AN: So, uh… I watched the new Superman movie and somehow ended up writing a Naruto fic. Is there any correlation? Absolutely fucking not. Unless you count "spandex" as a shared theme, in which case, maybe?
Anyway, I also lost a bet to a friend, and his idea of sweet, sweet revenge was to make me write this. So here I am, putting my dignity aside and stepping into the land of ninja and questionable parenting.
I decided to kick things off at the start of Shippuden because (1) I almost never see fanfics actually get there, and (2) I like the idea of skipping past the "Naruto is twelve and loud" phase straight into "Naruto is fifteen and still loud, but taller."
POV: Naruto
Death had always been quite the fascination of humanity, thought Naruto. For millennia men and women had struggled to explain the unknowable, to give shape to what lay beyond the curtain. Some wrote of heavens and hells, others of cycles and reincarnation, still others of void and nothingness. It was a testament to mankind's peculiar genius: their fear of the unknown bred not silence, but stories without end. They could not bear uncertainty, so they wove myths to clothe it, comforting themselves with tales of judgment, reward, or release.
The irony, of course, was that none of them were wrong, nor right. Because he knew what waited after death. Life. Not in the poetic sense, "life after death" as a metaphor for legacy, but quite literally.
He had been a young man once, and he had died in an accident so banal it hardly deserved retelling. He had expected nothing. Instead, he was reborn in a world straight out of a fairy tale, one he had only read about long ago when he was young: the world of Naruto Uzumaki, of ninjas and chakra, basically magic, in all but name.
He remembered when he first became aware of himself. Naruto had been in fits of despair, as angry and desperate as one mad, using the Shadow Clone Jutsu against Mizuki. He could do nothing then. It was like watching a car drive itself while he sat locked in the passenger seat. He saw through Naruto's eyes, felt his emotions, but could not move, could not speak. He tried to scream out, but had no mouth. Tried to speak his mind, but no one listened.
Until Haku.
When Naruto had raised his hand against that black-haired boy on the bridge, he had remembered instantly what would happen here in the original timeline: Naruto would spare him, yes, but Haku would still sacrifice himself to save his master Zabuza, and Zabuza would in turn cast away his own life against Gato's men, an end so theatrical it rendered Haku's sacrifice meaningless. Naruto, or the man currently possessing him, refused to let that happen.
In that desperate moment, he found his voice. Not a mouth or a tongue, but something deeper; his will pressed through the body, and suddenly he moved. For the first time, he was not a bystander or a prisoner. He took possession of Naruto's body.
And he refused to allow that meaningless death.
So he knocked Haku unconscious and carried him far away, leaving behind a clone in his place. Kakashi finished Zabuza, Gato was dealt with, and the story went on. But later, when Kakashi was recovering in Tazuna's house, he slipped away to meet the boy he had hidden.
Haku awoke bound in some half-ruined lair. Naruto spoke to him gently. He told him of Zabuza's death, of how Gato had planned to betray them both from the start. Haku listened, and the revelation crushed him. For Zabuza had been his sole reason to exist, and now that reason was gone. He looked ready to end himself there and then.
So Naruto offered him another path. Become his weapon, as he had once been Zabuza's. Serve him, and he would ensure Zabuza's dream was realized. Haku demanded a promise in return. He gave it, solemnly, and Haku accepted.
When he returned to his team, however, the body slipped from his grasp. The real Naruto stirred, confused but alive. The strange duality continued for some time; Naruto in control, then himself, back and forth. He did not understand it, but he endured. He had nothing else to do but wait.
Until the Valley of the End.
Naruto fought Sasuke there and lost. Consciousness slipped, and when it did, control passed wholly into his hands. He had taken the body fully, and in the three years since, he had become its master entirely. The original Naruto was no longer separate. It was as though they had merged, but by age, by intellect, by sheer experience, he overwhelmed the boy's will and became the dominant self.
And oh, how he relished it. To command his body with his mind, to live without that half-paralyzed state, it was liberation.
He trained under Jiraiya-sensei in those years, and found the shinobi world fascinating. It was a curious amalgam of eras. In technology, the Hidden Villages seemed akin to the late twentieth century: electricity, running water, cameras, radios. Yet in governance and culture they resembled feudal Japan, with clans and lords, daimyo and councils.
Many would despair to be reborn in such a grim world. After all, it was a place of superpowered humans, child soldiers pressed into service, grotesque human experimentation, and lunatics capable of leveling cities. Power dictated law here: one individual could crush armies, and so politics bent inevitably toward strength. Add to that the endless conspiracies, the chakra demons, the manipulations of men long dead but still meddling, and one could be forgiven for fearing to live here.
But he did not despair.
For where others saw horror, he saw potential.
Chakra, as the sage of six paths intended, had been meant as a bridge between humans, a way for them to share their hearts and truly understand one another. Imagine that potential fulfilled. Misunderstanding erased, hatred dissolved, prejudice dismantled; because men could literally feel one another's joys and sorrows. Wars might become obsolete, replaced by a shared, luminous empathy.
Even for the cynic, those who believe humans could never live in peace, chakra's promise was staggering.
Consider the music, for example: chakra could resonate with sound, allowing musicians to weave emotion directly into melody. A skilled singer might pour grief, joy, or ecstasy directly into the hearts of listeners, turning concerts into shared awakenings.
Visual art, too, could bloom. A painter might infuse his canvas with chakra so that the colors shifted with mood. A sculptor might create stone that subtly breathed, or wept, or smiled. With Genjutsu, storytelling and theater could transcend reality itself; tales not told, but lived by the audience, shared as one.
And medicine. With chakra harnessed alongside the knowledge of modern anatomy, miracles were possible. Diseases eradicated, wounds closed in moments, health prolonged. Humanity could have transcended itself.
And yet, what had become of it?
Weapons. Wars. Blood in the soil.
They had twisted art into Genjutsu for deception. Medicine into poisons. Barriers into prisons. What was meant to heal was instead repurposed to destroy. Humanity had mastered every capacity to tear itself apart with fire, lightning, and steel, but never the patience to mend its spirit.
They could have reached for godhood through compassion. Instead, they crawled into the mire of endless conflict, clutching at power like starving animals gnawing the same bone.
Why? Because mankind was incurably petty. The very heart they were meant to share was what they most feared to reveal. It was safer to spill blood than secrets. Safer to dominate than to understand. So they circled each other endlessly: clans, nations, shinobi – all convinced they were predators, never realizing they were scavengers feeding on the corpse of a dream long dead.
Chakra was supposed to unite them. Instead, it had only sharpened the knives they already held.
But criticism alone was cowardice. Words were nothing without action.
So Naruto resolved. He would end this charade of war and suffering. He would create paradise upon the earth. Impossible? Perhaps. Delusional? Almost certainly. But it mattered not. He would do it because he chose to. Because here, unlike on Earth, a single human being could indeed be as powerful as nations. That changed everything.
And so he smiled, calm and certain, his blue eyes reflecting not despair but quiet defiance. He had chosen a goal worth dying for: to spread beauty where there was only violence, to weave music where there was only silence, to paint a paradise upon a canvas soaked in blood.
If it killed him, so be it.
POV: Kurenai
Kurenai Yūhi was not having the best of days or the best of weeks, for that matter.
Her latest assignment had been an A-rank solo mission, the sort that was routine for a jōnin of her station. The mission itself was easy enough; with her mastery in Genjutsu – though she had long since stopped calling herself a "Genjutsu master" after her humiliating defeat by Itachi Uchiha – slipping past her target had been no great challenge. The man had been a civilian, and ending his life was no trouble.
The true issue lay in his guards. The man had paid dearly for two jōnin-level protectors, and though she managed to strike before they could react, their pursuit afterward had been relentless. She had killed the target, but the guards were on her trail without pause.
She fled through the forest, leaping from tree to tree, one hand pressed against her side where a blade had found her. The wound bled steadily. She was accustomed to pain, but this particular injury made movement clumsy, slow. Her eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion pulling at her every breath.
She misjudged a branch, slipped, and fell. She twisted her body mid-air to land safely, but the effort tore at her wound. She crouched there, panting, her vision swimming. She was at her limit.
I will at least take one of them down with me, she thought grimly. A shinobi who did not belong to Konoha was a potential enemy. Killing one would be no loss.
But when she tried to rise, her body failed her. She cursed under her breath. Darkness pressed at the edges of her sight.
She waited for her pursuers to come.
Then, she heard laughter. The clash of steel. Kurenai froze, straining to listen. A fight had broken out. Between whom? An internal quarrel?
The clash ended abruptly, leaving only silence.
Footsteps approached. Slow. Measured.
Then, a voice. No, a song.
Someone was singing. A nursery rhyme, though not one she recognized. She caught fragments through the haze of her consciousness:
"London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair Lady."
The voice was beautiful yet haunting. Kurenai did not know of the "London Bridge" the song spoke of, yet the sound calmed her despite herself. She forced her eyes open.
A figure approached: a light-colored kimono edged with black, a dark scarf at the throat, black sandals on his feet. In his hand; a harp, of all things. His hair, spiked and yellow-blond, caught her attention even as her sight dimmed again.
She lost consciousness before she could truly see his face.
---------------------
When Kurenai awoke, she did not know where she was. The memory of the forest, the battle, the song, it all returned swiftly. She remained still. Years of training urged her not to panic, but to gather information.
She lay on a mattress. A wooden room. The air smelled clean, faintly of herbs. She listened carefully: no breathing but her own, no second presence.
After a moment, she carefully opened her eyes. She was alone. She rose quickly and surveyed the space. A plain room, furnished only with necessities. Her body was bandaged, most of her wounds healed. She could still feel the dull ache in her side where the blade had pierced her.
She looked down. A nightgown. Nearby, a fresh set of clothes rested on a chair. She changed swiftly, slipping a kunai into her grip.
Then she heard it.
Music.
Beautiful, nostalgic, soothing in a way that pierced deeper than any Genjutsu. The melody tugged her heart backward, into the innocent days of the Academy, before she had known the darkness of the shinobi world. Her eyes stung, and to her surprise her cheeks were wet.
She raised her hands and performed the seal to dispel an illusion. But the music continued.
A Genjutsu? she wondered. Sound was a common medium for such arts. And yet this did not ensnare her mind. Instead, it stirred her emotions, awakened memories. Not an illusion, but… a reminder.
Kurenai steadied herself and moved toward the sound.
She opened the door slowly and stepped into a hall, following the melody until she found its source.
"It seems you have woken up," said a gentle voice.
She looked at the speaker.
A man sat on a wooden balcony, his feet dangling over the steps. He wore a woman's kimono: white, edged in black. And he held a great harp across his knees, plucking it with ease. He glanced at her and smiled softly.
Kurenai's eyes widened. She knew that face.
"…Naruto?" she asked, bewildered.
"It has been a while, Kurenai-sensei," he replied softly.
She could hardly believe it. The last time she had seen Naruto, three years ago, he had been a brash, loud boy, wearing every emotion plainly upon his face. But now–
He was tall, taller than she was. His spiky hair fell untamed, even across his brow. He wore no forehead protector. His blue eyes had changed most of all: they seemed clearer, like the open sky. And beneath their beauty was something more; an alertness, a composure, the subtle play of expression that marked not a boy, but a mind sharpened and assured.
Her lips parted before she realized it. "Where are we? Is Master Jiraiya also here?"
"We are in the Land of Waves," Naruto answered calmly.
The Land of Waves. That meant she had not been moved far from where she had collapsed.
"And no," he added casually, "Jiraiya-sensei is not here. I found you purely by coincidence while I was on my way."
"You are alone?" she asked. It slipped out before she could temper it. It was not unusual for a shinobi of his age to travel alone, but for Naruto, the jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails, it was dangerous. He was a target. She knew that all too well; she had faced the Akatsuki once, and barely survived.
"How are your injuries?" he asked, meeting her eyes, ignoring her question.
"It is mostly healed. I should be able to move without issue. How long was I out?"
"Three days," he said after a moment's thought.
Her brows furrowed. "Did you heal me?"
"Yes," he said simply. "Though I'm afraid it isn't my field of expertise."
Kurenai stared. Medical ninjutsu was notoriously difficult, demanding exquisite chakra control and long, dedicated training. Yet he claimed, almost casually, to have healed wounds that should have killed her.
If his words were true, she owed her life to him.
It was impressive. More than that, it was astonishing. Three years ago, Naruto had no knowledge of medical techniques at all. And now, somehow, he had gained enough skill to keep her alive.
It seemed Kakashi's students all had talent for medical ninjutsu. Or perhaps, she thought, this was Naruto's own strange gift. Jiraiya had trained him, yes, but she had never heard that the Toad Sage knew anything of healing.
She looked at Naruto again, taking in his calm posture, the quiet confidence in his gaze, and the harp resting lightly in his hands. Three years had changed him. And though she could not yet understand how, she knew at once: this was no longer the same boy she remembered.
Kurenai's eyes lingered on him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"What are you doing alone, if I may ask?" she said, her voice calm, edged with gentle curiosity.
"You mean, why's a jinchūriki roaming around without protection?" he countered.
She nodded carefully, studying his expression.
"I had a falling out with Jiraiya-sensei and decided to go alone," he answered easily, much to her shock.
"What?" Kurenai said incredulously. He didn't answer.
"And Master Jiraiya simply let you go?" she asked skeptically. There was no way he would do that, thought Kurenai.
"Well, he didn't have much choice in the matter. He couldn't stop me even if he wanted to," Naruto said casually.
That is simply ridiculous. How could Jiraiya not be able to stop a mere sixteen-year-old? Jiraiya could easily handle multiple jōnin-level shinobi. For Naruto's statement to be true, it would mean he was at least stronger than multiple jōnin, which was very hard to believe. Achieving jōnin-level at his age wouldn't be unrealistic; Neji Hyūga was proof enough. But being strong to the point where Jiraiya could not stop him? That was difficult to accept.
That wouldn't be unrealistic either, whispered her mind, and she remembered her encounter with that Uchiha. He too was very young, not much older than Naruto here, yet monstrously strong. She decided to stop her thoughts before they led her to dwell again on her shameful defeat.
"And where are you headed then? To Konoha?" she asked carefully. He wasn't wearing his headband. Could it be that—? No. I mustn't jump to conclusions.
"Peace, Kurenai, I am not a rogue ninja," he said with good humor. "As to my destination, I am afraid it is not Konoha," he added.
Kurenai noticed his manner of speaking. It was formal, almost archaic, like the nobles of the Fire Capital, not the efficient, clipped tongue of shinobi.
"Then where?" she pressed. He seemed to enjoy dodging questions, forcing her to repeat them.
"To Kiri," he said casually.
Kurenai blinked, startled by his answer. "Why would you want to go to Kiri? You know that they are in a civil war currently, right?" she heard herself say.
"Yes, I know. Which is why I am going there," he said easily, rising to his feet and entering the room.
"But why?" she asked, annoyance rising at his evasions.
"To end the war," he said casually.
She blinked again, baffled by his words. "To end the war?" she repeated, dumbfounded. That raised only more questions.
"That is what I said, isn't it? Did I overlook an injury in your ear, perhaps?" he mocked, amused.
She rolled her eyes at that. "Spare me your sarcasm. Are you perhaps on a mission by the Hokage?" she asked, still trying to make sense of this.
"Nope," he said. "In fact, Tsunade doesn't know about it. I am going there of my own volition."
Kurenai concluded that his way of answering without explaining was extremely irritating.
"So let me get this straight: you are going to a war-torn foreign nation without the command of your superior or their knowledge, to end the war?" she summarized, "that is after you separated from the man you were supposed to be training with, the one meant to protect you in case a group of terrorists came after you?"
"Basically, yeah," he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Kurenai just blinked, clearly in disbelief.
"Naruto," said Kurenai patiently, "you do realize you can't just participate in the war of another nation, much less without the permission of the Hokage. You could be declared a rogue ninja."
"I doubt it. I've got nepo-baby privilege. The old hag won't do a thing," he said carelessly.
She ignored the way he referred to the Hokage as an old hag, and what did he mean by nepo-baby privilege?
"You still haven't answered why you are participating in the war," she pressed, searching for some argument to turn him from this foolish path.
"I heard that the leader of the resistance group is a hot redhead, and the Mizukage would make a perfect fem-boy," he said.
Kurenai went blank, utterly speechless. She tried to process the nonsense she had just heard. Never in the history of the world had such a sentence ever been uttered.
She calmed herself. "You are messing with me," she said finally.
He just chuckled.
"What's the real reason?" she asked again, irritation seeping into her tone.
"I made a promise to someone, and I intend to keep it," he said seriously now. He had finished packing and was looking directly at her.
"You are going to war because of a promise? We are shinobi, for sage's sake, who gives a damn about a promise you made?" she heard herself say.
"I do," he answered, as though that explained everything.
It was noble that he valued his word, but nobility got you killed in the shinobi world. Shinobi lied as easily as they breathed.
"In any case, I am going to depart now. I was merely waiting for you to wake up. See ya," he spoke casually, turning to walk out the door.
Kurenai moved quickly, blocking his way. "I am not letting you go to your death," she heard herself say.
"I appreciate the concern, but you won't change my mind," he replied.
"Who said anything about changing your mind?" she said seriously, already forming hand signs to weave her illusions.
But then Naruto's eyes narrowed: sharp, cold, unblinking. A moment later, chakra erupted from him like a storm breaking loose. The air cracked, and the ground beneath his foot shattered as if rejecting the weight of his power.
Kurenai's breath caught in her throat. The sheer magnitude of his chakra pressed down on her from all sides, vast and merciless. Her senses screamed in protest. She dropped to her knees before she even realized it, her lungs burning as though the very air had turned into iron.
It wasn't just raw force, it was a presence, sharp and merciless, like countless blades piercing into her skin, stabbing into her chest, filling her with the cold certainty of death.
Kurenai Yūhi, a jōnin of Konoha, realized then that she was not standing before a boy, nor even a comrade. She was standing before a monster, one so overwhelming that in the depths of her mind she saw herself die, again and again, in countless ways.
Then the pressure vanished.
"Go home, Kurenai," said Naruto, his voice not unkind, as he walked out of the room.
It took her several minutes to calm herself. She gathered her belongings swiftly and chased after the blond youth.
She found him by the shore, sitting in a small boat, prepared to set out.
Kurenai didn't know what possessed her, but the words came unbidden: "Wait. Let me come with you," she shouted.
Naruto merely raised a brow, then shrugged. She climbed aboard, sitting opposite him. She couldn't explain why she had done it, maybe to convince him on the way to change his mind, maybe because she felt compelled to witness what he was about to do. She couldn't tell.
Naruto noticed her skeptical look at the boat, as if doubting they could make such a journey with it.
"It is newly made and it seems to answer well; it will bear us without a problem," he said, as though replying to her unspoken question.
Kurenai simply nodded. "And it will bear us, seemingly," she said. "I should warn you, I'm not likely to be much use on a sea voyage, but I'll do my best."
He merely smiled at that.
"What made you decide to follow me?" Naruto asked, curious.
"A whim. It is not every day you encounter a man who declares he will end a war on his own," she said with a faint smirk.
He smiled at that. "Following your whim is a good way to live life. It is too short to overthink everything. Sometimes great adventures come from unexpected places."
"Most adventures tend to end in death," Kurenai quipped.
"Perhaps," Naruto said, looking out at the vast sea with longing. "But even still, the purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience."
Kurenai said nothing, merely observed her blond companion.