The river was wild today.
Spring rains had swollen it past its usual limits, turning the once gentle current into a hungry, rushing beast. The surface churned, white foam slamming against rocks and tree roots, carrying broken branches and debris downstream.
And in the middle of it all—
A tiny, struggling body.
A puppy.
Naruto saw it first.
A small thing, barely bigger than his own hands, flailing helplessly in the torrent.
It had likely fallen in by accident, its paws too weak to fight the pull of the water.
Naruto did not think.
He simply moved.
His small body shot forward, feet splashing into the shallows, then deeper, deeper—until the ground beneath him disappeared entirely.
And he swam.
Water was no stranger to him.
He had swum as a fish before. As a crocodile. As an otter.
And in this body, too—this strange, human form—he knew how to move through it.
The current was strong. It fought against him, dragging at his limbs, threatening to pull him under.
But Naruto had lived hundreds of lives.
He had battled against tides far more powerful than this.
His small hands grasped wet fur.
The puppy yelped, its tiny body limp with exhaustion.
Naruto kicked against the current.
Fought against the pull.
One stroke.
Another.
And finally—
Land.
His feet found the muddy riverbank, and he hauled himself up, dragging the little animal with him.
The puppy trembled in his arms, coughing weakly, water dripping from its sodden fur.
It was alive.
Naruto blinked.
Something about that thought felt… right.
A long time ago, he had been the one drowning.
He had been the one flailing, choking, sinking.
But there had been no one to pull him from the depths.
No one had saved him.
Not in that life.
Not in so many others.
He looked down at the shivering puppy in his hands and made a decision.
"Not this time."
A shadow fell over him.
Naruto turned.
A boy stood there.
Around his age—maybe five, maybe six—dressed in dark blue, his hair was jet black.
His eyes, however, were what caught Naruto's attention.
They were sharp.
Too sharp for a child.
Just like Weasel's.
The boy's gaze flicked from the puppy in Naruto's arms to the water, then back to Naruto himself.
His expression was unreadable.
Finally, he spoke.
"Who are you?"
Naruto tilted his head.
Then, without hesitation—
"Naruto Uzumaki. Dattebane."
And with that, he walked away.
—ToT—
The market was loud.
Too loud.
Naruto had never been in a crowd like this before.
People bustled past him, their voices overlapping in a messy, incomprehensible hum.
Vendors shouted their prices.
Children laughed and screamed.
The smells of food, sweat, and fresh produce clashed in the air.
It was… overwhelming.
But Naruto did not stop.
He walked with purpose, the rescued puppy cradled in his arms, eyes scanning the stalls.
Food.
The little one was hungry.
He needed to find something to eat.
He approached a shop.
Stepped inside.
And—
A hand shoved him.
Hard.
Naruto stumbled back.
He barely caught himself before he fell, the puppy yipping in protest.
The shopkeeper stood in the doorway, eyes cold.
"Get out."
Naruto stared up at him.
The man's expression didn't change.
Didn't waver.
Like he was staring at something filthy.
Like Naruto was not even human.
The door slammed shut in his face.
Naruto stood still for a moment.
Then—
He turned.
And walked away.
His arms curled tighter around the puppy, holding it close to his chest.
The rejection did not surprise him.
Not anymore.
But that did not mean it did not hurt.
—ToT—
The scent was rich, warm, and thick with something familiar.
Naruto had never smelled it before, not in this life, yet it pulled at something deep within him, something distant—like a memory just out of reach.
His stomach twisted, growling in protest.
He inhaled deeply, following the scent, his nose twitching.
It led him through the bustling streets, past vendors and shops, past wary glances and averted eyes.
Finally, he arrived.
A small wooden stand, tucked between larger buildings, steam curling from massive pots behind the counter. The sign above read Ichiraku Ramen.
Naruto stopped.
He watched as people sat on stools, laughing, chatting, slurping noodles with loud, contented sighs.
The man behind the counter worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced ease, ladling broth, slicing meat, placing bowls in front of customers with a wide, genuine smile.
Naruto's mouth watered.
His hands dipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against the two small copper coins he had.
Is it enough?
He watched the people carefully, how they handed the man money, how he took it before serving their food.
He stepped forward, cautiously.
No one stopped him.
No one threw him out.
He placed the coins on the counter.
And waited.
The man glanced at the money.
Then at Naruto.
There was a moment of silence.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed the man's face.
Recognition?
Pity?
Naruto tensed, expecting the inevitable.
"You know, kid, the cheapest ramen is 390 ryō," the man finally said.
Naruto blinked.
"That's 30 ryō you've got."
Oh.
Not enough.
He took his coins and turned to leave.
It was fine. He had been hungry before. He would be hungry again.
But—
"Wait!"
Naruto flinched.
His body went rigid, muscles tensing, prepared for the strike.
This was the moment.
The moment they tricked him.
The moment they yanked him back, struck him, laughed at his foolishness.
He had died this way before, once, as a squirrel—lured close by a kind voice, only to feel fingers snap around his fragile body and twist.
But when he turned, the man was not reaching for him in violence.
Instead, he was gesturing for Naruto to come closer.
Slowly, warily, Naruto approached.
The man placed a steaming bowl of ramen on the counter.
Grinning.
"I had some extra today, so, here, on the house."
Naruto stared at him.
No trick?
No deception?
Nothing asked in return?
The scent hit him harder now, thick and comforting.
Still, he hesitated.
Then—
He climbed onto the stool.
Lifted the chopsticks.
Took a bite.
And—
It was warm.
Not just in temperature, but in something else.
Something deep.
Something he had been missing.
The broth slid down his throat, rich and savory, clinging to his tongue like a hug.
The noodles were smooth, soft but firm, curling perfectly as he slurped them.
His fingers tightened around the chopsticks, breath hitching slightly.
He had eaten in every form imaginable. As predator. As prey. As scavenger and hunter.
But this—
This was different.
It was more than food.
It was care.
It was comfort.
It was home.
He didn't realize he was eating faster until the man chuckled.
A large, warm hand ruffled his hair.
Naruto froze.
The touch was foreign. Unfamiliar.
But… not unpleasant.
"I'm Teuchi," the man said. "That's my daughter, Ayame. What's your name?"
Naruto swallowed the mouthful of noodles.
He hesitated for only a moment before replying.
"Naruto Uzumaki. Dattebane."
The man—Teuchi—laughed.
Not a mocking laugh.
Not a cruel laugh.
But a real, genuine laugh.
"'Dattebane,' huh? Reminds me of another redhead!"
Naruto paused.
He knew who Teuchi was referring to.
His mother.
Kushina Uzumaki.
But he did not ask.
He simply took another bite, the warmth of the ramen spreading through his chest, filling something hollow inside him that had long been empty.
He had lived for over two billion years.
But this—this moment—was something entirely new.
—ToT—
Ichiraku Ramen became a second home.
Naruto found himself wandering there more and more, drawn in by the warmth, by the voices that didn't turn cold when they spoke to him, by the hands that never struck him when they reached out. Teuchi was always smiling, always treating him like a kid, not a monster, not something to be whispered about in dark corners. Ayame was loud and strange, her chatter nonsensical and rapid-fire, bouncing from one topic to another like a frog leaping across lily pads.
"Did you know slugs have three thousand teeth? I heard that from a merchant once! Oh, oh! And did you know that some people eat shark fin soup? Can you imagine eating a shark? That's like—super weird, right?"
Naruto would listen, chewing thoughtfully, sometimes responding with a nod, sometimes a simple "Dattebane", letting the words wash over him like background noise. He wasn't sure what to do with conversations like these. He wasn't sure what to do with people who wanted to talk to him without hidden motives or cruel intentions.
Teuchi was different too. His words weren't as scattered as Ayame's, but they carried a weight that Naruto wasn't used to. Comfort. It was strange, being reassured without an ulterior motive.
"A full belly makes for a happy heart, kid. Eat up."
"You ever need a place to sit and think, you come here, alright?"
"No one should eat alone all the time, Naruto. People need people."
Naruto didn't know if that was true. He had never needed people before. He had lived, breathed, and died more times than he could count, all without needing anyone. But… maybe this life was different. Maybe this time, things weren't so simple.
He spoke rarely, keeping his words short, his sentences clipped. If he had to speak, he limited it to necessities. "Ramen." "Yes." "No." And, of course, "Dattebane."
A few days passed like this, slipping away without his notice.
Then, one morning, he woke up, and the ANBU were gone.
Naruto sat on his bed for a long time, staring at the empty room.
The silence felt wrong.
No masked figures standing in the shadows. No silent watchers perched in the corners. No lingering presence just out of sight.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was alone.
He wasn't sure if he liked it.
Time passed, the days blending together. He cooked, he fed his cactus, he wandered the village until shopkeepers kicked him out. He went to Ichiraku when his stomach grumbled loud enough.
And then, one day, the old man came.
Hiruzen didn't say a word when he arrived. He just stepped inside, scooped Naruto into his arms without warning, and carried him out. Naruto didn't resist. There was no point. He let himself be taken, let himself be carried through the village, past suspicious stares and murmured words.
They stopped in front of a shop.
A weapon shop.
Naruto tilted his head.
The scent of metal and oil was thick in the air. Rows of weapons gleamed under the dim light—kunai, shuriken, swords lined neatly on the walls.
Hiruzen walked inside, Naruto still in his grasp, and wordlessly handed the shopkeeper a list.
The transaction was quick, efficient.
Kunai. Wires. A medical kit. A camping set.
Killing tools.
Shinobi tools.
Naruto held the bag in his small hands, feeling the weight of it. Feeling the expectation behind it.
Then, without a single word, Hiruzen took him somewhere else.
Somewhere louder.
Somewhere filled with people.
The Academy.
Children ran across the courtyard, laughter and shouting filling the air. Some were sparring, others were throwing kunai at training dummies, their tiny hands already learning the art of precision and death.
Naruto stared.
Hiruzen placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward.
"You'll be learning in here from now on, Naruto."
Learning to kill. Learning to destroy.
That part was left unspoken.
—ToT—
The Academy was loud.
Too loud.
Naruto didn't like it.
The moment he stepped into the classroom, his senses were overwhelmed. Voices clashed, feet stomped, chairs scraped against the floor, and someone was already crying in the back. The scent of sweat, ink, and the faintest trace of old food clung to the air. The energy in the room was wild—like a pack of untrained animals, all yipping and snarling, all vying for attention.
He didn't belong here.
But he had nowhere else to go.
So, he sat.
A boy with spiky brown hair and sharp eyes occupied the seat beside him, a tiny white puppy curled in his jacket. The dog's nose twitched as Naruto sat down, ears flicking as if sensing something off. Naruto barely spared them a glance before settling in, gaze distant.
Then, the room stilled.
Two figures walked in, their steps immediately commanding attention.
"Alright, settle down!"
The voices belonged to two men—one tan-skinned with a scar across his nose, the other leaner, his expression far too friendly.
"I'm Iruka Umino," the scarred one introduced. "And this is Mizuki. We'll be your instructors from today onward."
Naruto barely listened. His fingers drummed against the desk, mind already drifting. It wasn't that he didn't understand the importance of this—if anything, he understood it too well. This was the first step. The first stage of a process designed to mold them into killers, to strip away whatever innocence remained and replace it with steel.
Names were called, introductions made.
"Shikamaru Nara."
A boy with a lazy expression yawned as he muttered his name, slouching like he was already exhausted just being here.
"Ino Yamanaka."
A blonde girl with bright eyes and an air of confidence.
"Choji Akimichi."
A round-faced boy chewing something, his cheeks full even as he spoke.
"Hinata Hyuuga."
A girl who barely managed a whisper, her pale eyes darting away.
"Kiba Inuzuka."
The boy with the puppy. His grin was sharp, wild.
"Shino Aburame."
A quiet presence, mostly hidden behind dark glasses and high collars.
"Sakura Haruno."
A girl with pink hair and an eager voice.
Then—
"Sasuke Uchiha."
Naruto's gaze snapped toward him.
A boy with raven-black hair and dark, piercing eyes. Eyes that burned with something Naruto had seen before. Not quite like Weasel's—not yet—but close. Close enough that Naruto knew what he would become.
Then—
"Naruto Uzumaki."
He blinked, realizing they were waiting.
"Naruto Uzumaki. Dattebane."
The murmurs started immediately.
"My dad told me to stay away from him."
"He's dirty, always with those stray animals."
"I heard he eats crickets for dinner. Ew."
Naruto didn't eat crickets for dinner. If he were a frog, maybe. But he was human. And humans didn't eat crickets.
He ignored them. Ignored Sasuke's narrowed eyes, ignored the way the room's energy shifted subtly in his direction, like the class was waiting to see what he would do.
He did nothing.
He simply sat.
—ToT—
The first class was math.
Naruto didn't know what math was.
He knew numbers, sure. Humans liked numbers. They used them for everything—how many people were in a group, how many coins were needed to buy something, how many enemies were on a battlefield. But Naruto had never needed to use them. He had been a bird, a tree, a snake, a dog—numbers were meaningless to survival.
So when Mizuki called his name, ordering him to the front, he went.
The board was large, smooth. A clean slate of black waiting to be filled.
Mizuki wrote something in white chalk.
"Solve this problem, Naruto."
88/2
Naruto stared.
The classroom snickered.
He could feel their eyes boring into him, their amusement curling in the air like smoke.
He ignored them.
He turned his gaze back to the numbers, processing them as best as he could. The marks on the board—he knew the first number was eighty-eight. The second was two. But the symbol in between? What did that mean?
"Tch, just go stand outside, Naruto." Mizuki sighed, rubbing his forehead like he was dealing with something exhausting.
Naruto blinked.
...Huh?
He glanced at the board, then back at Mizuki. But they hadn't even taught anything yet.
How was he supposed to solve it if nobody told him how? Was there an instructor waiting outside to explain it?
No.
He knew what this was.
This wasn't about learning.
This was about him.
He didn't argue. He didn't protest. He simply set the chalk down and walked to the door, stepping outside into the empty hallway.
There was no instructor waiting for him.
Just silence.
Naruto leaned against the wall, staring at nothing, the voices of the class muffled behind the door.
It was strange. He had lived over a million lives—had seen civilizations rise and fall, had walked through ages of war and peace—but never had he been made to feel stupid.
He wasn't stupid.
He just didn't know.
And there was a difference.
When the class ended, Naruto stepped back inside, taking his seat again.
The students were talking excitedly about math now, about something called addition.
"One and three makes four!" someone chirped.
"Yeah, and two and two makes four, too!" another laughed.
Naruto listened. They spoke of adding numbers together.
But nobody spoke of the problem Mizuki had given him.
88/2.
What did it mean?
Still confused, Naruto leaned over to Kiba, the only person sitting close enough to ask.
"Hey. What does eighty-eight stick two mean?" he murmured.
Kiba blinked. "What?"
"The thing on the board. The one I couldn't answer."
Kiba frowned, scratching his head. "Uh... I dunno."
Naruto paused.
So Kiba didn't know either?
Then why had he been the only one told to stand outside?
Realization settled in like cold water seeping through his skin.
It wasn't about the question.
It wasn't about math.
It was about Mizuki.
Naruto had been tricked.
And now, he understood.
—ToT—
History class began.
The teacher spoke with a voice full of pride, telling them the tale of how the great shinobi villages were born.
"Once, the world was chaotic—shinobi fought endlessly, clans warring against clans. But then came Hashirama Senju, the First Hokage. He dreamed of peace, a world where children wouldn't have to go to war. He united the clans under one banner, founded Konohagakure, and others soon followed his example—forming the great Hidden Villages we know today!"
The classroom was filled with reactions—whispers of admiration, soft gasps of wonder.
"Ooooh!"
"Ahhh!"
"That's so cool!"
The children soaked up the story like dry earth drinking rain.
Naruto stayed silent.
He listened. He observed. He processed.
So the villages were meant to bring peace?
He glanced at his classmates. Their eyes sparkled with excitement, their minds already painting images of heroism, of mighty Hokages and noble shinobi protecting their people.
But Naruto's mind painted something different.
He had been there.
He had seen the chaos of the warring clans—not from a human's perspective, but from the creatures caught in the crossfire.
He had seen forests burn, rivers run red, mountains crumble under jutsu so powerful they reshaped the very land. He had seen animals—his kin—trampled beneath the boots of war, their homes destroyed for the sake of human conflicts.
He had seen Hashirama Senju.
Not as a figure of legend, but as a man. A man who had fought, bled, and killed just like any other shinobi. A man who had stood atop a monstrous wooden Buddha, facing a crimson-eyed warrior wielding the very creature now sealed inside Naruto's gut.
Madara Uchiha.
A name spoken with either reverence or hatred. A name drowned in blood and ambition.
And yet, here, in this classroom, their story had been smoothed over, polished into something grand and noble.
Naruto frowned.
Truly?
Was peace really what the villages had brought?
If so, why was the world still so full of violence?
Why did people still kill?
Why did people still suffer?
Why did the villagers look at him with hatred, whispering behind his back?
Why was he kicked out of stores, denied kindness, treated like something less than human?
If the villages were created for peace, then why had he—an innocent baby—been condemned the moment he was born?
His fingers curled into his sleeves.
The story they were being told—was it the truth?
Or was it just another pretty lie?
To Be Continued