Chapter 13: The True Objective
Seeing Sakura's hungry, resentful glare, Naruto felt a pang of sympathy. Her sharp words were a defense, a shield against her own helplessness.
"Here."
Just as Sakura was mentally cursing her sadistic teacher and the unfairness of it all, Naruto's hand extended toward her, holding out his untouched bento box. The savory aroma wafted directly under her nose.
"You… what are you doing?" she stammered, shocked. The smell made her stomach cramp painfully, another loud gurgle betraying her.
"You're hungry. Eat," he said simply, his smile easy. He wasn't particularly hungry, and he couldn't stand by and watch a teammate starve, especially when this was the entire point of Kakashi's cruel theater. This was the test.
"But if Kakashi-sensei finds out, he'll…" Sakura's protest was weak, her eyes glued to the food. Looking at his calm, smiling face, a dissonant thought struck her: This is the 'monster' everyone fears?
"It's fine. If he finds out, I'll take the blame." He pushed the box closer. Internally, he noted her concern for his consequence. Her prejudice was cracking.
"Naruto…" she murmured, a complex warmth flooding her chest. In that moment, the label of 'monster' evaporated. This was a kind, brave boy.
Sasuke, who had been eating in stubborn silence, suddenly stood. Without a word, she walked over and placed her own half-eaten bento in Sakura's lap. "Take mine too," she stated flatly, her dark eyes flicking to Naruto. There was a new, assessing look in them, a faint puzzlement at his selflessness.
"Sasuke…" Sakura's composure shattered. The humiliation from Kakashi hadn't broken her, but this simple, shared sacrifice did. Tears she'd held back now spilled over, tracing clean lines through the dust on her cheeks.
It was at that precise, vulnerable moment that the air behind them shifted.
A swirl of leaves, and Kakashi was there, his presence suddenly oppressive. His voice was low, icy, and utterly devoid of its earlier feigned laziness.
"What," he said, each word dripping with displeasure, "do you think you are doing?"
Sakura's tears froze. Her blood ran cold. Sasuke's body went rigid, her sharingan-less eyes wide.
Caught. It's over. We're going back. The despair was instant and crushing for both girls. Sakura's shoulders slumped in defeat.
Then Kakashi's stern mask melted away. It was replaced by a wide, genuine smile that crinkled his visible eye. "You pass."
"Eh?!" The synchronized gasp from Sakura and Sasuke was almost comical.
As in the original tale, they had passed the paradoxical test by 'failing' its surface rule. Understanding dawned on Sakura and Sasuke's faces—the lesson in teamwork, in putting a comrade before a petty order.
Naruto allowed himself a small, private smile. The script held.
"Alright, test concluded," Kakashi announced, his tone back to its usual casual clip. "We start with D-rank missions tomorrow. Dismissed." As he turned to leave, his lone eye caught Naruto's for a fleeting second—a look that held a clear, unspoken message: Stay behind.
"Naruto, thank you… really," Sakura said, her voice thick with emotion as she turned to him. "Let me treat you to lunch to make up for it!"
Naruto shook his head with an apologetic smile. "No need. We're a team. That's what matters. I should get to training." He wasn't being rude; Kakashi's silent summons took precedence over a free meal.
"Oh… well, next time then! You can't say no!" Sakura insisted, offering a tentative, pretty smile of her own.
"Next time, definitely," Naruto agreed, already moving away with a sense of purpose.
Watching him go, Sakura felt a confusing swirl of gratitude and a new, budding curiosity. Who was he, really?
In a different, secluded training ground, Kakashi waited, hands in his pockets now that his book was ash. Naruto appeared silently behind him.
"You came," Kakashi said without turning. He held up a hand, forestalling any greeting. "I asked you to stay for a reason."
"What is it, Kakashi-sensei?" Naruto asked, his tone respectfully curious.
Kakashi finally turned, his gaze sharp and analytical. "Your performance today… it wasn't that of a freshly-graduated genin. That speed, the wind-nature chakra you used to enhance it. How did you master a chakra nature transformation on your own?"
The directness of the question was a challenge. Naruto didn't let his surprise show for more than a heartbeat. He had a cover story prepared for such eventualities.
"The wind chakra?" He feigned thoughtful innocence. "I read some advanced theory scrolls in the library's archives. About chakra having elemental affinities. I started experimenting, trying to feel the difference in my own energy. I guess I just… figured out how to make it feel sharper, faster. I didn't even know for sure it was 'wind nature' until you said it." He met Kakashi's gaze with what he hoped was convincing earnestness. The lie was built on a kernel of truth—he had spent countless hours in the library, and his training was self-directed.
Kakashi was silent for a long moment, his eye searching Naruto's face. Then he let out a soft breath. "I see." The disbelief was gone, replaced by a profound, startled respect. To intuit a chakra nature and apply its basic principle through sheer experimentation and theoretical study… that was a feat of intuition that dwarfed even the term 'genius'. The Fourth Hokage's bloodline indeed.
"Your talent is extraordinary, Naruto," Kakashi stated, his voice firm with conviction. "It's a waste for you to lack formal training in your affinity. You need a proper teacher for Wind Release." He made a decision. "I know someone. A jonin who is a master of wind-style ninjutsu. I will arrange an introduction."
Naruto's heart leapt. This was an unexpected boon. A genuine path to powerful techniques, to the Rasengan and beyond. He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Kakashi-sensei. I appreciate it."
"It's my duty," Kakashi replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. I will make sure you walk a path worthy of your father, Minato-sensei.
After parting ways with Kakashi, Naruto headed home, his mind racing. Evening was falling. He grabbed a quick, solitary meal from a street stall, his thoughts already leaping ahead to training.
The encounter with the Kyuubi had lit a fire under him. The beast's power was staggering, its hostility now confirmed. He could not afford to be slow, to be weak. Growth had to accelerate.
The Rasengan. It was the logical next step. A pinnacle of shape transformation, the perfect complement to the wind-nature he was mastering. With it, he would have a weapon entirely his own, a foundation built not on the fox's borrowed rage, but on his own disciplined chakra.
He made his decision. Tonight, the Shadow Clones would begin. They would start with the fundamentals: chakra rotation, water balloon bursts, then rubber ball destruction. It was a grueling path, but with his multi-tasking capability, he could condense years of trial and error into months, maybe weeks.
A few days later, Team 7 was enmeshed in the mundane rhythm of D-rank missions. For Naruto, weeding gardens, walking dogs, and painting fences were welcome respites—downtime for his main body to rest while his clones labored in seclusion, their collective consciousness focused on the maddening task of spinning chakra in a perfect, destructive sphere.
Today's mission was cleaning the banks of the Konoha River. Naruto moved methodically, a bamboo basket on his back, plucking debris from the reeds and murky water. His movements were automatic, his primary consciousness monitoring the distant, frustrating progress of a dozen clones elsewhere, each battling with a water balloon that refused to pop from the inside out.
Sakura worked beside him, her initial enthusiasm for "real ninja work" already worn thin by tedium. Sasuke worked in cold, efficient silence a little ways off.
And Kakashi, leaning against a tree, was fully engrossed in a new, replacement copy of Icha Icha Paradise, having apparently forgiven—or chosen to ignore—the literary pyre they'd made of its predecessor.
The surface was calm. But beneath it, in the scattered consciousness of Uzumaki Naruto, a storm of chakra was being forged, one spinning, failing attempt at a time. The path to power was a patient, grinding one, and he had just taken his first, deliberate step onto its steepest slope.