Hokage's Office — Hiruzen POV
The smell of ink and old tobacco clung to the Hokage's office like ghosts from decades past. It had seeped into the beams overhead, the worn edges of scrolls, even the grain of the desk itself. The room was a battlefield of paper: mission requests stacked like barricades, intelligence reports spread in overlapping waves, and death notices tucked into neat but accusing piles.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind that desk as he had for decades, the pipe between his fingers glowing faintly, its embers curling thin threads of smoke into the stale air. Across from him, Kakashi Hatake stood with one hand tucked in his pocket, posture deceptively loose, but his single visible eye gave him away — cool, alert, faintly troubled.
After getting the report from Iruka about the changes about Naruto, and the cures mark on Sasuke, Kakashi was assigned to verify the truth of the matter and is now currently giving his report.
"…and that's all I have to report, Lord Hokage." Kakashi's voice was mild but carried a tautness that wasn't there before, like a blade hidden under cloth.
Hiruzen exhaled slowly. "You're sure?" His tone was the measured cadence of a man who'd survived too many crises to be surprised easily. "Absolutely certain about Naruto's transformation… and Sasuke's mark?"
Kakashi inclined his head slightly. "As certain as I can be. We questioned everyone in the clearing separately. Their accounts match. Naruto's hair turned crimson, his chakra output spiked far beyond anything a genin should produce — even an Uzumaki with that seal. He moved with the speed and precision of a jōnin. And yes… Sasuke received a cursed mark from Orochimaru. It matches Anko's exactly."
The Hokage's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Orochimaru…" The name slid from his mouth like venom, the memory of a wound never healed. "So the snake finally strikes openly."
Kakashi waited in silence. The only sound was the faint pop of the pipe's embers.
Inside, Hiruzen's thoughts churned like a storm. Orochimaru. My student. My sin. The Chūnin Exams were supposed to be a proving ground, not a hunting ground. And Naruto… the boy I've watched grow from the cradle of tragedy into something like hope. To change so suddenly, to wield that much power — what happened to you, child? I felt your chakra. It was not the Nine-Tails. Something older. Something alien. And those eyes — cold, but not with Sasuke's hunger; distant, like someone peering through him.
Sasuke. Another tragedy. His hatred has been devouring him since the night of the massacre. This cursed seal will only accelerate his fall. Orochimaru still watches Konoha, still covets its children, still plots its ruin.
Hiruzen steepled his fingers, pipe smoke rising like a veil. "Kakashi, keep a very close eye on Sasuke Uchiha. He must not draw upon the cursed mark's power. It will only bind him tighter to Orochimaru's will."
Kakashi nodded. "Understood."
"And Naruto?" His voice was softer now, edged with something like apprehension.
Hiruzen's gaze drifted to the rooftops visible beyond the window, the village sprawled like a sleeping beast. "Watch him as well — quietly. We must understand the changes before we act."
Kakashi's figure blurred and vanished with a puff of displaced air, leaving the old Hokage alone with his pipe, his papers, and his ghosts.
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Sasuke POV
The sealing chamber smelled of wax and ink, its dim light broken only by the faint glow of chakra inscriptions crawling across the floor. I stood in the center of a circle older than most shinobi alive, jonin moving around me like shadows, weaving seals with swift, deliberate fingers.
They said this ritual was necessary — to keep the cursed mark from devouring me, to keep Orochimaru's whispers at bay.
But the power it gave me… it was intoxicating. The Speed at which I moved. The Strength I felt in my muscles. Chakra roaring through my veins like a storm. I felt more alive in that fight than in all the missions before it. It thrilled me. It felt right. Something I never felt in this village.
I know why they fear it. Power like this changes the balance. A balance they will try to maintain.
They don't understand, how desperate I am for having the power to avenge my clan from that kin—slaying bastard. Or maybe they do and that's why they try to cage it. By treating me like another faceless genin — saddling me with a fangirl and that loudmouth loser.
Then there is Naruto. That idiot who used to barely throw a kunai. Who could not even remember a single line of code. Even if his life depended on it. Now, now he moves like lightning, His hair somehow changed its color to crimson. Perhaps a side effect of that technique that he would have used to grow stronger. Strong enough to beat me before I could even react. Absurd. Unacceptable.
What are they hiding from me? The question came unbidden. What did that idiot do to become so strong all of a sudden? There is no way that kind of strength comes naturally to him. Even for an uchiha who has unlocked new stages of their sharingan, that kind of boost is not possible. Whatever it is, I'll find it. I'll take it. Because the village will never simply hand me that kind of power. They'd rather chain me with lectures about teamwork, comrades, and loyalty. They did it with Itachi. Look how that turned out.
If they had given Itachi what he wanted, would he have slaughtered our clan. All for that reason of testing his power, that of his mangekyo sharingan? No. They fear what an Uchiha can become. They'd rather cripple us than risk our ascension. They want credit for our victories, our blood on their hands, our triumphs on their ledger.
Kakashi says he'll personally be overseeing my training for the third rounds of chunin exams. Good. This will give me a chance to assess the way the village higherups look towards me. Then I will decide if they deserve my loyalty or should I go to that snake to grow strong enough for gaining enough power for defeating that bastard.
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Antares/Naruto POV
The room they'd given me was small and plain — four wooden walls, a narrow bed, a window overlooking the tower's courtyard. Dust hung in the air like faint cobwebs. My new clothes hung off this reshaped frame, black fabric with a band of crimson at the waist. Not a uniform. A declaration.
This vessel still needs healing. You don't erase twelve years of neglect in a heartbeat. Bones thicken. Muscles weave tighter. Nerves reconnect like threads of gold. I guide the chakra the way Ashura once taught his descendants, pulling from Kurama's memories: yin chakra as blueprint, yang chakra as brick and mortar. Few mortals even have a chance to attempt such a technique. The chakra requirements will make most give up, if not then the precision of wielding that chakra to mould their own body. Fewer survive trying to do so.
Night drapes itself over the tower like a velvet cloak. The roof of tower gleamed like silver under the moon, the air tastes of pine and stone and faint chakra currents. I step outside with no destination, letting the new weight of this body balance itself, letting my mind run in quiet spirals.
That's when I see him.
Gaara of the Sand. Motionless on a nearby roof, sand shifting around his feet like a living tide. Eyes glinting in the dark. Predator meets predator.
Tilting his he says, "You're different now," voice low, certain.
Raising an eyebrow at his comment I ask, "You can tell?" a thin smile tugging at my mouth.
"Yes. Not just the change in the hair color. Your eyes. Your presence."
I chuckle softly. "You look exactly the same as when we met."
He looked into my eyes, sand whispering at his ankles. "I saw your eyes then. You didn't have that look."
"What look?"
"The look of someone who superior. The contempt for everything around you"
The sand brushes against my senses — not hostile, but curious.
"Tell me, Gaara," I say, voice even. "What do you think is the meaning of life?"
His brow twitches, surprise flickering across his face. He looks at the stars as if they might carry an answer. "Life is killing. Only by killing someone stronger can you prove you exist. Only then does the world see you."
His words don't surprise me. Perhaps they should, after all a kid is saying those words and that to with that kind of detachment. But they don't. They only echo something I just buried inside me. Once, I was like him — destruction incarnate, someone who lived only for fight, only for killing and destruction.
"And does it work?" My voice softens without my permission. "Do you feel alive?"
He glances at me, monster and child flickering in his gaze. "I cannot say. I've never felt what it means to live besides killing."
For a moment, the space between us feels less like a battlefield and more like a bridge suspended over an abyss.
Inside me, the question echoes. What does it mean to live? I could rise now, seize this world, make it kneel. But that will only be another throne. Another cage. Another eternity of boredom.
No. Not yet. First, I will watch these mortals. Learn why they cling so desperately to their lives. Perhaps I will even learn what it means to live for these mortals. Then I will decide what to do.
Gaara's sand curls back into its gourd. "You're acting strangely, Naruto Uzumaki. You look strong now. Perhaps I'll kill you before Sasuke. Maybe that will prove my existence."
He studies me one last time, then turns and walks away, sand trailing like a living shadow.
I watch him go, the night air cool against my skin. The stars above this world are small but stubborn. For the first time in a long while, curiosity stirs in me — not for conquest, but for the fragile lives I now walk among.