The world ended quietly.
No bright light, no heroic last words—only the dull hum of machines and the fading echo of his heartbeat.
Riku Ayanami died as he lived: in silence.
When awareness returned, he was greeted not by the sterile white ceiling of the training facility but by warmth—the weight of a blanket, the muffled sounds of distant voices, and the faint, rhythmic thud of another heart.
This… isn't the White Room.
His infant eyes struggled to focus. A woman with gentle brown hair smiled down at him, tears glistening on her cheeks.
> "He's beautiful," she whispered. "Riku."
The name hit him like déjà vu. He wanted to laugh. Of all the things the universe could recycle, it chose his name.
---
Years Later – Age 6
The boy named Riku sat quietly in the back of Konoha's Ninja Academy classroom.
Outside, the sun shone bright; inside, children argued about whose clan was stronger.
He listened, observed, and memorized.
Each twitch of a muscle, each fluctuation in tone—it all told a story.
He could tell when Shikamaru was bored, when Hinata wanted to speak but couldn't, when Naruto laughed to hide loneliness.
Humans were algorithms waiting to be solved.
When Iruka-sensei called on him to answer a question about chakra theory, Riku purposely hesitated for two seconds before replying with a textbook-average answer.
The perfect illusion of mediocrity.
> Power invites danger. Mediocrity guarantees safety.
---
During lunch, three older boys cornered Naruto near the training field. They sneered, calling him names Riku already knew—monster, demon, freak.
Riku watched from the shade of a tree, eyes half-lidded. He had no reason to intervene. Violence bred more attention.
Yet when Naruto swung back clumsily and the bullies raised their fists, something in Riku shifted—not compassion, not anger… curiosity.
He moved.
In a blur of precise motion, he caught the attacker's wrist, twisted, and dropped the boy to the ground with clinical efficiency.
The crowd froze.
Riku's expression didn't change.
> "Your stance is too wide," he said quietly. "Predictable."
Iruka rushed over, shouting about discipline and restraint, but all Riku heard was the stunned silence of the other students.
So this is what power feels like in this world.
Not intellect.
Not emotion.
Control.
---
That night, he stood on the roof of his small home, gazing at the Hokage Monument.
This world was flawed—messy, emotional, unpredictable. Yet it was also fascinating.
A world of chakra and dreams, but still ruled by human nature.
And if human nature was predictable…
then so was this world.
> "Let the others chase glory," he murmured. "I'll take the shadows."
From that day forward, the quiet boy by the window began weaving invisible strings—subtle manipulations that would shape the future of the Leaf Village itself.