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That cold night, sleep was driven far from the eyes of the entire shinobi world. It wasn't an ordinary restlessness. It wasn't because an ambitious Kage had sparked a new war, or because a ruthless army had crossed borders under the cover of darkness to wipe out a slumbering village. The shinobi world was accustomed to death, blood, and screams. But tonight, they had witnessed something—or rather, read something in classified intelligence reports—that their logical minds simply could not digest. For the first time in their blood-soaked history, an event had occurred that completely defied every established rule and belief of the shinobi system.
A mere seven-year-old boy had stepped onto a terrifying battlefield where more than a thousand highly trained, emotionless assassins stood ready to take his life. He had faced the legendary Sannin Orochimaru, a name that made even Kages tremble. He had ground Danzo Shimura's impenetrable empire—an empire secretly cultivated within Konoha's deepest shadows for decades—into the dust. But the most terrifying part of this entire event was not the battle itself; it was the aftermath. When the battlefield finally quieted, the mist cleared, and the first ray of dawn struck the earth, there were no mountains of corpses. There was no river of blood flowing, nor was there a victorious army planting its flag over mutilated bodies. There were only defeated shinobi lying on the ground—thousands of them, paralyzed, helpless, but all entirely alive and breathing.
This unbelievable news spread across the continent like wildfire, moving faster than any messenger hawk or spy network could carry it. Intelligence divisions were thrown into absolute chaos. Every time this story was retold in a tavern, a secret hideout, or a Kage's chamber, one comparison inevitably came to mind first—Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash. That was a name once enough to bring entire armies to their knees and force them into retreat. A shinobi who had become a legend in the Third Great Ninja War after slaughtering hundreds of enemy ninja in the blink of an eye. The equation of that era was clear: a thousand shinobi, a battlefield, and an invincible man.
But tonight, the intelligence reports spoke of a new number. First one thousand... then the number swelled to over three thousand. However, this time there was a chilling difference that left seasoned veterans, old wolves of war, and brilliant strategists deeply unsettled. Naruto Uzumaki hadn't killed a single one of those three thousand assassins, and he was only seven years old. Death is common for a shinobi; killing someone is merely a struggle for survival. But to spare an enemy so effortlessly was proof of a power far beyond 'combat'. It was Absolute Dominance—a display where the child wasn't fighting enemies, but playing with toys.
Initially, other villages dismissed these early reports as Konoha's exaggeration and utter nonsense. The second wave of reports was branded as psychological warfare and propaganda. But when the third and fourth reports arrived, backed by the testimonies of terrified eyewitnesses and the visible panic within Konoha's own shinobi network, no leader sitting in any corner of the world could deny the truth. That boy had truly achieved the impossible, and now, the world had to learn to live with the fear of a new Mahayodha (Great Warrior).
High among the peaks of Kumogakure, a silence heavier than rolling thunderclouds filled the impenetrable, fortress-like council chamber. In the center of the room, the Fourth Raikage, Ay, stood leaning with both powerful hands planted on a massive oak table. The tension radiating from his hulking, iron-like physique was palpable. Right in front of him sat a stack of intelligence reports thicker than the documents of any standard mission. He had already read the report twice, but his mind was still struggling to accept the statistics.
After reading the final page once more, the Raikage raised his sharp gaze and asked in a heavy voice filled with disbelief, "More than three thousand?"
A senior, battle-hardened advisor standing to his right took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "Yes, Lord Raikage. Our intelligence is absolutely accurate. Approximately three and a half thousand 'Root' operatives were deployed against the Uchiha, while another thousand were directly involved in the main confrontation surrounding Danzo."
The Raikage's eyebrows furrowed. His voice carried the harsh edge of a seasoned war veteran, "And they all lost? Were they killed?"
The advisor hesitated, swallowing hard. "They definitely lost, Raikage-sama... but none of them were killed."
Hearing this unexpected answer, the Raikage slowly leaned back. A gradual, mocking smile crept onto his hardened face, a mixture of his immense ego and sheer disbelief. "A seven-year-old child..." he muttered, as if it were a joke. But no one else in the room smiled at his sarcasm.
Noticing the suffocating silence, the Raikage's smile faded. He glared at them, demanding, "What is it? Why are you all standing there as if someone just declared war on Kumo?"
Then, the oldest and wisest advisor on the council carefully placed another sealed document on the table. There was a strange fear in his voice. "Lord Raikage, the problem isn't that a seven-year-old child defeated a thousand elite assassins. Our real problem is that he defeated them without killing them."
The Raikage's eyes narrowed.
The elder advisor clarified, "Killing a thousand men on a battlefield is one thing, but paralyzing them without shedding a single drop of blood is something else entirely. It directly implies that the child wasn't just struggling to save his own life. He controlled that entire battlefield like a chessboard. He isolated the enemy, countered their every lethal technique, neutralized their chakra networks with absolute precision, and according to eyewitnesses, he deliberately protected them from their own lethal crossfire. That wasn't a battle... it was a cruel exhibition of supreme power."
The Raikage's smile had now completely vanished. Another strategist chimed in, his voice laced with concern, "Lord Raikage, Minato Namikaze—the 'Yellow Flash'—became synonymous with terror because enemies knew facing him meant certain death. But Naruto Uzumaki has birthed an entirely different kind of fear. It is the fear of what a seven-year-old child who can defeat a thousand men without killing them today... will become when he grows up."
A graveyard-like silence blanketed the room for several seconds. No one wanted to imagine that potential future.
And then, suddenly, the Raikage burst into loud laughter. It wasn't a mocking laugh, nor an attempt to hide his nervousness. It was a true warrior's genuine acknowledgment of an unimaginable power. He slammed his fist onto the table so hard the wood splintered, faint sparks of lightning crackling from his knuckles.
"Very interesting," the Raikage declared, a new, dangerous glint in his eyes. "If a seven-year-old child can grind a thousand trained shinobi into the dirt without killing them, then this is my final order for Kumogakure—from this day, from this very moment... we must stop treating him like a child."
In the far west, an eerily oppressive silence hung inside the Tsuchikage's office in the rocky expanse of Iwagakure. The Third Tsuchikage, Onoki, floated in the air above his chair, staring intently at the intelligence report. The old man had already read the document three times, yet believing those words felt impossible.
Standing quietly right behind him was his massive and most trusted bodyguard, his son Akatsuchi. Akatsuchi had always seen his father remain calm and confident in every situation, but today, the tension etched into the lines of Onoki's face left the giant shinobi deeply unsettled.
In his long life, Onoki had seen true monsters. He had stood in a terrifying world where Hashirama Senju breathed; he had felt the fear of Madara Uchiha's colossal shadow deep in his bones; and he had endured the terror of the 'Yellow Flash' that brought Iwa's forces to their knees. And now, decades later, a new name had been added to that terrifying list—Naruto Uzumaki.
Breaking the heavy silence of the room, Akatsuchi finally gathered his courage and asked in his deep voice, "Tsuchikage-sama... is that boy... is he truly another Madara Uchiha?"
Onoki closed his tired eyes, let out a deep sigh, and replied with absolute calmness, "No."
Hearing this, a massive wave of relief washed over Akatsuchi's broad face. But his relief didn't last even a moment, because the very next second, Onoki opened his eyes, and a profound fear swam within them. "I don't know, Akatsuchi..." Onoki's voice trembled slightly. "And to be honest, that is what terrifies me the most."
Turning toward the window, Onoki stared out at the rocky landscape of Iwagakure, lost in old memories. Hashirama could spawn dense forests in an instant; Madara could change the very definition of war; and Minato had turned speed itself into the fear of death. But unimaginable strength wasn't the only thing scaring Onoki today. That seven-year-old boy had started asking questions, and what was even more terrifying was that people around the world had started listening to him.
"Any ninjutsu or physical strength can be measured, Akatsuchi," Onoki muttered, looking toward the distant horizon, a strange helplessness in his voice. "But an idea... an idea cannot be measured. It spreads, and no stone wall in the world can stop it."
Sunagakure's massive council chamber was cluttered with sprawling maps, classified intelligence reports, and documents detailing the village's plummeting economic projections. The sound of blowing sand outside the windows only heightened the tension in the room. The problem here was completely different from Kumo or Iwa; it was less about military might and more a battle for survival and economic stability.
When a young advisor admitted with a heavy heart that they could not fight that god-tier boy on a battlefield, a diplomat sitting across the table immediately interlocked his fingers and suggested, "Then don't fight. Bring him here. Give him whatever he wants."
To add weight to his point, he rattled off a long list of possibilities—vast lands, unlimited resources, full political protection, and a separate, secure settlement for the Uchiha Clan. His logic was brutally practical: "If that boy believes chakra can be used for things other than war and murder—like agriculture, construction, or medicine—then this parched, struggling village of ours will benefit the most from that knowledge."
But amidst this tempting proposal, one of the older, veteran council members slammed his hand on the table in fierce opposition. "His ideology is a cancer!" The old councilor's wrinkled eyes held both fear and fury. "He tells people to question everything—their leaders, their centuries-old traditions, and our military doctrines. Just imagine, what if a shinobi on the battlefield starts questioning why he should follow orders? What if they start asking why a Kage's status or Bloodlines should dictate their future... what will happen to our military system? Our entire society will collapse!"
This flawless logic plunged the entire room into a graveyard-like silence. The fear of losing power was far greater than any economic benefit. After a long, suffocating debate, it was finally decided that they would not risk inviting him into the village, nor would they adopt his rebellious ideology. But diplomatically, establishing a secure 'contact' with him couldn't hurt.
The Sunagakure council had delivered its verdict, but there was one massive flaw in this entire plan—even after deploying spies across the entire shinobi world, no one had a clue where Naruto Uzumaki actually was. He had become an enigma, as untraceable as a gust of wind.
The situation in Kirigakure was even more horrific. The bloody civil war had ended, and the puppet Kage had been killed, but there was no trace of peace in the village's bloody mist. Clans were thirsty for each other's blood, citizens lived in terror, and the administration was completely fractured.
In this volatile atmosphere, when Naruto Uzumaki was brought up in the council, the room split into two factions. Some reformists spoke with hope, "He exposed Konoha! Our village needs that exact same truth."
But the hardliners banged on the tables in fierce protest. "Madness!" one hardliner growled. "A boy who teaches people to question every old establishment will bring nothing but another bloody civil war to this broken village of ours."
After a long and bitter argument, an elderly councilor offered a calm compromise. "We will not invite him, nor will we adopt his ideology," he said. "But we will simply contact him. If we can just find out what he truly wants, perhaps we will find our own path."
At this single diplomatic suggestion, the entire council fell silent.
This debate was no longer confined to the closed corridors of power or the Kages' domes. It was pumping through the veins of the entire shinobi world like fresh blood. From taverns to academies, and from bustling markets to remote villages, only one name echoed everywhere—Naruto Uzumaki. Some looked upon him with dread, calling him a 'monster', while others revered him as a 'genius' or a divine incarnation. Elder shinobi compared his power to the titans of the past. Some saw the next 'Madara Uchiha' in his destructive potential and fearless demeanor, while others searched for the reflection of 'Hashirama Senju' in his mercy, his compassion, and his nature to spare lives.
But far removed from these political and military debates, the common people's interest lay in something else entirely. They didn't want to know what jutsu he used; they only wanted to hear what new question that strange seven-year-old boy would ask next. He had cleared the cobwebs from the world's mind. In a small hospital in the Land of Fire, a medical-nin had set aside his traditional tools and was now actively researching new ways to apply chakra directly for surgical precision. On the border of another country, an old artisan had stopped crafting weapons, pondering if chakra could be used to power mechanical systems. Hundreds of miles away from Konoha, a young academy student looked his instructor in the eye and dared to ask whether the ancient military formation considered 'perfect' for decades was actually perfect at all.
Somewhere far away, on a chilly morning, a young child stood wide-eyed, staring at a 'Wanted Poster' pinned to a village notice board. The poster bore Naruto's calm face, and the number printed right beneath that picture was absurd, almost unimaginable—a bounty of over 'One Billion Ryo'. It was the highest bounty ever placed on a human being in history. Holding his father's hand innocently, the child asked, "Father, why does everyone want to catch this boy? What did he do?"
The father looked at the seven-year-old face printed on the paper, took a deep, cold breath, and said softly, "Because they are all afraid of him, son."
The child thought for a moment, a strange spark lighting up his innocent eyes, and looking back at the poster, he said, "If they are afraid... then maybe we should ask him what the truth is."
Naruto wasn't just being praised for his unparalleled strength. People praised him because, despite possessing limitless power, he had explicitly refused to become a tyrant. He had protected the oppressed and spoken openly about things the entire world had always been terrified to question. He had awakened a 'possibility' within the common people—a possibility they had completely forgotten under the crushing weight of authority.
But amidst the roar of this praise, there was also a silent group that looked upon him with deep-seated hatred. These were the people whose existence and power relied entirely on old dogmas. They still believed that Danzo's philosophy, institutions like 'Root', and the darkness of power were 'necessary' to run the world. To them, Naruto's independent thinking was a plague.
The world had not yet fully learned Naruto's lesson; rather, it had only begun a new debate. For centuries, the shinobi world had run on only two things—Obedience or Pain. But now, from beneath that ancient soil, a new ideological revolution was taking root. And that revolution was neither being written in blood nor fought with weapons. It was a new ideology of 'Questions', spreading across the globe faster than the wind.
The Black Market Information Network was experiencing the most profitable week in its entire history. Inside the headquarters, there was intense hustle and bustle—copies of reports were being mass-produced, intelligence was being encrypted, and massive stacks of cash were being counted on tables. When a senior broker announced that information sales had spiked by forty-seven percent since the Shisui report dropped, and that the bounty on Naruto had surpassed one billion ryo, someone smiled and remarked that he was a very expensive child.
But an analyst immediately corrected him, "No. He is a very expensive future."
Sitting in a corner of the room, a scientist asked how many people were actively hunting him and how many were looking to help him. When told that the number of willing allies was unknown, he smiled. "That is the number we should actually be worried about," he explained. "He isn't building a traditional army or a political faction. He is building people who know how to think for themselves."
Just then, the heavy iron doors of the chamber burst open, and a staff member rushed in, panting.
"My Lord..." he said, his voice laced with panic, "Orochimaru is here. He is outside and says he has a highly profitable business proposition for us."
The scientist, without even lifting his head from his files, said dismissively, "So what's new? It's not his first time here. Deal with him outside like always and send him on his way."
"No, My Lord... that's not it," the staff member swallowed hard, sheer terror visible on his face. "He hasn't come for himself... He has come as a representative for Naruto Uzumaki."
A graveyard-like silence instantly consumed the room. The sound of shuffling papers and counting money stopped dead.
The Great Sannin Orochimaru... the world's most feared criminal... working for a seven-year-old child?
The senior broker and the analyst looked at each other in utter disbelief. Their perspective shifted immediately.
"Send him in immediately," the analyst ordered in a grave, alert tone. "He is now worthy of sitting at this table with us."
Moments later, Orochimaru entered the room, accompanied by a young woman, Amaru. Seeing him, the hands of several Black Market guards instinctively reached for their weapons. Orochimaru raised both hands in the air, flashing a dangerous yet perfectly calm smile.
"Relax, gentlemen. We are not here to shed blood; we are here to do business."
Amaru stepped forward fearlessly and placed a heavy, sealed document right in the center of the table.
Orochimaru scanned every major face in the room with his serpentine eyes and spoke in a slow, echoing voice—
"Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to meet you all for the first time. My Master is quite impressed with your organization's capabilities, your network, and your reach, and he is very eager to do business with you."
The entire Black Market institution was stunned. For the ruthless brokers and killers sitting in that room, it was impossible to digest that an invincible monster like Orochimaru was so casually and respectfully referring to a seven-year-old child as his 'Master'.
It was then, for the first time, that the underworld realized a terrifying truth. Naruto Uzumaki hadn't just survived a political storm in Konoha; he had stepped onto the chessboard of the world, and before the world could even start walking... he had already begun to run.
Far removed from all this, heavy rain pounded down on the silent, cloud-shrouded ruins of Amegakure. Inside a dark, cavernous chamber, the members of the Akatsuki stood gathered—a place ruled only by a fierce, extreme ideology. Suddenly, Orochimaru's ring glowed, and a chakra projection of Naruto materialized in the center of the room.
Naruto's cerulean blue eyes swept across the room and locked onto the reanimated corpse controlled by Nagato (the Deva Path of Pain). Seeing the dead body, a deep disappointment clouded Naruto's eyes. "So, you are using a dead body as a puppet," he said in a calm yet piercing tone.
Hearing this, Nagato (the true controller behind Pain) felt slightly disturbed on the inside. Yahiko wasn't just a body; he was his friend, his protector, and the true leader of the Akatsuki. Naruto caught that microscopic ripple in Nagato's chakra in the blink of an eye.
Naruto immediately called it out with a mocking smile, "Sentimentality! Someone close to you!"
Nagato instantly regained his composure. A hollow, mechanical heaviness returned to his voice. "I am beyond sentimentality and attachments. I have transcended such trivial human things. Boy! Know your place."
Naruto let out a deep breath and stared directly into the eyes of the dead body. "There is a massive difference between what you are saying... and what I am seeing."
A harsh glint appeared in Nagato's (Pain's) eyes. He smiled sarcastically and said, "And you... you seem to have forgotten the difference between dreams and reality."
Naruto shot back instantly without blinking, "Dreams are reality in some place, in some dimension."
"What?!" Nagato was momentarily left speechless by this unexpected philosophical retort.
"Yes!" Naruto clarified with a smile. "But it is very difficult to explain this to someone who has mistaken this one limited world for the only truth."
Nagato's tone turned dangerous. "Your real world certainly won't be this one, boy! I will make sure of that sooner or later. That is my promise."
"Make sure of your own reality first," Naruto's tone suddenly turned as cold as ice. The temperature in the room felt as if it had plummeted. "That person was once alive. He was close to you. He deserves peace. Why do you inflict pain on everyone by binding him to yourself?"
"Pain is the teacher, Pain is life, Pain is God!" Nagato tried to dismiss him with the full force of his ideological belief.
But Naruto spoke with a faint, compassionate smile, "No! Pain is only one part of life. I understand exactly what you are trying to do. You believe that pain is the only language the world understands, and you want to use that pain to control them. But pain never brings peace... pain only breeds more pain."
Annoyed, bordering on angry, Nagato retorted, "Boy! You don't know the world. This rotten world isn't going to change with a few of your questions!"
Naruto replied in an absolutely calm, unwavering voice, "Yes! I only know how to ask questions. And that is where you and I differ. You found pain, you gave it an answer, and then you decided that it was the absolute truth. You never questioned whether another answer was even possible? You never questioned yourself... and that is why sometimes you pull the strings of this dead puppet, and sometimes you become someone else's puppet."
That single sentence—sometimes you become someone else's puppet—shook Nagato to his core. It felt as though this seven-year-old child had just pointed at the deepest secret of his existence and the invisible threat (Madara/Obito) lurking behind him.
Before Nagato could recover, Naruto struck directly at Akatsuki's recent alliance with Danzo and Orochimaru. "Your gamble of allying with Danzo cost you dearly. You thought you were helping the darkness," Naruto smiled. "You were only helping it die. Regardless, Orochimaru is now subject to our judgment, and you already know what happened to Danzo."
Hiding his apprehension, Nagato spoke in a cold voice, "Boy! Defeating Danzo doesn't mean you've defeated the world. There is a lot of darkness in the world, a darkness far beyond your comprehension."
Naruto agreed casually, "Yes! The world is vast. But I have forced the world to look within itself, and for now, that is enough."
Just then, breaking the intense and tense atmosphere, there was a soft 'poof'. A small, white, nine-tailed pup—Little Kurama—appeared on Naruto's shoulder. He wagged his tiny tail, yawned widely, and said, "Naruto! Kushina wants to talk to you. Wrap up this boring meeting."
Nagato (Pain) was stunned. His Rinnegan eyes locked onto the small creature. The Rinnegan could see and comprehend every form of chakra, but what he was seeing inside Kurama... was impossible. This chakra was so pure, so boundless, and so deep that it didn't feel like the chakra of an ordinary Tailed Beast at all.
"What are you? What is this chakra? Where is the Nine-Tails?" Nagato's wall of composure began to crack.
Kurama turned and looked at Pain. An ancient, dangerous gleam flashed in his red eyes. "Oh? The Rinnegan! Fascinating..." Kurama sniffed the air and then grinned. "...And the husk of the Ten-Tails (Gedo Mazo) too!"
Kurama started laughing loudly, a booming, roaring laugh that echoed through the dark chamber. "Naruto! Do you know about this? These fools..." Kurama was rolling with laughter. "These guys are hoping to put the Bijuu into this dead husk to build some kind of weapon!"
"Poor things!" Kurama had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.
"No, no, Kurama," Naruto scolded him like a child, though mischief danced in his own eyes. "We don't make fun of someone's foolish dreams. Come on, say sorry to them."
Hearing this, Kurama laughed even harder, lost his balance, tumbled off Naruto's shoulder, and vanished with a 'poof' in mid-air.
The Akatsuki members were dumbfounded. Their ultimate goal, their ultimate weapon (the Ten-Tails), had just been turned into an absolute joke by a pet pup. And that seven-year-old boy was treating them not as massive threats, but as a bunch of lunatics living in a delusion.
Naruto's chakra projection was now starting to fade, but before he disappeared completely, he spoke one last time.
"The light of Truth has only just shown a glimpse," he paused. His eyes were no longer those of a child, but hardened like an invincible Mahayodha. "The darkness of this world will soon face the full force of that light, and your hollow ideology of pain, manipulation, and control will burn to ashes alongside it."
Amidst the suffocating silence of the room, Naruto smiled—not cruelly, but with an almost mischievous, omniscient flair—and said:
"Until then... enjoy your delusions."
The projection vanished. The ring went dark. Rain continued to fall over Amegakure, but the crack that had just been formed in Nagato's ideological world today would never be healed.
In this journey of truth, ask yourself this question: Is there an illusion in your own life that needs to be exposed to the light of truth?
And if you accept the comfort of that illusion as your ultimate reality, then you can wait for the inevitable collision with the real truth...
Until then.... enjoy your delusions!