Date: October 7th, 998 A.S.
Time: 5:42 PM
Location: Konoha, Land of Fire
The autumn air had begun to carry a chill through the leaves of Konoha, making the shadows under the eaves of shops stretch longer, darker. The Academy day had ended, but Sakura Haruno lingered outside the iron gates, her small pink hands wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag. She was thinking about what her mother had said the night before.
"Be kind to him, Sakura," her mother had whispered in that low voice she only used when speaking of things not meant for public ears. "You don't have to love him. Just don't mock him like the others do."
Sakura hadn't understood at first. Naruto was loud. Brash. An idiot who shouted in class and never paid attention. He wasn't like Sasuke—quiet, strong, composed. Naruto was chaos, a storm with no direction.
But her father had added something strange after that. He'd been drying a kunai when he muttered, "His father was the strongest man I ever knew. He gave everything." Then he looked Sakura in the eye and said, "And no one remembers."
That stayed with her.
Now, as she clutched the paper detailing their school project—an early genin-level assignment to build a simple field report together—Sakura made her way to Naruto's listed address, the one written sloppily on the form they'd both signed.
The neighborhood changed as she got closer. Paint peeled from walls. Trash bins were upended and left. The air felt heavier here, like something lingered in the alleys, watching, whispering. And then she saw it.
Naruto was standing outside a corner dango shop, face lit up in a hopeful smile, as he pointed to a stick of sweets behind the window. His voice was soft, not his usual yell. "I have enough today, see?" he said, pulling coins from his small frog wallet.
The shopkeeper—a tall man with a thinning hairline—looked at him, sneered, then kicked Naruto square in the side.
Sakura's heart dropped. The coins scattered on the ground as Naruto fell with a grunt, clutching his ribs.
"Don't come back here, monster," the man spat, and walked inside.
Naruto didn't cry. He didn't even shout. He simply picked up his coins in silence, one by one, as if this was a routine. A fact of life. Sakura, frozen by the alley corner, didn't know what to do. Her feet moved on their own.
She didn't say anything as she followed him the last block to his apartment building. He didn't notice her. When he reached his door, he paused a moment, as if composing himself, then went inside.
Sakura waited a minute, then knocked.
There was a pause. Then the door creaked open, and Naruto blinked at her in surprise. "Sakura...?"
"I—I'm here for the project," she said, holding up the paper awkwardly. "Remember? You said I could come over."
Naruto looked past her, nervous, then stepped aside. "Yeah... uh, come in."
She stepped inside and instantly regretted it—not because of anything he did, but because of what she saw.
The apartment was dark and bare. No pictures. No toys. Just a thin mattress in the corner, a cracked table with one chair, and some instant ramen cups piled in the trash. The windows were dirty, the air damp and stale. The radiator clanked hollowly, not producing any warmth.
"Sorry it's a mess," Naruto muttered, kicking a dirty shirt out of the way. "I don't have guests... ever."
Sakura didn't say anything for a moment. She walked to the sink and turned the tap—cold water splashed out, no hot line connected. She turned to him, her expression confused, guarded. "Do you live here alone?"
He hesitated. "Yeah. The Hokage checks in sometimes. But mostly it's just me."
That small voice of her mother echoed again. "Be kind to him."
She set her bag down slowly, her face unreadable. Then she walked over to the mattress and sat cross-legged.
"We'll do the project here."
Naruto blinked. "You... want to?"
"Yeah. You've got space. And I'm not afraid of some dust."
Something shifted in the room, like air slowly returning to a sealed place. Naruto's shoulders loosened a fraction. He smiled, a small, broken kind of smile, the kind people wear when they aren't used to smiling at all.
And for the first time, Sakura didn't see the class clown. She didn't see the idiot. She saw a boy who lived alone, who got kicked for existing, who didn't even have hot water—and yet still came to class every day smiling like it didn't hurt.
That night, as they worked on the project by the dim flicker of a failing lightbulb, Naruto made her laugh. And she, without knowing why, stayed long past when she should have gone home.
In the silence between their laughter and scribbled notes, something deeper began to take root—something raw, unspoken, and dangerous in its purity.
They were very close teammates now.
And fate was watching.
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 6:13 AM
Location: Naruto Uzumaki's Apartment, Konoha
Sakura stirred awake with a low groan as the first pale light of morning filtered through the grime-streaked windows. Her body ached—not the soft soreness of a restless sleep, but the deep, stiff protest of muscles bent unnaturally in the thin, rickety chair she'd passed out in.
Her neck popped as she sat up fully. The air in Naruto's apartment was cold, made colder by the breeze slipping through the cracked window. She rubbed her eyes and looked around slowly.
The mattress in the corner was empty. His blanket was thrown back, rumpled. For a moment, she panicked—had he left her here alone? But then she heard the faint sound of running water behind the bathroom door and the scrape of a towel being pulled off its hook.
The door creaked open.
Sakura turned—then froze.
Naruto stepped out, barefoot and shirtless, steam still clinging to his skin like a second layer. His hair was damp and dripping, messier than usual. But what caught her wasn't his expression or the warmth in his sleepy eyes.
It was his body.
She had never seen so many scars on someone her own age. His chest was lean but wiry, and across it ran a web of bruises—fresh purple fading to yellow—and long, pale lines, the telltale paths of old wounds. One shoulder bore what looked like a burn, pink and uneven. His ribs were mottled with the bloom of new trauma, like the bruise from the shopkeeper's boot had spread deeper than she'd imagined.
She stared, and he didn't even flinch. He just smiled.
"You slept like a log," Naruto said, scratching the back of his neck. "That chair sucks. Next time, I'll take the floor."
Sakura didn't respond at first. Her throat had gone dry.
"Your... body..." she said softly, before she could stop herself.
He looked down at himself. Then shrugged.
"Oh. Yeah. That's just how it is." He turned and walked barefoot to the kitchenette—if the two rusted burners and mini-fridge could be called that. "Want some ramen? I got one extra cup."
Sakura rose slowly, the ache in her back forgotten. She crossed the room and stood just behind him, watching as he poured water from the kettle into two bowls. The silence stretched between them like a tight thread.
"Does it happen often?" she asked, voice quieter than before.
Naruto didn't turn around. "The bruises?" A pause. "Yeah."
"Why don't you tell anyone?"
He shrugged again, this time with a little more weight. "Because no one listens. And if they do, they just get mad that I talked."
There was no anger in his voice. No bitterness. Just flat acceptance, the kind that shouldn't belong to a child. Sakura felt something twist in her stomach—guilt, maybe. Or helplessness. She'd never even thought about where he went after class. No one had.
He placed the ramen on the table, steam rising in lazy spirals.
"Here," he said, flashing her a grin that barely masked the fatigue in his eyes. "It's not much, but it's warm."
Sakura sat down across from him. She watched as he picked up his chopsticks, hands small and scarred, and blew gently on the noodles before slurping. He looked so happy for something so small.
And suddenly, she hated everything that had allowed this to be normal.
She didn't touch her food at first. She just watched him eat. The way his expression softened with every bite, like the warmth filled more than just his stomach. The way he looked at her—like he couldn't believe she was still there.
"You're weird, Sakura," he said through a mouthful.
"Why?"
"Most people wouldn't stay."
She lowered her eyes. "Maybe most people are stupid."
He laughed—a real laugh, not the forced one he used at school. And when he looked at her again, it was different. Like something unspoken had passed between them. Like the wall between their worlds had cracked just a little.
She picked up her own bowl and took a bite. It was salty, simple, and delicious in a way that made her chest hurt.
They ate in silence after that. The steam from the ramen fogged the window, softening the hard lines of the street outside. For a moment, they weren't classmates or teammates or orphans of war and indifference.
They were just two children.
Sharing a warm meal.
In the coldest place in the village.
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 7:11 AM
Location: Village Streets, Konoha
The walk to the Academy was quiet at first.
Konoha was still stirring from its slumber, merchants beginning to open their shops, the smell of morning bread and simmering broth wafting through the alleys. The air was brisk. Autumn leaves crunched underfoot, and the sky was a washed-out gray—clouds heavy with the promise of a storm.
Naruto walked a little ahead of her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts, his headband tilted slightly to the side—not regulation, but then again, no one ever bothered to tell him how it should be worn properly.
Sakura tried to focus on the sounds of the village waking up. But her attention kept sliding back to the people.
The way they looked at him.
Not the blank stares of strangers passing strangers. No—this was different.
A mother pulling her child aside as Naruto walked by. An old man narrowing his eyes and spitting on the ground near his feet. A butcher standing outside his shop, arms crossed, muttering just loud enough for them to hear.
"Filthy thing shouldn't be near the Academy."
Sakura's stomach turned.
He didn't even flinch. He just kept walking, like it didn't bother him. Like it didn't hurt. Like it was normal.
She knew now that it was.
Sakura quickened her pace to catch up. When she looked at him, really looked at him—he was smiling.
A soft, crooked little smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't worry, Sakura-chan," he said, voice bright but breathless, like the morning chill was sharper for him. "I keep you safe from the mean people."
She blinked, confused. "Safe from...?"
He nodded with confidence. "Yeah. You're nice... and pettey. Is that the right word?"
Sakura blinked again—then smiled, small but genuine. "You mean pretty, Naruto. But thank you. And no, it's not quite right—but I'll help you with your spelling."
He looked over at her, that tired grin widening into something closer to real happiness. "You will?"
"Of course."
They turned the corner toward the Academy steps. Kids were gathering already—some laughing, some sparring in the yard. But for a moment, as Naruto glanced up at the rising sun and then back at her, the rest of the world felt a little less important.
"You're really smart, Sakura-chan," he said, voice almost shy. "I think... if I had someone like you all the time, I could be smart too."
She looked at him and saw something raw behind his smile. Something he rarely let anyone see.
She didn't know what to say, not exactly. But she reached out and grabbed his hand—small, calloused, warm despite the cold.
He didn't let go.
They climbed the steps together, fingers entwined. And though the stares didn't stop, and the whispers still came, Naruto kept his chin high.
Because someone walked beside him.
And that changed everything.
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 8:02 AM
Location: Konoha Ninja Academy, Classroom 2-A
The classroom buzzed with morning noise—chairs scraping, children laughing too loud, the clatter of books hitting desks and voices overlapping with the shrill energy only nine-year-olds could summon at this hour.
Naruto had his usual seat.
Back row. Left corner. Closest to the window.
It wasn't a chosen spot so much as an inherited one—the unspoken agreement of classmates and teachers alike. No one sat near him, not really. The desks around him remained curiously empty even on testing days. It was a bubble of avoidance, born of rumor, old fear, and the suffocating silence of grown-up lies passed down to children who didn't even know why they flinched when he smiled.
But today, it was different.
Iruka noticed it immediately.
Naruto entered the room not with his usual manic sprint, but with Sakura Haruno beside him. She wasn't trailing behind or glancing around nervously like a kid ashamed of her choice. No—she walked with him, shoulder to shoulder, her book bag bouncing at her side.
And she laughed at something he said.
Not nervously. Not with hesitation.
It was real.
Iruka felt something tight in his chest loosen. A small, private smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He didn't say anything. Not yet. But he watched.
The room's noise changed as the pair entered.
It wasn't loud—it was the way conversations dipped just slightly. Heads turned. Eyes lingered. And in the middle of it all, Naruto didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but he didn't care.
Sakura followed him toward the back.
And then Ino's voice cracked like a whip through the murmuring.
"Sakura!" The blonde girl was sitting mid-row, surrounded by two other girls already opening up their bento boxes even though lunch was hours away. "*You're not seriously sitting back there with him, are you?"
The room froze for a breath. Then the whispers came.
Sakura turned slowly, her face unreadable.
Naruto paused, only half in his seat. His back went a little straighter, jaw a little tighter, and for the first time in days, he didn't smile. He didn't even look at her. Not yet.
Ino tried again, her tone flippant but cutting: "Come on, don't be weird. He's not your project partner every day, you know. You can sit with us."
Sakura's reply was quiet.
"No."
The girls blinked. "What?"
"I said no. I'm sitting here."
She slid into the desk beside Naruto without another word.
It was simple, quiet, but irreversible.
Naruto looked at her now. Really looked. And for a moment, Sakura couldn't tell if he was going to laugh or cry. He did neither—just gave a tiny nod, his mouth twitching into a small, stunned smile.
She ignored the way the room murmured behind her.
Iruka cleared his throat from the front. The class hushed quickly, the moment pushed into silence, but not forgotten.
He took roll as always, but as he moved through the names, his eyes kept flicking to the back of the room.
To Sakura, who leaned in as Naruto whispered something that made her snort softly.
To Naruto, who for the first time didn't glance nervously toward the door as if waiting for someone to drag him out.
To the two of them—back corner, where loneliness had once lived—and now something else was growing in its place.
Not romance. Not yet.
But something with roots.
Chapter 1: Very Close Teammates (Continued)
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 3:47 PM
Location: Konoha Public Library
The last rays of afternoon sun filtered through the high, dusty windows of the library, painting golden bars of light across the old wooden floors. The building was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards or the rustle of pages turning.
They sat at a long table in the far back corner, surrounded by stacks of scrolls and textbooks far too advanced for their age. Sakura read with her chin in her hands, brow furrowed in concentration, while Naruto hunched over a sheet of paper, his handwriting messy but determined.
Their project—an illustrated history of the Hokage—had started as a simple assignment.
Now it was something else.
Sakura had helped him read through the official records, deciphering the difficult language and occasionally teasing him for his misspellings in that affectionate, big-sister kind of way. Naruto, for his part, had listened carefully and worked harder than she expected anyone could, biting his lip in concentration as he practiced tracing kanji he didn't understand but wanted to.
At some point, Sakura had looked up and realized she was enjoying herself.
It felt... normal.
That was, until the hush was shattered.
"You!" came a shrill voice from across the library floor. The clack of wooden sandals struck the silence like gunshots.
Sakura blinked, lifting her head as an elderly librarian approached—small, hunched, gray-haired and red-faced. Her finger was pointed at Naruto like a weapon. The rest of the room had gone still.
Naruto froze mid-sentence, pencil hovering over the page. "H-Hello, Obaasan..."
"I told you before, demon boy—you are not welcome in here!" Her words rang through the space like a slap.
Sakura stood up immediately. "Hey! He's not doing anything wrong!"
The old woman's eyes narrowed, flicking to her. "And you, young lady, should know better than to associate with his kind."
Sakura's face burned, but not with shame—with rage.
But before she could say another word, Naruto was already standing, his hands raised slightly, as if surrendering. His smile was back—but it was tight. Fragile.
"It's okay, Sakura-chan," he said softly, his voice forced into cheer. "We can work on it somewhere else."
"No, it's not okay—" Sakura began, but the old woman cut her off.
"You leave. Now. Before I get someone who'll make you."
Naruto bowed slightly. He didn't argue. He never did. He turned, his chair scraping softly against the floor.
As they gathered their things, Sakura's hand brushed across the open book on the table. Her eyes flicked down.
A photograph.
The Fourth Hokage—Minato Namikaze—stood smiling in a rare candid moment, surrounded by Jonin. A caption underneath:
"Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage, died in defense of the village on October 10th, 988 A.S."
Sakura blinked.
Her breath caught.
That's Naruto's birthday.
She froze for a split second, staring at the date. It could've meant nothing. It could've meant everything.
Then the old woman reached across and slammed the book closed, making Sakura flinch. Her look was venomous.
"Out. Now."
They left in silence, the cold air of the early evening greeting them like a slap to the face as they stepped out into the fading light.
They stood on the front steps of the library for a moment. Naruto looked up at the sky, hands stuffed in his pockets again, his smile back in place—but his eyes were far away.
"I'm used to it," he said, voice quiet. "It's not a big deal."
Sakura stared at him.
At the bruise just barely visible under his sleeve.
At the bandage on his wrist.
At the smile that wasn't real.
And behind it all...
That date.
October 10th.
Her heart twisted.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to it," she said softly.
Naruto blinked at her. "Huh?"
"I mean," she said, looking down at her notebook, "I don't think I can ignore stuff like that. It's wrong."
She felt his eyes on her, unsure, guarded.
Then, slowly, she reached out and tugged on his sleeve.
"Come on. Let's finish at my house. My parents won't mind."
He didn't say anything at first.
Then—he nodded.
And for the first time that day, his smile was real.
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 6:41 PM
Location: The Haruno Residence, North Konoha
The Haruno home sat tucked behind a pale stone wall and a tidy iron gate that creaked faintly as Sakura pushed it open. The small garden out front was neatly kept, its early autumn leaves raked into careful piles. As they stepped up onto the porch, warm lamplight spilled from the kitchen window and the smell of miso and grilled fish drifted into the cool air.
Naruto paused just outside the door, suddenly unsure of himself. "You sure it's okay?" he asked. "I don't wanna be trouble."
"You're not," Sakura said firmly. "Come on. My mom likes guests. She'll just make too much food."
Inside, the house was modest but bright, filled with the soft clutter of a family home: shoes by the door, a calendar marked with appointments, a low bookshelf of cookbooks and picture frames. Sakura's mother, Mebuki, greeted them with a pleasant smile—though a brief flicker of surprise crossed her face when she saw Naruto.
She hid it quickly. "You must be Uzumaki-kun. Sakura's been talking about her project all week. Come in, come in. You both look half-frozen."
Sakura's father, Kizashi, poked his head from the living room. "Dinner's almost ready," he said cheerfully, then raised an eyebrow at Naruto. "You hungry, son?"
Naruto blinked. Son.
He nodded a little too quickly. "Yes, sir! Thank you!"
They sat at the low table after washing up. The conversation was light, full of gentle questions and careful pauses. Naruto tried to be polite but was clearly unused to eating with others. He slurped his soup too loudly. Apologized too much. Smiled a little too wide when Kizashi offered him a second helping, as if it was a foreign kindness.
Sakura watched him closely, eyes narrowed in quiet study.
Then, halfway through the meal, Naruto excused himself to use the restroom.
The moment his feet padded down the hallway and the bathroom door clicked shut, the warmth shifted—just subtly.
Kizashi's voice dropped low.
"You know who he is, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Sakura blinked. "He's... Naruto."
Mebuki glanced at her husband, then stood and began clearing dishes. It was her way of stepping out of the moment.
Kizashi leaned in slightly. "His full name," he said. "Uzumaki Naruto. Born October 10th. You saw it yourself, didn't you? The Fourth Hokage's death date."
Sakura's stomach tightened. "I—yeah. I saw it. I thought it was a coincidence."
"It isn't."
The silence between them thickened like syrup.
"He's... really?" she whispered.
Kizashi nodded once, grave.
"I worked in the Hokage's office, back when I was a Chuunin," he said. "I was there the night the village almost fell. I saw the Fourth carry that baby himself, wrap him in a blanket, and whisper something into his ear before... before it ended."
Sakura stared at him, barely breathing.
"That boy," he said, voice now low and raw, "was supposed to be honored. Trained. Protected. But the village... some people... they couldn't separate the boy from the beast."
"The Nine-Tails," Sakura whispered, her voice barely audible.
Kizashi nodded again. "He's the jinchūriki. The host. And instead of seeing him as a shield that saved us, they saw him as a curse that needed to be ignored. So they made sure he was forgotten. No family. No godparents. No training. Just silence."
Sakura gripped her knees.
"That's why they look at him like that..." she murmured. "That's why he gets kicked out of stores. Why the librarian—why people pretend he's not even there."
Her father gave her a sad smile. "They fear what they don't understand. And they blame him for pain they never healed from. But he's not the demon. He's just a boy."
The bathroom door opened down the hall.
Light footsteps.
Naruto returned to the room, rubbing his wet hands on the front of his pants. He paused when he saw their faces—Sakura's pale and her father's somber.
"...Did I do something wrong?" he asked hesitantly.
Sakura stood up. Her voice was calm but firm. "No. You didn't."
She stepped around the table and stood next to him, very close.
Kizashi watched them both.
She didn't speak again. She didn't need to.
Instead, she reached out—and without asking—gently took Naruto's hand.
His eyes widened.
But he didn't pull away.
Date: October 8th, 998 A.S.
Time: 10:23 PM
Location: Haruno Residence, Sakura's Bedroom / Kizashi's Study
The moonlight spilled in faint bands across Sakura's bedroom floor, painting silver edges around the mess of study scrolls, discarded hairbands, and a half-finished kanji worksheet. Outside, the autumn wind whispered past the window, rattling a tree branch against the glass with intermittent taps.
Sakura lay curled under her blanket, her face buried in the curve of her pillow. The night was quiet, but her thoughts were not.
"He's not the demon. He's just a boy."
Her father's words echoed through her mind over and over, twisting in the spaces where childish assumptions had once lived. She rolled over, dragging the blanket tighter around her small shoulders, as if it might shield her from the sharp truths now crawling across her heart.
A baby. Just a baby.
Her hand crept toward her face, fingers rubbing at the corners of her eyes. Hot tears pricked there, silent but stubborn. It wasn't just that Naruto had suffered. It was that everyone had agreed to let him suffer. Adults. Leaders. Teachers. People she had trusted.
And he'd still smiled at her. He'd still offered to protect her from the villagers. He still cooked her dinner, even with scars on his back and nothing in his fridge but old ramen packets.
The pillow muffled her quiet sob.
She didn't know if it was grief or guilt that hurt more.
Downstairs, the light in Kizashi's small study burned softly against the dark.
The room smelled of old paper and sandalwood incense. Scrolls were stacked in neat bundles. A lacquered shelf held his retired jonin gear, dusted but untouched in years.
Kizashi stood before the framed photograph that hung above his desk. It was a simple black-and-white portrait of the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato—his hair windswept, his eyes calm and clear. A man barely out of his twenties, looking both regal and impossibly young.
He sipped from a chipped tea mug, gaze distant.
His hand moved, brushing a fingertip against the edge of the frame. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"I saw you do it," he said to the photograph.
He could still remember that night as if it had burned itself into the back of his eyes.
The red glow of fire. The screams. The monstrous roar that shook the foundations of the village.
He had stood on a rooftop a block away—ordered to keep civilians from fleeing into danger, to clear the streets for medics and backup. Powerless.
Then the Hokage had appeared in the sky above the square, cloaked in ethereal chakra, the swirling spiral of the sealing jutsu dancing around him like a divine storm. And in his arms...
A child. A crying infant.
Even from the rooftop, Kizashi had seen Minato's face—his jaw clenched with pain, his eyes filled with sorrow, but resolute.
He had said goodbye to his son, then.
And sealed the monster into him.
In one flash of light, the fox's howling rage was gone. And the silence that followed was not one of peace, but mourning.
It hadn't taken long for the whispers to start.
"He's dangerous."
"He should be watched, not raised."
"We don't need another Yellow Flash—look what good it did us."
"Just keep him out of sight."
Kizashi had argued. Others had, too. But fear was louder. Fear was always louder.
He sat heavily in the chair behind his desk, hand pressed to his brow.
Minato's image watched him with the same calm intensity it always had.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "We failed you. And him."
Upstairs, Sakura turned on her side again, eyes now dry, but wide open. She stared at the ceiling, the faint outlines of the wooden slats above looking like bars.
Not like a prison—but like a cage. A cage wrapped around someone who had never done anything wrong.
She reached under her pillow and pulled out the scroll they'd been working on—The Founding of the Leaf Village and Its First Great War. There, in her handwriting, were the names of the Hokage.
She traced them with her fingertip:
First. Second. Third. Fourth.
Then beneath it, she wrote in the margins:
Naruto.
A pause.
Then:
He won't be forgotten.
Date: October 9th, 998 A.S.
Time: 8:03 AM
Location: Konoha Ninja Academy, Classroom 2-B
The morning sun cast long golden rays through the tall classroom windows, painting the walls in honeyed light. The room buzzed with pre-class chatter—kids bragging about their weekend practice, arguing over ninja card trades, or simply huddling in little groups the way children did. The mood was light.
Except, as usual, when Naruto entered.
The chatter didn't stop completely, but it changed. A subtle hush in one corner. A few turned heads. The quiet sound of a chair scooting farther away from his usual seat in the back row. And always, always the feeling that there was something about him that didn't belong—not because of what he'd done, but because of who he was.
Naruto felt it. He always did.
But today, he also felt something else.
Sakura was already in the room when he arrived. Pink hair tucked neatly behind her ears, she was scribbling something in her notebook. When she noticed him, she waved—not shyly, not nervously—but like someone waving at a teammate.
A friend.
Naruto blinked.
When he reached his seat, he hesitated. Something told him today wasn't going to be like all the other days. He moved to take his usual place in the very back.
"Hey," Sakura called out, loud enough that heads turned. "You're not sitting back there. C'mon. Sit here."
She patted the desk beside her.
It was near the center of the room. Where the better students sat. Where Ino and Shikamaru and the other clan kids usually lounged in easy cliques.
Naruto looked around, stunned. "You sure?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. "I mean... it's fine. I can—"
"I'm not asking." Sakura narrowed her eyes with mock severity. "I'm assigning. You're my partner, remember?"
He chuckled awkwardly, cheeks flushing pink. "Okay, okay..."
He dropped into the seat beside her. And it wasn't until he was settled that he noticed something strange. The kids near them—some frowned. Some muttered. One even scoffed.
But Sakura didn't flinch.
When Ino leaned over from two rows away and hissed, "Seriously, forehead? Him?" Sakura didn't just ignore her. She turned, met her friend's narrowed eyes, and said, flatly:
"Yes. Him. Got a problem with that?"
Ino recoiled slightly, her face twitching into something between shock and annoyance.
Naruto stared at Sakura, wide-eyed.
"You okay?" he whispered.
She glanced at him, and for a moment her stern face softened into something gentle. "I'm fine. Just don't like bullies."
Naruto looked down at his desk, trying to hide the grin creeping across his face.
Someone stood up for me.
At the front of the room, Iruka Umino stood with his lesson scroll in hand. He hadn't spoken yet, allowing the class its last few minutes of freedom before the day began.
But his eyes had been on Naruto since the boy walked in.
He noticed the usual reactions—the discomfort, the recoiling glances, the avoidance. He'd seen them every day since he'd begun teaching here. No matter how many times he encouraged inclusion, no matter how he praised Naruto's effort, the shadow of the Nine-Tails always loomed large in the children's homes and hearts.
But today... today something shifted.
Sakura Haruno—a bright girl, book-smart, daughter of two civilians who often kept to themselves politically—had welcomed Naruto to her desk. Not quietly. Not timidly.
Defiantly.
And when challenged, she hadn't wavered.
Iruka's gaze lingered on the two of them, now leaning over a textbook together as Naruto tried to copy her handwriting for their assignment.
The boy was smiling. Not his usual boisterous, exaggerated grin. But something smaller. Softer. Like warmth was beginning to thaw something long frozen.
Iruka smiled, too.
Maybe, he thought, maybe it just takes one person.
He turned to the board and began writing.
Date: October 9th, 998 A.S.
Time: 12:19 PM
Location: Academy Courtyard, Beneath the Maple Trees
The Academy's bell rang loud and clear, and like a swarm of bees from a cracked hive, students poured from the front doors. Some ran toward the fenced training yard, others gathered on the stone benches, still others disappeared into the shadows of the village for quick ramen runs or home-cooked meals waiting in bento boxes.
Naruto hesitated just beyond the archway. He watched them all scatter with purpose, with friendships, with the kind of easy belonging he had never known.
He almost turned to head for his usual hiding spot behind the utility shed, where he could eat in peace—alone, but at least undisturbed.
But then she appeared at his side.
"You coming or not?" Sakura asked, already walking toward the courtyard's red maple trees, a folded blanket under one arm and her lunch bag in the other.
"You're really okay with me sitting with you?" he asked, trailing after her. "I mean... you saw how they looked this morning."
"I did. And I didn't see anyone who matters." Her tone was light, but resolute.
Naruto's heart clenched. Not with pain this time—but something else. Something harder to name. Like warmth breaking through a long winter.
They settled beneath the largest maple, whose canopy filtered the midday sun into shifting pools of amber and green. Sakura unfurled the blanket—red with little frog patterns—and patted the space beside her. Naruto sat cross-legged, pulling out his small, somewhat squashed lunch: leftover noodles and one rice ball.
Sakura peeked into his box and frowned slightly. "Did you eat this morning?"
"Sorta. Not really." He laughed awkwardly. "Kind of burned the eggs..."
She didn't tease him. Instead, she unwrapped one of her dumplings and gently placed it on his napkin. "Try this one. It's from my mom."
He blinked at her. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously. But chew it slowly or I'll think you're a wild animal."
That got a real laugh out of him, light and spontaneous. For the first time in memory, lunch didn't feel like a punishment. The grass was soft. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon from the nearby bakery. And Sakura... Sakura was just there. Talking to him like he mattered.
"So," she asked between bites of grilled chicken, "what do you want to do when you're a ninja?"
Naruto froze, mouth full. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and then said with bright eyes, "I want to be Hokage. The best one ever."
She smiled softly. "That doesn't surprise me."
"Yeah? Everyone else thinks it's a joke."
"Well, I don't," she said. "If anyone has the guts to do it, it's probably you."
Naruto blinked again, unsure how to process that kind of support. "What about you? Gonna be some kind of legendary kunoichi?"
"I don't know yet," Sakura admitted, brushing her bangs back. "My parents want me to be safe. But I want to matter. I want to protect people. And I want to be brave."
Naruto nodded. "You already are."
They smiled at each other, the unspoken trust between them growing deeper with every shared word.
That's when the shadows of three more children crept across the edge of their blanket.
Sakura looked up, shielding her eyes.
"Ino," she said, neutral but not unfriendly. "Didn't expect you."
Ino stood awkwardly beside Shikamaru and Chōji, her arms crossed tight. She opened her mouth, then closed it. For a moment it looked like she might just turn and walk off.
Then Chōji gently nudged her shoulder with his elbow, holding up his own lunch bag like a peace offering.
"Go on," he mumbled.
Ino rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath, and then blurted, "Sorry."
Naruto blinked. "Huh?"
"For earlier," Ino said, eyes flicking from Naruto to Sakura and back. "I was rude. I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not a loser."
The words didn't land gracefully. They weren't warm. But they were real. Naruto could tell.
He scratched the back of his head. "Uh... thanks."
Chōji flopped down beside him like gravity had finally won, opening his lunch with a contented sigh. "You mind if we eat here?" he asked, looking to both Sakura and Naruto.
Naruto glanced at Sakura, who gave a small nod. "Sure," he said. "Yeah, that's... that's okay."
Shikamaru, ever the observer, sat on the far end and watched them all with a curious expression, like something important was shifting beneath the surface.
As the five of them unwrapped rice balls and fried pork, shared dumplings, and complained about Iruka's handwriting, Naruto looked around the circle and thought—for the first time in his young life—that maybe things didn't have to stay the same forever.
Maybe this was the beginning of something else.
Something better.
Date: October 9th, 998 A.S.
Time: 5:14 PM
Location: Haruno Residence, Backyard
The golden light of late afternoon spilled gently across the Haruno garden, painting the wooden fence in long, soft shadows. The wind stirred the leaves of the plum tree in the corner, shaking loose a few fragrant blossoms that drifted like shy dancers toward the grass.
From the open kitchen window, Kizashi Haruno stood with a half-dried plate in one hand, a faded cloth in the other. His gray-blue eyes were not on the dishes, however. They were fixed on the backyard, where his daughter and the boy were laughing in the waning sun.
Naruto, in a faded orange sweatshirt two sizes too big, chased after Sakura with a stick he'd fashioned into an imaginary blade. She shrieked with mock terror, dodging behind the tree, only to spring out again with a wooden spoon of her own. Their laughter rang out, high and clear.
They were just children.
And yet—Kizashi's hand clenched slowly around the dish towel—one of them had not been allowed to be.
He leaned against the sink, the warmth of the dishwater fading from his fingers, and allowed himself to remember. The image came easily, carved into his memory like script on a headstone.
That night.
The Nine-Tails had torn through the village like a god of rage, its roar a rolling thunder of death. Kizashi had been younger, faster, a chūnin then, perched on a rooftop with a flare in his hand, calling for civilians to retreat. But even from there—one block east of the Hokage Monument—he had seen it. Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash himself, standing like a beacon against the impossible beast.
And then the child.
So small, so fragile. Swaddled in cloth, held in arms not long for the world. The Fourth had whispered something, forehead pressed to the babe's, before unleashing the seal that would end him.
Kizashi's eyes closed.
The child had cried once.
Then the demon was gone.
And somehow, the village... had turned its back.
Not out of hatred, perhaps. Not all of them. But out of cowardice. Out of fear. Out of willful blindness. It had been easier to pretend that Naruto Uzumaki had been merely a vessel than to admit he had been a sacrifice. That his father had given his life not only for the village but for his son's place in it.
Kizashi opened his eyes again.
Out in the yard, Sakura had tripped and fallen onto the grass with a thump. Naruto skidded to a stop beside her, instantly concerned. "You okay?"
Sakura sat up, grass in her hair, and grinned. "You fight like a boy who's never held a sword!"
"I haven't!" he said defensively.
"Then maybe my dad can show you. He taught me how to block."
She said it so easily, without hesitation.
From the table behind him, Mebuki looked up from peeling yams. Her gaze met Kizashi's.
There was no need for words.
He sighed, placed the towel down, and slid open the door.
"Alright," he called out into the garden, his voice carrying warmth and quiet strength. "Who here wants to learn the first kata of the Leaf's open-hand stance?"
Both heads turned. Naruto's eyes went wide. "Really? You'll teach me?"
Kizashi stepped out into the sunlight, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "I don't hand out lessons for free. You'll have to promise to help Sakura clean up after dinner. No whining."
"I swear!" Naruto said at once, shooting up and standing at attention like a miniature soldier. "I'll scrub every dish! I'll even clean the porch!"
Sakura giggled and stood beside him.
Kizashi smiled—not the forced, placating smile of a village adult trying to keep a distance, but something older. Something harder to come by.
A smile that acknowledged who Naruto was... and what he could become.
He walked toward the center of the yard, stepping into the fading light.
"We'll begin with posture," he said. "Feet apart. Knees soft. Let your breath find your center."
As he demonstrated the stance, he noticed the way Naruto mirrored him immediately—clumsy, yes, but attentive. Eager.
Kizashi breathed in the scent of grass, felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, and allowed a single thought to settle in his mind like a vow:
You should have been trained by your father. But I will not let you be forgotten by him.
From the open kitchen, Mebuki watched them—the man, the boy, and their daughter—caught in the beginning of something fragile and vital. Her hands were still, her face unreadable, but when she returned to her task, her motions were lighter.
Outside, Naruto stumbled on the third pose, fell to one knee—and laughed, getting back up with a spark in his eyes.
And for the first time, perhaps in years, he looked like a boy who belonged.
Date: October 9th, 998 A.S.
Time: 8:43 PM
Location: Haruno Residence, Living Room
The hush of night settled slowly over the house.
From the second floor came the muffled creak of bedsprings as Sakura turned over, already halfway into dreams. The smell of miso and grilled fish lingered faintly in the kitchen, now dark except for the faint orange glow from the woodstove's embers.
In the small living room, Kizashi sat on the low couch with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty cup of tea cooling beside him. Across from him, Mebuki knelt in seiza with her arms folded, eyes fixed on the spot where Naruto had been sitting just two hours earlier, hungrily devouring a meal with all the joy of a child unaccustomed to second helpings.
Neither had spoken for several minutes.
Only the whisper of the wind through the plum tree outside and the faint ticking of the old wall clock interrupted the stillness.
Finally, it was Mebuki who spoke.
Her voice was soft but taut. "You didn't hesitate."
Kizashi's hands flexed slightly. "Should I have?"
She didn't answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the small cushion where Naruto had sat cross-legged like some wild thing pretending to be tame. His manners had been raw, his laugh loud, and his gratitude painfully sincere.
"I thought maybe," she said at last, "you'd wait. Or talk to me first."
He exhaled. "There wasn't time."
"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "There was. You just decided."
He didn't flinch. He looked tired. Not physically, but in that particular way men do when they've chosen to carry a burden the world has left untouched for too long.
"Mebuki," he said carefully, "we watched that boy eat like he was afraid someone would take the plate away. We watched him wince when he sat down because he's bruised. We watched him smile with the same eyes as Minato Namikaze and pretend he didn't notice the silence that falls when he walks into a room."
Mebuki's jaw clenched.
"I know what we saw," she said quietly. "But this isn't just about dinner and bruises. You told him you'd teach him. That's not charity, Kizashi. That's claiming him. And you know how this village whispers."
"I don't care."
"You should."
He didn't answer. Not right away. He stared down at his hands.
Outside, a branch tapped softly against the windowpane.
"He's already claimed us," Kizashi said finally. "That little fool looked at Sakura like she was something pure in a world that barely tolerates him. And do you know what I saw?"
Mebuki watched him.
He lifted his gaze.
"I saw loyalty forming. Not the kind you drill into a soldier. The kind you bleed for."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
"He will remember this night," Kizashi continued. "He will remember us. And when he grows into whatever he is destined to become—and I don't pretend to know what that is—it will be shaped by the people who dared to treat him as more than a cage."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Mebuki leaned forward, resting her elbows on the low table. Her voice, when it came, was steadier than she expected.
"You think this is what Minato wanted?"
"I don't know what Minato wanted," Kizashi replied, his tone low. "But I know what he deserved. He gave everything. His son deserved more than to grow up in a room where the water doesn't run hot."
Mebuki rubbed at her forehead, the years of unspoken village customs weighing down like dust in her lungs. She was not a cruel woman. But she was cautious. Measured. And for all her misgivings, she had seen it too:
The way Naruto had blinked back disbelief when handed a clean bowl. How he'd paused, for just a moment, before touching the rice—as if it might disappear.
"He'll need clothing," she said at last. "And if he's coming back, he'll need to wash properly."
Kizashi looked at her with quiet gratitude.
She didn't meet his eyes.
"I'm not adopting him," she added sharply. "We're just... making sure he doesn't get worse."
"I know," Kizashi said.
But in his heart, he wasn't so sure.
Because the truth was, you didn't need to share blood to change a life. Sometimes you only needed to open your door and mean it.
Mebuki stood. "We'll speak to Sakura. Slowly. She's smart, but she's still a child."
"She already knows more than most adults," Kizashi said. "She's watching the world shift. And she's choosing sides."
Mebuki paused at the threshold to the stairs.
"Then let's make sure we're on the right one," she said quietly.
He smiled faintly as she disappeared upstairs.
Outside, the wind stirred again, cool and thoughtful. Somewhere in the village, a bell rang to mark the hour, and in the shadows, the memory of a yellow flash lingered—not as a ghost, but as a promise.
Date: October 10th, 998 A.S.
Time: 10:17 AM
Location: Konoha Ninja Academy – East Courtyard
The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled gold over the dusty courtyard where the children of Konoha gathered for mid-morning recess. Wooden targets stood cracked and faded near the fence. A rusting water pump dripped steadily into a stone basin near the shaded wall. Laughter and the squeals of training kunai filled the air—just another school day.
Naruto crouched by the basin, cupping his hands under the water spout. It wasn't clean, but it was cold, and it was his only option. His canteen had long since cracked, and he didn't want to ask Iruka for a new one. Not again. He knew the looks he got. The whispers.
As he lifted the water to his lips, three boys—second-years, older and smug in the way of those who think the world owes them comfort—stepped forward. One of them wore a brown vest stitched with a faded clan insignia. He moved with practiced arrogance, the kind passed down through generations.
"Hey," the leader barked, voice sharp. "You think you can drink that, demon?"
Naruto flinched.
He lowered his hands slowly and turned, eyes guarded but defiant.
"I'm just thirsty."
"That water's not for strays," the second boy sneered. "Go drink from a puddle."
Naruto stood. He didn't say anything, but his stance stiffened. He was ready to take the kick. He always was.
The third boy moved to shove him.
And then—
"Don't you dare."
The voice rang out like a thrown kunai. Sharp. Feminine. Unflinching.
Sakura.
She marched across the courtyard with her pink hair bouncing against her shoulders, fists clenched, green eyes blazing. There was no hesitation in her stride. No room for compromise.
She stepped between Naruto and the bullies, arms outstretched as if daring them to lay a hand on him.
"He didn't do anything wrong," she said, loud enough that nearby children turned their heads. "He just got water. Water. You want to fight someone, fight me."
The courtyard went still. Somewhere nearby, a senbon training dummy creaked in the wind.
The lead boy blinked. "What—why are you defending him?"
"Because he's my friend," Sakura said without backing down. "And you're nothing but cowards, picking on someone who's alone."
That stung. The word alone did more than just echo. It cut.
The boys hesitated. One of them looked away.
Naruto stood frozen behind her, lips slightly parted, unsure if he should feel proud or ashamed. No one had ever done this before. No one had shielded him.
Then another voice joined.
"Leave them alone, or I'll tell Iruka-sensei."
Ino.
She walked across the yard with Choji beside her, Shikamaru slouching just behind. Her eyes were wary, her arms crossed, but she didn't stop moving until she stood beside Sakura, mirroring her stance.
Sakura blinked, surprised—but not displeased.
Choji scratched his cheek. "Naruto's loud and kinda weird, but he shares his snacks sometimes. You don't kick someone for being thirsty."
Shikamaru sighed. "This is so troublesome. But yeah. Just walk away, already."
The boys—bullies in name only—looked around. The small group was growing. A few other children were watching now. Some whispering. The power of numbers had shifted, and with it, the certainty of cruelty.
"Whatever," the lead boy mumbled. "Waste your time on him."
They left.
Naruto stood blinking like a stray cat left out in the rain, uncertain whether to be grateful or frightened by the warmth suddenly offered to him.
Sakura turned to him, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't let them talk to you like that."
"I didn't," he said softly. "You did."
She frowned and punched his arm, not hard, but enough to make him flinch.
"You're not alone anymore," she said. "So don't act like you are."
Naruto looked away, blinking quickly.
Ino rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "You're going to make me gag, forehead."
But there was no bite to it. She smirked and tossed Naruto a rice cracker from her sleeve pouch.
"Don't expect another one."
Choji beamed. "I brought extras too."
Shikamaru gave Naruto a half-hearted nod. "Don't make a scene every day, okay?"
And just like that, the sky above the courtyard didn't feel so heavy. The walls of Konoha hadn't crumbled—but something small had shifted in their shadow. A spark. A thread of resistance in the quiet war against inherited hate.
Naruto smiled, but it wasn't his usual forced grin.
It was shy.
Honest.
Warm.
Date: October 10th, 998 A.S.
Time: 1:02 PM
Location: Konoha Ninja Academy – East Wing Corridor
The warmth of the midday sun had given way to a cool breeze that slipped through the wooden slats of the old Academy. Lunch had ended, the courtyard now quiet save for the distant echoes of training drills. Inside the east corridor, the walls were lined with mission posters, clan announcements, and hand-drawn artwork done by children too young to fully understand the weight of the village they lived in.
Sakura walked alone, her hands still dusted with bits of dirt from playing outside. Her heart beat a little faster than normal—not out of fear, but from something deeper. A strange sense of purpose. She hadn't told Naruto yet, but defending him hadn't been a decision she made in that moment. It had been building—quietly, stubbornly—ever since she stepped into his apartment and saw the cracked walls and bare shelves. Since she felt the cold water on her skin. Since she heard her father speak truths that no other adult dared to.
"Haruno."
Iruka-sensei's voice was calm but firm as it came from behind her. He didn't sound angry. Still, she turned slowly.
He motioned gently. "Come with me for a moment."
Sakura followed him toward one of the empty classrooms, the air thick with the scent of chalk and old paper. The light filtered in through high windows, dust motes dancing in sunbeams. Iruka closed the door but left it slightly ajar—a subtle sign that this was a conversation, not a reprimand.
He turned to face her, crossing his arms in a thoughtful posture.
"I saw what happened today. Out in the yard."
Sakura nodded, unashamed. "He didn't do anything wrong."
"I know."
His tone was even, calm. Encouraging. But his eyes studied her carefully—reading something beyond the moment.
"You're making a choice, Sakura. Whether you meant to or not."
She tilted her head, frowning. "What choice?"
"To stand with someone the village has decided doesn't deserve to be stood with."
He let the words hang there, letting her feel their weight.
"Most children don't realize how deep that kind of choice can go. How lonely it might make you. How... angry some people might get."
Sakura looked down at her shoes. She thought of the old lady at the library. The looks. The whispers.
Then she raised her head.
"I don't care."
Iruka blinked.
"He's my friend," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "He makes me laugh. He always smiles, even when people are mean. And... and it's not fair. They treat him like he's something he's not. Like he's some kind of monster—but he's not. He's just Naruto."
She looked up, eyes wet but unyielding.
"I won't just stand by and watch it happen. Not anymore."
For a long moment, Iruka said nothing.
Then he smiled—not the soft, patronizing kind that adults often give children—but something older, more grateful. A flicker of warmth that broke through years of silent guilt.
"You sound a lot older than nine, Sakura."
She huffed. "I feel older when I'm around him."
Iruka chuckled at that, then slowly walked over to the window and looked out at the training yard where Naruto was tossing pebbles into a patch of dirt, waiting for class to resume. The boy looked content, maybe even happy.
"You should know something," Iruka said without turning back. "When I first met Naruto, I didn't like him."
Sakura's mouth parted slightly.
"I thought he was loud. Annoying. I saw the same things others did—because that's how I was taught to see. But over time, he made me question it. Not with words, but with how he kept coming back. How he never gave up. How he always looked for someone to smile at, even if they didn't smile back."
He finally turned, meeting her eyes.
"You're making a difference, Sakura. Already. But the road you're walking? It won't be easy. People will talk. They'll assume things. About you. About your parents."
She squared her shoulders. "Then let them."
Iruka gave her a long, proud look. Then he crouched slightly, so they were at eye level.
"I'll be watching your back, too. You don't have to walk it alone."
Her lower lip quivered, and she blinked quickly to hide it.
"Thanks, Iruka-sensei."
"Go on. Class is starting."
Sakura turned to leave, but just before she crossed the threshold, she looked over her shoulder.
"He's going to be a great ninja someday, you know."
Iruka smiled.
"I know."
As she returned to the classroom, Iruka lingered by the window a moment longer, watching Naruto play in the dirt with an expression of quiet determination.
Maybe—just maybe—things were beginning to change.
Date: October 10th, 998 A.S.
Time: 2:22 PM
Location: Konoha Ninja Academy – Classroom 2-B
The classroom buzzed with the soft murmurs of children shifting in their seats, stacks of scrolls and colorful poster boards piled at the front of the room. The late afternoon sun cast golden light through the paper windows, warming the wooden floors as Iruka-sensei stood before the blackboard with a list of project pairs written in firm brush strokes.
"Next," he called, glancing at the list, "Sakura Haruno and Naruto Uzumaki."
The chatter dimmed. A few students turned in their seats to glance curiously—or skeptically—at the pair as they rose. Ino gave Sakura a small, encouraging nod. Shikamaru barely looked up, his head already resting on his desk. Naruto stood stiffly at first, a little unsure of himself until Sakura leaned in and whispered, "You've got this." He looked at her and grinned.
The two made their way to the front of the class. Naruto held a scroll in his hands with slightly smudged ink—it was obvious he'd rewritten it several times. Sakura carried a folded, carefully drawn chart that showed their chosen topic: "The Symbolism of Fire in Konoha's Founding"—a subject Naruto had initially found boring until Sakura told him fire was about passion and warmth, not just burning things.
Sakura opened their chart and pinned it to the board. Iruka leaned against his desk, arms crossed, giving them his full attention.
Sakura began, her voice steady and clear. "We chose to study fire because it represents more than just power. The Will of Fire is what binds the Leaf Village together. It's about protecting what matters and passing that warmth to the next generation."
Naruto took a deep breath, then stepped in beside her.
"And... and it's not just in the books. The fire is in people. Even if they're small or don't have anyone, they can still have fire inside. It makes you strong when no one else is."
He looked at Sakura, then back at the class.
"Me and Sakura-chan made this scroll to show how the fire gets passed on—from the First Hokage to the Fourth, and someday... to us."
There was a beat of silence, and Naruto glanced anxiously at Iruka, unsure if he'd messed up.
But Iruka was smiling.
A deep, honest, proud smile. The kind that came from seeing something bloom after planting it in hard soil.
"Well said," Iruka said, his voice warm. "Both of you."
He walked over and took a closer look at the scroll and chart. "Excellent use of clan emblems and historical dates. And Naruto—your handwriting has improved."
Naruto beamed. "Sakura helped a lot."
"I'm sure she did. But the heart in this work? That's all yours."
There was no sarcasm, no pity. Just praise. Earned praise.
Naruto stood frozen, eyes wide, lips twitching upward. Then, without thinking, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Iruka in a tight, impulsive hug. A few gasps and chuckles rose from the class, but Iruka didn't push him away. He put a hand on Naruto's back, steady and gentle.
"Thanks, Iruka-sensei," Naruto said into his flak vest, voice muffled. "You're like... you're like a big brother."
Iruka swallowed hard.
"You're welcome," he said softly. "Now go take your seats before you get me all emotional in front of the class."
Naruto laughed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve as he took Sakura's hand briefly to steady himself. She squeezed it once and let go, walking back with him to their seats.
Behind them, a few students looked surprised. Others looked thoughtful. And one or two, like Chōji, smiled like something good had just happened and didn't need to be explained.
As Naruto sat back down, he leaned close to whisper, "Was it okay that I hugged him?"
Sakura nodded. "He needed it. And you did great."
Outside, the leaves rustled against the windows as if in quiet approval, the wind carrying with it the warmth of something new beginning—something small, fierce, and very much alive.