The cave was hushed in the pre-dawn hours, the silence broken only by the crackle of cooling embers from last night's fire. Kaito stirred, his eyes snapping open as if pulled awake by some unseen force. The faint silver light of the moon crept through a crack in the stone ceiling, painting his face in pale lines. He did not move at first—just stared upward, following the shifting patterns of light across the uneven rock.
The pain in his body was still there, a low throb that reminded him of every shattered rib, every torn muscle. Yet tonight, in the stillness, it was not pain that occupied his thoughts. His mind wandered back—farther than this battle, farther than the blood-soaked clash with Hiruzen, even farther than his first encounter with Konoha's shinobi. Back to a life before this one. A life in another world.
His lips curved faintly, almost involuntarily. So this is what it means to transmigrate, he thought. The battles, the blood, the terror—but also the sheer exhilaration of carving his place in a story not meant for him. A smile, small and genuine, bloomed across his face as he let himself remember. For once, it was not anger or vengeance that gripped him, but an odd serenity, a fragile peace born under the moonlight.
Far away, the Village Hidden in the Leaves stirred to life in its own way. The sun had not yet climbed high, but the narrow streets were already crowded with chatter and footsteps. Vendors lifted wooden shutters on their shops, children clutched their bento boxes, and shinobi passed silently overhead, darting from rooftop to rooftop on morning patrol.
At the center of it all stood the Ninja Academy—a modest but proud structure of wood and stone, its walls plastered with the banners of Konoha's crest. Inside, the air was a mix of excitement and nerves. It was the first day of class for a new generation of shinobi.
A boy with silver hair, cut short and sharp, walked through the halls with measured steps. His small body moved with unusual grace, each footstep precise as though placed with intent. His face was half-hidden by a small cloth mask, obscuring his expression, but his eyes betrayed him. They were cool, distant, older than his age. Kakashi Hatake.
Whispers trailed him as he entered the classroom.
"That's him… the son of the White Fang."
"They say his father is the new Hokage."
"No wonder he looks so serious."
Kakashi ignored them all, slipping quietly into a seat by the window. His gaze turned outward, to the training field beyond. He thought of his father—Sakumo Hatake, the Fourth Hokage. His face carved newly into the Hokage Rock, his shoulders now bearing the crushing weight of a village. Kakashi admired him, respected him, but also pitied him. The work of Hokage was endless—diplomacy, politics, battles, all while smiling for a village that leaned on him like a crutch.
I wonder if this is what it means to be strong, Kakashi thought, his small hands tightening into fists beneath the desk. To carry burdens so heavy they break everyone else.
The door slammed open.
"I-I'm here!" A boy with messy black hair scrambled into the classroom, panting. His goggles were crooked, his cheeks flushed from running. Obito Uchiha.
The class burst into muffled laughter.
"You're late," the instructor said flatly, rubbing his temples. "Class started an hour ago."
"I-I know!" Obito stammered, waving his hands nervously. "But I met so many grandmothers along the way! They needed help with their baskets, their doors, their cats—what kind of shinobi would I be if I ignored them?"
Groans and chuckles filled the room. One boy muttered, "What a liar." Another whispered, "Classic Obito."
From his seat, Kakashi merely sighed. His eyes flicked toward Obito, unamused. "You'll never survive as a shinobi if you can't even make it on time."
Obito froze at the remark, puffing out his chest indignantly. "W-What's that supposed to mean, huh?!"
The teacher smacked the desk with his palm. "Enough! Both of you, quiet. Sit down."
Obito sulked his way to a seat, muttering under his breath. Across the room, Rin Nohara, a kind-eyed girl with short brown hair, stifled a giggle behind her hand. She whispered, "It's going to be a long year…"
And so began the first day of class for the generation that would one day shape Konoha's fate.
Back in the cave, Kaito sat cross-legged, the firelight glowing against his pale skin. His breaths slowed, his body falling into the rhythm of meditation. The energy of the world seeped into him, swirling into the spirals marked on his palms—Sage Mode of the Whirlpool.
The air thickened. His eyes snapped open, glowing with a dangerous brilliance. His irises, once ringed in black spirals, now burned with a deep violet hue. At their center, the golden pupils of the Eye of Reality flared like miniature suns.
He felt it immediately. Information. Endless streams of knowledge surged into his mind, faster than thought, heavier than breath. Symbols, patterns, fragments of truth—each one carving itself into his brain. His head pounded, a white-hot lance of agony striking behind his eyes. His hand shot to his temple, teeth clenched, body shaking as the flood refused to stop.
But this time… something was different.
Within the chaos, he sensed shapes. Whispers. Faint, flickering outlines that seemed to hover at the edge of his perception. Faces that were not living. Cold eyes that stared without blinking. The signatures of the dead.
Kaito's breath hitched. The cave around him faded for a moment, drowned in a haze of otherworldly energy. He could feel them—not their bodies, but their remnants, clinging to the fabric of reality like echoes refusing to fade. The battlefield he had left behind still pulsed with their lingering presence.
"Is this…" he whispered through gritted teeth, "the true power of the Door of Blood?"
His vision blurred, and he collapsed forward, sweat dripping from his brow. For a long time, he stayed on his hands and knees, trembling, listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Soka stirred behind him, blinking groggily awake. Her voice was weak but steady. "Kaito… what are you doing to yourself?"
He didn't answer at first, still staring at the ground where faint purple light shimmered in the cracks of stone. Finally, he exhaled, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. "I think… I just touched the boundary between the living and the dead."
Soka's eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. The cave was silent again, but the air felt colder than before, as though unseen eyes lingered in the shadows.
And above, beyond the cave and the Academy and the whispers of the world, the moon continued its silent watch—knowing that fate had already begun to weave threads no blade could sever.
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I saw that most of the votes were for Kaito to be a villain and to explore the world or form his organization, so I'll do that. I'll see if he will form his organization or not depending on your votes.
If you review or give a Power Stone, I'll give you an extra chapter.
A Power Stone: an extra chapter.
A positive review: an extra chapter.
This would help me a lot and would also attract more people, so I'd make more chapters per day.