto with pity or disdain—and that, more than anything, earned Naruto's loyalty.
But beyond that?
The Shinobi Academy was a waste of time.
And soon, he'd finally be free of it.
✨🟣🔵🟢🟡🔴🟠✨
An hour later, the street below came alive as students and their parents arrived at the Academy. Laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the occasional sound of hurried footsteps and calls of encouragement from doting mothers and fathers.
Naruto stood, stretching lazily before casting one last glance at the growing crowd. His gaze flicked toward the Academy's rooftop. With a simple step forward, he vanished—only to reappear on the rooftop railing, balanced effortlessly. His black haori billowed in the morning breeze, a stark contrast to the brightness of the village below.
A sudden spike in noise drew his attention back to the street. His eyes narrowed as he spotted his younger siblings—Menma and Mito—parading through the crowd, basking in the attention like pampered royalty. Behind them, his so-called parents followed, smiling and waving to the onlookers as if they were some perfect, loving family.
Naruto scoffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. What a joke.
A thought was all it took for the nano-fabric wrapped around his lower face to activate, concealing his identity—not that anyone would have recognized him anyway.
A golden shimmer flickered beside him as Vision materialized, his form solidifying into his usual ANBU attire. Over the years, the AI had adapted to his human form, moving with effortless grace.
"Are you continuing with your plan, Champ?" Vision's voice was its usual formal self, yet the affection beneath his words was unmistakable.
Naruto nodded, folding his arms over his chest as his Mutengan flared to life, its fractured, multicolored hues reflecting in the morning light. "Yeah. I don't need them anymore. I want to forge my own path, free from their shadows. I refuse to be just 'Menma and Mito's older brother.'"
He smirked bitterly. "Besides, they made it easy for me when they unconsciously disowned me last year."
Vision arched an eyebrow. "They didn't."
"Not formally," Naruto admitted, his smirk twisting into something colder. "But naming Mito and Menma as the heirs to the Uzumaki and Namikaze clans made their intentions pretty damn clear—even though I'm the eldest."
His fists clenched as he recalled that night—the night when everything changed.
On their 13th birthday, his family actually remembered him for once. He had been forced to join them for breakfast—a rare occurrence. At first, Naruto had been warily hopeful, thinking maybe, just maybe, things would be different. That hope shattered the moment he saw their gifts.
Mito and Menma were lavished with expensive weapons, custom-made armor, and scrolls filled with advanced techniques. The kind of things that future clan heads would receive.
And him?
Books. Scrolls on basic taijutsu and beginner-level chakra exercises.
Naruto had wanted to throw their so-called gifts back in their faces. Instead, he swallowed the bitter lump in his throat, clenching his teeth as his parents explained, in that ever-so-patronizing tone, that the books were meant to "help improve his dismal performance at the Academy."
Maybe they meant well. Maybe. But at that moment, Naruto was furious.
Was he jealous? A little. But more than anything, he was just tired.
After breakfast, he had left without a word, allowing his siblings to do what they always did—command attention and bask in the spotlight.
That night, the village threw a massive party in their honor. Mito and Menma, the "Heroes of Konoha," were celebrated like royalty, their names praised, their futures glorified. The courtyard was packed with clan heads, heirs, and high-ranking shinobi, all gathered around long tables laden with gifts and food for the two jinchūriki.
Naruto, meanwhile, sat in the shadows, leaning against a tree, unseen and unmissed.
Then, the final blow came.
His father—the previous Fourth Hokage, the so-called Greatest Shinobi of His Time, now Jonin—raised his glass in a toast. He praised Menma and Mito, and spoke of their bright futures, of the strength they would bring to Konoha.
Naruto's name was thrown in as an afterthought. A passing mention. A formality.
The clan heads barely reacted.
His uncle, Hando Namikaze, had clenched his jaw at Naruto's empty birthday wishes, his expression unreadable. But when Minato and Kushina officially named Mito and Menma as the heirs to the Uzumaki and Namikaze clans, the decision was sealed.
Naruto fled.
Tears burned his eyes—much to his humiliation—as he disappeared into the night. He hated them at that moment. Hated them so much. But later? Later, he saw it for what it was—a blessing in disguise. The last chain tying him to them had been severed.
The next morning, his parents sought him out, explaining their reasoning in carefully chosen words. "It's for Konoha's future," they said. "With both jinchūriki as clan heads, it will strengthen ties with the other clans."
Naruto faked acceptance, nodding as if he understood, as if he cared. After all, what else was there to say? And yet, his uncle wouldn't let it go, constantly rubbing his disownment in his face like a cruel joke. As if Naruto needed the reminder.
Then, just when he thought he'd exhausted all his anger, he learned something else. Menma and Mito had received summoning contracts as gifts. Menma would be a Toad Summoner. Mito would be a Phoenix Summoner. Naruto had felt nothing. No rage. No bitterness. Just... emptiness.
He no longer had the emotional energy to be mad.
Instead, he threw himself into his training with ruthless determination. If they wanted to overlook him? Fine. If they thought he was weak? Fine. But one day—one day soon—they would see just how wrong they were.
Naruto exhaled, the memory fading as he focused back on the present. His fingers curled at his sides, determination burning in his gaze.
"I'm done playing their game, Vision," he murmured. "From now on, I move forward on my terms."