The village of Konohagakure mourned in the way only those who'd lost protectors could mourn—with grief so profound it seemed to settle over the streets like physical weight, muting colors and sounds until the entire village felt wrapped in gray cloth. Two days had passed since the Third Hokage's death, two days of investigation and preparation and the grim work of organizing a state funeral for someone who'd led them through three wars and decades of fragile peace.
Naruto sat alone atop the Hokage Monument, specifically on his grandfather's carved face—the stone representation of Hiruzen Sarutobi's visage looking out over the village with serenity the living man would never possess again. From this vantage point, the entire village spread below like a map, every street and building visible, every gathering of mourners apparent as dark clusters against lighter stone and wood.
He'd been here since before dawn, unable to sleep, unable to face the compound where his grandfather's blood still stained the study floor despite the household staff's attempts to clean it. The monument felt safer somehow—high enough that the grief pressing against his chest might disperse into the wind, distant enough that he could pretend the funeral preparations below were for someone else's loss rather than his own.
The grief was physical, making breathing difficult, making existence feel like wading through water that grew deeper with each passing moment. But underneath the grief burned something hotter and more terrible: rage. Pure, incandescent fury at the Iwagakure forces who'd murdered his grandfather, at the demon inside him that had required such desperate measures to contain, at himself for being too weak to control what lived within him.
And coiling beneath even that rage was self-hatred so profound it threatened to consume him entirely.
This was his fault. The logic was inescapable no matter how many times Asuma tried to convince him otherwise. If he hadn't been the Nine-Tails' container, the attackers wouldn't have had a weapon to use against his grandfather. If the demon wasn't inside him, that foreign seal would have been meaningless. If he'd been literally anyone else, Hiruzen Sarutobi would still be alive.
The Memory
His mind kept returning to the moment he'd regained consciousness two days ago, pulled back from the abyss of transformation to find himself human again and cradling his grandfather's already-cooling body. The scene replayed with crystal clarity, each detail sharp enough to cut.
"Grandpa?" His voice had been small, confused, a child's voice not yet accepting what his eyes were showing him. "Grandpa, wake up. You said we'd train today. You promised we'd talk about... about everything. About the Nine-Tails. About my parents. You promised."
The body hadn't responded. Couldn't respond. The eyes that had always looked at him with love and patience and unwavering belief were fixed and empty, seeing nothing, reflecting only the dawn light streaming through shattered windows.
"Wake up!" Naruto's voice had risen to a shout, his hands shaking Hiruzen's shoulders as if physical force could restart what had stopped. "You can't sleep now! We have training scheduled! You said you'd teach me that wind technique! You said—you said—"
The words had dissolved into sobs that tore from his throat like physical objects, raw and agonizing. He'd buried his face against his grandfather's chest, searching desperately for a heartbeat that wasn't there, for breathing that had ceased, for any sign that this was temporary unconsciousness rather than permanent death.
"Please," he'd whispered against bloodstained robes. "Please don't leave me. I need you. I don't know how to do this without you. Please, Grandpa, please wake up. I'll be better. I'll control my chakra. I won't steal scrolls anymore. I'll listen to all your instructions. Just please wake up."
That's how Asuma had found him—curled against his father's corpse, crying with the kind of desperate, broken sounds that suggested something fundamental had shattered inside him beyond any possibility of repair. His uncle's face had been carved from grief and rage held barely in check, his eyes red-rimmed and devastated in ways Naruto had never seen.
"Naruto." Asuma's voice had cracked on his name. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, kid. He's gone. We need to... you can't stay here like this. Come with me."
"No!" Naruto had clung tighter to the body, as if his grip alone could anchor his grandfather to life. "I'm not leaving him! He's just sleeping! He's just tired from using that technique! He'll wake up soon!"
"He's dead, Naruto." The brutal honesty had been Asuma's only option, the only way to break through denial that would make everything harder later. "My father is dead. Your grandfather is dead. And holding onto his body won't change that. We need to let him go."
"I can't." The admission had been barely audible. "If I let go, it's real. If I let go, he's really gone forever."
"He's already gone," Asuma had said with terrible gentleness, kneeling beside them both despite his own grief threatening to overwhelm him. "But his memory, his teachings, everything he gave you—those stay. Those are yours forever. No one can take those away. But right now, we need to move. You need to get away from this room before what you're seeing here becomes the only memory you have of him."
Asuma had physically lifted him, gentle but unyielding, separating Naruto from the corpse despite his struggles. As they'd moved toward the door, as Naruto had reached back desperately toward his grandfather's still form, something inside him had broken so completely he'd stopped struggling entirely, had gone limp in Asuma's arms like a puppet with severed strings.
The rest of that day had passed in fragments—medical examinations he barely registered, ANBU questions he answered mechanically, being moved to a guest room in Asuma's apartment because returning to the compound was impossible. He'd existed in a fog of shock and grief so overwhelming that reality itself felt negotiable, like he might wake up and discover the past day had been an elaborate nightmare.
But he hadn't woken up. Because he'd never been asleep. This was reality, and reality was unbearable.
Back to Present
Sitting on the carved stone face, Naruto stared at his hands—the same hands that had held his grandfather as he died, that had been stained with his blood, that had been too weak to save him or even properly avenge him. The rage threatened to consume him, to transform grief into something that demanded action, demanded targets, demanded blood for blood.
"I'll kill them," he whispered to the wind and the stone and the demon inside him. "Every Iwagakure shinobi involved in this. Every person who planned it, executed it, supported it. I'll hunt them down and I'll make them suffer the way Grandpa suffered. I swear it. I swear on his memory, I'll—"
"And you'll what, exactly?"
The voice that interrupted his spiral belonged to Sasuke, who'd apparently climbed the monument so quietly that Naruto hadn't noticed despite usually having excellent awareness. The last Uchiha stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable but carrying something that might have been understanding.
Naruto turned to find not just Sasuke but several of his classmates—Rock Lee in formal mourning clothes that looked uncomfortable on someone usually in a green jumpsuit, Sakura with red-rimmed eyes suggesting she'd been crying, Hinata looking like she might cry again any moment, even Shikamaru who clearly would rather be anywhere else but had come anyway. They stood in a loose semi-circle, all looking at him with expressions that combined concern and uncertainty and the helplessness of children confronting grief they didn't have tools to process.
"Asuma-sensei sent us," Lee explained, his usual enthusiasm completely absent, replaced by solemn gravity. "He knew you'd be up here. He asked us to bring you down for the funeral. It starts in thirty minutes."
"I'm not going." Naruto's voice was flat, empty of everything except the numbness that had replaced the earlier tears. "I can't watch them burn his body. Can't listen to people talk about how great he was when I know—when everyone knows—that I'm the reason he's dead."
"That's not true," Hinata said softly, her voice barely audible but carrying absolute conviction. "Your grandfather died protecting the village from an enemy attack. That was his duty as Hokage. You didn't cause that."
"The seal they placed on me did," Naruto countered bitterly. "If I wasn't the Nine-Tails' container, if I didn't have this demon inside me, they wouldn't have had a weapon to use. He died stopping my transformation. Died sealing away corruption in me. That makes it my fault."
"That makes it their fault for weaponizing your seal," Sasuke said sharply. "You were the target of their technique, not the cause of needing it stopped. There's a difference, dobe. Don't confuse being victimized with being responsible."
The logic was sound, but it couldn't penetrate the self-hatred that had been building for two days. Naruto shook his head. "You don't understand. None of you understand what it's like to have this thing inside you, to know that everyone who gets close to you ends up hurt or dead because of it. I'm cursed. I'm—"
"You're our friend," Sakura interrupted, her voice firm despite the tears on her cheeks. "And your grandfather didn't die because you're cursed. He died because enemy forces attacked and he chose to protect you over protecting himself. That was his choice. He made it because he loved you. Don't dishonor that by blaming yourself for someone else's evil."
"Come down with us," Hinata urged, stepping closer despite her usual shyness. "You don't have to be strong right now. You don't have to have answers or stop feeling terrible. You just have to be there. We'll be there with you. You won't be alone."
Naruto looked at them—these classmates who'd become something like friends despite his best efforts to keep everyone at arm's length, who'd climbed this monument not because they had magic words that would fix anything, but because they refused to let him grieve alone.
"I don't think I can do this," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I don't know how to say goodbye to him."
"None of us do," Sasuke said quietly, and there was something in his tone that suggested he understood this particular flavor of grief intimately, that he'd stood at his own family's funeral and felt this same impossible weight. "But we do it anyway because the alternative is worse. Come on, dobe. Your grandfather deserves to see you at his funeral, even if it hurts. Especially because it hurts."
Slowly, mechanically, Naruto stood. His legs felt disconnected from his body, his movements puppet-like. But he let his classmates surround him as they began the descent from the monument, their presence a barrier against the complete dissolution that threatened with every step.
As they descended from the monument and began walking through the village streets toward the funeral grounds, Naruto felt like he was watching himself from outside his body, disconnected from the physical act of moving forward. The streets were unusually crowded despite the early hour—thousands gathering to pay respects to a leader who'd served for decades.
Black banners hung from every building. White flowers—the traditional color of mourning—decorated every doorway and window. Shinobi in formal dress uniforms moved through the crowds in organized groups, their usual individual distinctions subsumed into collective grief.
People stared as Naruto's group passed. Some with sympathy, some with the calculating assessment of those trying to determine how the Hokage's death would affect political balances. But others...
That's when Naruto heard them. Voices that thought they were speaking quietly but carried clearly to his chakra-enhanced hearing, conversations happening in clusters as people waited for the funeral procession to begin.
"I heard the study was destroyed from the inside," one civilian was saying to another, their voices lowered but not enough. "Massive chakra damage, walls scorched, the kind of devastation that comes from losing control of sealed power."
"The Nine-Tails," someone else confirmed in a hushed tone. "It had to be. The boy lost control during the attack, and the Third Hokage had to sacrifice himself to reseal it. Just like the Fourth Hokage died sealing it away in the first place. That demon has cost us two Hokages now."
"Should never have kept it in the village," another voice agreed bitterly. "Should have sent it away, let another village deal with the burden. Now look what it's cost us. The Third Hokage dead, the boy still carrying the beast inside him, and for what? What good has come from harboring that thing?"
Naruto's steps faltered. His classmates noticed immediately—Hinata's grip on his hand tightened protectively, Sasuke moved slightly closer as if to physically shield him from the words, Lee's expression shifted toward righteous anger.
But the voices continued, different clusters echoing similar sentiments as Naruto's group passed through the gathering crowds.
"Those Iwagakure bastards knew exactly what they were doing," a shinobi was saying to his companions, his voice thick with hatred. " I Heard that they Brought a seal specifically designed to control the Nine-Tails' chakra, to turn the boy into a weapon they could trigger. Absolute cowards who couldn't face him in honest combat."
"But why keep the jinchūriki in the Hokage's own compound?" someone questioned.
"He loved the boy," a woman's voice said, carrying sad resignation. "Raised him from infancy despite the burden he carried. But love and strategy don't always align. Perhaps if he'd been less attached, more willing to treat him as a jinchūriki rather than as family, he'd still be alive."
Each word struck like a physical blow. Naruto felt his classmates closing ranks around him protectively, felt their presence trying to create a buffer against accusations and blame. But the voices kept coming, overlapping, creating a chorus of judgment that confirmed every terrible thing Naruto had been thinking about himself.
"Two Hokages dead because of that demon. When will it be enough? When will the village leadership accept that keeping the Nine-Tails here isn't worth the cost?"
"The Fourth sealed it into his own son thinking that would create loyalty, that the boy would use its power to protect the village. Look how that turned out. The beast is uncontrollable, and now another generation pays the price."
"At least the Third Hokage managed to reseal it before it fully manifested. Imagine if it had completed transformation—we'd have lost not just the Hokage but potentially the entire village. Small mercies, I suppose."
"Small mercies? The Hokage's soul is trapped in the Shinigami's stomach for eternity fighting the nine tails he sealed away. That's not mercy. That's tragedy we could have prevented by being more realistic about the threat that boy represents."
Naruto's breathing became shallow, rapid. His vision tunneled, the crowded street seeming to narrow until all he could see was a path forward through masses of people who blamed him, feared him, wished he'd never been born or at least had been born as someone else's burden.
"Stop," he whispered, but his voice was lost in the crowd noise.
"Naruto-kun," Hinata said quietly, tugging gently on his hand. "Don't listen to them. They don't understand. They're scared and angry and looking for simple answers to complicated problems."
"But they're right," Naruto said, his voice hollow. "Everything they're saying is true. My grandfather died because of me. Because of what I am. Because I'm too weak to control what's inside me."
"You're wrong," Sasuke said flatly, his voice cutting through Naruto's spiral with characteristic bluntness. "They're scared villagers creating narratives that make sense to them. The truth is more complicated. Iwagakure forces attacked with specific tools and strategies designed to kill the Hokage. You were one weapon they used, but if you didn't exist, they'd have brought different weapons. The outcome might have been the same."
"You don't know that—"
"Neither do you," Sasuke interrupted. "So stop taking responsibility for other people's evil. Your grandfather made his choice knowing what it would cost. Honor that choice by becoming strong enough that his sacrifice means something. That's what he'd want."
The funeral grounds were visible now, just ahead through the crowds. Thousands had gathered, creating a sea of black clothing and white flowers that stretched as far as Naruto could see. The pyre was being prepared in the center, traditional wood stacked with precise care, waiting for the body that would soon be committed to flames.
As Naruto's group approached the designated area for family and close associates, the murmurs followed them, washing over Naruto like waves threatening to pull him under.
"That's the boy. The jinchūriki. The reason the Hokage had to use the Reaper Death Seal."
"Poor child. Carrying that burden, blamed for things beyond his control. But still... two Hokages dead. The pattern is undeniable."
"Will the new Hokage keep him in the village? Or will they finally make the practical choice and send him away where he can't create more tragedies?"
"Look at his face. He knows. He understands what he's cost us. That might be worse than ignorance—knowing you're the reason people die but being powerless to change it."
Naruto's hands clenched into fists hard enough that his nails drew blood from his palms. The pain was welcome, grounding, proof that he could still feel something beyond the numbness and guilt threatening to swallow him entirely.
Asuma waited near the front, his face carved from grief and duty. When he saw Naruto arrive with his classmates, something in his expression softened fractionally with relief. He gestured for Naruto to stand beside him in the place of honor reserved for immediate family.
"I'm glad you came," Asuma said quietly, his hand resting on Naruto's shoulder. "I know it's hard. But he deserves to have you here."
"Did you hear them?" Naruto asked, his voice barely audible. "What they're saying about me? About the Nine-Tails? About how this is my fault?"
"I heard," Asuma confirmed, his grip tightening. "And they're wrong. Scared people create simple stories because complex truth is harder to accept."
The funeral was about to begin—the formal ceremony that would commit Hiruzen Sarutobi's body to flames, that would mark the official end of his service and the beginning of whatever came next for Konohagakure.
But as Naruto stood there surrounded by thousands of mourners, hearing their whispers about demons and death and the terrible cost of harboring the Nine-Tails, he felt something inside him begin to harden. Not just grief anymore, but determination forged in the furnace of loss and blame.
His grandfather had sacrificed his soul to save him. Had used his final moments to reseal the corruption, to give Naruto a chance at life despite the burden he carried. That sacrifice demanded meaning. Demanded that Naruto become someone worthy of such a price.
And if the village blamed him, feared him, wished he didn't exist? Then he'd prove them wrong. He'd become so strong, so capable, so undeniably valuable that no one could ever again question whether his existence was worth the cost.
He'd honor his grandfather's sacrifice by becoming a shinobi who protected rather than destroyed, who controlled the beast within rather than being controlled by it, who made the Nine-Tails a source of strength instead of a curse that killed everyone he loved.
The funeral ceremony began. Speakers approached the pyre to share memories and tributes. And Naruto stood there listening to words he barely processed, making silent promises to a grandfather who couldn't hear them anymore but whose faith had never wavered even when Naruto's own had crumbled.
I'll make you proud, Naruto thought as the first speaker began. I'll become someone worthy of what you gave up for me. I'll prove that your sacrifice wasn't wasted on a cursed child who only brings death. I swear it, Grandpa. I swear on your memory and your soul and everything you ever taught me—I'll make this mean something.
The murmurs continued around him, waves of judgment and fear and blame. But Naruto stood firm, anchored by his classmates' presence and his own determination, ready to face whatever came next.
The Third Hokage was dead. The village mourned. And Naruto would have to learn to carry the weight of that loss while also carrying the burden of being both blamed for it and determined to prove that blame unjustified.
The funeral proceeded. And with it, the beginning of Naruto's transformation from protected grandson into something harder, stronger, and infinitely more determined to matter in ways that made his grandfather's ultimate sacrifice worthwhile.
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