A little boy with blond hair—its tips faintly red, as if the sun had decided to linger there—stood in front of a tall tree with a thick trunk and rough bark. He was about four years old, far too small for anyone to expect anything beyond play. And yet there were no toys there—only training.
The wind slipped through the leaves, bringing the damp scent of soil and the distant sound of people talking somewhere in the village. It was the hour when the world felt normal… at least to those who didn't carry a monster inside them.
Naruto lifted his gaze to the trunk, and for an instant his expression turned serious, focused, as if he were facing an enemy.
"Come on. Calm and focused."
He drew in a deep breath. The air came in slowly, filled his small chest, and left with the same discipline. Then he took his first step.
The sole of his foot touched the tree's bark.
The sensation was always the same: on first contact, his body protested that it was wrong. Gravity pulled. Instinct said slip. It was like trying to fool the world itself. But he had already learned that chakra was exactly that: a way of arguing with the rules.
Naruto placed his other foot just above the first, anchoring both carefully. The wood pressed into his skin, the rough bark scraping lightly, but he didn't move. Instead, he closed his eyes.
'Focus.'
He searched within himself for that familiar feeling: the flow of chakra—warm, alive—circulating like water under pressure. It wasn't simply having chakra. It was guiding it. Making it spread evenly through his body, run down to the soles of his feet and… there… stick.
As if chakra were an invisible hand pushing against the trunk. Not brute force. Not an explosion. Just steadiness.
Except steadiness was precisely the problem.
Because there was always something trying to throw him off.
At first, he thought it was nerves. Then he thought it was lack of practice. But with time, it became obvious: there was interference. A kind of "static" inside him, a presence that reacted whenever he tried to keep a stable flow. Sometimes it seemed to push. Sometimes it seemed to pull. Sometimes it was like distant laughter, a vibration deep in his mind.
And he knew exactly what it was.
Kurama.
The seal was like a locked door. But it wasn't a perfect wall. Chakra leaked through. Will leaked through. And whenever Naruto tried for delicacy, that thing inside him seemed to scoff.
As if it said: "Why bother with this? Just tear everything apart."
Naruto opened his eyes for a moment, stared at the trunk, and the corner of his mouth tightened.
'Not now,' he thought, without saying it aloud.
So instead of increasing force, he did the opposite.
He lowered it.
He reduced the flow to the bare minimum, like someone holding a very thin thread between their fingers. And in doing so, he discovered something: when he stopped "fighting" the interference and simply ignored it, his body obeyed better. Kurama was still there, an impatient shadow, but it couldn't break the technique just by existing.
One step.
Then another.
The trunk grew farther from the ground, and Naruto's heart beat fast—not from fear, but from the effort of keeping everything balanced. Sweat began to form on his forehead, sliding in thin lines along his temples. His clothes clung lightly to his back.
Even so, he kept going.
One more step.
And another.
A few times, he felt the chakra threaten to unravel, as if some part of him wanted to explode. It felt like holding a bowl of water on the verge of spilling while someone shook your hand.
One slip, and he'd be thrown back.
But he didn't slip.
When he finally reached the top, the wind hit his face harder, and he paused there, feet planted, as if he'd conquered a mountain.
Sweat ran down his face. His hands trembled a little. But a small, victorious smile formed on his lips.
"Took longer than expected, but I finally did it."
He stayed up there for a few seconds, just feeling it. The silence at the top tasted different. As if the world became smaller when you looked down on it. As if the people below were just dots… and not stares.
Naruto bent his knees and jumped.
The air cut past him for an instant, and then he landed with both feet on the ground, absorbing the impact without falling. Dust rose lightly.
He took another deep breath. And, for the first time since he'd started training, his smile vanished.
Training was only one part.
The real goal wasn't that tree.
"Tomorrow is the day I execute the plan."
He said it quietly, as if the air itself could betray his intentions. The word plan sounded far too big for a four-year-old, but this wasn't an ordinary child. On the outside, yes. On the inside, no.
Some might wonder what this plan was. And if they asked, the answer would be simple—and absurd at the same time.
Nexus.
Or rather… Naruto.
He had been in this world for four years now. Four years living in Konoha, hearing whispers, feeling contempt, pretending to be just a little boy… while he built an idea.
And now, with four full years behind him, he believed he had an opportunity.
Because he had knowledge.
Knowledge of this world's story. Of the people. Of what had happened and what was going to happen—at least, if everything continued the way it was supposed to.
Tomorrow, before sunrise, he would go to the Hokage's building.
That part was important. Before the sun, before the streets filled, before someone decided to follow him out of sheer curiosity. At dawn, the village was quieter, and silence was a weapon.
Easier to control the setting. Fewer variables.
He would go in, be seen, and say something that would freeze any adult in place.
He would tell Hiruzen that his father, Minato, had left a portion of his own chakra inside the Kyūbi's seal.
And that, because of that, he—Naruto—knew things.
A lot of things.
Far too many things for a four-year-old orphan.
The story was simple, and it had a solid structure. After all, in that world, chakra could be sealed, stored, transmitted. That existed. The detail was how he was using that truth. He wasn't lying about the possibility… he was lying about the purpose, about the intent. And more importantly, it was a "bent truth" that spoke directly to fear.
Because everyone feared the seal.
Everyone feared what was inside it.
And the Hokage, more than anyone, had every reason to fear.
Once he planted that idea, Naruto would demand his parents' inheritance.
Money.
Properties.
Jutsu.
Sealing techniques.
He wanted everything.
Not out of childish whim. Not because he dreamed of toys or sweets. But because, to him, it was a tool. It was safety. It was power. It was the kind of thing that separated a "written" fate from a chosen one.
He knew that, in the story, a lot happened to Naruto… but almost nothing happened because Naruto had control. He was shoved from side to side, used, watched, hated, tolerated when convenient.
Naruto didn't want to be tolerated.
He wanted to be untouchable.
And if the Hokage refused…
He already knew what he would do.
And if Hiruzen refused, I would threaten to release the seal… or even kill myself at any moment.
Just thinking it left a bitter taste. Because it was ugly. Because it was dirty. Because it was manipulation.
Obviously, he wouldn't actually do it. He wasn't insane. He wasn't suicidal. It was calculation.
A bluff.
But Hiruzen didn't need to know that.
The Hokage was old. Experienced. He had seen war, death, the Kyūbi tear the village apart.
And Naruto knew: if there was one thing Hiruzen would not accept, it was the risk of the seal breaking because of a child's emotional instability.
If Naruto put that on the table, Hiruzen would be forced to react.
And react fast.
Naruto looked down at his own small hands. A child's hands. Short nails. Skin with light scratches from training. And for an instant, it almost felt ridiculous that those hands were planning to blackmail the leader of a village.
He let out a short, humorless chuckle.
"I never really liked lying, but this will be for the best. At least for my best."
He turned and started walking home.
The path was familiar, repeated so many times that his feet seemed to know it on their own.
Konoha's streets at that hour had people coming and going: some carrying bags, others talking, others simply moving with haste. And then, when Naruto appeared, the atmosphere changed.
It was subtle and, at the same time, screamingly obvious.
Stares.
First, contempt. As if he were filth on the ground.
Then, anger. As if he were guilty just for existing.
And lastly, fear.
Fear was the most interesting, because it didn't come only from hatred. It came from real dread, as if at any moment that child could turn into a tragedy.
Those reactions were daily. All he had to do was step outside and it happened.
Naruto felt a heavier stare from a woman near a stall. She gripped her son by the shoulder and pulled the child back, as if Naruto were a blade.
A man changed his path, pretending he'd been headed somewhere else. Another simply stopped talking mid-sentence when he saw him.
Naruto didn't stop. Didn't look at them. Didn't show irritation.
He was already used to it.
And, honestly, part of him found it useful.
Contempt kept distance.
Anger kept fools busy with their own emotions.
And fear… fear could be a tool.
He kept walking as if none of it touched him. Inside, though, a part of him recorded everything. Who stepped aside. Who stared too long. Who avoided too hard.
Four years in that world had taught him one thing: in Konoha, no one was "just" someone.
Every look could be a thread tugging at a larger weave.
When he got home, Naruto opened the door.
What greeted him was a simple wooden house, small, smelling of cleanliness and silence. It wasn't comfortable the way a child's home should be, but it was organized. Everything had its place. Everything was tidy.
To many, it would look strange: a four-year-old living alone… and keeping the place like an adult.
To Naruto, it was normal.
Disorder was weakness.
He took off his sandals carefully, set them in the right corner, and went straight to the bathroom. His body was tired from training, and the feel of the tree bark still seemed to cling to his skin.
Naruto undressed without haste, hung his clothes up, and turned on the shower.
Water fell with a steady sound, filling the bathroom. The temperature was just right, between cool and warm—perfect for relaxing without making his body too slack.
He stepped in and closed his eyes as the water hit his head, running down his face, his neck, his shoulders. The gentle heat seemed to dissolve the accumulated fatigue, as if each drop pulled a piece of tension away.
Naruto stayed there for a few minutes, breathing slowly.
And deep down, he felt it again.
The presence.
Kurama.
Not as a clear voice. Not as words. But as a weight behind his chest, an echo that never disappeared. Sometimes it seemed asleep. Sometimes it seemed to watch. And in moments of silence… it seemed to laugh.
Naruto opened his eyes, stared at the wet floor, and clenched his fists.
"One of the things holding me back is Kurama's interference. I need to deal with that too."
He spoke softly, more to himself than to the world. The water carried the words away.
When he finished his shower, he grabbed a towel and dried off carefully, rubbing his hair until the reddish tips stood out more. Then he put on his casual sleep clothes: simple black shorts down to his knees and a white long-sleeved shirt.
In the kitchen, he took one of the instant ramen cups.
It was simple, fast, predictable—and in that world, predictability was a luxury.
Naruto poured water into a pot, lit the fire, and watched while he waited. The sound of the flame was low and steady, and the kitchen smelled neutral. He sat at the table and rested his elbows on it, as if it were a command center.
As the water heated, he thought.
Tomorrow, he would have to be convincing.
Convincing enough that Hiruzen would believe him… or at least fear him.
He could already picture the old Hokage behind the desk, pipe smoke curling, eyes heavy with someone who had seen too much. Naruto would need to choose simple words—words a child could say—but with the impact of an impossible revelation.
Something like: "I saw my father." Or "He talked to me." Or "He told me where things are."
But he couldn't overdo it. Exaggeration invited suspicion. The secret was to mix truth and lie in the same sentence, so the lie felt inevitable.
Naruto also thought about what could go wrong.
What if the Hokage tried to test him?
What if he asked details about the seal?
What if he called someone to confirm?
Naruto didn't know everything about Fuuinjutsu. He knew enough to look like he knew more.
Still, there were limits. One mistake there could cost him dearly.
On the other hand, the very fact that he would be there, at four years old, talking about Minato and seals… would already be a shock.
The water began to boil. The sound filled the kitchen, pulling Naruto back to the present.
He stood, turned off the flame, and carefully added the noodles. He waited the necessary time, drained the water, added the seasoning, and stirred. The smell rose—hot, familiar.
He started eating.
The ramen was simple, but the warmth calmed him. And as he ate, Naruto continued planning and running through possible scenarios, as if each bite were a piece snapped into the future.
If Hiruzen gave in quickly, great. Naruto would leave with more than a child should have: resources, information, access. The beginning of a path that didn't depend on anyone's goodwill.
If Hiruzen tried to stall, Naruto would pressure him. Not with shouting, not with tantrums, but with the kind of cold insistence that made adults feel guilty—and, at the same time, threatened.
If Hiruzen tried to "take care" of him—put him under supervision, have ANBU follow him…
Naruto would need to act differently.
Everything was a dance.
And Naruto knew how to dance, even with small feet.
With every scenario, he repeated the same phrase in his mind: 'I can't lose tomorrow.'
Because if he failed, the window would close. And the world would go back to being this: a small house, hateful stares in the street, and a monster inside him laughing whenever he tried to have control.
Naruto finished eating, wiped his mouth, and stood there for a few seconds, staring at the empty cup as if it were the last normal thing before stepping through a door.
He took a deep breath.
Tomorrow would be an important day.
It was his chance to cut fate in half.
Naruto got up, began tidying the kitchen with his usual care, then walked to his room. His body was tired, but his mind was far too awake.
He lay down.
Stared at the ceiling.
And smiled—small, like someone holding a secret.
Because starting tomorrow… the real change would begin.
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