Prologue
> I became the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki, and I was just a baby.
> The villagers' hatred was like tangible blades; every gaze wished to dismember me.
> An adult Soul roared frantically within the shell of an infant, yet could only emit meaningless "waa waa" cries.
> The Third Hokage's palm carried a hesitant warmth, his complex gaze hiding both pity and calculation.
> Only when the Nine-Tails Chakra's brutality boiled in my veins did I understand—
> This weak, defenseless body was, in itself, the most desperate prison.
---
My consciousness was torn apart by force.
There was no gentle morning light, no soothing awakening. Only a piercing cry that stabbed through my brain, like a rusty saw grating on my nerves. And turbulence, violent, erratic turbulence, each jolt churning the inside of this fragile body. My stomach seemed to be flung into my throat, then brutally shoved back into my abdomen. My vision was a blurry, shaking, murky yellow, accompanied by a few vague dark streaks—likely the grain of wood, rough and oppressively suspended above my head.
*What... happened to me?*
The thought floated up like fragments of a shipwreck, heavy and cold. Immediately following, was a tsunami.
Information didn't pour in; it exploded. Huge, chaotic fragments of images, laden with the smell of gunpowder and blood, carrying unfamiliar nouns and overwhelming emotions, slammed into the depths of my consciousness: a burning village, a terrifying beast's roar tearing through the night sky, nine giant Tails burning with hatred; the small, successive figures of Konoha Ninja, desperate resistance; then, the Seal... the weak yet resolute face of a blonde woman, the tired yet firm eyes of a red-haired man... Finally, unimaginable pain and darkness swallowed everything.
*Uzumaki Naruto... Nine-Tails Jinchuriki... Konoha...*
Name. Identity. Location. Crime.
Every word was like a red-hot iron nail, hammered fiercely into my Soul.
*I... became... that walking nuclear bomb? That... public enemy number one?*
A sense of absurdity, like cold venom, instantly spread through my limbs. The tower of reason, built by an adult over twenty years, collapsed with a crash before this utterly preposterous realization, unable to even emit a proper groan, crumbling into a messy pile of rubble. Extreme shock gripped the throat of my thoughts, followed by an overwhelming, Soul-freezing despair.
*And I'm just... a defenseless... baby?!*
MMP—this national expletive, crushed by reality, roared and echoed silently in the abyss of my consciousness, yet couldn't even stir a ripple in the real world. From my throat came only uncontrolled, heart-wrenching wails, one after another, as if something inside me was being hollowed out and torn apart alive.
"Waaah—waaah waaah—!"
This sound, this purely physiological catharsis belonging to a baby, now heard by myself, became the cruelest, most powerless commentary on this despair. It was like a mirror, clearly reflecting the bottomless chasm between my Soul and the shell. An adult's anger, fear, curses... all surging emotions were trapped within this soft, powerless skin that couldn't even roll over independently, ultimately transforming into this monotonous and piercing noise.
My vision cleared a little. Under the shaking, murky yellow ceiling, an old face leaned in. Deep wrinkles, like carved by knives and axes, covered his forehead and the corners of his eyes, filled with heavy worry and a nearly weary compassion. His grayish-white hair was a bit disheveled, and there were heavy shadows under his eyes. Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Third Hokage.
His rough, age-spotted hands carefully supported my back, clumsily trying to soothe this tiny body, which trembled violently from instinctive crying. The movement carried an obvious awkwardness and hesitation, as if he wasn't just holding a crying baby, but a forbidden Seal that could explode at any moment.
"There, there... it's alright... it's alright..." His voice was deep and hoarse, carrying a forcibly suppressed weariness, repeating meaningless reassurances over and over. That voice passed through my eardrums but couldn't penetrate the cold wall of despair in my consciousness. His eyes were as complex as a bottomless murky pond; on the surface was turbid concern, but in the depths lay a mountain-heavy responsibility, cold calculation, and a hint of almost imperceptible... detachment?
This gaze, more chilling than any direct hostility, silently declared: You are a problem, a problem that needs to be "dealt with," a trouble wrapped in pity.
The turbulence seemed to stop. I was gently placed back into a more stable, yet narrower space. Beneath me was a rough cloth surface, emitting a faint, old smell mixed with dust and disinfectant. Was it a cradle? Or a makeshift wooden bed?
Weak and powerless signals came from inside my body, as if all strength had been drained. Every breath carried a heavy, sluggish feeling. However, worse was a deep, faint discomfort. It felt as if hot, viscous lead water was flowing slowly and scorching through my tiny blood vessels. It lay dormant, carrying a primal, brutal aura, each heartbeat causing it to subtly rumble. The residual Nine-Tails Chakra... the original sin branded on this body. It was like a tumor buried within me, constantly reminding me of my non-human nature.
*Damn it! What is this feeling? It's like a red-hot iron is stuffed inside my body!*
The roar within me was once again mercilessly silenced by reality. In response, my body only twitched more violently, and more cries erupted from my throat: "Waaah—ack! Waaah—!"
A greater sense of despair, accompanied by that burning discomfort, pressed down like an avalanche. This body was not only weak, but it also came with a ticking time bomb that could destroy everything at any moment! What was this? A deluxe Hell starter pack?
Just then, more subtle sounds penetrated the barrier of the infant's cries and the roar of my own heartbeat, like cold needles, pricking my eardrums.
"...It's him..."
"...Monster..."
"...The Nine-Tailed... killed..."
"...Why didn't he die with them..."
"...Stay away... be careful..."
The voices were not loud, like venom deliberately squeezed through clenched teeth, intermittent, carrying undisguised fear and a bone-deep hatred. They came from beyond the cradle, from the darkness outside this narrow space. My vision struggled to focus, only catching blurry, swaying dark shadows, like a pack of silent, dangerous scavengers, lurking in the distance, emitting cold malice.
*Monster? Him?* The referring word was like a poisoned ice pick, stabbing fiercely into my consciousness. *Killed? The Fourth Hokage? Kushina? ...And so many innocent people?*
A torrent of absurdity, anger, and injustice suddenly surged into my head. *Fuck! What does that have to do with me?! I was just shoved into this damn body! I'm the biggest victim here! You ignorant fools!*
Anger burned in my chest, driving this tiny body. I used all my might—a description that was both damn apt and ironic at this moment—to express this overwhelming fury. My tiny fist clenched suddenly, and I swung it with all my strength towards the direction where I perceived the strongest malice!
"Uh... ugh...!" My arm weakly lifted halfway, and that pitiful strength completely ran out. The soft little fist flailed uselessly in the air, not even reaching the edge of the cradle. The accusation I tried to squeeze out of my throat was instantly replaced by a louder, choking wail: "Waaah—cough! Waaah—!"
*Grass!* (A plant) A huge sense of frustration, like a basin of ice water poured over my head, instantly extinguished the flames of anger, leaving only cold ashes and a deeper sense of powerlessness. *What kind of torture is this?! I want to curse, but I can only spit milk bubbles! I want to hit someone, but I can't even crush an ant!*
The internal ranting furiously scrolled, carrying a hysterical sense of dark humor. Every adult spark of thought was shattered under the absolute limitations of this infant's shell.
The cradle was gently rocked, with a hint of hesitant force. It was Hiruzen Sarutobi. His fingers rested somewhat stiffly on the rough wooden edge of the cradle. The rhythm of the rocking carried a stiff, businesslike quality, far from soothing, more like performing an unavoidable task. His cloudy gaze swept over the cradle, towards the source of the whispers in the shadows, and his aged voice, carrying a deliberately lowered authority, rang out:
"Enough! Disperse! He's still a child who understands nothing!"
The whispers in the shadows seemed to be cut off for a moment by this reprimand, but the viscous malice did not dissipate; instead, it permeated the air more heavily, like a cold spiderweb, wrapping around layer by layer. I could "feel" those hateful gazes that hadn't left, like tangible needlepoints, densely pricking this defenseless body.
*Child?* A silent sneer erupted from the depths of my consciousness. *What they see is never a child. What they see is only that terrifying Tailed Beast that almost tore apart their homes and took their loved ones! And I am the vessel containing that monster. Does a vessel need to be understood? A vessel only needs to be feared, hated, and isolated!*
Hiruzen Sarutobi's defense, to me at this moment, was ridiculously pale. It was more like an attempt to soothe his own wavering conscience, or to maintain the Konoha Village's crumbling, hypocritical facade of "harmony." He might have pity, but that pity, in the face of immense political pressure and the villagers' surging fear, was as fragile as a thin piece of paper.
The rocking of the cradle stopped. He leaned over, his old face, filled with complex emotions, once again occupying my blurry vision. He seemed to be observing me, and yet also looking through me, at something heavier, more troublesome. His lips moved, as if to say something, but in the end, he only let out an almost inaudible, heavy sigh. The helplessness and weight contained in that sigh were more suffocating than any reproach.
His rough fingers, with a hint of hesitant warmth, gently brushed my hot, tear-streaked face from crying. The touch was as brief as an illusion, then quickly withdrawn. As if this simple contact also carried some forbidden weight.
"Rest well, Naruto." His final voice was as low as a murmur, more like he was speaking to himself.
Footsteps sounded, slow and heavy, gradually receding, disappearing outside the door. The simple wooden door was gently closed, blocking most of the light from outside, and also isolating those malicious whispers. But this small space did not become safe or warm because of it.
The darkness grew heavier.
Only I remained—no, only this adult Soul trapped in a baby's shell—in this suffocating silence.
The burning sensation inside my body did not subside with the external quiet. On the contrary, under intense emotional stimulation, the residual Chakra from the Nine-Tailed seemed to be activated. It was no longer just slowly flowing lead water, but began to boil! Hot, with needle-like sharp pain, it surged from my limbs, like countless tiny venomous snakes furiously biting and crashing through my veins!
"Ugh...嗚..." My body convulsed violently and uncontrollably, my tiny hands and feet tensing and curling. Painful, choked whimpers escaped my throat. It felt as if lava was flowing beneath my skin, each heartbeat bringing a scorching explosion. Cold sweat instantly soaked the rough swaddling clothes that wrapped my body.
*Stop! Stop! Damn it! Stop it!* My consciousness roared frantically in the intense pain. I instinctively, futilely, tried to "control" that violent energy, like a drowning person trying to grasp a straw. However, only a chaotic void was returned. This infant's body was so weak that even basic neural control was not yet complete, let alone being able to perceive and guide the terrifying power within it, capable of moving mountains and filling seas?
All attempts sank without a trace. Every attempt to concentrate my will instantly disintegrated before the boiling Chakra torrent. Intense pain and extreme powerlessness intertwined, forming a desperate vortex that dragged my consciousness deeper and deeper into the abyss.
My body sagged in pain and weakness, leaving only uncontrollable, intermittent sobs. My vision was even blurrier from physiological tears, barely able to make out the few rough, dark wooden bars above my head—the rails of the cradle.
Moonlight, at some point, had struggled through the narrow, dusty window crack, sparingly casting a few pale rays. This faint light just happened to outline the clear contours of those rails.
Their shadows, crisscrossing, coldly and unbreakable, enveloped me.
They were no longer the rails of a cradle.
It was a cage. A cage formed by this weak, defenseless infant's shell, the most primitive and most desperate prison. It imprisoned an adult Soul roaring in despair, and a destiny named "Jinchuriki," doomed to be wrapped in hatred.
The moonlight was pale, reflecting the un-dried tear stains on the baby's face. The crisscrossing shadows of the wooden bars, like a cold brand etched at the starting point of destiny, silently announced the beginning of a long captivity.