"Always said I'm crazy. Right?" Naruto giggled, shoulders shaking against the peeling wallpaper of his cramped apartment. His bare toes dug into the cold floorboards, scratching at sticky stains left by spilled ramen broth. "They weren't wrong." A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face, vacant blue eyes fixed intently on a cockroach scuttling across the ceiling. It vanished into a crack near the water-damaged light fixture. Naruto tilted his head, still smiling. "See? Gone. Just like everyone else."
He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, rocking slightly on the worn-out mattress shoved against the wall. Outside, rain hammered the window, streaking the grime on the glass. Naruto traced the dirty trails with a slow finger, drawing a spiraling pattern. His bare heel tapped faster against the floorboard. *Tap-tap-tap*. "Nobody comes 's raining," he muttered, voice suddenly flat. "Nobody comes 's sunny either." He snorted, a harsh, wet sound. "Nobody comes ever."
He scrambled up suddenly, stumbling over discarded instant ramen cups littering the floor. He kicked one aside; it bounced hollowly off the wall. At the sink, he gripped the chipped porcelain edge, knuckles white. His reflection stared back from the cracked mirror above it – blond hair matted, the whisker marks on his cheeks deep shadows. "Look at you," he breathed, fogging the glass. "Still here." His reflection blinked slowly. Naruto leaned closer until his nose almost touched the cold surface. "What?" he asked it sharply. "Gonna ignore me too?" His fist slammed against the sink basin, rattling the pipes. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.
"Nope," Naruto whispered fiercely to the mirror, grinning again, sharp and wild. "Done talking." He spun away, leaving the faucet dripping steadily into a grimy puddle below. Hand darted under the mattress, fingers scrabbling past crumpled paper scraps and empty wrappers. They closed around something cold and smooth hidden deep in the springs. Metal. When he pulled his hand out, fist clenched tight, his grin didn't waver. Only his eyes widened slightly, pupils huge and black in the dim light filtering through the rainy window.
SUMMARY^1: Naruto confronts his own deteriorating reflection in the mirror, accusing it of ignoring him before violently striking the sink. This escalates his agitation. He then retrieves a concealed metal object from beneath his mattress, his expression hardening with manic resolve as he grips it tightly.
Deep within the iron-barred cage of the seal, Kurama's immense form lay tense. The colossal red fox narrowed a single slit-pupiled eye. He'd felt this simmering fracture inside the boy worsen for years – a slow collapse under the weight of village scorn and crushing loneliness. Not like Madara's burning, world-consuming madness driven by ideals. This was worse. Fragile. A porcelain doll shattered into jagged pieces. Kurama felt an unfamiliar twinge, hot as ember, low in his belly. Annoyance? Pity? He couldn't name it, only knew this silence felt heavier than Naruto's manic chatter. Even the Nine-Tails understood *broken*.
Naruto padded silently across the creaking floorboards, ignoring the discarded cups crunching underfoot. He stopped at the apartment door, pressing his forehead against the rough, painted wood. Outside, the muffled sounds of Konoha persisted – distant shouts, rain drumming on tile roofs, the clatter of carts somewhere far away. A symphony of normalcy he wasn't part of. His fist tightened around the metal object until his knuckles screamed white. Kurama strained against the seal's bars, a low growl vibrating the depths of Naruto's mindscape. *Foolish boy,* the thought rumbled, thick with frustration he wouldn't voice. *This fixes nothing.*
The deadbolt scraped loudly as Naruto slid it open. He didn't hesitate. The door swung inwards with a groan. Standing framed in the doorway, he tilted his head skyward, letting the cold rain splash onto his upturned face. Water plastered his matted hair flat. He inhaled the damp air deeply, shuddering, a raw, lonely sound escaping his lips. Then he stepped out into the rain-slicked alley, letting the door slam shut behind him, echoing sharply in the confined space. The metal glinted briefly in his grip as he vanished into the downpour – not a shuriken, not a kunai. It was the dull silver key to the Hokage Monument's maintenance tunnels. Kurama felt the boy's fractured resolve solidify into chilling, terrifying purpose. *This path leads only to ash,* the fox thought, watching the storm-lit figure disappear. The ember of unease flared hotter.
Naruto padded barefoot through the deserted street, head tilted slightly sideways as if listening to something fascinating only he could hear. Rain plastered his thin shirt to his skin, soaking his orange shorts entirely. "Shh," he hissed suddenly to the empty air beside him, pressing a grimy finger to his own lips. His grin returned, wide and unnerving. "They'll hear you." He giggled, the sound sharp and brittle against the drumming rain. "Silly ghosts. Don't you know?" He paused under a flickering streetlamp, its light casting long, writhing shadows. His reflection pooled at his feet on the wet pavement – a distorted, grinning twin. "Nobody listens." He kicked the puddle, shattering the image, and walked on, leaving ripples spreading outward.
He turned down a narrower alley choked with overflowing dumpsters. The stench of decay and wet cardboard was thick. "Hot," he mumbled, dragging a cold, wet hand across his sweating forehead. He giggled again, a choked, wet sound that echoed off the grimy brick walls. "Too hot. Too loud." His knuckles whitened around the key. He stopped abruptly near a sagging wooden fence, pressing his free hand against his temple. "Stop yelling," he whispered fiercely into his own palm. His eyes darted wildly. "Stop yelling *inside*!" His breath came in short, harsh gasps. For a moment, raw terror flashed across his face, twisting the grin into something agonized. Then it smoothed back into vacant serenity, punctuated by another low giggle. "Quiet now." He tapped his temple gently. "Good ghost."
Emerging from the alley's gloom, Naruto faced the towering, rain-shrouded forms of the Hokage Monument. Water streamed down the stone faces like tears. He stared up at them, utterly still. The manic energy bled away, replaced by a chilling stillness. Rain dripped from his chin. He didn't blink. "Ignored me," he stated flatly, his voice suddenly clear and devoid of inflection, cutting through the downpour. He lifted the key towards the monument's base, a small, dark maintenance door barely visible against the wet rock. Kurama roared silently against the seal, the soundless fury shaking the mental cage walls. The Nine-Tails understood death. But this cold, quiet malice radiating from the boy? This felt like the grinding inevitability of ruins crumbling. The fox braced, claws digging deep into the psychic earth. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the relentless rain.
A soft rustle sounded behind him, impossibly gentle against the storm's drumming. Naruto didn't flinch, didn't turn. His focus remained locked on the monument door. A slender hand, cool and steady despite the chill, reached tentatively from the shadows pooling at the alley's edge. It moved with deliberate slowness, as if approaching a startled, wounded animal. The fingers weren't demanding, merely presenting themselves, curved gently an inch from Naruto's clenched fist clutching the key. Rain slicked the pale skin. Naruto's breath hitched, a tiny, surprised gasp. His blue eyes flickered sideways, catching the edge of dark hair plastered against a pale cheek and the faint, familiar arch of an eyebrow. Mikoto Uchiha. The sight punched through the haze like sudden sunlight through storm clouds – blinding, disorienting. His knuckles tightened impossibly harder around the metal, trembling violently. A low whine escaped his throat, high-pitched and lost. The vacancy in his eyes cracked, revealing a flash of raw, bewildered pain. "G-gone?" He stammered, voice cracking. "You... burned?"
Mikoto didn't retreat. Her hand remained outstretched, palm open now above his fist. Her dark eyes, deep as wells in the flickering light from a distant streetlamp, held his gaze. There was recognition there, and a terrible sorrow that mirrored his own fractured madness, but beneath it, an iron calm. "Shh," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the rain, yet clearer than any shout could ever be. It carried the quiet authority of a mother settling a nightmare, laced with profound grief. "The fires stopped, Naruto. But the scars remain. Like yours." Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards his sealed fist, her open palm hovering patiently above it. She didn't mention the Nine-Tails, didn't mention Konoha. She spoke only of shared pain. "Let me hold the key for a moment. Just for a moment." Her presence was a paradox – a ghost offering solace, a shatter-point anchoring him in the storm. Kurama went utterly silent within the seal, his immense head lifted, sensing the impossible, fragile thread of connection forming in the storm-drenched alley. The torrential rain seemed to soften around them, muffling the world beyond their small, dripping space. Naruto blinked rapidly, rain mixing with something warmer on his cheeks. The terrifying resolve flickered, momentarily eclipsed by sheer, overwhelming confusion. Who whispers comfort to a demon? Who sees the monster and offers an open hand?
Mikoto stepped closer, not touching him yet, her slender form radiating an unexpected warmth that cut through the icy rain soaking his clothes. Her fingers remained outstretched, mere inches from his trembling fist. Her dark eyes, filled with an ancient understanding that transcended her ghostly form, locked onto his bewildered blue ones. "You're shaking," she murmured, her voice impossibly soft, yet carrying over the drumming rain. "You've been so cold, haven't you? So terribly cold and alone." Her gaze held his fractured gaze, refusing to let him look away from this fragile point of connection. Kurama felt a ripple of profound disorientation – not fear, but a bewildered suspension of malice. The Nine-Tails knew rage, knew destruction, knew the bitter tang of betrayal. He did *not* know this quiet, impossible tenderness offered to the broken vessel. Naruto's breath hitched again, a ragged sob escaping his throat. His gaze flickered wildly from her face to the looming monument, the key digging painfully into his palm. The vacant serenity was gone, replaced by a desperate, agonized confusion. "Why?" he choked out, the word thick with tears and rain. "Everyone... everyone burns... *leaves*..." The jagged pieces of his mind couldn't comprehend an anchor appearing in this maelstrom of despair.
Slowly, deliberately, Mikoto closed the small distance. Her cool hands, gentle yet firm, framed his rain-streaked face. Her touch wasn't hesitant, but imbued with a sorrowful certainty. She guided his head downwards with infinite tenderness, her thumbs brushing away the mingled rain and tears tracing paths through the grime on his cheeks. Then, pressing his face gently against the soft warmth between her breasts, she drew him into a silent embrace. She smelled faintly of woodsmoke and rain-wet earth – smells from a Konoha that was gone, smells of home and hearth. Her fingers, strong and soothing, combed slowly through his soaked, matted hair, untangling knots with patient strokes. "Be still," she whispered into his hair, her voice vibrating softly against his ear. "Just be still. The storm rages, but here, beneath the shadow of the mountain..." Her embrace tightened slightly, encompassing him. "...you are not alone in it." Kurama felt the boy's frantic tremors begin to subside, replaced by a deep, shuddering breath. The fox sensed the raw, jagged edges of Naruto's fractured mind quieting, momentarily cradled in this impossible sanctuary.
The warmth radiating through the wet cloth of Mikoto's kimono against Naruto's cold cheek was a stark, startling contrast. It felt vividly, unbearably real – the steady beat of her heart beneath his ear, the rise and fall of her breath against his temple, the overwhelming scent of loss and solace clinging to her. He felt his clenched fist, still wrapped around the cold metal key, relax slightly, the ache in his knuckles fading as the tension bled from his shoulders. For those suspended moments, the drumming rain became a muffled rhythm, the monument's looming presence receded, and the echoes of Kurama's silent roar faded into a distant rumble. He clung to the fabric of her sleeve instinctively, fingers twisting into the damp silk, inhaling the ghost-smoke scent like dry land to a drowning man. A choked sob escaped him, buried against her chest. "H-how?" he gasped into the embrace, his voice thick and muffled. "Why... you?"
As suddenly as she had appeared, Mikoto began to dissolve. The warmth leaching from her chest became a chilling phantom sensation. Her fingers combing through his hair passed through the strands like mist. The scent of woodsmoke faded abruptly, replaced by the sharp tang of wet pavement and rotting garbage. Naruto gasped, pulling back violently, eyes flying wide open. He stared at the empty space where she had stood, his outstretched hands grasping only rainwater and cold air. "No!" The word ripped from his throat, raw and anguished, echoing sharply off the alley walls, startlingly loud in the storm. His blue eyes darted frantically, scanning the rain-blurred darkness – the overflowing dumpster, the wet brick, the distant flicker of the streetlamp. Nothing. Only the relentless downpour soaked him. He looked down at his trembling, empty hands. "Not... not again!" His voice cracked, rising into a desperate wail. The profound stillness she had offered shattered instantly, leaving behind a vacuum colder than the rain.
The chilling emptiness where Mikoto had stood screamed louder than any ghost. It slammed back into him with physical force – the crushing weight of Konoha's indifference, the echoing silence of his apartment, the phantom whispers in his fractured mind. Naruto stumbled backwards, slamming hard against the cold, wet rock of the monument's base. His breath came in ragged, tearing gasps. The comforting scent vanished utterly, replaced by the metallic tang of blood in his nostrils – a phantom memory of battlefields, of screams, of loss. He clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp. Kurama surged against the seal bars, a silent roar finally breaking free – a torrent of images flooding Naruto's mindscape: Mikoto's lifeless body amidst Uchiha ruins, Kakashi's masked indifference, villagers turning away. **SEE!** the Nine-Tails' psychic voice thundered, more savage confirmation than accusation. **They offer NOTHING! Only dust! Only ASH!** The key, slick with rainwater, gleamed dully in Naruto's loosened grip. He stared at it, his vacant serenity obliterated, replaced by a raw, visceral horror of abandonment refueled tenfold. The jagged pieces of his mind ground against the unbearable pain. The cold resolve roared back, terrifying and absolute, a wildfire consuming the fragile seed of solace Mikoto had briefly planted.
A high, breathy laugh bubbled up from Naruto's throat – shrill and utterly devoid of humor. It echoed off the wet stone faces above him. **"Heh..."** He giggled, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. **"...hehehe..."** He stared at the monument door, then down at the key clutched tightly in his filthy fist. The dull silver metal suddenly seemed absurdly small, ludicrously unimportant against the vast, crushing loneliness settling back over him. Mikoto's phantom warmth had been a cruel joke, a fleeting mirage that only deepened the icy void she left behind. **"Silly..."** he giggled again, shaking his head vigorously, sending droplets flying. **"So silly..."** His gaze drifted upwards, past the dripping stone faces, towards the storm-lashed sky. The vacant grin stretched impossibly wide across his rain-streaked face. The manic energy returned, fueled by despair and Kurama's furious confirmation. **"Burned... gone... all gone..."** He giggled louder now, the sound sharp and brittle against the drumming downpour. **"Key? What key?"** With a sudden, jerky motion, he uncurled his fist. The silver key clattered onto the rain-slicked pavement, landing in a shallow puddle near his bare feet. It sank slowly, the ripples distorting its outline until it vanished beneath the murky water. **"See?"** Naruto whispered, grinning wildly at the empty spot where it had fallen. **"Gone. Just like her."**
He didn't look back. Not at the key lost in the puddle, not at the monument door, not at the alley where Mikoto's ghost had shattered him anew. Naruto shuffled backwards, bare feet scraping against the wet asphalt. The manic giggle subsided abruptly, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum that vibrated in his throat – tuneless, haunting. He turned mechanically, the vacant smile fixed in place. The storm roared around him, but he seemed oblivious now, walking with stiff, jerky movements back towards the narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters. The stench of decay was sharper, more suffocating this time. He mumbled incoherently under his breath, fragments of thoughts lost to the rain.
A shadow shifted near a crumbling brick archway – tall, imposing, draped in familiar armor etched with the Senju crest. Hashirama stood leaning against the wet stone, arms crossed, his face uncharacteristically grim. Rain passed *through* him, leaving no trace on spectral wood grain armor. "Such anger," the Shodaime Hokage murmured, his voice resonant despite the downpour, carrying an echo of forests and deep earth. His dark eyes held profound sadness as he watched Naruto stumble past. "This vengeance... it poisons the roots." Naruto didn't pause, didn't acknowledge him. His humming grew louder, dissonant. He walked *through* Hashirama's translucent form, a brief chill rippling over his skin before vanishing. The ghost sighed, the sound like wind through bare branches, and faded into the rain-lashed gloom beside the dumpster.
Further down the alley, a flash of green spandex flickered near a leaking downspout. Might Dai gave him a blinding, enthusiastic thumbs-up, his spectral form radiating fierce, silent encouragement. Beside him, Kakashi's father, Sakumo, leaned against a slick wall, his silver hair plastered down, eyes shadowed and infinitely weary. Sakumo shook his head slowly, a silent warning etched onto his ghostly features. Naruto's humming stuttered. His head twitched sideways, blue eyes flickering towards the White Fang for a fraction of a second. A confused whine escaped his lips. *Why warn? Why care?* But the ghosts offered no answers, only silent witnessing. Dai's smile dimmed, replaced by profound sorrow as Naruto shuffled past them, through their insubstantial forms, leaving trails of disturbed raindrops swirling in his wake.
Under a flickering streetlamp marking the alley's exit, two figures solidified briefly. Tobirama Senju stood rigid, arms folded, his crimson eyes blazing with cold, analytical fury as he tracked Naruto's shuffling form. Beside him, Rin Nohara shimmered softly, her hands clasped prayerfully over her heart, tears like liquid moonlight tracing paths down her translucent cheeks. "Don't," she whispered, her voice a fragile chime drowned by the storm's roar, her pleading eyes fixed on Naruto's vacant profile. "Oh, Naruto-kun, *please* don't." Tobirama's spectral hand clenched into a fist, a ripple of chakra-like distortion flickering around it. Naruto stopped dead. His humming cut off. He slowly tilted his head, staring directly *through* Rin towards the dimly lit street beyond. His lips moved silently, forming a single word echoed only in Kurama's suddenly silent prison: *"...burn..."* Then he stepped forward, passing through Rin's weeping form and Tobirama's furious glare, vanishing into the rain-blurred street beyond. The ghosts flickered once, grief and rage etched onto their fading faces, and dissolved back into the storm. Only the relentless drumming of the rain remained.
The next morning dawned unnaturally bright, slicing through Naruto's grimy apartment window like a knife. Naruto blinked at the harsh light, sprawled on the wet floorboards where he'd collapsed. His orange shorts were stiff from dried rain and alley filth. He hummed softly – a discordant tune – as he pushed himself upright, movements stiff and jerky. Outside his unlocked door, Konoha bustled: children's chatter, distant ninja drills, the rhythmic scrape of brooms clearing storm debris. Normal life, unfolding completely indifferent to the storm inside his skull. Kurama stirred, sensing the jagged edges hardening again within Naruto's fractured mindscape. The fox braced. The silence felt brittle, dangerous. Naruto padded towards the door, ignoring the scattered trash crunching under his bare feet. He paused, tilting his head slightly as if listening intently to the cheerful village noises filtering through the thin wood. A slow, vacant smile stretched across his face. "Loud," he whispered hoarsely, pressing a cold finger to his cracked lips. "Too loud." He giggled softly, a brittle sound devoid of warmth.
Naruto shuffled down the street towards the Academy grounds, head tilted sideways at an unnatural angle. The bright sunlight seemed to pierce his skull. Beside him, unseen by the laughing genin rushing past or the chunin instructors leaning against sun-warmed railings, Hashirama and Rin walked silently. Hashirama's spectral form radiated profound sorrow, his forest-deep eyes scanning Naruto's ragged form, his own ghostly fists clenching and unclenching helplessly. Rin floated closer, her translucent hand hovering near Naruto's elbow as if yearning to guide him, her expression etched with desperate anguish. Her lips moved soundlessly, repeating pleas only Naruto's subconscious registered as faint, discordant echoes beneath his own humming. Naruto blinked rapidly against the glare, stumbling slightly on a loose cobblestone. He hissed sharply, shaking his head violently. "Stop... the yelling..." he muttered under his breath, his knuckles whitening around nothing. Rin flinched, pulling her phantom hand back as if burned. Her spectral tears fell silently onto the sunlit gravel path, vanishing before they touched the earth. Hashirama sighed, a sound like wind through ancient oaks.
Naruto reached the Academy gate, a sturdy wooden archway draped in training targets. He stopped abruptly. Beyond the fence, fresh-faced students practiced taijutsu drills on dew-damp grass. Their shouts, their focused grunts, the sharp *thwack* of fists hitting leather pads filled the morning air. Naruto stared, utterly still, his vacant smile frozen in place. The ghostly presences of Hashirama and Rin solidified beside him, their expressions mirroring horror. Kurama growled low within the seal, sensing the boy's rising pulse, the sudden, jagged spike of fractured memory – the jeers of Academy children, stones thrown, whispers of "demon." Naruto's humming abruptly stopped. His lips peeled back from his teeth, not in a grin now, but a silent snarl. One hand twitched violently at his side. Rin gasped soundlessly, reaching out instinctively, impossibly. Naruto took a jerky step forward towards the open gate, his eyes fixed on the unsuspecting students. The ghosts strained against an intangible barrier, their silent cries lost to the cheerful chaos within.
The firm pressure landed on Naruto's right shoulder – warm, solid, anchoring. It wasn't tentative; it was grounding. Naruto flinched violently, spinning around with a choked gasp, startled blue eyes wide and wild. Instinct screamed *attack*, *bite*, *scratch*. Half-raised hands curled into claws. But there stood Iruka Umino, framed against the bustling Konoha street. Raindrops from yesterday still glistened faintly on the teacher's dark green vest. His brown eyes, usually stern or encouraging depending on the day, held a profound, unexpected stillness. A small, gentle smile touched Iruka's lips – not patronizing, not pitying. It was a smile of pure, weary recognition. "Naruto," Iruka said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the phantom echoes and Naruto's ragged breathing. He didn't tighten his grip, didn't move his hand. He simply held firm contact, radiating an undeniable *realness*. Kurama froze mid-roar, sensing a shift – not the fox's control, but something entirely outside its furious script. The ghosts shimmered beside them, their spectral forms flickering with surprise.
Iruka's smile deepened slightly, warming his eyes despite their exhaustion. He released Naruto's shoulder slowly, deliberately, leaving the lingering warmth and pressure. "Busy morning," Iruka remarked casually, nodding towards the training yard. His gaze swept deliberately past Naruto's frantic stare, taking in his rumpled clothes, the mud-caked bare feet, the absolute disarray. There was no judgment, only weary concern folded into mundane conversation. He took a deliberate step closer, subtly positioning himself between Naruto and the open Academy gate. Beneath the faint scent of chalk and ink clinging to his uniform, Naruto caught the unmistakable, comforting aroma of warm barley tea – Iruka's constant companion. "Heard the storm last night was rough." Kurama felt Naruto's hammering heartbeat stumble. The jagged shards of rage paused, bewildered. This anchor wasn't ghostly comfort or ghostly warning. This was the solid earth itself speaking. Rin drifted closer, her spectral form fading slightly as if pulled by quiet strength. Naruto blinked rapidly, his mouth working silently. The snarl faltered. The ghosts held their silent breath.