Ah… fuck.
"W-where did you hear that?" I whispered, unable to keep the stutter out of my voice.
"In your head," she replied directly, her cerulean eyes locked on me.
My mouth opened—though I wasn't sure what I meant to say—but it snapped shut when I realized we weren't alone. My gaze slid to the corner of the room where my sensei sat cross-legged on the floor. A knot of apprehension twisted in my gut. Naruko's slender fingers pressed against my cheek, drawing my eyes back to hers. She read the unease there, even if she couldn't divine why.
What she did next redefined everything I thought I knew about her.
She reached out, laced her fingers through mine, and let her chakra flow into me. My eyes went wide as it bridged the gap between us. With a familiar twist, the boundary between Naruko's mind and mine vanished.
She used Ninshū.
How? My thought echoed in both our minds.
Naruko responded not with words but with feeling—an odd sense of déjà vu. It wasn't new to her. When I'd connected with her before, she hadn't learned it, she'd remembered it. As though this ability had always belonged to her. As though this was her birthright: to reach out and bind herself to those she held precious.
My suspicions of sorcerer bullshit gained credence by the day.
A ripple of curiosity from Naruko brushed my thoughts at the unfamiliar word. I'd never spoken it aloud before, beyond some grumbles here and there.
Of course, most of my mind was still locked off from her. She had raw—most likely inherited–talent, yes, but I had a deeper grasp of Ninshū—I'd reverse-engineered my own version of it, after all. Entire chambers of my thoughts, my memories, my intentions lay beyond her reach.
The question was whether to let her see. But… was it really a question?
Naruko's trust in me was absolute. The connection made it undeniable: I was her entire world. By modern standards, her devotion would be called dangerously co-dependent, but here and now it was simply truth. She had already handed me everything she was. Maybe she had long before I even noticed.
I couldn't keep this secret forever. And if there was anyone I could trust with it…
It's a game, I let the thought flow across our bond.
A game from my past life.
Then I showed her—who I was, what those memories made me, the weight of my experiences, my intentions. Including the ones for her.
I braced for disgust, but none came. Instead, warmth. Affection. That aching hunger that had shadowed her all her life—a hunger for companionship, for family.
Y-you want to marry me? Her thoughts quivered, confused yet overjoyed.
I blinked. That was a very wholesome way of putting it.
It wasn't wrong, not exactly. That was the ultimate destination—for her, for Kuro, for Hinata. It just left out a lot of what the lead up would entail, if you catch my drift.
Naruko's reactions to these thoughts confused me but should not have in hindsight.
The inclusion of the others stirred no jealousy in her. If anything, it thrilled her. Kuro and Hinata were her closest friends, and the idea of spending a lifetime with them only filled her with giddy excitement.
This was going nothing like I expected.
Not now… but eventually, I admitted. Saying it—truly saying it, even if only in our shared minds—was strange. My desires had always been implied, left unspoken. Especially with Naruko. Of all the girls, my bond with her was the most innocent. Her kisses, hugs, and touches carried no lust. I could feel it now: her joy was pure connection, untainted by anything else.
My surprise confused her.
You seem really stuck on the sex stuff. Are marriages all about sex? She asked.
No. I answered. It matters, but it's a small part compared to everything else.
Then why are you so hung up on it?
I floundered on how to answer for a bit before deciding this is what Ninshū was for.
So I showed her. Grooming. Power imbalance. The ways such things poisoned relationships. I could feel that these were foreign concepts to her—not because she was ignorant—but because these were foreign concepts in this world, period.
Noblemen, peasants—many raised their future wives. Girls handed over young to grow into their "intended" homes. Brutal by Earth's standards, but here it was security, even mercy, compared to starvation, slavery, or death.
In a world where child soldiers had been the norm for who knows how long, the culture had developed around that. Children weren't considered innocent creatures to be cared for and nurtured but little people. Who should be treated fairly but not much more than that. Some places won't even guarantee fair treatment.
So the idea that my mental maturity could be viewed as an unfair advantage, therefore making our relationship unethical was ridiculously convoluted to her and outright pointless self flagellation.
Man this world was dark.
Well… now I feel silly. I thought at her.
Yeah, you are kind of a drama queen. Was Naruko's amused mental reply.
"Hey!" I said out loud for the first time, shoving her lightly. She retaliated with tickles, and soon we collapsed into laughter, locked in a battle of flailing hands.
Eventually we calmed down and she asked me about what my past life was like and through the bond I showed her the wonders of modern fiction. She ended up having a lot of questions about magic and why I kept calling jutsu spells.
But even as we talked, I knew reality waited. My chakra system was strained, and I'd have to scale back training before I burned myself out completely, I would heal eventually but the time estimates didn't look good. I'd need to talk to my sensei, about ways to improve in the meantime.
And on top of all that…
There was the secret I still held back. The one thing I had not shown her, even now. The secret Kurama had shared with me.
The truth of her parents.
I would tell her. There was no version of the future where I didn't. Just… not today.
—scene break—
In the corner of the hospital room, Sarutobi Hiruzen smiled. He didn't know why his charges were giggling beneath the sheets, only that they were. After the near tragedy of the day, the sound of their laughter was a balm. For a moment, he allowed himself to luxuriate in it—happy children were rare enough in his line of work.
Then he turned his mind back to duty. While his body sat still, his thoughts roamed across Konoha through dozens of clones, each born from his youngest student's remarkable jutsu.
It was a revelation. For the first time, the behemoth of paperwork that came with the Hokage's office felt conquerable. One might ask: why was this new technique necessary when shadow clones already existed?
The answer was simple—cooperation.
Konoha's bureaucracy was ruthlessly efficient, designed for the pace of war. Processes that didn't require the Hokage's hand never reached his desk. But what remained still piled high. He was the final word on everything, and no decision stood alone. Approving one action could unravel another.
If a shadow clone, for example, approved a price increase on flour while the original imposed a ceiling on bread, the market would collapse into contradiction. The result: hours wasted undoing his own orders. Shadow clones lacked real-time feedback; they were blunt tools.
But Izuku's jutsu? Heaven-sent. Especially for a mind like Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Leaning back in his chair, he addressed the silence of his meeting chamber. The only sound was the rustle of papers.
"How was the meeting with the rice merchants in the south quarter?" he asked, eyes still scanning reports.
"Complaints," replied the Hiruzen seated across from him. "The turmoil caused by our 'investigation' in the Land of Rice is driving prices up. To be fair, it is our fault."
"Indeed." The original nodded. "Grant them a tax break. Pay for it from the Sarutobi coffers. These men have stood with Konoha for generations. We reward loyalty."
All around, his duplicates nodded in agreement.
"And young Kakashi?" the original asked a clone stationed at the end of the table, serving as a hub for shadow clones to send back updates.
"He is in a great deal of pain and threatens to kill us regularly," said the version clad in black battle gear rather than Hokage robes.
"So just as planned," the original answered with a serene smile.
"Just as planned," the clone echoed.
"Anything else?"
"War preparations are proceeding smoothly," said one particularly grim-faced Hiruzen. At that, the atmosphere grew heavier.
"Good. Meeting adjourned."
The others faded from his mental landscape, leaving only the original.
Hiruzen leaned back, marveling at human ingenuity. Izuku's method of dispelling a genjutsu on himself had opened the Hokage's eyes to the utility of being able to alter one's own thoughts. With a few well-placed genjutsu on his own thoughts—a few minor illusions to increase his ability to compartmentalise—combined with Izuku's jutsu, paperwork had become not a burden but a joy.
Months ago, when he was still under Danzo's thrall, that alone would have been enough. More than enough.
Not anymore.
Danzo had been wrong about many things—but not everything. Konoha was surrounded by enemies, waiting for a single moment of weakness to strike, baying for their blood, sharpening knives and wetting their lips at the promise of leaf blood. Hiruzen had always known this, but after Inoichi scoured Danzo's mind, he realized just how deeply he had underestimated the threat. Danzo's sins remained, but he had not been entirely delusional.
Relaxation was not an option. War was inevitable. The Fourth Shinobi War would come.
And Konoha would win it.
Just as they had won every war before.
The only question was the cost. Hiruzen would wish it to be nothing. He would settle for a price at least ten times lighter than what their enemies paid.
—Scene break—
Itachi sat back and watched Sasuke run through his bukijutsu drills. Shuriken and kunai flew from his hands, cutting the air and clashing midflight, sparks flashing as their trajectories shifted before inevitably striking the bullseye on every target.
He was a storm of sharpened steel in the clearing behind their house—red, spinning eyes peeking from beneath his dark fringe as he wove acrobatics and taijutsu kata into the assault, flipping through the air while his weapons rained down.
He was improving quickly.
Awakening his bloodline had accelerated that growth, and under Itachi's tutelage Sasuke's already prodigious progress advanced at a staggering pace. Part of Itachi balked at granting his brother more strength, given his views on the village. Sasuke had offered lip service after their reunion, claiming he could move past the tragedy of their youth and devote himself to reviving and protecting the Uchiha.
Itachi did not believe him.
But when his brother looked at him with those eyes—pleading to be taught as he had once begged in childhood—he could not refuse. He had withheld too much already. He prayed to anything that would listen that this would not end in more suffering, though experience told him his prayers would go unanswered.
"Hate still burns in his heart."
Years of brutal training alone kept Itachi from flinching at the sudden voice of the commander-in-chief of his village.
"…I will do my best to remedy that," he replied, unable to mask the faint tremor in his voice. Imperceptible to most, but clear as day to men of their caliber.
His hatred for Danzō had only deepened since his return. He knew that if the man seated beside him had been unleashed upon the Uchiha, the clan would have been subdued swiftly, casualties limited to a few defiant elders made into examples. That knowledge did not make his presence less terrifying. From the man's silence, it was clear he was accustomed to inspiring that fear.
"Do your best, and do it quickly," Lord Third said—not unkindly, yet heavy with the expectation of compliance.
"The village has lost enough to this tragedy." The unspoken assurance hung in the air: Sasuke would be one of those losses if his hatred prevailed.
"I will not let things fall that far, Hokage-sama."
The Hokage hummed, gaze returning to Sasuke. Though he had promised a swift end, it was plain from the way he watched the boy that he held a soft spot for the last Uchiha. Whether it was Sasuke's namesake—Lord Third's father—or simple guilt over the massacre, Itachi could not tell.
"There is another Uchiha with an active Sharingan," Lord Third said at last, tone calm and casual.
Itachi's breath caught.
"…How?" disbelief colored his voice.
"Someone decided to… familiarize themselves with a client's wife. We've narrowed it to one Akichi Uchiha. A cousin of yours."
"…I remember him." He remembered the squelch of his flesh as Itachi's wakizashi opened his throat.
"She is eleven. Civilian-raised. One fully evolved eye."
Itachi nearly winced. A fully evolved eye at that age boded poorly for her mind. He spoke from experience.
"You will teach her."
"..."
He did not speak, but his silence carried the question. Why?
The Hokage turned, meeting his eyes at last.
"War is on the horizon, Itachi," he said, brown eyes cold, lifeless—yet burning with furious anger. "It will be the largest yet. All our past wars were fought when the village system was still young. Now the great powers are established. Strong. And they all want one thing."
Itachi listened with bated breath.
"Us. They want us. They want what we have—and I will deny them. We will deny them. I have been too lenient, too patient in my pursuit of peace. I have turned the other cheek too many times. This time, when the war is done, the world will have a century of peace. That is how long it will take for our enemies to recover."
Despite all the tragedy, despite all the pain endured in the name of the village, Itachi felt that familiar spark of patriotic fervor kindle once more in his chest.
"I am yours to command, Hokage-sama," he vowed, bowing as deeply as his seated position allowed.
"Good." Lord Third nodded. "You will find her at Training Ground Fourteen tomorrow. She will be accompanied by her friends. She will have a second tutor. You will know them when you see them."
Then he vanished—quite literally. A flicker of Sharingan and the fading trace of chakra told Itachi it had been a clone, dispelled so cleanly it looked as if the Hokage had ceased to exist.
Terrifying.
He sighed, returning his focus to Sasuke, who remained blissfully unaware.
—Scene Break—
The next day, Itachi sat concealed in a tree, watching the young Uchiha girl laugh and joke with the village jinchūriki, the Hyūga heiress, and Lord Third's student. Quite the group.
Where was the other teacher?
A shift in his senses made him turn. His gaze locked onto a scandalously dressed woman with purple hair tied in a topknot, a dango stick hanging from her lips.
"Well… hello, handsome."
Anko Mitarashi.
And to think, he had thought life in the village would be more peaceful.