Chapter 17: Hound, Trophies, and the Looming Shadow
"I won't regret it, Danzo…"
Sarutobi Hiruzen murmured the empty promise into the silent, smoke-filled office after the door slammed. Danzo's late-night theatrics were exhausting. Perhaps, he thought with a petty spark of amusement, I should have an ANBU 'accidentally' disturb his beauty sleep tonight. He shouldn't mind… right?
He allowed himself a small, weary smile before vanishing in a swirl of teleportation jutsu, leaving the political battlefield for a few hours of much-needed rest.
Two Years Later
Morning light filtered through the single window of Naruto's apartment. He opened his eyes, the sleepiness of an eight-year-old lingering for a moment before clarity returned. He sat up, his gaze automatically finding the calendar on the wall, a large red circle drawn around today's date.
He threw off the covers and looked down at himself. The spindly limbs of a six-year-old were gone, replaced by a compact, well-defined musculature. Lean, powerful lines traced his arms, shoulders, and abdomen. A smirk touched his lips. Yeah… no wonder the training clothes are getting tight.
After a quick, efficient wash, he sat down to breakfast. An actual breakfast. For the past two years, a silver-haired ANBU with a cat mask—one who radiated no malice, only a detached professionalism—had been delivering fresh, nutritious meals every morning. No more expired milk or stale bread.
The old man's conscience payout, Naruto thought, chewing on a rice ball. Resources to buy loyalty, a gilded cage of obligation. How… predictable.
He accepted it with a grateful smile on his face. Behind the smile, a colder assessment ran: Dog.
And the delivery man himself? The languid posture, the single visible eye that sometimes seemed to be reading a book even while perched on a rafter… it could only be Hatake Kakashi, the Copy Ninja, his father's student. Naruto never acknowledged it. If Kakashi wanted to play the silent guardian in a mask, let him. It meant the Third still felt the need to keep his prized tool under close, if benevolent, watch.
Beyond the food, Kakashi also delivered specially prepared medicinal baths and herbal tonics, always with the same line: "A reward from the Hokage for your diligence." Naruto would accept them with wide-eyed, touched gratitude. Finally investing in your asset, old man? About time.
The herbs were no joke. Soaking in the pungent, green-tinged water after his brutal training sessions was a revelation. It soothed screaming muscles, cooled inflamed tendons, and seemed to accelerate recovery exponentially. His core, in particular, felt like a banked furnace—constantly warm, brimming with resilient energy. He'd use it. He'd take every advantage they gave him.
But no amount of good food or fancy herbs could erase the memories. The moldy taste of childhood, the cold weight of a village's hatred. Ten times, a hundred times the resources couldn't buy back those lost years or sanitize the manipulation. You think you can leash me with kindness now? he'd think, the innocent smile never slipping. Ame ga futte ji katamaru. (After the rain, the earth hardens.)
He checked the clock. Still three hours before he was supposed to meet the others for their planned camping trip. The invitation had come from Inuzuka Kiba yesterday—a group skip-day adventure. Naruto, Kiba (the instigator), Shikamaru, Choji, and a few others had become an unlikely crew of frequent class-ditchers. Naruto was always a willing accomplice. Who wanted to sit through another lecture on the economic policies of the Land of Fire when there were forests to explore?
Their truancy hadn't gone unnoticed, of course. One particularly egregious skip-session had somehow made its way up the chain, causing a minor midnight uproar in the Hokage's office.
Danzo had been livid. "You summoned me at this hour for this?! A child playing hooky?!"
Hiruzen, calmly packing his pipe, had merely smiled. "Danzo, context is everything. This isn't just truancy. It's… integration."
A three-minute "explanation" later, Danzo had stormed out with his usual parting shot: "You'll regret not giving me the Jinchuriki!"
SLAM.
Hiruzen had puffed his pipe, supremely satisfied. Payback for all those late-night 'strategy sessions,' my old friend.
The next day, a more formal directive had been quietly issued. Clan children were not just permitted, but subtly encouraged, to interact with Naruto. Bonds were to be forged. Ties to the village, through its future leaders, were to be deepened. Hiruzen had even made a personal visit to the Hyuga compound, weaving a tapestry of future influence and mutual benefit so convincing that Hiashi Hyuga had practically tripped over himself agreeing. The Uchiha, ever more isolated, were a trickier matter, but the seed had been planted there too, through Mikoto's lingering kindness.
Danzo fought it every step of the way, his hair graying, his eye aching with frustrated ambition. The two village elders, Koharu and Homura, fluttered between them like nervous sparrows, endorsing whoever spoke last, their legendary indecision in full force.
"Hey! Morning, Hinata-chan! Neji!"
Naruto's cheerful call echoed through the small clearing at the edge of Training Ground 7. He stood balanced on a high tree branch, looking down at the scene below.
Hinata and Neji were already there, carefully spreading out a large, flower-patterned picnic blanket. They looked up.
Two years had changed Naruto visibly. His blond hair was brighter, his frame taller and more solid. He wore a simple blue tank top under an unzipped black hoodie, and loose, practical shorts. He looked clean, athletic, and carried an aura of relaxed confidence that was at odds with the village's whispered narratives. To an outsider, he was just a handsome, sun-kissed kid.
Tch. A monster in a pretty package, Neji thought, the old bitterness now tempered by two years of forced proximity and bewildering interactions.
Hinata's reaction was, as ever, more visceral. She looked up, saw him smiling down from the dappled light of the canopy, and felt her heart perform its familiar, frantic drum solo. N-Naruto-kun… so… so…
Naruto dropped lightly to the ground beside them. In the past two years, his training had extended far beyond push-ups. His chakra control was refined—tree-walking and water-walking were child's play now. As for ninjutsu… he'd learned exactly one new technique a week ago: the Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu.
He had little patience for the flashy, hand-sign-heavy arts most ninja prized. Who has time for all that clapping mid-fight? Muji ninjutsu—techniques requiring no hand seals—were the only ones that held real appeal for his battle-centric mindset.
So why Shadow Clones? The answer lay in the bottleneck he'd hit. The comfortable, conflict-free life in Konoha offered no real challenge. His Saiyan blood thrived on battle, on pushing limits against a worthy opponent. He had none.
But a shadow clone… he'd realized, a shadow clone made with equal chakra split is, for all intents and purposes, me. He could fight himself. He could push his own limits, test his own skills, in a controlled, private, and utterly brutal way. It was a perfectly logical, if completely unhinged, solution.
He couldn't very well ask the Hokage for a sparring match. ('Hey, Grandpa, wanna fight? I promise I'll try not to punch a hole through your legendary defenses on the first try.') Anyone else strong enough to matter would report it, and the ensuing scrutiny would be fatal to his long-term plans.
Because his plans had crystallized. Destroying Konoha wasn't just about reducing buildings to rubble. It was about dismantling the myth, exposing the rot, delivering a spiritual and physical knockout blow that would make it the laughingstock of the shinobi world. A place where dreams went to die. The "Anti-Rice Holy Land."
But to do that, he needed power. Real power. His current combat power, as per the system, hovered around 78. In his estimations, that put him somewhere in the lower echelons of Kage-level. For an eight-year-old, it was absurd, terrifying strength. But a single Kage-level, even a strong one, couldn't solo an entire hidden village. They'd drown him in numbers, in tactics, in forbidden techniques.
So you keep your head down, he reminded himself, accepting a cup of tea Hinata shakily offered. You keep training. You don't waste time. You get strong enough to one-punch a Sandaime before he can finish a sentence.
He smiled at Hinata, noting the faint tremor in her hands. "Thanks, Hinata-chan! This looks great."
He was a monster, wrapped in the skin of a promising boy, sitting on a flowered blanket, sipping tea with friends. The sun was warm, the birds were singing, and in the deep forest where no one could see, his shadow clones were likely beating each other to a pulp in a relentless cycle of self-imposed evolution.
The path to becoming a legend, it seemed, was paved with quiet mornings, herbal baths, and the silent, savage violence one could only inflict upon oneself.\
(End of Chapter)
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