The sky outside had turned a pale shade of grey. Morning had come, but the cold light did nothing to warm the chill inside Naruto's apartment. The familiar scent of dust and cheap ramen hung heavy in the air, a poor shield against the creeping sense of betrayal that had only solidified since the night on the bluff.
He sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, a notepad open in front of him. The page was mostly blank, just a few lines scrawled at the top, bolded by a furious hand.
"What I Know."
He stared at the words for a long time, the pencil poised, before writing underneath, his script sharper than usual:
1. I have something inside me.
2. People hate me for it.
3. Hokage knew. Iruka knew. Everyone knew, except me. (Do my classmates know? Probably.)
4. That red-type chakra can kill a chunin.
5. Shadow Clone Jutsu works. Really works.
He paused, the realization of the last point a heavy weight and a bright spark all at once. His hand tightened around the pencil until his knuckles were white.
Then, with a decisive snap, he flipped the page.
"What I Don't Know."
This page filled faster than the first, fueled by years of silent questions.
1. What the fox is.
2. Why it was sealed in me.
3. Who my parents were.
4. Why Hokage didn't tell me.
5. Who I can actually trust.
6. How to stop being weak.
He flipped again, to the clean white promise of the next page. This time, Naruto thought for the first time not like a prankster, but like a shinobi planning a mission. He wrote slowly, each letter deliberate, carving his new path onto the paper.
"What I'll Do."
1. Learn everything on your own because Mizuki-like bastards are everywhere, and they won't teach me, or they will teach it wrong. (Learn Taijutsu and kunai throwing properly because the form is wretched.)
2. Train harder than anyone else.
3. Master Shadow Clones.
4. Read more. No more just pranks and ramen.
5. Avoid the Hokage for now.
6. Don't show weakness.
7. Never blindly trust anyone.
8. Figure out what the Nine-Tails really is.
9. Become a ninja my own way. Not for them but for oneself and for Konoha (Not the villagers.)
Then finally, a last line at the bottom of the page, underlined three times, a vow whispered in the cold apartment:
10. "No more being dumb."
[Scene Break]
Naruto stood on the edge of his apartment building's rooftop, the chill wind tousling his hair. From here, he could see most of the village the rooftops, the tight alleys, and the distant, monumental faces of the Hokage. He didn't smile at the faded paint from his last prank; the humor was gone.
He breathed in deep, pulling the cold air into his lungs.
If I'm going to be a shinobi, he thought, his gaze sweeping over the village that had shunned him, it's not going to be like them. I'll make my own way. I'll protect what I care about- but I'll never forget how this felt. The lies, the silence and the truth that was to be mine but no one gave me.
He took the fabric strip from his pocket his Leaf Village forehead protector and tied it, not on his brow as a sign of acceptance, but on his right forearm. It wasn't a badge of honor, it was a promise. "I'll rise, even if it's alone... But first these spiky hair needs to go."
[Scene Break]
Now, sitting in his dimly lit apartment, his fresh haircut lending a sudden, startling focus to his face, Naruto stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above his sink. His fists clenched.
He'd killed Mizuki. While he'd been lied about the scroll… he'd grown stronger. And that strength came from one thing- Shadow Clones. Not the illusionary fakes from the academy, but real, breathing clones that remembered everything they did.
I just cut my time in half... No. I just added more time to my training. The thought echoed in his head like a gong. Naruto stood up quickly and formed the hand signs, one clone formed next to him.
"Alright," he said to it, his voice low and serious. "You're going to the market. Take the back alleys, don't talk to anyone and get me something to eat"
The clone saluted, a sharp, academy-style movement and jumped out the window.
He turned to the corner of the room where a dusty stack of shinobi books sat unread gifts from Iruka he never opened.
Poof! Two more clones appeared.
"You," he pointed to one, "start with chakra control techniques and you," he said pointing to other one, "memorize basic taijutsu stances. I want everything remembered when you dispel."
They nodded, instantly settling into their tasks. Naruto sat back down, a fierce, cold excitement racing in his heart. This wasn't just a jutsu, this was a game-changer.
The next day, the village avoided him as usual. But while they whispered, Naruto was working silently. Early morning, he made clones and spread them out like reconnaissance units.
One trained chakra control in the forest, balancing leaves or climbing trees. Another shadowed ninja's near the training grounds, copying their movements. Some slipped into the academy library disguised, devouring as much as possible about history and chakra theory. Though last one helped old man Ichiraku unload cargo just for spare meals and to overhear gossip.
While his clones worked, the original Naruto completed his ninja registration form. With registration complete, he was told to attend the academy five days later for team placement. His new, simple outfit- a blue and grey shirt over a ninja mesh and black trousers was a quiet departure from the loud orange.
That evening, with all his clones poofed out and their knowledge searing into his mind, Naruto began planning the future of his training. He immediately saw his flaws:
1. His entire Tai-jutsu form was wretched, following incorrect katas for six years- a damning indictment of Mizuki's teaching.
2. His kunai and shuriken throw was only average. Competing with Sasuke was a distant dream.
3. He needed an edge, a weapon.
This brought forth the vivid Flashback Memory of the clone that had gone to the library that morning:
Swords. Swordsman follow techniques involving balance, breath and stance. Blending it with chakra control and taijutsu. It's possible and no one expects such intricacies from a monster anyway. Then there were the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. Seven ninja with seven blades. Seven demons in human skin...
Kisame Hoshigaki – wielder of Samehada, a sentient blade that devours chakra.
Zabuza Momochi – the "Demon of the Hidden Mist," master of the silent killing technique.
Ameyuri Ringo, the lightning twin-blade user.
Fuguki Suikazan… Raiga Kurosuki… Jinpachi Munashi…
Each of them shaped the battlefield with nothing but blades and brutality. Some were dead, some missing-nin, but all feared.
"They use swords… and chakra," Naruto whispers to himself. "and they fused taijutsu, kenjutsu, and elemental nature into a single fighting style…"
He recalled a phrase from a scroll: "The blade is not a weapon, it's a conversation."
The sword isn't just to cut. It's to send a message.
He closed his eyes and imagine himself. Not a monster, not a prankster but shinobi who could face a jōnin with a sword in hand.
That night, he made ten clones just for sword training. Some studied theory while he and others practiced grip and form by scraping almost-good training swords from the dusty training grounds late at night.