"You are... Uzumaki Naruto, right?"
A faint voice drifted through the heavy fog of unconsciousness, tugging at the edge of Naruto's awareness like a ripple across still water.
His eyes fluttered open, blinking against a strange white brightness. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze—until he focused on the face before him.
Handsome. Even more so than Sasuke's. Yet unfamiliar.
Naruto's brows knit together. "You are…?"
The man offered a faint smile. There was no arrogance in it—just a quiet melancholy. "Just think of me as your fan... A former fan."
"My fan?!" Naruto's expression lit up instantly. His blue eyes widened, glittering with innocent disbelief. "I actually have fans too? Really?!"
He practically bounced in place, feet shuffling as his arms swung with exaggerated excitement. It was the kind of joy that bloomed unfiltered, born from a childhood starving for acknowledgment.
Seeing Naruto so thrilled, Kaito chuckled and raised his hand in a slow, casual gesture. "Don't get too excited. You might as well sit down first."
With that wave, space twisted ever so slightly, shimmering like water touched by wind. A polished wooden table and two matching chairs materialized between them, pristine and warm-toned against the vast, sterile expanse of white.
Naruto froze mid-bounce, jaw slightly agape.
The furniture didn't thud or scrape into place—it simply was. Magic. That was the only word Naruto's mind could summon.
He blinked, slowly approaching, fingers brushing the edge of the table. The surface felt real. Solid. Cool to the touch.
Only then did he finally glance around—eyes widening further.
Endless white stretched in every direction. No floor, no ceiling. Just an abyss of light.
"...So, it was just a dream," he muttered, dejectedly slumping into the chair. His knees dangled a little above the ground, chin resting against folded arms. His voice softened to a whisper. "Of course it is..."
Kaito tilted his head, observing the boy. "Well, do you really wish you had a fan?"
Naruto didn't hesitate. "No… I just wish someone would recognize me."
The words tumbled out, unfiltered. Because this was a dream, wasn't it? And in dreams, you could say anything.
He didn't look at Kaito—just stared at the white horizon, as if afraid it would vanish the moment he blinked.
"For some reason, the adults in the village hate me. They won't let the other kids play with me," he said, voice low and flat, like someone describing the weather. "When I was younger, they even encouraged the other children to throw stones at me."
Kaito's hands curled slightly, knuckles whitening.
"Things are better at the ninja academy. At least… they can't hit me there. But the shopkeepers still won't sell me anything. Except expired food." Naruto let out a weak chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "Sometimes, when I'm really hungry, I go to the river to fish…"
His voice cracked.
"For all these years, I've been alone. Even the Third Hokage only visits me once a month. Just to check if I'm eating right. He always gives me that same smile... like he's sorry."
Kaito sat quietly, hands clasped together. He didn't speak. Didn't interrupt. Just listened.
And Naruto kept talking. Perhaps it was the first time he'd ever had someone truly listen.
For over half an hour, his voice filled the void—sometimes breaking, sometimes bright. He shared tales of pranks and punishments, moments of joy stolen between long stretches of silence. No bitterness. No hatred.
Just loneliness. Raw and enduring.
When Naruto finally fell silent, the world felt still—like everything had been holding its breath.
Kaito studied him for a long moment, eyes dimming with memory.
He, too, had known what it meant to grow up an orphan. But his isolation had never come with rocks, scornful glances, or whispered slurs. He was pitied, not hated. And for that, he'd once considered himself unlucky.
Until now.
It was during those orphaned days, he remembered, that he first encountered Naruto in a broadcasted ninja exam. Even at a young age, Naruto's fiery speeches and stubborn sense of justice had captivated him.
That was why he'd called himself a fan.
At least back then.
"But things are better now," Naruto said, his voice lifting again, dragging the silence back into light. "Finally, someone is willing to talk to me… other than the Third Hokage."
He smiled. "Even if it is just a dream, it makes me happy."
Kaito felt his throat tighten. This boy's optimism... it hurt to look at.
After a moment, Naruto pouted and crossed his arms. "If only I could dream a dream like this every day!"
Kaito didn't laugh. His eyes sharpened.
"Don't you hate them?"
"Ah?!" Naruto blinked, startled.
Kaito leaned forward slightly. "The villagers. They were so hostile to you. They even threw rocks at you for no reason when you were young. Don't you ever hate them?"
Naruto froze.
A strange expression passed over his face—one Kaito hadn't seen before. His jaw tensed. His hands curled slowly into fists atop his lap.
And then… something shifted.
Kaito's Sharingan flickered instinctively.
From deep within Naruto, a foreign chakra stirred—slow, pulsing, ancient.
It crept through the white space like a barely audible hum.
Kaito's pupils contracted. He recognized that chakra.
Naruto's lips parted… and the storm vanished.
He smiled, soft and peaceful.
"Why would I hate them?"
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Maybe they just misunderstood something," he said, lifting his gaze with a hopeful gleam. "Once they understand, the misunderstanding can be cleared up!"
He grinned, bright and warm. "Right, that's it! I want to clear up the misunderstanding and make the villagers recognize me!"
Kaito's mouth twitched. The whiplash was too fast. Too clean.
Something's definitely wrong.
He activated his Sharingan subtly, letting his perception slip further into Naruto's subconscious. The chakra was faint—like a whisper—but its influence was precise.
When Kaito touched it with his mental energy, he felt Naruto's prior resentment... dissolve.
Not fade.
Vanish.
It hadn't been sealed. It had been rewritten.
Whatever it was, this chakra kept Naruto tethered to a perpetual state of compassion—an unnatural resistance to hatred. As though every instinct to retaliate had been gently unthreaded from his soul.
Fortunately, Kaito had only brushed it lightly, avoiding any lingering effects. But the source was undeniable now.
Asura.
Kaito remembered the fragments of lore. The second son of the Sage of the Six Paths. Unlike his elder brother Indra, Asura had inherited the body—and a philosophy of love over strength.
And that legacy... was now in Naruto.
In the original timeline, it had never been fully explained. But Kaito had seen enough hints.
The clearest was during the Infinite Tsukuyomi arc.
When Naruto was pulled into the dream world shaped by the deepest desires of the heart.
In Sakura's illusion, her parents weren't annoying. Her father was the Fourth Hokage, a village hero.
But Naruto?
He dreamed of a world where he still lacked his parents. Still suffered the villagers' scorn. Still smiled.
Still didn't blame them.
His face, in that dream… was shaded in black.
Even in fantasy, Naruto clung to the idea that everyone deserved a second chance. That they could be better.
But that wasn't hope. That was programming.
In the real world, had Minato and Kushina lived, Naruto would've grown up protected—cherished. As the son of the Yellow Flash and Kushina Uzumaki, he would've been untouchable.
Yet even in dreams… he forgave. Unconditionally.
It wasn't noble.
It was unnatural.
Now Kaito could see the why.
It was Asura's chakra—guiding Naruto like a shepherd through a life of pain, keeping his heart docile and soft. A kindness incubated in artificial light.
Just like Hashirama.
The man who gave away Bijuu like party favors to prevent war. The man who believed love alone could change the world.
And what did it achieve?
Hashirama died.
And the world returned to war.
If he had listened to Madara… if he had crushed the opposition with strength instead of appeasement, the world might have known peace by fear—but peace nonetheless.
Now, another naïve idealist was being born. Another Asura. Another lamb being raised to forgive wolves.
And Kaito would not let history repeat itself.
Not again.