CHAPTER 4: Time Flies When You're Trying Not to Get Killed

Konoha Orphanage, East Wing

Approximately 3 months since Nick's arrival in this world

POV: Nick/Naruto Uzumaki

Captain's log of General Nick/Naruto Uzumaki… Namikaze?

Truth be told, I had no clue what my surname actually was.

You'll notice it's rather difficult to know your full name when everyone calls you demon, spawn, monster, or some variation thereof.

Roughly three months had passed since they dumped me in this orphanage.

Cold wind occasionally blew through the damned open window—not that closing it would've made any difference anyway—making my body shiver.

If I remembered correctly, Naruto had been born in October. And since all anime based much of their world-building on Japan, we were most likely in the middle of winter right now.

Fortunately, this country lived up to its name. So far, it hadn't reached a point where I couldn't handle the weather.

Which didn't mean it was comfortable.

My general living conditions hadn't changed much during my entire stay here.

The matron and her assistants had apparently been telling horror stories about the monster inhabiting this wing of the orphanage to the children.

So none of them had dared venture this way.

Which meant my only interactions were with the staff of this establishment.

Needless to say, none of those exchanges had been pleasant.

They'd enter this room and spend half the time insulting me. The other half was more or less them ignoring their duties.

I could see why Naruto was always described as a scrawny runt in his early stages across almost all these fanfics.

The caretakers had a worrying tendency to forget they were supposed to feed me.

Some of them even walked into the damned room just to leave the bottle on the floor— completely out of my reach—then depart as if their job was done.

They'd return the next day to scream at me for wasting food and leave me with nothing that day to teach me a lesson.

The worst part was that I believed Poison Immunity was already working overtime.

I'm an adult who can acknowledge that in my past life, more than once I'd taken a swig from an expired milk carton in the fridge while rushing to get somewhere.

That disgusting taste is something very distinctive and hard to ignore. Something I'd unfortunately grown accustomed to during my stay in this place.

But that wasn't all I was referring to.

Every now and then, during the shifts of the more malicious caretakers, I could taste strange flavors—beyond the simple aftertaste of expired milk—and Empath highlighted the intense expectant emotions these women radiated.

Followed, of course, by significant disappointment when I apparently showed no reaction whatsoever and continued my innocent baby act.

Evidently, these bitches were putting weird stuff in the garbage they fed me.

And please, don't even get me started on the waste problem.

From the depths of my heart, I regretted every single day since arriving in this world that I hadn't purchased some kind of waste elimination ability.

You have no idea how degrading it's been having to sit in my own filth for hours until one of these hags deigned to clean me up.

Unbreakable Will had more than paid for itself, and would probably continue doing so in the future.

They hadn't resorted to physical abuse yet, but in a world like this, that wouldn't last long.

It was a certainty for me that things would get worse before they got better.

And when things escalated and they tried something?

They'd be in for a nasty surprise.

Evidence of this could be seen all over my body.

Ten leaves—kindly provided by Tree-kun—were distributed across me. One on my forehead, one on each cheek—the ones on my face, I needed to clarify—and the rest stuck to random parts of my surprisingly chubby body.

Yes, even if they'd been feeding me garbage this whole time, my immunity to these "meals" and the set of physical enhancement perks I possessed had kept me in healthy shape.

No Naruto the Shrimp for me. The ladies of this world wouldn't want to date a scrawny shorty.

So I’d make sure to sculpt a body worthy of a Greek statue.

….Except for my little buddy, obviously.

I’d rather not carry over that particular artistic convention into a potentially hentai world.

Fortunately for me, Well Endowed would make sure that particular curse wouldn’t apply to me.

Additionally, while other babies at this point could barely turn their necks or give toothless smiles, I could already crawl in all my small, clumsy glory.

That's why after that first day where I was completely knocked out—I assumed from chakra exhaustion, but since I'm not a medical ninja yet, better not to comment—I proceeded to take advantage of being an unsupervised baby and use every second I had to train my chakra control.

Not much explanation needed for why.

My body couldn't be trained yet—physical enhancements or not—and my best weapon right now was Blue, which during its first use barely managed enough force to detach a leaf.

Yes, I know. It's a monumental achievement for a newborn, but that wouldn't save me from a stabbing.

After all, just like ninja incompetence, Naruto being attacked—even as a baby—was an extremely common Bad Trope.

It was far more likely to happen than not.

So I needed to increase my chakra control and force my network to develop faster.

Besides, the better chakra control I had, the easier it would be to reinforce my body, and from there I could develop my motor functions more quickly.

Risk of damage? Yes, totally plausible. But that's what my regeneration perks were for.

Mutilation wouldn't be an excuse to stop the almighty grind.

So, returning to the original topic, after recovering I took that first leaf I'd managed to knock down with Blue and proceeded to stick it to my forehead.

Using my eyes, I simply observed how much chakra was necessary to keep it in place.

And this is where that gorgeous pair proved they were worth every point I spent on them.

Since I could see my own chakra network with crystal clarity, I was able to analyze in real time every small change that occurred.

Each tenketsu was visible as a small node of pale blue energy distributed throughout my body. Three hundred sixty-one in total, though many of them were still partially closed or underdeveloped due to my age.

The channels connecting them—my chakra pathways—were like microscopic rivers of light flowing beneath my skin. Some were wide and clear, mainly those connecting my central spirals to the major tenketsus. Others were barely filaments, narrow and fragile like silk threads.

I could see exactly how chakra flowed from my spirals and distributed throughout my entire network.

When I stuck a leaf to my forehead and held it there with chakra, I could observe the complete process.

The chakra left my spirals, traveled through my network, passed through several tenketsus until reaching my head, and finally concentrated at the points on my forehead where the leaf made contact with my skin.

It was a fascinating process in a way that probably only people like me, who come from universes where these things don't exist, could appreciate.

And more importantly, it allowed me to optimize the process.

I could see exactly which channels I was using, which ones were being overloaded, where I was wasting chakra due to lack of control.

It was like having a live tutorial on "How Not to Suck at Chakra Control."

After that, I just had to maintain it until I was exhausted—this time without reaching the extreme of passing out—wait for my reserves to refill, and start again.

Once I noticed considerable improvement, I used Blue to bring down more leaves from Treekun.

And with each attempt, I could notice how using it consumed less chakra. How I could pull with more force. How I could manipulate the falling direction of the leaves more easily.

It was frankly positive reinforcement amid the mountain of crap I found myself in.

All that effort led me to this point, where I could have so many leaves stuck to my body and had sufficient control over Blue to keep a leaf floating in the air for several minutes.

Smugness radiated from my small body.

Saying the training had been difficult would be a complete lie.

In fact, even adding more and more leaves hadn't been a problem. I'd purchased MultiTasking, so it wasn't a surprise.

I'd rather call the process tedious.

And not tedious in the boring sense. More tedious in the frustratingly slow progress sense.

The problem wasn't even the amount of chakra. I had plenty of that now, and my control over it was improving rapidly.

I could see how my spirals produced chakra constantly. Whirlpools of energy that never stopped, spinning and generating more and more power every second.

My reserves at this point were far more abundant and dense than many adult ninjas.

And my control had improved dramatically since that first disastrous attempt with the leaf.

I could direct my chakra with precision. I could split my attention between multiple leaves without losing concentration on any. I could maintain a constant flow for extended periods without fluctuations that wasted energy.

Which was ridiculous considering I was three months old.

But the real problem was my chakra network, and more precisely its development.

Thin channels and partially closed tenketsus. The entire system still developing, growing at a rate that would be insane for any baby but insufficient for my needs.

I had the power.

I had the control.

But the physical conduits through which that power had to flow were too small.

Even forcing it constantly—using Blue until I felt the strain, sticking leaves until the tenketsus protested, pushing the limits every day—it wasn't developing as fast as I expected.

I'd been able to compare it with some older children, around five years old. I'd seen them playing in the orphanage "yard."

Mine was far ahead of theirs in terms of development. My channels were wider, my tenketsus more open, my spirals produced exponentially more chakra.

But that was barely enough to use Blue inconsistently for a few minutes before feeling all the tenketsus tense up and needing to rest to avoid overheating.

I could see exactly what happened when I pushed too hard. The channels expanded under pressure, the tenketsus opened wider, the chakra flowed faster and in greater quantities.

But then came a point where the entire flow became erratic. Where I could feel the chakra equivalent of a muscle strain about to occur.

And there I had to stop.

Let everything cool down. Let the channels recover. Let the tenketsus return to their normal state.

And then begin again.

It was a two steps forward, one step back process. Gradual progress that would eventually lead somewhere, but in the short term was frustratingly slow.

To summarize the situation:

Massive reserves—for my age—, spectacular control, small channels.

I just hoped to reach the level where I could use this to defend myself before things started getting worse.

Unfortunately, I'd have to pause my training for a moment.

Someone was approaching.

One of the assistants.

I dropped all the leaves.

I didn't want them finding out their little demon was growing stronger and deciding to do something stupid preemptively.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The approaching assistant was a woman in her mid-twenties. Brown hair hidden beneath a simple veil. Features that could be described as attractive if not for the perpetual sneer of contempt that seemed tattooed on her face.

This world didn't discriminate. The only ugly women I'd seen so far were the old ones.

Shame she was a bitch who hated me.

This baby would never reject ara-ara moments if offered.

I focused on her to see what brought her to my humble abode and noticed she was carrying a bottle with her.

About time. They hadn't given me anything yesterday, so I was pretty hungry.

She entered with a grimace.

Tch

"I still don't understand why Yondaime-sama bothers keeping you alive," was the first thing she said upon entering through the barely-hanging door.

Hes gaze fixed on my face made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

It was a sensation that had been growing recently.

Nothing I couldn’t handle, but an annoying itch all the same.

And considering I’d never had social anxiety, it was most likely connected to Man of Mystery.

"He should have executed you to rid us of your disgusting existence once and for all." Yeah, this was one of those who believed I was the Kyūbi's reincarnation.

These idiots couldn’t even agree on that. Some believed it, while others didn’t—and instead thought I was a bomb ready to go off at any moment—.

That said, they all agreed that anything that harmed me would also harm the fox.

So I knew they'd try to screw me over regardless of what they believed.

A small detail I'd also noticed was that apparently nobody could associate my small self with Minato.

I'm just saying, many of these women had mentioned the same thing on multiple occasions.

That the Hokage should have ended my existence and blah blah blah, as if they couldn't process the fact that I'm a mini-Minato. More handsome and manly, of course.

So either they really were that deranged, or they simply couldn't put two and two together and realize that they were asking a father to kill his own son.

With this world's characteristics, both could be very plausible reasons.

Anyway, I could only watch resentfully as she bent down—giving me a good show, credit where it's due—and left the bottle on the floor.

Only to then leave with a mocking sneer on her lips.

Grrrrr

Damn it. I didn't eat anything yesterday, and when they come back to check tomorrow, they'll use it as an excuse to leave me without food again.

Even for me, three days with nothing to swallow was too much.

I stared frustrated at the bottle whose mere existence on the floor was a mockery of my current situation.

But then I shook my head to dispel the frustration and reaffirmed my resolve.

This time I wouldn't let them win. They wouldn't get the satisfaction of screwing me over.

It was time to leverage all the training I'd been doing.

I focused on the bottle, just as I'd been doing with Tree-kun's leaves during these months.

My eyes scanned the object.

Obviously, it would be much heavier than any leaf I'd lifted with Blue so far.

I could see the distance. A meter and a half, maybe a bit less.

I'd need to use a good amount of chakra. More than I'd circulated through my network until now.

Then I pulled.

I felt my chakra move. Leaving my spirals in a torrent larger than usual. Flowing through my network—and I could see each channel lighting up as the power passed through them—until concentrating in my head.

I activated Blue, forming a tiny focal point to pull the bottle near to me.

There were no dramatic visual effects. Not for someone without special eyes, at least.

But I could see it. The space between the bottle and me compressing slightly. The artificial gravity pulling the object. The invisible forces responding to my will.

The strained expression on my face must have been hilarious.

A bottle was a new challenge for me, one I had to face and overcome.

I could feel it as I barely made it float a few centimeters, attracting it slowly and steadily toward the crib.

My tenketsus lit up. All of them. Each one pumping chakra, processing the technique, working together to keep Blue active.

And I could see exactly how much I was straining them.

The channels in my head glowed with more intensity than normal. The chakra flowed faster. Hotter. Denser.

Not yet at the danger point, but definitely near the limit of what my underdeveloped network could handle comfortably.

The pressure was immense. My entire network was already protesting, but I didn't stop.

The bottle moved. Slow. Very slow. Like watching paint dry but somehow even more tedious.

But it was moving.

Centimeter by centimeter.

I continued until it was very close.

Multi-Tasking divided my attention. One part monitoring the technique. Another observing my chakra network to control signs of imminent overheating. A third calculating the trajectory so the damned bottle wouldn't crash against the bars.

The bottle floated—and I use the term generously—through the space.

Getting closer.

Each centimeter a small victory.

Each millimeter of progress requiring more effort than should be necessary, but damn if I was going to give up now.

It finally reached the bars.

At that moment, I used everything I had for one last big final pull.

And by "everything I had," I mean I opened the floodgates.

More chakra.

More pressure.

More force.

I could see my network light up like a Christmas tree. Every tenketsu glowing. Every channel expanding under the load.

My entire system operating at maximum capacity without breaking.

Blue pulsed harder than ever before.

The bottle accelerated—

THUNK

—straight into my face.

"Ugh…"

The impact resonated in my baby skull.

It wasn't enough to cause real damage, but definitely enough to remind me that getting hit in the head isn't fun and that I should improve my control even more.

But I had it.

While my eyes were sweating—It was sweat, definitely not tears, real men don’t cry…Sniff…— my chubby little hands closed around the bottle.

Lukewarm.

Cheap plastic.

And probably full of some poison.

But mine.

I'd done it.

I'd used Blue for something practical.

Useful.

Something beyond simply floating leaves.

This was a taste of victory. A small one, undoubtedly, but a victory nonetheless.

Proof that the training was working.

That I was progressing.

I took a sip from the bottle.

It tasted sour.

Of course it did.

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Time Skip

Konoha Orphanage

9 Months after the Kyūbi attack

Hour: Night

POV: ????

Today would be the day.

He could finally avenge them all.

Avenge Otō-san, Okā-san, and his precious Emiko.

That damned monster would meet its end tonight no matter what, even if it ended with him being executed.

He had nothing left to lose.

The cursed fox had taken everything from him.

And what had they done to deserve this?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

His father was a retired old merchant who spent his days telling bad jokes—he'd give anything to hear him tell one of those again—or helping his mother with her shop.

His mother was a seamstress who kept working more out of enjoyment than necessity— she'd always been a woman who didn't like sitting still—who loved cooking and having family dinners whenever possible.

Him? He'd followed in his father's footsteps and taken over the business when he retired.

And Emiko…

She'd been his childhood friend. Their families were neighbors and they were almost the same age, so they grew up together.

Countless happy memories passed through his mind. The time she stayed by his side and took care of him when he got sick and his parents weren't around—busy on a small business trip to one of the towns near Konoha.

Their first date.

Their first kiss.

And finally, the day he gathered the courage to ask for her hand in marriage.

The brilliant, beautiful smile on her face.

They went to tell their parents, who decided a celebration dinner was mandatory.

Everything was smiles and fun.

Until it wasn't anymore.

One moment he was watching his mother scold his father for drinking too much sake, and the next his breath froze completely as he felt the weight of all the world's hatred crash down upon him.

Everything happened in seconds. An enormous claw tore through the roof, crushing everything in its path.

His parents and his fiancée included.

After that, things transpired in a blur. By the time he came to, it was all over.

His family dead. His home completely destroyed. Not even his parents' shops were spared.

He had nothing.

Nowhere to return to.

No one waiting for him.

Since then, he'd been living on Konoha's destroyed streets—like so many others—drowning his sorrows in drink or lying around doing nothing.

Without any purpose.

Or at least that's how it was until he heard the rumors.

The monster that had been defeated by Yondaime-sama was still alive.

Alive and free, possessing a small child's body, pretending to be one of them and preparing to attack again.

That's when he knew what his purpose was.

The following months he spent wandering around Konoha, trying to find information from anywhere.

Anything that would lead him to the place where the demon was hidden. And weakened.

He would finish what the Hokage had started.

Minato-sama was a great man. Even after everything that monster did, the young Kage had decided to spare its life.

But Ichiro Tanaka wasn't. He would never forget—or forgive—what the fox did.

That's why he thanked the heavens when he finally found what he was looking for.

While searching through some dumpsters for food, he saw and heard a pair of ninjas conversing—both very strange, their voices sounded muted and they didn't even show changes of expression on their faces—about the little monster.

That's how he found this orphanage. The place where the beast slept—he didn't know who was crazy enough to allow the creature to inhabit a place full of children—with an old knife in hand.

He waited until nightfall and everyone was asleep before making his move.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moon was partially hidden behind clouds. Good. Less light meant less chance of being seen.

Ichiro crouched behind some neglected bushes at the orphanage's perimeter, his heart beating so hard he was sure someone could hear it from inside the building.

The knife in his hand trembled slightly.

Not from fear—or at least that's what he told himself—but from anticipation. From the months of accumulated rage that would finally find release.

The orphanage was an old two-story building. The walls showed signs of deterioration and lack of maintenance. Some windows were broken, others boarded up with wood. The place seemed on the verge of collapse in some sections.

Ideal, really. A building in poor condition meant multiple potential entry points.

Ichiro observed for several more minutes, waiting. Looking for patterns. Movement. Any sign of surveillance.

Nothing.

Not a single ANBU in sight.

Which made sense in a twisted way. Why waste resources protecting a monster everyone wanted dead anyway? The Hokage probably had better things to occupy the village's scarce manpower with.

Since he detected nothing, he decided it was time to begin.

He moved toward the east side of the building—the wing he'd heard those strange ninjas mention, the place where they kept the beast isolated from the rest of the children.

His steps were clumsy. He had no ninja training. He was just a merchant. But desperation and months living on the streets had taught him to move silently when necessary.

He reached a ground-floor window. Broken. Glass fragments still hung from the frame like irregular teeth.

Perfect.

He placed his hands on the sill, testing his weight carefully—

Crack

The wood gave slightly under his hand.

Ichiro froze. His breathing stopped. His heart gave such a violent leap that he felt pain in his chest.

He waited.

Five seconds. Ten. Twenty.

Nothing. Nobody came to investigate the sound.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He had to be more careful.

More cautiously this time, he pushed himself up and passed one leg through the window frame, careful not to brush the glass fragments— His pants snagged on a particularly large piece.

Riiip

The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the silent night like a scream.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Ichiro practically threw himself inside, landing clumsily on the wooden floor with a dull thud that seemed deafening to him.

He lay motionless on the floor, breathing heavily, listening with every fiber of his being.

Upstairs, somewhere on the second floor, he could hear… snoring?

Someone was sleeping. Deeply, apparently.

Thank all the gods.

He got up slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside.

He was in some kind of storage room. Boxes stacked carelessly. Old supplies. Dust everywhere. The smell of dampness and abandonment was overwhelming.

Nobody had entered here in a long time, that was certain.

An ideal place to infiltrate undetected.

He moved toward the door, each step measured and careful. The wooden floor creaked occasionally under his weight, and every time it did, Ichiro felt his heart would stop completely.

He reached the door. Put his hand on the knob.

Turned slowly.

Creeeeeak

The rusted hinges protested loudly.

Ichiro gritted his teeth, forcing the door to open millimeter by millimeter, trying to minimize the noise but knowing it was useless. The damned hinges sounded like someone torturing a cat.

He finally managed to open a gap large enough to pass through.

He slipped into the hallway.

Dark. Silent. The walls were peeling, showing the rotted wood beneath. The ceiling had damp stains. The whole place smelled of mold and neglect.

Which direction?

The ninjas had mentioned the east wing. He was… in the east wing? Or had he entered from the wrong side?

Panic began climbing up his throat.

No. Calm down. Think.

He listened carefully.

To his left, he could hear distant sounds. Breathing. Many people breathing. The other children in the orphanage sleeping.

To his right… silence. Complete silence.

Right then. It had to be right.

He moved in that direction, the knife gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white.

The hallway seemed endless. Each step was an agony of anticipation and terror. Every shadow could be a ninja. Every sound could be his discovery.

He passed by a partially open door. Inside, he could see two small children sleeping in deteriorated beds. Not the monster. He moved on.

Another door. This one closed. He pressed his ear against it.

Nothing.

Empty? Or did the demon sleep in absolute silence?

His hand trembled on the knob.

No. It couldn't be this room; it was too close to the other children. He continued.

The hallway turned. He followed the curve, his eyes scanning frantically in the darkness.

And then—

Thud

His foot hit something on the floor.

A bucket. A damned bucket of dirty water that someone had left abandoned in the middle of the hallway.

The bucket tipped over, spilling water everywhere with a sound that to Ichiro was like a deafening waterfall.

He stood petrified.

He didn't dare breathe. Didn't dare move. Didn't dare think.

Upstairs, the snoring stopped.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no—

He heard movement. Heavy footsteps on the second floor. Someone had woken up.

"What was that?" A female voice, sleepy but alert. One of the caretakers or the matron herself.

Ichiro looked frantically around. He needed to hide. He needed— There. A slightly open door to his left.

He lunged toward it, slipping inside just as he heard the footsteps coming down the stairs.

He pressed against the wall in the dark room, holding his breath, praying to any deity that was listening that the woman wouldn't check this room.

The footsteps approached.

Closer. Closer.

So close he could hear the woman's breathing on the other side of the door.

Some noises sounded from the other side—the woman checking the area, probably. "Maybe it was a cat," she muttered to herself. "Or this damned building falling apart again…" The footsteps moved away. Went up the stairs. Silence returned.

Ichiro exhaled, his legs trembling so much he nearly collapsed to the floor.

That had been too close.

Way. Too. Damn. Close.

He waited several more minutes, making sure the woman had gone back to sleep before daring to move again.

When he finally left his hiding spot, he was even more cautious than before. Every step was calculated. Every movement deliberate.

He couldn't afford another mistake.

The hallway continued, going deeper into the east wing. The building's conditions worsened progressively. The walls more cracked. The ceiling more sunken. The smell of dampness more intense.

And then he saw it.

At the end of the hallway. A door.

Different from the others. More isolated. Completely alone in this section of the building.

Ichiro's heart began beating faster.

This was it. It had to be this one.

He approached slowly, knife raised, his breathing ragged.

Each step echoed in his ears like war drums.

Closer.

Closer.

He finally reached the door.

His free hand extended toward the knob, trembling violently.

This was the moment.

On the other side of this door was the monster that had destroyed his life.

The beast that had killed his family.

The demon that had taken everything he loved from him.

He was going to end this once and for all.

His fingers touched the doorknob and began turning it slowly.

He had to be silent. He couldn't alert the creature. Give it time to wake up, to let it defen—

Creeeeeeak

The knob groaned under his hand. A sharp, prolonged sound that seemed to echo through the entire dark hallway.

Ichiro froze, his breath caught in his throat. He waited. Counted the seconds. One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

He continued turning. Slower this time. Millimeter by millimeter. The hinges protested with each fraction of movement, but he had no choice. He had to get in.

The door opened enough to pass through.

The room on the other side was a pit of darkness. He could barely distinguish shapes. A crib —old, dilapidated—against the opposite wall. A broken window that let pale rays of moonlight filter through, creating distorted shadows that moved with the night breeze.

The smell of dampness and rotted wood was even stronger here than in the rest of the building.

He gritted his teeth. This wouldn't stop him. He'd come this far.

He'd be damned if he let the fox keep breathing.

He entered the room with a slow pace, being very careful with every movement. The wooden floor creaked threateningly under his weight, but he didn't stop.

His breathing was controlled now. Measured. His hands no longer trembled.

Cold resolution must have shown across his entire face as he approached the crib.

This was the moment. Everything he'd lived for these past months. All the rage, the pain, the loss—it would all culminate here.

For you, Dad. For you, Mom. For you, my Emiko.

When he was finally within reach, he raised his knife. The blade caught a ray of moonlight, gleaming briefly.

Ready to bring it down on the monster and end everything.

Only to find nothing. The crib was empty.

What? Had he gotten the wrong room? All this for—?

He couldn't continue his train of thought.

Something—an invisible, impossible force—grabbed his left leg and pulled backward with brutal violence.

"Gah—!"

He lost his balance completely. His arms flailed, searching for something, anything to hold onto.

His fingers found the crib's bars.

CRACK

The rotted wood splintered under his weight. The bars broke like dry twigs.

His knife flew from his hands, disappearing into the darkness with a metallic clatter against the floor.

Ichiro fell to his knees, the impact sending waves of pain through his legs.

Panic—true, visceral panic—began climbing up his spine like ice spiders.

He looked frantically in all directions. Left. Right. Behind him.

Nothing.

There was nothing around him. Nothing that could have grabbed him. Nothing physical, tangible, real.

But something had touched him. Something had pulled him.

No… no, no, no…

With a terrible tightness squeezing his chest and an ever-growing panic, he tried to crawl on all fours toward where he thought he'd seen his knife fly. He needed the weapon. He needed something. Anything to defend himself from— It didn't help him in the slightest.

Something small—how could it be so small and so heavy at the same time?—pounced on his back.

The weight crushed him against the floor. Tiny but impossibly solid.

And then the blows began.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Small fists—baby fists, his mind screamed with hysterical incredulity—pounded his head with a fury and force that defied all logic.

Each impact resonated in his skull. These weren't child's punches. They were hammer blows. Rocks falling on him. Something impossible, unnatural, demonic.

"HELP!" His voice came out as a shrill, desperate shriek. "THE DEMON IS ATTACKING ME! HELP, PLEASE!"

Terror invaded him completely. Pure, primal terror that erased all rational thought.

He tried to get up, shake the creature off him, but his movements were clumsy, uncoordinated from panic.

He only managed to fall face-first against the floor.

CRUNCH

His nose bent in a decidedly incorrect way. White, blinding pain exploded in his face. Warm blood began flowing, filling his mouth with a metallic taste.

The pain must have distracted him because he didn't feel the moment the creature released him.

Crawling across the floor—his pride, his resolve, everything abandoned in favor of pure survival—he tried to get away.

"HELP! SOMEONE—!"

His screams were heard by no one.

He was alone with the monster.

They're going to kill me. It's going to kill me. I'm going to die here and nobody will ever know what happened—

Once again, that invisible force—stronger this time, as if a giant hand had grabbed him— pushed him violently.

His body shot across the room.

SLAM!

He crashed against the wall with an impact that expelled all the air from his lungs. Something in his side made a sickening crunch.

Ribs? Probably ribs.

He fell on his back, gasping, trying to suck oxygen through his broken nose and blood-filled mouth.

As he tried to reorient himself—as his brain struggled to process what the hell had just happened—he saw them.

Everything in the room was dark. Shadows upon shadows. Indistinguishable shapes.

But those eyes.

Those eyes that would haunt him until the end of his days—until beyond death, to hell itself— were focused on him.

They glowed with an intense, impossible blue. Not like human eyes. Not like anything he'd seen in his life.

It was like looking directly at the sky on a perfectly clear day. Or at the deepest ocean where light barely reaches. Blue but not blue. Luminous but not emitting light. Brilliant in a way that hurt the eyes and soul simultaneously.

And there was something more in them. Something behind that impossible color.

Power. Incomprehensible and terrible power condensed in the eyes of something that looked like a small child.

They judged him. As if he were nothing more than an annoying insect that had dared enter its domain. A mosquito that had tried to sting the dragon.

The monster seemed to babble something. Infantile, unintelligible sounds. But Ichiro paid them no attention.

He was too scared. Too terrified. His mind was already racing through all the horror stories he'd heard about the Kyūbi.

The claws that could tear through mountains. The energy that could vaporize armies. The nine tails of destruction that had razed entire cities.

What would the monster do now? Dismember him? Burn him alive? Torture him for hours while—?

A noise interrupted his spiral of panic.

Something dragging. Small but heavy footsteps.

The demon was moving. It held something in its hands—he couldn't make out what in the darkness—and was approaching him.

Step by step. Each sound like a funeral bell.

Ichiro closed his eyes. Already resigned.

He wouldn't get out of here alive. All his vengeance, all his planning, it had all been useless.

At least—at least he could see his parents again. His beloved Emiko. In the Pure Lands. Where pain didn't exist and monsters couldn't follow him.

The footsteps stopped right beside him.

He waited. The final blow. The attack that would end everything.

But nothing happened.

Silence.

The silence stretched on. Seconds that felt like hours.

Finally, unable to bear it anymore, he decided to open his eyes.

Very slowly. With fear at the surface. Preparing to see whatever the demon had planned for him.

A small child was beside him.

Blond. With marks on his cheeks like whiskers. No taller than his knee if Ichiro had been standing.

His eyes—those impossible eyes—remained the most striking feature of his small being. Glowing softly in the darkness.

"Screw you," he heard him say, in an infantile, barely understandable voice. The words came out distorted, slurred, as if the baby barely knew how to form the syllables.

But the meaning was crystal clear.

Then the child raised what he held in his hands.

A bottle. A simple cheap plastic bottle.

And brought it down directly on his head.

THONK!

Pain.

Darkness.

Nothing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Ichiro Tanaka was found by the assistants and the matron.

Lying in the yard outside the orphanage, his face completely purple and blue, swollen to the point of being unrecognizable.

He looked as if an entire herd of Nara deer had trampled him.

Repeatedly.

Completely intentionally.

He was escorted away by some Uchiha policemen who happened to be passing through the area during their morning patrol.

The entire time he screamed about killer demon children. About glowing eyes that could see the soul. About invisible forces that pulled and pushed. About babies that hit harder than a bull.

They took him directly to the station.

Where Ichiro Tanaka would spend the next seventy-two hours in a cell, still muttering about monsters and blue eyes and killer bottles.

Nobody believed a word of it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

POV Change: Nick/Naruto Uzumaki

Time: That same night

Lately I'd been feeling excellent.

And when I say "lately" I mean the last few months, because since that day where I managed to use Blue to bring that bottle to me—and hit myself in the face in the process—it was like breaking a dam.

Something clicked and my understanding of Blue simply started improving exponentially.

And I'm not exaggerating with "exponentially."

At first, I could only move leaves. Light objects that practically had no mass.

Then I moved on to the bottle, significantly heavier.

Now? Now I could move much heavier things without even breaking a sweat. I was certain I could send furniture flying if I wanted to.

The problem of my network developing slowly—by my standards—had also resolved itself, more or less.

Turns out that if you pushed your chakra channels consistently—every day, without rest, ignoring your body's warning signals—eventually they gave up and expanded to accommodate the demand.

It was basically the chakra equivalent of resistance training. Totally painful, but effective in the long run.

A few months ago, I'd used Blue to tear off a large branch from Tree-kun.

I called her Twig-chan.

Yes, my naming skills suck. But in my defense, at least my names were short and easy. I still remembered that scene from the anime where Naruto and Sasuke combined a Rasenshuriken and Amaterasu.

Minato was way worse than me.

Anyway, Twig-chan had become my training partner. My practice weapon. My glorified staff that someday—when I had hands big enough—I would use to hit people in the face.

I already had it all planned out. Once I was good enough at Fūinjutsu, I'd cover her completely with seals until she became something worthy of legend.

I kept her floating for hours. Made her spin in increasingly complex patterns. Practiced changing the intensity of Blue from barely a tug to rip that off the ground like it weighs nothing.

It was therapeutic, in a way.

My body had also progressed considerably.

Motor functions had improved to the point where I could already walk without falling every three steps.

I still had trouble pronouncing words—my baby tongue simply refused to cooperate with complex sounds—but I could say simple things if I tried hard enough.

And shortly after mastering basic walking, I decided it was time to try something a bit riskier.

Escaping the crib.

I waited until night and used Blue to propel myself upward.

It wasn't elegant. Not at all. I looked more like a defective rocket trying to reach orbit and failing spectacularly.

I managed to clear the bars, though. But the landing was disastrous.

I fell on my ass with a dull thud that would've made any normal baby cry—and I wasn't one, so I didn't cry, you have no proof damn it!—.

I got up, metaphorically dusted myself off, and declared myself victorious.

Freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.

And the first thing I did with my newfound freedom was head straight for a full assault on the storage room.

Because after months of eating pure garbage, my priorities were crystal clear: decent food first, everything else after.

Stealth proved incredibly useful for this. Combining its capabilities with my super cool eyes, I could see exactly where all the wild caretakers that might suddenly appear in the tall grass were located.

Perception was another thing that had improved dramatically since I arrived here. At first, I could barely see a few meters. I had to concentrate intensely just to reach the yard outside my window.

Now I could see the entire building effortlessly. Every room. Every hallway. Every person and their chakra network glowing softly in my vision.

But it shouldn't be a surprise.

Satoru Gojo could 'see' dozens of kilometers around him effortlessly, and his actual range when concentrating on the task wasn't really known—at least not data I was aware of—.

Byakugan? Who cared about those eyes that make you look blind? They had nothing on my magnificent blue eyes.

Ahem

Getting back to the original topic.

When I finally reached the storage room that night, I nearly cried from happiness.

Bread. Real bread. Hard as a rock and probably a week old, but infinitely better than sour milk.

Canned food. Simple, basic, but edible.

It was like dining at a five-star restaurant.

I ate like a pig. Without guilt or regret.

Was it wrong to steal food meant for other orphan children when the village was in crisis?

Probably.

Did I care? Not really.

I was also an orphan child—technically—and I'd been surviving on literal garbage for months while these other kids ate three times a day.

They could survive losing a few cans. I'd earned that right with blood, sweat, and sour bottles.

This routine continued for months. Training during the day within the confines of the crib. Escaping at night. Eating something decent. Training more with Twig-chan until I exhausted my chakra reserves.

Rinse and repeat.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, while juggling Twig-chan, I felt something strange.

It was hard to describe. Like there was a door in my mind I'd never noticed, and someone had just started knocking on it from the other side.

A sensation of push instead of pull. Expansion instead of contraction. Repulsion instead of attraction.

Red.

It had to be Red.

It made sense. My mastery over Blue was solid at this point. I could use the technique for hours without getting tired. I could modulate the force with precision. I could apply it to multiple objects simultaneously.

I'd almost certainly reached the threshold to unlock Red.

I just needed that final push. That moment of understanding where everything would click and Red would fully manifest.

That's why since yesterday I'd been abusing Biological Clock Control mercilessly. Keeping myself awake longer. Training nonstop. Pushing to the limit over and over again.

Today I expected more of the same.

The usual routine. Wait for everyone to sleep. Escape the crib. Steal something from the storage room. Return and train until my reserves screamed for mercy.

Of course, the universe—or ROB, or whoever was writing this—decided that right now was the perfect time to add some spice to my life.

I detected him long before he reached the orphanage.

A civilian, based on his chakra network and general output. Moving suspiciously. Hiding in the shadows.

I watched with curious interest as he crouched behind some bushes near the building's perimeter.

A thief, probably. With the post-Kyūbi situation in the village, it wasn't surprising. Many people had lost everything. Desperation led to questionable decisions.

Though stealing from an orphanage was pretty low. Yes, I'd been doing exactly that for months, but in my defense, I WAS one of those orphans.

I had a free pass. This guy didn't.

I watched him move toward the east side of the building. Toward a broken window.

Ah, he's heading for the storage room, I thought. Makes sense. That's where all the food is.

I watched his hands touch the windowsill.

Crack

The rotted wood gave slightly under his weight.

The guy froze like he'd been shot. His entire body showed signs of pure panic.

I had to suppress a laugh.

This was live entertainment. There wasn't much to entertain myself with around here besides training.

Guess I could enjoy the show.

The guy stood there, completely motionless, for almost thirty seconds before daring to move again.

This time he managed to climb up, though his pants snagged on the broken glass. I could clearly see his already ragged clothes tear further.

Then he fell inside with a dull thud.

He's way too clumsy, I concluded with genuine amusement. Not even a competent thief. Just a desperate civilian with absolutely no stealth skills.

It was almost adorable in its incompetence.

Almost.

I watched him walk through the storage room making enough noise to wake the dead.

Yet no one came to investigate.

Ah, yes. I suppose incompetence affects more than just the ninjas of this world. The caretakers were probably sleeping like logs, and as for me, I'd never seen any kind of guard at the orphanage. If one existed, they were somewhere scratching their balls instead of doing their job.

The intruder finally reached the storage room door. He tried to open it quietly—I had plenty of experience with that—but the rusted hinges squealed as if being tortured with an out-of-tune violin.

Still, he managed to exit successfully.

But why did he leave the storage room? That's where the food was.

That's when my amusement began transforming into something else.

Because the guy didn't seem to be looking for things to steal.

He turned right.

Toward the east wing.

Toward the abandoned section of the building.

Toward where there were no other children.

Toward where there was only one occupied room.

Mine.

Wait.

I observed him more carefully now. His body language. His emotions—Empath was giving me fragments of rage, pain, and determination—.

Oh, I guess this had to happen at some point.

The complete picture assembled in my head like a puzzle.

This was an attack against yours truly.

Honestly, I thought someone from the orphanage staff would be the first to try this.

I didn't even get anxious.

This was what I'd been preparing for, and I could only be grateful that the first idiot to attempt it was a civilian.

I watched him pass by a door where a couple of kids slept. He didn't even pay them attention.

He continued toward my room.

Each step closer.

With an old knife in hand.

Could that thing even cut butter?

It was increasingly difficult to take this situation seriously.

I watched him trip over a bucket. Water spilled everywhere with a crash that definitely woke someone up.

A caretaker came down the stairs. The guy threw himself to hide in a nearby room. She muttered something about cats and buildings falling apart before going back to sleep.

This was the person who had decided to break into the orphanage to kill me.

A walking disaster.

If he weren't specifically coming to stab me, it would be absolutely hilarious.

Well, it was still pretty funny. Just in a darker way.

He continued down the hallway, getting closer and closer to my dwelling.

I used Blue to get out of my crib and position myself in a corner of the room.

For me, with my eyes, it might as well be daylight, but this vagrant could barely make out the crib.

I had no doubt he'd try to approach it without considering checking the entire environment.

The poor bastard wouldn't expect an attack from behind.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the guy reached my door.

I watched him stand there. His hand trembling on the knob. His emotions a whirlwind of determination, fear, rage, and pain.

Come on, get in already. I have better things to do.

I didn't have all night to wait for the idiot who wanted to stab me to gather courage.

I heard the knob begin to turn.

The hinges protested. That sharp, screeching sound that characterized everything in this deteriorated building.

The door opened slowly.

So, how should I approach this?

Although my body was small, I already had more than enough chakra—and control over it—to reinforce myself and give a civilian a beating.

Yeah, maybe that would be best. I had to test Unarmed Combat anyway.

And who better for that than a civilian without any combat training?

Alright, it was decided. I'd use my little baby fists and give this vagrant the redheaded stepchild treatment.

I waited patiently while the guy approached the crib, his clumsy steps echoing in the room's silence. The plan was quite simple.

Step one: a calculated pull of Blue on his leg. Just enough to make him lose his balance—I didn't want to accidentally tear it off—.

Step two: while he fell disoriented, give him the beating of his life and leave him unconscious but not dead.

Step three: drag him outside the building using Blue before anyone woke up.

Step four: go back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

Efficient. Clean. No unnecessary complications.

A plan worthy of my superior intellect.

I watched him finally reach the crib and raise that piece of rusted metal that dared call itself a knife, preparing to stab whatever was inside.

I could see the exact moment his brain processed that the crib was empty.

Confusion settled on his face like fog. His eyes widened. His mouth opened slightly.

This was the perfect moment.

I activated Blue with surgical precision.

My chakra flowed through my body, concentrating in my head before projecting toward his left leg.

I pulled.

Not much. Just a friendly nudge from the universe telling him gravity had other plans for him.

The effect was immediate and gratifying.

"Gah—!"

His arms flailed in the air like uncontrolled windmill blades, searching for something— anything—to hold onto to avoid falling.

His fingers found the crib's bars.

And it was at that precise moment that my entire beautiful plan went straight to hell.

Everything happened in slow motion, with me unable to prevent the imminent disaster.

CRACK

The sound of rotted wood surrendering to physics was like a gunshot in the night's silence.

The bars splintered under the idiot's weight like toothpicks stomped by an elephant.

The vagrant fell—

Directly

On

My Fucking

Crib

CRASH

The sound of wood being completely destroyed echoed through the room with the subtlety of a rock concert in a library.

I stood there, paralyzed in my corner, observing the remains of what once—just thirty seconds ago—was my resting place.

Wood splinters scattered across the floor like fragments of my broken dreams.

The bars in pieces, some still hanging pathetically from the main frame.

The mattress half-crushed under the weight of the imbecile who had clearly decided tonight he wanted a one-way ticket to Konoha Hospital.

You know what the problem was?

Those witches from the orphanage would NEVER give me a new crib.

NEVER

I knew these harpies too well.

They'd say something like "the demon broke it, let him sleep on the floor" or "we don't have the budget to replace it" or some other bullshit excuse that basically translated to screw you.

So much for the simple plan.

This bastard wasn't leaving this place until I finished remodeling his face.

I focused my gaze on the sole, true, undeniable culprit of this entire shit situation.

The idiot was crawling across the floor like a beaten dog, his hands blindly groping in the darkness, searching for his useless knife.

Completely oblivious to the fact that his biggest problem right now wasn't finding his weapon.

It was what was about to happen to him.

I moved.

Fast.

Silent.

Like a small missile of vengeance propelled by justified indignation and pure infantile fury.

I lunged onto his back with all the grace of a brick being thrown through a window.

My weight plus a very good application of Blue crushed him against the wooden floor with a satisfying THUD.

Then my fists began raining down on his head like hail in a summer storm.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Each blow resonated in a way that could only be described as musically satisfying.

I could feel the impact vibrating through my little arms, the chakra amplifying each strike to levels that definitely weren't normal for a baby.

Thanks, Unarmed Combat. You were worth every point spent on you.

"HELP!" The scream came from his throat like the squeal of a pig being chased by a butcher.

"THE DEMON IS ATTACKING ME! HELP, PLEASE!"

Scream all you want. Nobody will save you from me!

THUD! THUD! THUD!

I kept hitting with the dedication of a craftsman working on his masterpiece.

A distant part of my brain—that annoying little voice of reason that normally kept me alive and out of trouble—commented that maybe, possibly, I was being a little excessive.

Of course, I ignored it.

Now I'd have to sleep on the floor because there was no way to steal a crib without someone noticing.

The vagrant tried to defend himself—points for effort, I suppose—.

He thrashed. He twisted. He tried throwing himself to the sides, anything to get me off him.

He only managed to fall face-first against the wooden floor.

CRUNCH

The sound of cartilage surrendering to gravity and the hard floor was beautiful.

His nose—which probably wasn't in great shape to begin with—bent at an angle that definitely didn't appear in any anatomy book.

Blood began gushing, staining the floor wood in a pattern that looked almost artistic under the moonlight filtering through the broken window.

"HELP! SOMEONE—!"

I got off his back.

Not because I was done.

Oh, no.

Not at all.

I was just… reassessing my approach.

My fists were effective. Functional. They got the job done.

But there was something fundamentally unsatisfying about hitting someone with bare hands when the universe had blessed you with the gift of Blue and a room full of potentially blunt objects.

It was like having a Ferrari and only using it to go to the supermarket.

Wasteful. Pure waste.

My gaze swept the room, analyzing options with the seriousness of a sommelier choosing the perfect wine to pair with dinner.

Twig-chan rested in her usual corner, leaning against the wall with all the dignity of Excalibur waiting in its stone.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

This idiot wasn't worthy of being struck by Twig-chan.

She was destined for greater things. More important enemies. Epic battles that would someday be told in legends.

Using her now would be an insult to Twig-chan.

And I wouldn't insult my training partner that way.

Then I saw it.

Lying on the floor near the window, abandoned after one of the witches' "feeding" sessions.

An empty bottle.

Perfect.

I extended my chubby little hand toward the bottle—a completely unnecessary but cool gesture—and pulled it directly toward me.

The bottle responded instantly.

It shot from the floor as if called to fulfill its higher destiny, flying in a practically perfect arc— fruits of my training—.

My tiny fingers closed around it with a grip that would've made any warrior proud.

I held it before me, inspecting it with the appreciation of a craftsman evaluating his tool.

It was solid enough.

Heavy enough.

Just what I needed.

This imbecile had come to kill the "demon baby."

Well, now the "demon baby" was going to teach him a lesson about why messing with babies who have spatial powers is a very bad idea.

Using a bottle.

The vagrant was still on the floor, gasping.

That wouldn't do. I wanted him to see me clearly, so I gave him a big push—maybe I overdid it a bit—that sent him flying against the wall and left him on his back.

I walked toward him.

Step by step.

My short little legs making the process take longer than I'd like, but that only increased the intimidation factor.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I probably just looked like a chubby baby walking with comical determination toward an adult man.

But my eyes glowed in the darkness, so I definitely looked incredible anyway—who am I kidding? I always look incredible—.

Our gazes met.

His eyes widened when he saw my glowing eyes.

He squeezed them shut, as if that would make me disappear.

I guess he'd resigned himself to his fate.

How considerate of him.

I reached his side.

I stood there for a moment, observing him.

This pathetic sack of meat who had entered my room with a knife.

Who had destroyed my crib.

He'd receive his just desserts.

I opened my mouth.

The words didn't come out perfectly. But the message would be crystal clear.

"Screw you."

And I brought down the bottle—chakra-reinforced—directly onto his head.

THONK!

His eyes rolled back.

Had he passed out?

What a pushover. I wasn't done yet.

Not even close.

Leaving him unconscious wasn't enough.

Not after what he'd done.

I raised the bottle again.

THONK!

And again.

THONK!

And again.

THONK! THONK! THONK!

Each blow accompanied by the satisfying sound of plastic against skull.

This continued for a long time.

And I only stopped when I considered the debt settled—lie, I did it because my arm was starting to get tired—.

Besides, the guy already looked like a piñata after the party.

His face was a swollen mass of bruises that made him practically unrecognizable.

Blue. Purple. Green. Black. A complete rainbow of blunt trauma.

His breathing was shallow but steady.

Still alive.

Good.

I didn't want to kill him.

Just… teach him a very, very painful lesson about not messing with other people's property.

Specifically, mine.

I dropped the bottle.

It rolled across the floor, now stained with blood.

I looked at the unconscious guy.

Then at the remains of my crib.

Then back at the guy.

I sighed mentally.

Now I had to dispose of the body.

I couldn't leave him here. The witches would ask questions. Annoying questions that would probably end with me in an even worse situation.

I needed to get him out of the building.

I looked toward the window.

The same broken window through which the cold breeze blew every night.

Hmm.

Yeah.

That would work.

I approached the window, using Blue to levitate the idiot behind me.

His body floated awkwardly, bumping against the wall a couple of times—oops—before I managed to stabilize him.

Control still wasn't perfect with heavy objects in motion.

But it was good enough.

I positioned him near the window.

Took a moment to appreciate my work.

I really had done a number on this guy.

Then, with one final push, I launched him through the window.

His body shot out, spinning uncontrollably in the air before—

THUD!

Landing in the yard below with a dry, satisfying thud.

I leaned out the window to verify.

Yep.

There he was.

Lying on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Still breathing—I could see his chest rise and fall slowly—.

Now he was someone else's problem.

The caretakers would probably assume he was a drunk or an addict who had stumbled and fallen.

With the number of people living on the streets, it wouldn't be unusual.

And if he mentioned something about a demon baby… Well.

Nobody would believe him.

Because, come on.

A nine-month-old baby beating up an adult?

Ridiculous.

I moved away from the window, satisfied with the night's work.

Then I looked at the remains of my crib.

Damn.

I still had to deal with that.

There was no way to hide it. The thing was completely destroyed.

The witches would see it tomorrow and…

Uff

I sighed again.

Well.

I guess I'd be sleeping on the floor from now on.

Not like the crib had been particularly comfortable to begin with.

But it had been MINE.

I crawled to my usual corner—where Twig-chan waited patiently.

I sat down, my back against the cold wall.

I closed my eyes.

A little rest wouldn't hurt.

With any luck, it would be a while before some ninja tried their luck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Next Day

POV: Matron Natsumi

Natsumi descended the stairs toward the east wing with her morning coffee in hand, mentally preparing for another miserable day of work.

Nine months.

Nine months had passed since they brought the… little spawn.

She couldn't think of him as a baby.

Babies were innocent. Adorable. Worthy of protection.

That thing was a vessel for a demon.

But the Hokage's orders were clear: keep him alive.

So she did.

Barely.

As she rounded the corner into the hallway leading to his room, she saw one of her assistants—Yuki—running toward her.

"Mrs. Natsumi, you have to see this!" Natsumi frowned.

"What is it now?"

"It's his… it's his room! And there's a man outside!" Her heart sank.

Oh no.

Had someone tried something?

She ran—as fast as her injured leg allowed—toward the child's room.

The door was wide open.

Inside, she could see… Debris.

The crib was completely destroyed.

Wood splinters everywhere.

The bars broken and scattered across the floor.

And the child…

The damned child was sitting in a corner, awake, watching her with those eyes.

Those horrible glowing eyes.

Blue. Luminous. As if they could see right through her.

Natsumi suppressed a shiver.

"There's a man lying outside," she heard Yuki say.

She headed straight toward her to see what was happening.

And sure enough.

There was a man lying in the yard below.

Even from here she could see he was… bad.

His face was a mass of bruises.

Swollen to the point of being almost unrecognizable.

"Kami-sama…" she muttered.

She turned toward the child.

He watched her without expression. Completely calm.

As if nothing had happened.

As if there weren't a brutally beaten man lying outside his window.

As if his crib weren't destroyed.

Her mind worked quickly, trying to piece things together.

Someone had entered the orphanage.

Probably with violent intentions toward the child.

Somehow, during the process, the crib broke.

And the man ended up… outside.

Beaten.

How had this happened?

Was it the demon child?

She looked at the child again.

He blinked.

Once.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

As if he knew exactly what she was thinking and was mocking her.

A chill ran down her spine.

"Yuki," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "Go find the police. There's an injured intruder in the yard."

"And the child?"

Natsumi looked at the destroyed crib.

Then at the child.

"Bring… bring some blankets. Put them on the floor. That'll have to do until we get a new crib." If they even got a new crib.

With the orphanage's budget, she doubted they could afford it.

Yuki ran off.

Natsumi stood there, watching the child who watched her back.

Nine months.

And this was the first real incident.

Somehow, she knew it wouldn't be the last.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uchiha Police Station - Two hours later

POV: Officer Uchiha Tetsu

Tetsu looked at the man in the cell with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

Ichiro Tanaka.

The guy was a mess.

Bruises everywhere. Massive swelling. Broken nose, three fractured ribs.

And a perfectly circular mark on his forehead that looked suspiciously like the base of a bottle.

"…and then the demon baby hit me with the bottle," Tanaka was saying for the fifteenth time. "His eyes! His eyes glowed in the dark like—like—!" Tetsu exchanged a glance with his partner.

The man just made a circular gesture with his finger beside his temple.

Crazy.

Completely crazy.

"Tanaka-san." Tetsu said with the patience of someone who had heard this story too many times already. "Let me see if I understand correctly."

"You entered the Konoha Orphanage—illegally, I should add—with a knife."

"You went to a nine-month-old baby's room."

"And that baby… attacked you?"

"YES!" Tanaka screamed, clutching the cell bars. "The demon attacked me! It has powers! It can—it can move things without touching them! It threw me to the ground! It hit me!" Tetsu sighed.

"Tanaka-san, It's a baby……Do you have any idea how this sounds?"

"IT'S NOT A BABY! IT'S THE KYŪBI! THE MONSTER THAT DESTROYED THE VILLAGE!" Ah.

There it was.

Another one of those.

Since the Kyūbi attack, there had been rumors.

Rumors about the jinchūriki.

Rumors about where it was hidden.

Rumors about it being a disguised monster waiting to attack again.

Tetsu didn't know the complete truth—that information was far above his pay grade—but he knew enough.

He knew the Yondaime had sealed the Kyūbi.

He knew there was a jinchūriki somewhere.

And he knew that anyone who tried to harm that jinchūriki would be treated as a traitor.

Hokage's orders.

Very, very clear.

"Tanaka-san." Tetsu said, his voice taking a more serious tone. "Are you admitting that you entered the orphanage illegally with the intention of harming a child?" Tanaka blinked, his brain finally processing the implications.

"I… I just wanted… my family…"

"Your family?"

"The… the Kyūbi killed them. All of them. My father, my mother, my fiancée…" His voice broke.

Tears began streaming down his swollen cheeks.

"I just wanted… I just wanted revenge…" And there it was.

The real story.

Not a delusional madman.

Just a broken man who had lost everything and was looking for someone—anyone—to blame.

Many had lost families during the attack.

He himself had lost cousins.

But that didn't justify attempted murder.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tetsu said genuinely. "But that doesn't give you the right to try to kill someone."

"IT'S NOT A PERSON! IT'S—!"

"It's a baby," Tetsu interrupted firmly. "A baby that, according to all reports, was simply existing in his room when you broke in with a weapon." He turned to Ren.

"Process him. Attempted murder. Illegal entry. We can add disturbing the peace for the screaming."

Ren nodded and began filling out the paperwork.

Tanaka collapsed against the cell bars, sobbing. "You don't understand… that monster… that monster is going to kill us all…"

Tetsu ignored him and left the cell area.

Outside, on his desk, was the orphanage report.

Destroyed crib.

Intruder found with massive injuries.

The jinchūriki unharmed.

Officially, the report would say the intruder had stumbled, fallen on the crib, and then fallen through the window in the process.

End of story.

Was that the complete truth?

Hell no.

But it was the truth that would go in the official records.

Because the alternative—that a nine-month-old baby had beaten an adult senseless—was ridiculous.

Completely impossible.

Even if that baby was a jinchūriki.

Impossible.

Tetsu looked toward the direction of the orphanage.

And for the first time since taking this case, he felt a shiver of unease.

Because deep in his mind, an annoying little voice whispered:

What if Tanaka was telling the truth?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Ridiculous.

Completely ridiculous.

It was just a baby.

How dangerous could it be?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip: Three and a half years after the Kyūbi attack

Location: Forested area within Konoha's boundaries

POV: Nick/Naruto Uzumaki

I found myself doing my stretches after finishing that morning's training at the place that had been my home all this time.

It was a small but functional clearing I'd found after leaving the orphanage when staying there became too problematic for me.

A circular space about twenty meters in diameter, surrounded by ancient trees whose canopies intertwined forming a natural dome that filtered sunlight into dappled patterns on the grass-covered ground.

To my left, a stream meandered lazily between rocks, its constant murmur mixing with birdsong and the occasional creak of some squirrel scampering through the branches.

The water was crystalline, clear enough to see fish swimming against the current.

Fish that would very soon be my lunch.

But first things first.

I approached the pile of dry wood I'd collected during the morning, branches and twigs carefully stacked in a structure that would maximize airflow.

I inhaled deeply, expanding my chest while molding a minimal amount of chakra in my throat and lungs.

No hand seals.

Just a controlled exhalation.

A small flame burst from my lips, licking the dry wood with orange tongues. I maintained the steady flow for a few seconds, moving my head slightly to ensure the flames distributed evenly.

When the entire pile began crackling with its own life, I cut the chakra flow and observed my work with satisfaction.

What I'd just used didn't even qualify as an E-rank jutsu.

It was simply a nameless technique designed to let shinobi start fires easily when they didn't have tools at hand.

One of many basic jutsus and techniques included in Utility Jutsus that I'd been practicing extensively since settling in this place.

Simple. Practical. Incredibly useful.

Each and every one of those small utility techniques had served me incredibly well so far.

Money well spent, no doubt.

Without moving from where I stood, I extended my perception toward the stream.

Two fish.

Decent size.

Swimming near the surface, completely oblivious to their imminent culinary fate.

I concentrated my attention on the space above the fish, visualizing what I needed to do.

I began channeling Blue to generate an infinitesimal vacuum at a specific point in space. By creating that absence—that negativity—everything surrounding it was drawn toward that point to fill the void. I was making space itself collapse microscopically, dragging along everything within its radius of influence.

Red worked on the opposite principle: instead of creating a vacuum, it generated an expansion. Space dilated from a central point, pushing everything outward with force proportional to the energy invested.

Together, they meant having control over the very fabric of reality.

And I used it for fishing.

It might seem like a waste, but this was the best path to perfection—or at least the closest thing to it—and versatility with my kekkei genkai's use.

No matter how mundane, everything I used it for helped me improve control and create new applications.

The water swirled briefly as space pulled it toward the center, and with it, the fish. The animal shot out of the stream as if an invisible hand had grabbed it, water droplets gleaming in the air around it.

Simultaneously, I generated a second point where the other fish was.

Both floated for a moment, suspended in that constant pull keeping them away from the water.

Now the tricky part.

I gradually changed the effect's nature, transitioning from vertical attraction to controlled horizontal repulsion. Space expanded in the direction I wanted, pushing the fish toward where I stood.

It wasn't perfectly smooth.

But my control was improving enough to make my powers seem like some kind of simple telekinesis instead of being dangerous but precise spatial manipulation.

I really needed to practice more with fluid transitions.

The two fish landed with a pair of wet plops on the flat rock I used as a preparation surface, still flopping uselessly.

A quick movement of the small knife I'd "acquired" a few months ago and they stopped moving.

I began cleaning them with the efficiency of someone who'd done this hundreds of times, my hands working automatically while my mind wandered.

Which brings us to what many are probably wondering right now.

Why was I in the middle of a Konoha forest doing a knockoff Bear Grylls impression?

It was actually quite simple.

After my little encounter with that vagrant, something had simply clicked among the village population.

Because suddenly the attacks had started increasing steadily and consistently.

Seems everyone had heard about the idiot's attempt and thought: "Hey, I can do that too! And I definitely won't fail like the others!" Of course, they all failed.

And quite spectacularly.

Bodies just kept piling up in the orphanage yard, unconscious and decorated with artistic bruises courtesy of yours truly.

Not a single fatality—I had enough control to avoid killing them—.

Why bother?

It wasn't really any noble reason, nor was it because I was reluctant to kill. I didn't feel much sympathy for people who were actively trying to send me to the Jōdo.

I simply realized my capabilities improved much faster when applied in real combat than with constant grinding—I should clarify I still wasn't using clones to train—so it was much better to give them opportunities to try again.

They could have their fruitless attempts to eliminate me.

And I got free practice dummies.

Clearly everyone won.

This is how I managed to unlock Red.

I was already close to achieving it when I was first attacked. But frankly, I expected at least a month of pure effort to get it.

That made it a surprise when, barely a week later, I sent our little vagrant friend flying—yep, same guy, seems he didn't learn his lesson—along with the three buddies he'd brought as backup, pushing them instead of pulling them where I wanted.

The sensation was… glorious.

Since then, I indulged myself with the other idiots who'd started showing up weekly, channeling my inner Nagato with a healthy dose of bootleg Shinra Tenseis distributed to all.

Things only kept improving for me when Infinity arrived.

This discovery was somewhat fortuitous.

I'd been using my spatial powers to deal with civilians in most of my encounters, occasionally engaging in hand-to-hand when I felt the need to practice the art of knocking out someone's teeth with my fists.

At some point, the civilians had started bringing blunt and sharp objects to improve their chances.

That suited me fine.

Those guys—and the occasional crazy woman—weren't particularly a great challenge, so anything that increased the difficulty helped me improve.

I deflected all attempts to be skewered or struck, and I could sustain fights against multiple targets simultaneously without major problems.

I suppose that's why the universe reminded me of its tendency to screw everyone over when a chunk of ceiling simply detached and fell on my head—damn piece-of-crap orphanage— while I was busy pummeling the pile of useless attackers.

What did you think would happen? That I got careless and one of the civilians almost managed to hit me?

Hell no.

I'm half-stupid sometimes, but not arrogant.

I would definitely never lower my guard against any potential enemy.

So the fact that I was reminded my problems wouldn't always come from people trying to kill me was a good thing.

The damned thing was already on top of me and I was surrounded, so I was planning to send out a huge pulse of repulsion so everyone would end up knocked out while deflecting the ceiling chunk's trajectory.

It wasn't necessary.

It hung completely suspended in the air, centimeters from my head.

As if it had crashed into an invisible wall.

Infinity worked by creating infinite divisions in the space between me and anything approaching. The distance could be centimeters, but those centimeters contained infinite subdivisions that any object would have to traverse.

They never would.

After finishing mopping the floor with my attackers, I could only feel immense relief. And I don't mean from having saved myself from a nice Windows restart.

This was one of my biggest concerns simply resolving itself.

At that point, only stupid civilians who believed they were facing a weakened Kyūbi without its powers had attacked me.

No shinobi had tried.

But it was a matter of time.

I'd noticed some ninjas in the orphanage's vicinity during the attacks and at random moments. I just wasn't sure if they were Danzō's toys or the classic idiot shinobi from the civilian sector who shared the same brain cell as their kind and also thought I was possessed.

So having a powerful defense protecting me from being screwed over by some resentful ninja was simply delightful.

That's also what really made me decide to leave the orphanage.

I'm a selfish bastard who will always choose my own benefit and desires above everyone else's.

But I wasn't a heartless bastard.

If shinobi started attacking me and I defended myself with extreme prejudice, the chances of the other brats getting caught in the crossfire were high.

Something I preferred to avoid, even if most of those runts had probably already been trained by the staff to hate the monster.

As for the orphanage staff?

Well, screw them!

I couldn't care less about them!

So I simply grabbed Twig-chan and left the place, heading toward the forested area farthest from the village that was still within its boundaries.

I'd invested a respectable amount of my points in things that would serve precisely to fend for myself as soon as I could control my own body, so I wasn't too worried.

I knew how to cook. I knew how to move undetected. I had all the basic survival utility techniques implanted in my head. And my eyes let me see any potential threat from kilometers away.

I wandered for a couple of hours until I finally found this clearing, where I spent a good portion of my time training.

I still returned to the orphanage from time to time. I had to show myself alive and kicking, or they'd start sending people to constantly monitor what I was doing.

Something that would be very bad considering I'd started training with more of the abilities and techniques I'd purchased.

Techniques I shouldn't have access to by any stretch.

I'd be in serious trouble if someone who shouldn't found out about them. I was in a Bad Tropes world; the bastards up top wouldn't hesitate to send me to the interrogation and torture department.

Setting that aside, I already wanted to start training with the good stuff.

Kage Bunshin was implanted perfectly in my head and ready to use. I'd simply been waiting for my network to develop enough.

But it would have to wait a bit longer. Almost all my tenketsus were open now, and if not, they were partially so.

The grind would increase its efficiency brutally once I could multiply myself.

Then there were the knowledge libraries I now had access to.

Fūinjutsu. Medical arts. All the general knowledge of the ninja world I'd bought.

The problem was that all of it required real study. It wasn't like the techniques I could simply execute; this was information I had to process, understand, and apply.

And there was a small obstacle.

I couldn't read Japanese.

Yeah, hilarious.

I had access to the complete library of the Uzumaki clan on sealing, centuries of knowledge accumulated by one of the most talented families in the art… And I couldn't read a damned word.

Because apparently ROB thought it would be funny to give me all that knowledge in the original language.

Son of a bitch.

I'd have to learn the language first before I could access any of those abilities.

Another thing for the to-do list.

But until then, I had some important things to train.

Today, for example, would be a pretty special day.

I'd decided it was time to improve my quality of life a bit.

But how to do that if I didn't have a single Ryō—the main currency of this world, for those wondering—to my name?

Truthfully, even if I had them, I doubted those bastards in the village would sell me anything.

So I'd simply steal everything and be done with it.

This would help me train the most classic shinobi skills, making it a two-for-one.

After eating, I'd head straight to the village for the first time.

The sun was beginning to set when I finally got moving.

The fish had been delicious—it really had been worth buying the cooking skill; even with scarce ingredients, things tasted supernaturally exquisite—and my chakra reserves were completely full after an afternoon of rest.

Optimal conditions for my first real incursion into enemy territory.

I moved through the forest with the fluidity I'd acquired through these years of constant practice. My feet barely touched the branches before propelling myself to the next one, my small body slipping through the foliage like a shadow.

Stealth wasn't just a skill.

It was an art.

The art of knowing exactly where to step to make no noise. Of moving with the wind instead of against it. Of using the environment's natural shadows as cover. Of controlling your breathing, your presence, to the point where even animals with keen senses would ignore you.

And I was mastering it quickly.

As I approached the village's more populated area, I activated my eyes to maximum capacity.

The world exploded with information.

I could see the chakra networks of every living being within a radius of several hundred meters.

The civilians were easy to identify: small, underdeveloped networks, glowing dimly like candles compared to the shinobi.

Their networks were denser, brighter, and gave off unique sensations I still couldn't interpret.

I identified the positions of three different patrols on my route to the commercial district. Two teams of two chūnin each, moving in predictable patterns. And a lone ANBU on a nearby rooftop, their chakra network glowing with an intensity indicating at least jōnin level.

Interesting.

General surveillance or were they looking for something specific?

Didn't matter. I'd avoid them all anyway.

I waited patiently in a treetop until the first patrol passed beneath me, their muted voices discussing something about shifts and sake.

First-rate professionals, clearly.

As soon as they disappeared from my immediate range, I moved.

Shunshin carried me from tree to tree, each jump perfectly timed to coincide with gusts of wind that masked any residual sound. My eyes kept scanning constantly, processing information, calculating routes.

The residential zone appeared before me.

I located a blind spot between two buildings where the sight lines didn't completely overlap.

The few civilians walking down the street were distracted with their own affairs.

I adhered to a building's wall using chakra in my hands and feet, climbing vertically with the ease of a spider.

In seconds, I was on the roof, with a panoramic view of the surroundings.

Phase one: complete.

Now came the fun part.

The commercial district was a few blocks away. During the day, it would be packed with people, but at this hour—twilight, that magical moment between shops closing and nightlife beginning—the streets were relatively empty.

Perfect.

I moved from roof to roof, my small silhouette blending with the chimneys and water tanks. Every time I detected an approaching presence, I simply stayed motionless, trusting my training to do the rest.

It worked flawlessly.

A shinobi passed within three meters of my position without even turning their head.

My first stop was a general supplies store.

The back door had a simple lock that I manipulated with a wire and some patience. I'd practiced this extensively at the orphanage with all the doors that were supposed to keep me locked in.

The interior was dark, but that wasn't a problem for me.

My eyes let me see everything perfectly.

I moved quickly, selecting only the essentials.

Thermal blankets. Two, rolled compactly. Nights in the forest could get cold occasionally.

A cooking utensil set. Small pot, frying pan, ladle. Cooking over hot stones worked, but this was better.

Good quality rope. Fifty meters, resistant but light.

A metal canteen. Better than drinking directly from the stream with my hands.

A waterproof tarp that could serve as an improvised tent. Not perfect, but it would keep the rain out.

generated by "Markdown to PDF Fast Converter"

Everything went directly into a backpack—which frankly was huge on me—that I also "borrowed" from the inventory.

Total time in the store: four minutes.

I exited through the same back door, closing it behind me as if I'd never been there.

Second stop: a clothing store.

I needed something more appropriate than the rags I'd been wearing. Something simple, functional, that didn't scream I'm a fugitive orphan, please report me to the authorities.

This store had better security.

A seal on the door.

I stopped to examine it with my eyes, observing the chakra pattern composing it.

I could see every line, every node, every connection with perfect clarity. The problem wasn't seeing it.

The problem was that I had no clue what I was seeing meant.

I could perfectly observe the chakra lines forming intricate patterns, but interpreting those patterns was a completely different story. Was it an alarm? An explosive seal? A barrier? A message saying "welcome, come right in"?

God, I really needed to solve my reading problem as fast as possible.

The Uzumaki knowledge library and everything else were completely useless if I couldn't read the language they were written in.

Fine. Plan B.

I circled the building while avoiding drawing attention from passersby wandering the area, searching for alternatives.

The main door was out. Too exposed and also sealed.

The first-floor windows were closed with latches from inside. I could see them clearly through the glass and walls.

The second-floor ones, same deal.

Of course. We were in a ninja village. Nobody left windows open or poorly secured. That would be inviting any thief with basic training to enter.

But "closed" didn't mean "inaccessible."

I made sure nobody was watching, scaled the wall using chakra, and positioned myself next to a second-floor window.

I could see the latch perfectly. A simple metal mechanism, nothing special.

I concentrated a point of Blue directly on it.

The pull was minimal, just enough to move the small lock from its position.

Click

The window opened without resistance.

I entered.

The second floor was storage. Stacked boxes, rolls of fabric, unclothed mannequins that in the darkness looked like ghostly figures.

I descended the stairs carefully, avoiding the boards my eyes identified as prone to creaking.

The sales area was full of exactly what I needed.

Five minutes later, I exited through the same window with three complete outfits in dark tones, a pair of decent sandals, and most importantly, a blindfold to cover my eyes.

For most of this time, I’d had minimal contact with other humans.

But in the few moments I went to the orphanage, I noticed how the discomfort of people looking at my face had increased.

The more people stared, the stronger the sensation became.

That’s why I decided that from now on I would start wearing a blindfold—because there was no way I was going to use a full or partial mask that would hide my masculine beauty—.

Man of Mystery was a little vague in its description and didn’t really specify how much I had to cover myself to reduce the compulsion.

Hopefully, a Gojo-style approach would be enough, and a simple blindfold would satisfy the condition.

Besides, it concealed my eyes. Those brilliant blue orbs that would definitely raise uncomfortable questions if someone saw them up close. Third stop: a hardware store.

Tools. Wire. A small axe for chopping firewood. Sharpening stone.

This one was easy. No seals, no complications. Just a basic lock I opened in seconds.

Fourth stop: a dry goods store.

Rice, salt, asic spices, dried fruits…..Everything that could be stored for extended periods without refrigeration.

Also straightforward.

I briefly considered trying one of the ninja shops I'd identified during my route.

I could easily distinguish them from civilian ones.

Not just by the merchandise visible in the windows, but by the security levels.

Multiple layers of overlapping seals. Interwoven chakra patterns in ways suggesting redundancies and traps.

Connections that probably led to some centralized alarm system.

Without being able to read the seals, it would be like trying to defuse a bomb seeing all the wires but not knowing which one to cut.

I could identify every component, but I had no idea of its function.

Too risky for my current knowledge level.

Weapons and ninja supplies would have to wait until I could prepare properly.

For now, what I'd obtained was more than enough to improve my quality of life in the forest.

My backpack was satisfyingly full.

Time to head back.

I began my return route toward the forested area, taking a different path from my entry.

Never use the same route twice; basic infiltration rule.

Or at least, that’s what Stealth and Subterfuge indicated.

That's when I detected them.

Two chakra signatures moving in my direction. Brighter than civilians, but not excessively powerful.

Probably chūnin.

And there was something distinctive about them.

A particular quality I hadn't noticed in the other patrols.

I pressed against a chimney, reducing my profile to the minimum.

The figures emerged from a side street.

Dark uniforms. Tactical vests. And on their backs, clearly visible even in the twilight's dimness, the unmistakable symbol of a red and white fan.

Uchiha.

Konoha's Military Police.

The Uchiha clan controlled the village's internal security. They'd have patrols everywhere, especially in commercial zones where robberies were most likely.

And I'd just spent the last two hours systematically robbing half a dozen stores.

I was certain nobody had actually seen me.

I'd also made sure not to activate any of the seals the stores had.

So I doubted they were specifically following me, but regardless, the enormous backpack full of stuff would be a big red flag if I let myself be seen.

The two Uchiha walked with considerable confidence, almost bordering on arrogance. Their eyes scanned the surroundings with trained veterans' attention.

I held my breath as they passed directly beneath the roof where I hid.

Their voices reached me, muffled but audible.

"…another quiet shift," one commented, clearly bored.

"Don't complain. I prefer this to dealing with drunks from the red-light district."

"I suppose. Though lately there've been rumors of robberies in the area."

…they were probably talking about other thefts. My little heists had only happened a few minutes ago; it was impossible for anyone to have reported them so quickly..

"Really? I haven't seen any reports."

"Nothing official yet. But some merchants have mentioned missing inventory. Small things. Hard to notice."

The other Uchiha scoffed.

"Probably counting errors. You know how these civilians are with their records."

"Maybe. But we should stay alert anyway." They moved away, their voices gradually fading.

I waited.

Counted to sixty in my head.

Then another sixty.

Only when I was absolutely certain they'd left did I allow myself to exhale.

That had been too close.

Not because of the risk of being physically caught.

With Infinity active, I doubted they could touch me even if they tried.

And maybe I could catch them by surprise and slam their heads against the ground to knock them out.

Nobody expected an invisible force to crush them out of nowhere.

But being discovered would mean questions. Investigations.

Attention I definitely didn't need.

Mental note: the Uchiha are still alive, so better avoid them in the future.

Maybe I should consider doing something about the Uchiha situation.

At the very least, I wanted to try to save Mikoto. In the original series, she was wasted—like almost the entire female cast—.

But in the realms of Bad Tropes, she was always one of the best women you could get in the area.

Although, it was likely that it wouldn’t even be necessary.

Things here were already very different.

It's Minato who reigns over the village, not Hiruzen. Maybe the massacre wouldn't even happen in this world.

Now that I thought about it, that was pretty common in Bad Tropes scenarios.

I resumed my path, moving more cautiously than before.

It was then, while jumping between rooftops near the administrative district to circle an area with too much activity, that I heard it.

Voices.

Normally I'd ignore them, but something in the tone made me pause.

"…the Kumo emissaries arrive tomorrow morning." I stopped cold, pressing against a chimney.

Two shinobi conversing on a nearby balcony. Chūnin, judging by their chakra networks. Probably on a break between shifts.

"Think the treaty will actually be signed this time?" one asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"Who knows," the other replied. "But Hokage-sama seems optimistic. They say Kumo sent a very high-ranking ninja alone as a show of good faith."

"That's…"

"Big. Yeah. If this works out, we could have an alliance with Kaminari no Kuni for the first time since the villages were founded." I remained motionless, processing.

Kumo emissary.

Peace treaty.

And then I remembered.

The Hyūga incident.

The attempted kidnapping of Hinata.

Hizashi's death.

All starting with this "diplomatic" visit.

My eyes narrowed.

Interesting.

Very, very interesting.

The two shinobi continued their conversation, but I was no longer listening.

My mind worked at full speed, analyzing possibilities, calculating risks and benefits.

Should I get involved?

Could I get involved without revealing my capabilities?

Was the risk worth it?

I didn't have answers yet.

But I had time to think.

The emissary arrived tomorrow.

I had all night to decide what to do.

With one last glance toward the administrative district, I resumed my path toward the forest.

Tonight's mission had been a success.

But something told me things were about to get much more interesting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[END OF CHAPTER 4]

Author’s Note:

I felt a bit uncomfortable while writing some of the MC’s POVs, so I decided to adjust things slightly. Honestly, I’d like to hear your thoughts on it, feel free to leave them in the comments.

This chapter serves as a transition before an important event begins. A lot of people on QQ were worried that I might drag out the baby stage for too long, or on the other hand, not develop it enough, so I hope this strikes a good balance.

The idea was to use progressive time skips to show development without getting stuck in that phase for too long. This was also necessary so the story can move forward and eventually reach the lewd content I promised.