Naruto Uzumaki was three years old, and he only said one thing.
"Dattebane."
If someone asked him a question—Dattebane.
If someone gave him food—Dattebane.
If he stubbed his toe, tripped, or got startled—Dattebane.
It was the only word he knew.
The ANBU tried to teach him others.
They sat with him, held up objects, and repeated their names.
"Apple."
"Shoes."
"Chair."
And yet, his only response was always...
"Dattebane."
No one knew why.
Not really.
They all had suspicions, of course.
Kakashi had the strongest.
Because he knew that word.
It had belonged to someone precious.
Kushina Uzumaki.
Her verbal tic.
A part of her that she had always carried, always blurted out, always lived by.
And now, her son—a child who had never even met her, who should not even remember her—was saying it over and over again.
Kakashi didn't believe in ghosts, but if they did exist, he was pretty sure Kushina was haunting them all through her reincarnated little boy.
Still, he said nothing.
Nothing about Kushina.
Nothing about Minato.
Nothing about the word.
Because what could he say?
What could he possibly explain?
That Naruto had inherited a memory he shouldn't have?
That deep inside him, some fragment of Kushina had latched onto his soul, refusing to let go?
It wasn't logical.
It wasn't scientific.
But it was the only thing that made sense.
And it hurt.
Kakashi had never been the sentimental type, but every time he heard that little voice say "Dattebane," it was like a kunai straight to the gut.
It was a wound that refused to heal.
Still, he kept it to himself.
He ignored the ache.
He focused on the mission.
Because rules were rules.
Naruto was growing.
He was walking now.
Running.
Exploring.
He had been given a bed instead of a crib.
He was learning how to feed himself, how to use the bathroom, how to exist.
And when he reached a point where he could fully take care of himself, he would be discharged from ANBU surveillance.
That was the rule.
That had always been the rule.
No matter how much it bothered them.
No matter how much they had grown attached.
Once Naruto could survive on his own, they would leave.
They would vanish like they had never even been there.
And he would be alone.
But for now?
For now, they still watched.
Still protected.
Still listened to that tiny voice saying—
"Dattebane."
—ToT—
Naruto Uzumaki was three years old when he realized he wasn't like other humans.
For starters, he could understand animals.
Not just the usual way—not body language, not sounds, not trained commands.
No, he understood them.
It wasn't talking.
Not exactly.
It was like... feeling their emotions, knowing what they meant.
It had always been there, this connection, but it wasn't until he actually thought about it that he noticed how strange it was.
Because he had been an animal before.
Many times.
And back then, it had been normal to understand his own kind.
Dogs understood dogs.
Birds understood birds.
Even when he had been a cactus, he had felt the whispers of the wind, the sun's warmth, the slow stretch of his roots in the dry sand.
But never—not once—had he been able to understand humans.
And yet, now, as a human child, he could understand everything.
Humans.
Animals.
The world itself.
It was odd.
But Naruto had long since learned that questioning too much only made things complicated.
So he simply accepted it.
He was human.
His name was Naruto Uzumaki.
His hair was red.
His eyes were glowing sapphire.
And he could communicate with animals.
It was fine.
No, it was more than fine—it was useful.
The insects liked to whisper about the ANBU moving around the village.
The crows gossiped about the market stalls and which vendors had the best food scraps.
The cats were little spies, slipping through alleys and into houses, knowing everything that happened behind closed doors.
And the snakes?
They were watching him.
Waiting.
They never said why.
But they never left.
Not even when the ANBU tried to get rid of them.
The black mamba had been the first.
Then the cobras.
Then the vipers.
Then the smaller, harmless snakes that slithered between the cracks in the walls, coiling near his bed while he slept.
The ANBU didn't like it.
They reported it to the Hokage.
The Hokage said it was his chakra.
That Naruto's chakra felt too much like nature.
That it called to living things, made them gather, made them listen.
But that didn't really explain anything.
It was just a label.
Naruto didn't care about labels.
He just was.
And right now?
He wanted a tree.
A plant.
Something to grow, something to look after.
So he spoke.
His first real sentence.
"Can I have a tree plant?"
And the ANBU froze.
Because up until now, he had only ever said one word.
"Dattebane."
Nothing else.
They had tried so hard to get him to speak.
They had repeated words, named objects, asked him questions.
And all he ever said was—Dattebane.
But now, out of nowhere, he had spoken a full, proper sentence.
His pronunciation was perfect.
His voice was clear.
He wasn't stumbling, he wasn't confused.
He just said it.
Naturally.
Easily.
Like he had been waiting for the right moment.
And the ANBU had no idea what to do with that.
They stared.
Then whispered among themselves.
Then stared again.
Eventually, Tora—one of the ANBU who had been with him the longest—stepped forward and vanished in a blur of speed.
When he returned, he was holding...
A cactus.
Naruto blinked.
Oh.
A cactus.
That was... actually kind of funny.
Because he had been a cactus once.
A long time ago.
It had been a simple life.
Slow.
Peaceful.
Mostly just soaking up the sun and waiting for rain.
But it had been nice.
He reached out and gently took the plant from Tora's hands.
It was small.
Spiky.
Green and round, sitting snugly in a tiny ceramic pot.
Perfect.
He liked cacti.
They didn't need much.
Just sunlight and a little water.
And patience.
Lots of patience.
Yes.
This was good.
He set the cactus beside his bed and stared at it.
The ANBU didn't interrupt.
They didn't say anything.
They just watched.
Like they were waiting for him to do something else strange.
But he didn't.
He just took care of his cactus.
It became part of his routine.
Every morning, he checked the soil.
Every afternoon, he moved it to the best spot for sunlight.
Every night, he whispered to it.
Not with words.
Not out loud.
But he let it feel his gratitude.
Because that was something he knew.
Plants could feel.
Not like humans.
Not like animals.
But in their own slow, quiet way.
And his cactus was listening.
Just like the snakes.
Just like the crows.
Just like everything else that was drawn to him.
And if the ANBU thought it was odd?
If they whispered about him behind his back?
If they wondered why animals wouldn't leave him alone?
He didn't care.
They were human.
They needed words.
They needed logic.
They needed explanations.
Naruto didn't.
Because to him, it was all very simple.
He was Naruto Uzumaki.
He was human.
His hair was red.
His eyes glowed.
And he could talk to everything.
—ToT—
By the time Naruto Uzumaki was four years old, the number of ANBU watching over him had dwindled to just two: Neko and Weasel.
Neko had been with him for a long time. She was the one who worried the most, the one who made sure he ate properly, slept well, and stayed warm in winter. She had sharp eyes, quick hands, and a soft voice—when she actually spoke, which wasn't often. She always smelled like fresh rain, and her movements were as silent as a cat's, fitting for her codename. Naruto liked her well enough. She wasn't annoying, and she didn't treat him like a fragile thing about to break.
Weasel was newer. Not as in new to ANBU—Naruto could tell he was ridiculously skilled—but newer to him. A presence that hadn't always been there but had quickly become a familiar part of his world. He was quiet, watchful, with a way of moving that made it seem like he wasn't quite there unless he wanted to be. His hair was black, his eyes dark, and there was something about him that made even animals hesitate before approaching. Not fear. Not quite. More like... understanding. Like he knew things other people didn't.
Naruto had never been given an explanation for why it was just the two of them now. The ANBU didn't really explain things to him unless they had to. But he wasn't stupid. He had eyes. He had ears. He could put two and two together. He knew his presence unnerved people. Knew that the glowing sapphire of his eyes wasn't normal, that the way insects and snakes and crows gathered around him wasn't normal. Knew that even though the Hokage had ordered ANBU to protect him, most of them had never been comfortable doing so.
But Neko and Weasel stayed.
And for now, that was enough.
Naruto decided he should start cooking.
Not because he had to. The ANBU made sure he was fed. But because he wanted to.
It just made sense.
Food was important.
It was something you needed to live.
If you couldn't make it yourself, you were helpless.
Naruto didn't want to be helpless.
So he learned.
It was easy.
Watching was enough.
The way the ANBU moved in the kitchen, the way they measured ingredients, the way they chopped and stirred and tested flavors. He didn't need them to teach him. He observed. Memorized. Took mental notes. Adapted.
Then he did it himself.
It was a simple meal. Nothing fancy, nothing difficult. But it was his. He had made it with his own hands.
When it was ready, he turned to Neko, holding out a plate.
She hesitated.
Of course she did.
Naruto never asked anyone to do things.
Not unless he thought it was important.
And right now, he was staring at her, waiting.
Not saying a word.
Just waiting.
There was no pressure in his gaze. No demand. Just quiet expectation.
And that was worse.
Because it meant he cared.
She sighed, lifted her mask just enough to show her mouth, then reached for the chopsticks.
The first bite was hesitant.
Then the second.
By the third, her movements had lost all hesitation.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't make a big deal out of it.
But Naruto could tell.
She liked it.
And that was...
Good.
It was good.
He looked at Weasel next.
The dark-eyed ANBU tilted his head, considering, then reached for a plate of his own.
He didn't lift his mask. He removed it.
Set it on the table beside him.
Naruto blinked.
That was...
Unexpected.
The ANBU never took off their masks around him.
Ever.
But Weasel had.
Just like that.
Like it didn't matter.
Like Naruto was just another person, not something that needed to be handled carefully.
He had sharp features. Dark eyes. A face that looked too young to be wearing a mask at all.
And when he ate, there was no hesitation, no skepticism.
Just acceptance.
"Wow," he murmured after swallowing. "This is really good."
Naruto stared.
Then tilted his head.
Weasel chuckled. "I mean it. You're good at this."
Compliments were odd.
Naruto wasn't sure what to do with them.
He understood praise. Understood the concept of recognizing a job well done.
But the way Weasel said it...
It wasn't just praise.
It wasn't just an observation.
There was something else there.
Something softer.
Something real.
And Naruto...
Didn't mind it.
Didn't mind it at all.
He simply nodded.
Then turned back to his own plate and began to eat.
He had never eaten something he made himself before.
But now that he had, he understood.
It tasted...
Better.
Not because the ingredients were different.
Not because the process had changed.
But because it was his.
And that made all the difference.
Weasel ate beside him, casual and unhurried.
Neko had finished her plate, but she lingered.
Like she didn't quite want to leave yet.
Like this moment was...
Important.
Maybe it was.
Naruto didn't know.
But he was okay with it.
The three of them, sitting in the quiet of his apartment, eating a meal he had made.
It was simple.
Small.
But good.
And Naruto thought...
Maybe he'd cook again.