Whistling the one tune only he ever seemed to whistle, Akira strolled toward the northwest side of the village - straight toward the Uchiha district. He'd already sent one clone to the hospital courses, but old lady Fujiko was someone he had to face in person. He wasn't in a hurry simply because he had a good idea what awaited him for skipping training. Fujiko did not appreciate having her time wasted.
"It'll be a win if she sticks to kunai and not fūma shuriken," Akira mused, basking in the morning lightness and that lingering post-pleasure hum.
"I didn't disgrace myself. My body impresses me more and more every day." Thanks to Tsunade, Akira knew his body was different from a typical one in every possible way - and for the better. Stronger bones, a superior circulatory system, flexible ligaments and tendons, an almost perfect memory - taken together, all of that already gave him an edge over ordinary chunin. Turned out those weren't the last surprises.
His muscles adapted quickly to heavy loads, building whatever fibers future tasks might require. Poisons - at least organic, natural ones - were neutralized rapidly. Not in the most pleasant or pretty way, maybe, but no grounds for complaint. And today, he'd learned one more feature of his body: constant readiness for "combat." The mating instinct in him was strong, and the resources for future offspring were synthesized in his "reserves" at ridiculous speed.
"An ideal stud bull. Kami forbid other hidden villages learn about my specifics. If they captured me, they'd literally milk me by the bucket." Konoha likely wouldn't completely ignore such a matter either - but at least Akira could have some confidence their methods would be gentler. Clans might simply offer up their daughters.
"Yeah... Normal isekai protagonists power up so they can survive the big bad events. I have to power up so my balls don't end up in a vice." Was Akira worried about the coming shinobi war? Somewhat. The Allied Shinobi Forces - and their main strike duo, Naruto and Sasuke - had shown that, with a bit of luck, they could handle the looming threat. In this universe, the main characters had even better odds of success.
Thanks to her mother's firm hand, Naruko already surpassed freshly minted-graduate Naruto by a head in both strength and knowledge. Sasuke, a girl here, might fall a touch short of her male counterpart's raw output, but that was down to the female body producing less Yang-aligned energy compared to men. In the original, Sasuke chased every avenue for his revenge with obsessive zeal. His pupil here, though, could boast a healthier psyche and superior chakra control.
Akira didn't consider himself a mentor on Orochimaru's level, but with his knowledge and an ever-deeper understanding of techniques, he figured he could train Sasuke right.
"Also, don't forget about Itachi." A person who made ANBU captain at thirteen was destined for brilliance on the shinobi path. In the original story, Itachi was weaker than she could have been. Not because she lacked a guiding hand - with that kind of genius and potential, a teacher was almost superfluous. Akira figured the issue was motivation.
A child who pondered the meaning of life at an early age was unlikely, after slaughtering her clan, to devote herself to the grind of getting stronger. Kakashi had enormous potential too, but it was too late to help him - he was too mired in his depressive brooding.
"Forget Sasuke and Naruko - give Itachi time and she'll swat Madara herself, then have Kaguya for dessert. By the time she peaks, she'll be batting away space invaders with one hand. I'm sure that even now there are only a handful in Konoha who could kill her. Kill, not merely defeat."
"That's my husband! Let me through!" A raw scream and sobbing yanked Akira from his thoughts. He'd just turned off the main road onto a side street leading west when that cry snapped him to alert at the far end of the lane.
He squinted and saw a crowd already starting to gather. Up on the rooftops, two ANBU were visible, talking to each other.
As he got closer, he saw that, in the alley at the center of the knot of people, a shinobi in a flak vest stood guard. Chunin, maybe jonin. In front of him, mopping sweat from his brow, was a stocky man in a heavy apron like a blacksmith's, trying to explain himself.
"I was just going to take out the trash, to the bin, when I found the body," drifted over to Akira - the man spoke loudly enough that all the bystanders would hear him and not mistake him for the suspect.
"And why were you taking out the trash in the morning?" the shinobi pressed.
"Well, my wife forgot last night, and I wanted to go buy some raw materials while I was out."
"What materials, and where were you headed?" Konoha's police had once worked more professionally, but shinobi, thanks to their experience, could cover the tasks of that now-defunct law enforcement structure when needed.
The questions went on and on, sometimes circling back for a second or third pass, until the man was finally dismissed with a warning that he might be called in the next few days for further testimony. Right after the departure of the first witness to murder - and it couldn't be anything else - two ANBU dropped down from the roof.
One dispersed the crowd. The other crouched by the corpse and began his examination.
Notably, the ANBU said nothing to Akira, who remained, and kept shooting menacing looks at the ordinary civilians who were reluctantly leaving the crime scene.
Whether it was Akira's clothes or his extremely calm expression, nobody protested that he wasn't chased off too. The dead man's wife, of course, wasn't going anywhere - she might provide insight into motive.
"And you are?" the shinobi who'd been questioning witnesses approached him.
"Zoldik Akira," he answered casually, watching the ANBU search the body. "Roughly when did he die?"
"Can't say for certain, but it looks like closer to one in the morning. Surprising it was only found now," the shinobi replied, turning back toward the working ANBU.
"Maybe whoever found it just decided to keep quiet. No one wants extra trouble," Akira offered.
Crime in Konoha was pretty low. It was surprising someone dared such a thing. Even he wouldn't dream of committing a murder with his own hands in this village. One Inuzuka on the scent and he'd be caught in no time.
"Also true," the shinobi with a scar at his temple nodded.
The second ANBU didn't join the conversation, just listened and kept one eye on his colleague's work.
"This is already the second case this week..." the working ANBU murmured quietly. Akira still heard it. Keen hearing - another perk of his body - along with a better sense of smell. He was no Inuzuka, but he could distinguish scents well and pick up a familiar faint whiff within a standard room.
"Second case? He connected it to an earlier murder from the wound and circumstances? Huh. I haven't heard any talk about another killing, and rumors like that spread fast in Konoha." The ANBU finished his check, pulled a scroll, and sealed the body away. Without exchanging a word, the ANBU vanished in a swirl of leaves and alley dust.
After they left, the weeping woman finally came to and looked around. Meeting Akira's eyes, she flinched, turned away again, and hurriedly began fixing herself up.
"Heh. Well then, maybe we'll meet again," the shinobi said with a small nod - and left the same way the ANBU had.
"Damn, it's not just a useful technique, it's dramatic as hell. Drop a line and disappear."
The woman dried her eyes completely, smoothed her hair, and summoned the most bewitching smile she possessed as she turned back to greet the very handsome young man. A plan had just clicked into place for her: press on his sympathy, ask him to escort her home, then somehow coax him in for tea, and from there, she'd find a way to ask him to help her through her grief.
"Cheating? My husband died - I'm single now." At the sight of Akira, her brain jettisoned thoughts of her freshly deceased spouse at breathtaking speed.
Unfortunately for her, after the other shinobi left, Akira had also slipped away - so when she turned with that smile, she was greeted by nothing but an empty alley.