Naruto slipped through the village under the cover of night, his small form a shadow among shadows. He'd learned to move quietly, to avoid the watchful eyes of the ANBU who trailed him when they thought he didn't notice. He returned to his rundown apartment only when he had to—late at night or during the day's quieter hours—to keep suspicion at bay. The Forest of Death had become his true home, its dangers more honest than the village's deceit. But he couldn't disappear entirely. Not yet.
The villagers had noticed a change in him. They always noticed, their eyes sharp with hate, searching for any excuse to justify their cruelty. Naruto had always been small, scrawny, with a bit of baby fat clinging to his cheeks despite the hunger that gnawed at him. But now, at six years old, he was different. His body had hardened, his frame leaner, more defined, like a young predator rather than a child. His whisker marks stood out sharper against his tanned skin, and his eyes—those bright blue eyes—held a glint that made even the boldest villagers pause. They didn't know what it was, but they felt it: a pressure, a presence, like standing too close to a storm.
The food they gave him—if you could call it that—was barely edible. Stale bread, fruit an hour from rot, scraps they wouldn't feed their dogs. Naruto had stopped relying on it. The forest provided better—raw meat, fresh fish, the thrill of the hunt. But the villagers whispered, their murmurs reaching the Hokage's ears. Something was wrong with the demon brat. Something had changed.
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In the Hokage's office, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk, the weight of years etched into his weathered face. The Third Hokage had seen decades of war, betrayal, and sacrifice, each one carving a deeper line into his soul. He leaned back in his chair, pipe smoldering in his hand, as he mulled over the reports about Naruto. The boy was changing, and not in the way Hiruzen had expected.
At first, he'd thought it was the Nine-Tails. The seal on Naruto's stomach, crafted by Minato himself, was a masterpiece, but no seal was perfect. Over time, the beast's chakra could leak, seeping into the host's system. It wasn't uncommon for Jinchuriki to show signs of their Tailed Beast's influence—sharper tempers, unnatural strength, a flicker of something inhuman in their eyes. But this… this was different. Naruto's chakra didn't feel like the Nine-Tails'. The fox's power was wild, chaotic, a raging inferno of hate and destruction. Naruto's new presence was heavy, controlled, like a predator coiled and waiting. It carried the same weight as the Nine-Tails, but none of its rage. It was… regal, almost. And that worried Hiruzen more than he cared to admit.
Being Hokage meant making hard choices. The village came first—always. The lives of the many outweighed the few, no matter how dark the cost. In his youth, Hiruzen had balked at such decisions, clinging to the ideals of Hashirama's Will of Fire. But years of war, loss, and compromise had hardened him. He'd learned to manipulate, to sacrifice, to do what was necessary. It was a bitter truth, one he'd grown numb to over time. Danzo, his old rival, would have envied the ease with which Hiruzen now wielded that power. But Danzo was a problem in his own right—a snake in the shadows, his Root ANBU loyal only to him, treating people as pawns in his endless schemes. Hiruzen knew Danzo coveted the Hokage's seat, saw him as weak, too soft to do what was needed. And Danzo had his eyes on Naruto.
The boy was the village's secret weapon, the Nine-Tails' Jinchuriki, a living deterrent against Konoha's enemies. Danzo wanted to break him, to slap a seal on his mind and turn him into a mindless tool, a weapon without will. Hiruzen had refused. Not out of kindness—though he'd never admit it—but because a weapon with a will of its own was stronger. A puppet could be cut down, controlled, predictable. A person, driven by their own fire, could become something more. Something unstoppable.
So Hiruzen had played a different game. He'd become the kindly "Grandpa Jiji" to Naruto, the only figure of warmth in a village that despised him. It was a calculated act, a mask as carefully crafted as any shinobi's disguise. He'd molded Naruto into an attention-seeking boy, loud and brash, desperate for approval. He'd fed him lies about the villagers, telling him their hate was just anger, that they'd come around if he proved himself. It was a lie, and Hiruzen knew it. The villagers' hatred was rooted too deep, fed by fear and ignorance, stoked by the Hokage's own silence. But it kept Naruto in line, kept him chasing a dream of acceptance that would never come.
The Will of Fire, once Hashirama's shining ideal of unity and sacrifice, had twisted over the years. Passed down through generations, it had become a tool of control, a justification for dark deeds. Protect the village, no matter the cost. Sacrifice the few for the many. Kill your loved ones if the village demands it. Hiruzen had once believed in its purity, but now he saw it for what it was: a corrupted creed, a lie to keep the shinobi loyal and the villagers obedient.
He exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he considered Naruto. The boy's change was a problem. If it wasn't the Nine-Tails, then what? The seal was intact—Hiruzen had checked it himself. But the chakra, the presence, the way Naruto carried himself now… it was wrong. Dangerous. And if Danzo caught wind of it, he'd push harder to take control, to turn Naruto into his personal weapon.
Hiruzen tapped his pipe against the desk, his mind racing. He'd need to watch the boy closer, test him, see what this new power was. If it could be harnessed, molded, it could serve the village. If not… well, a Hokage had to make hard choices. Naruto was a tool, a weapon, but he was also a child—one Hiruzen had manipulated from the start. The thought brought a flicker of guilt, quickly buried. Guilt was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Outside, the village slept, unaware of the storm brewing within its walls. Naruto, unaware of the eyes on him, slipped back into his apartment, his body thrumming with the dragon's power. He didn't know what he was becoming, but he felt it—the change, the strength, the pride. And somewhere deep within, the dragon's magic whispered, urging him to rise, to claim what was his.
The game had changed, and Naruto was no longer just a pawn.