The first thing I remembered wasn't light. Not sound. Not warmth. It was nothing.
A void.
Time had no meaning there. Seconds, centuries — it didn't matter. And then, as suddenly as the void had swallowed me, it released me.
I woke gasping, lungs burning, chest tight. My tiny hands fisted the cold earth beneath me. Smoke stung my nose, mingling with the sharp tang of wet soil. In the distance, screams carried on the wind, and the faint crackle of fire licked the air.
I was alive.
And I knew where I was.
Konoha.
The Village Hidden in the Leaves.
It should have been a dream, a story I had once watched on screens in another life. But it wasn't. This world was real, and already, it was in flames.
The streets were alive with chaos. Shadows moved along walls; figures ran and shouted, clashing with unseen threats. I was small. Frail. But I wasn't afraid. Fear was a luxury I didn't have. I remembered everything — my first life, my mistakes, the deaths I had witnessed, and the stories I had absorbed. I knew the path ahead.
I had been given a second chance. I would not waste it.
⸻
The First Days
I was found by a medic-nin after the initial chaos, carried gently to safety through the streets. She looked at me with concern, brushing soot from my face. "You're going to be okay, little one," she said softly.
She named me Arato Hayashi, after consulting the elders. The name felt right — a small tether to a new life.
The orphanage became my first real home. It was crowded and noisy, filled with children whose faces held grief, anger, and confusion. Some cried openly. Some were silent. And some, like me, were far too aware of the world to trust sleep or play.
I observed everything. I memorized patterns — the way caretakers moved, how children interacted, who bullied whom, who the favorites were. Everything mattered. Knowledge mattered. Observation mattered.
And I trained.
Even as a toddler, I tested my chakra in tiny ways. Sparks danced along my fingers when I laughed. I moved small objects when no one was looking. I ran along walls, climbed where I shouldn't, jumped higher than any child my age should. I didn't fully understand my abilities, but I understood potential — and potential had to be refined.
Control, I whispered to myself. Control everything, or it will control you.
⸻
First Recognition
By the age of four, I had begun exploring more of the village on my own, quietly slipping away from the orphanage courtyard to watch the world beyond its walls. One afternoon, my wanderings brought me to a small training ground near the Uchiha district — a place humming with the energy of disciplined children.
And there he was: Itachi Uchiha, moving with a precision that made even the falling leaves seem clumsy.
He practiced alone, weaving through a complex series of taijutsu movements, every step calculated, every motion perfectly timed. Even at four, there was a weight to him beyond his years. He moved like a blade held in someone's palm, calm, precise, untouchable.
I crouched behind a tree, barely daring to breathe, my small body trembling with awe. Most children his age stumbled or shouted when imitating their elders. Itachi did none of that. Every movement was deliberate, flawless, and terrifying in its simplicity.
I didn't understand it yet — not fully — but I knew instinctively this boy was special. A benchmark, a mirror of what I could become if I trained as hard as I could. And perhaps more dangerously, a reminder of the burdens talent could carry.
We didn't speak. I stayed hidden, watching him silently as he practiced alone or with a small group of elders. I studied him like a rare flower, careful not to touch, careful not to disturb, determined to understand every detail.
He would be my first rival, not in friendship, not in hate, but in understanding what it truly meant to be extraordinary. And I made a silent vow: I will measure myself against him. And I will surpass him.
⸻
Childhood Training
While other children played, I trained. I practiced chakra control, running along rooftops and back alleys in the dead of night. I refined every movement to conserve energy, maximize efficiency, and understand my body like a weapon.
One evening, a caretaker caught me crouched on the roof, barely visible in the moonlight.
"Arato! What are you doing up there?" she asked, voice stern but gentle.
I dropped silently, landing without a sound. I gave her a small, harmless smile. "Just… stretching."
She frowned. "You're always so… different."
I didn't answer. I only thought: Because if you wait for the world to notice you, it will crush you first.
⸻
Lessons in Morality
Even at six, I began testing my understanding of people. I watched how children fought over food, how teachers favored the talented, and how the weak were pushed aside. Knowledge alone was dangerous; interference alone could be worse. The future could be shaped, yes, but only carefully, deliberately, like guiding a wildfire rather than starting one.
Patience became my first weapon. Observation became my second. And training — relentless, secretive, deliberate — became my shield.
Itachi remained my silent rival. Not a friend, not an enemy — simply a benchmark. One day, we would test ourselves against each other. Until then, I would prepare.
⸻
Shadows of Awareness
By the time I was seven, I could see the stirrings of future tragedies in the village. The Uchiha clan's discontent simmered just below the surface. Akatsuki would rise years later. Wars would consume the shinobi world. And I knew, with absolute clarity, that one wrong step could destroy countless lives.
But I had been given a second chance. I had knowledge, talent, and patience. Above all, I had choice.
And I would use it.
I was Arato Hayashi. A child in the Hidden Leaf, a secret genius, a shadow waiting for the right moment to step into the light.
And this was only the beginning.