---
The sky above the Hidden Leaf Village was shrouded in navy blue, only a sliver of moonlight escaping the passing clouds. The streets were quiet. Children slept. Lanterns flickered behind paper windows.
High above the rooftops, the young Uchiha crouched on the edge of a water tower, his cloak flapping softly in the wind. The mask covering his face was a simple design—a blank expression with gentle curves, made from painted wood he carved himself.
This was not the student, not the older brother, not the budding Academy ninja.
This was himself, in raw form—no rules, no restrictions, no expectations.
Just purpose.
He didn't call it justice. Not yet. But he knew some things were wrong. He knew some things needed stopping. And when you were smart, and quiet, and could move like wind? You could make a difference.
Tonight was his first try. A test. A whisper in the dark.
---
A Target of Opportunity
It started innocently.
While walking home two days ago, he'd overheard two men whispering near the tool shop about an "exchange" on the east side of the village wall. He pretended to be distracted—pretended to be a child. But his mind snapped to focus.
The words had been cautious: "Drop the scroll at the ridge."
"Don't be followed."
"Clean hands, dirty coin."
It didn't sound like a simple market deal.
So he made a plan.
He mapped the alleys. Created a diversion scroll. Used his small chakra reserves to plant a modified Flying Thunder God seal on the overlook near the drop site—his first attempt at placing it subtly. Just in case.
Then he waited.
---
The Drop
Perched on a branch overlooking the trail, Timoshi saw them arrive—three figures, cloaked in gray. No village symbols. No chatter. One held a scroll case; another held a leather pouch that clinked with ryo coins.
It felt off. Precise. Cold.
When the exchange began, he shifted ever so slightly—just enough to activate a distraction.
A branch cracked loudly nearby.
The figures turned, kunai drawn.
But by the time they checked, the scroll was gone.
Snatched. Swapped. Left behind was a fake scroll sealed with a paper tag Timoshi had written hours before. On it, in small red ink, were the words:
> "Next time, do better."
He fled before they could react. He didn't want a fight. Not yet. Not at his level. His priority was stealth. No name. No trace.
And he succeeded.
Almost.
---
Root Beneath the Surface
Back at home, tucked under his bedroll, he unraveled the real scroll. The cipher was basic. It detailed a transfer of classified documents—taken from Konoha's own storage—to someone labeled only as "D."
The signature at the bottom wasn't a name… just a strange marking. Three dots in a triangle. He didn't recognize it.
But someone did.
The next morning, ANBU agents were seen combing that trail. Quietly. Thoroughly.
And someone in black, not wearing any official symbol, was spotted near the Uchiha district entrance before vanishing into smoke.
Timoshi didn't know it yet, but he had just brushed against a secret organization buried beneath even the ANBU: Root.
---
Refining the Art of Disguise
Shaken but alive, Timoshi doubled down.
If he was going to keep this up—this idea of silent justice—he needed better safeguards. He had already begun experimenting with seal formulas, drawing from books in the clan library and his own advanced memory of physics, chemistry, and biofeedback. But now, urgency drove innovation.
In his small, hidden workspace inside an abandoned shed near the riverbank, he designed two key tools:
1. A layered mask seal—which altered the pitch of his voice by vibrating air through thin chakra layers. Now, even if he spoke, he couldn't be identified.
2. A seal-tag linked to a shadow clone—an early success where he managed to swap places with a clone positioned elsewhere. By linking the seal through a Flying Thunder God marker, he could now body substitute across large distances in emergencies. It drained him nearly dry… but it worked.
For the first time since entering this world, Timoshi felt he was inventing—not just remembering.
---
The Aftermath
Back at the Academy, nothing had changed. He remained the slightly strange, above-average boy who always had perfect answers but rarely pushed for attention.
But of course nothing is perfect. The Nara's curiosity was picked, but only slitly.