Date: October 10th, 998 A.S.
Time: 6:42 PM
Location: Haruno Residence, Eastern Residential Quarter, Konoha
The last rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains of the Haruno household, casting warm gold across the modest kitchen. The dinner dishes were washed and put away, the table cleared—save for one small, round cake sitting on a lacquered wooden tray. Its surface was iced in soft white with a ring of flame-orange around the base, imperfect but made with care. At its center, nestled into the frosting like a memorial, was a single rice-paper image: a grainy, black-and-white photograph of the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze.
Naruto stood at the edge of the table, staring at the cake like it might vanish if he blinked. He wasn't used to this—attention that didn't hurt, food that wasn't leftover or handed to him with a sneer. He looked from the cake to Kizashi, who wiped his hands on a dish towel and gave him a small nod.
"It's not fancy," the older man said, "but birthdays should be marked. Especially yours."
Naruto's throat bobbed as he tried to swallow the knot there. "How... did you get that picture?"
"I was there," Kizashi said, voice low and steady. "That night. I watched from a rooftop. I saw him... do what he did to save us all. It felt right to honor that. To honor you."
Behind Naruto, Sakura stood quietly, her eyes damp but shining. Her mother, Mebuki, lit a single candle in the center of the cake and stepped back.
"Go on, Naruto," Sakura whispered. "Make a wish."
He hesitated. Then he leaned forward and closed his eyes.
His whisper was so soft that only Sakura, closest to him, could just barely hear: I wish... I had this every year.
Then he blew out the candle.
There was no loud celebration, no confetti or fireworks. But the silence that followed was peaceful—reverent. A warmth settled into the space that hadn't been there before, a new kind of chakra in the air: belonging.
They ate the cake together at the table. Naruto's first slice was generous, a wedge so big it made his eyes widen. He wolfed it down, then looked bashful as Mebuki gently handed him another slice.
Afterward, as the sky darkened into twilight, Kizashi led Naruto and Sakura to the backyard. A training post stood there, old but sturdy. Kizashi moved with the practiced gait of a man who hadn't forgotten what it meant to be a shinobi, and for the first time, Naruto mimicked him with rapt attention.
They went over the basics—posture, stance, balance. Kizashi didn't overexert him; the lesson was more about understanding his body, building confidence in movement. Naruto absorbed it all like a dry sponge in water. He was eager, almost desperate, but not foolish. Every praise Kizashi gave made his eyes shine brighter.
When the short training session ended, Kizashi motioned for them to come inside again. The children followed him to the small living room, where a humble wooden box sat on the floor.
"For you," he said, sliding it toward Naruto.
Naruto opened it slowly, reverently. Inside were four simple toys—a pair of wooden kunai, a whittled frog on a string, a cloth-wrapped yo-yo, and a carved eagle glider made of balsa—and beneath them, two gently used books: Shinobi Tactics for Beginners and The Tales of the Gutsy Ninja.
Naruto stared into the box for a long moment.
"I... I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," Mebuki said gently from the doorway.
But he did anyway. He looked up at them, his voice trembling. "Thank you."
Then, as if overcome by it all, he threw his arms around Kizashi again, tighter this time. The older man returned it without hesitation, resting a steady hand on the back of Naruto's head.
"You're not alone anymore," he said quietly. "Not in this house."
Sakura watched the embrace from a few feet away, her arms crossed loosely, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Tonight, for the first time, she saw Naruto not as the lonely boy people whispered about, not even just as her friend—but as someone becoming something more. Someone worth fighting for.
The shadows deepened outside as the wind rustled the trees gently. Inside the Haruno home, under the quiet glow of the lanterns, something powerful was taking root—not just friendship, but loyalty that would one day shake the very foundations of the shinobi world.
Date: October 14th, 998 A.S.
Time: 7:11 PM
Location: Naruto's Apartment and the Haruno Household, Konoha
It had been four days since that quiet celebration. Four days since someone had looked at Naruto Uzumaki and seen more than a burden, a curse, or a mistake. And for a boy who had never had anyone truly see him before, those days had been like spring sunlight on frostbitten skin.
In his apartment—still cold, still bare, but now carrying a faint warmth from within—Naruto sat cross-legged on his futon, the book Shinobi Tactics for Beginners spread open on his lap. The second book, The Tales of the Gutsy Ninja, lay beside him, already half-read, dog-eared and thumbed through with hungry curiosity.
He mumbled softly as he read aloud.
"A—ap... approach... an opp... opponent with p-p... pre—pred... uh, pre-di—"
He paused and scratched his head. Then looked to the side where the notebook Sakura had helped him set up rested. Her careful handwriting spelled out:
Predator: someone who hunts. Use it like this — "The shinobi moved like a predator."
Naruto smiled, a crooked thing full of gratitude. He re-read the sentence from the book and tried again. Slowly, but better this time.
"Approach an opponent with predator instinct and silence..."
He underlined the word in his own notes, copying Sakura's careful kanji strokes beside his more jagged ones. His spelling had already improved—measurably so. He no longer added extra "e"s at the ends of short words, and "pretty" was finally spelled correctly.
The daily visits to the Haruno home had become something of a routine. After school, Sakura would take him there before either of her parents returned home. They'd share a snack, talk about their day, and do their schoolwork. If Kizashi returned early enough, he'd ask Naruto to read aloud from either of the two books. At first, Naruto had stumbled on nearly every word, his cheeks burning with frustration. But Kizashi never mocked him—only offered patient correction and quiet encouragement.
Now, only four days later, Naruto could answer roughly 20% of the questions Iruka asked during lessons. It wasn't a high number. But for a boy who once stared at the blackboard like it was a wall built to keep him out, it felt like breaking through.
The other students noticed.
So did Iruka.
And when Naruto raised his hand—even tentatively—there was no snickering. Not anymore. Not with Sakura sitting beside him like a silent sentinel, her green eyes daring anyone to speak against him.
Later that evening...
Naruto sat at the Haruno table again, a pencil in hand. Mebuki stirred rice in the kitchen while Kizashi sat across from him, sipping tea and watching Naruto solve a series of word puzzles from a shinobi-themed workbook.
"Use 'stealth' in a sentence," Kizashi said calmly.
Naruto furrowed his brow, tongue poking from the side of his mouth. "The ninja moved in... stealth to spy on the enemy!"
Kizashi raised an eyebrow. "In stealth?"
Naruto blinked, then flipped to the notes page Sakura had helped him with.
"...with stealth!"
"There it is," Kizashi said with a grin. "That's how it's done."
A quiet knock on the door came next. Mebuki opened it to find Sakura returning from her errands with her small bag of vegetables. She greeted her father and Naruto with a smile before settling next to him, looking over his notes.
"You got five of the ten questions right?" she asked. "That's a big improvement."
Naruto puffed up a little. "Yeah... I'm gonna get all of them next time."
Sakura nodded. "And we'll help. Right, Dad?"
Kizashi chuckled. "Of course. That's what comrades do."
The word comrades settled deep in Naruto's chest, warm and welcome. It was a kind of acceptance that still felt foreign, but each day it became less so.
Later that night, Naruto returned to his apartment alone. But this time, the silence didn't feel so empty. He opened The Tales of the Gutsy Ninja again and kept reading under the faint light of his small desk lamp until his eyes drooped and the book slipped from his hand.
He dreamed not of cold streets and angry voices, but of becoming something more—someone worthy of the Fourth Hokage's name, someone who could be strong, not alone, and not forgotten.
Date: October 17th, 998 A.S.
Time: 8:02 PM
Location: Haruno Household, Second Floor Study Room
The scratch of a pencil echoed softly through the small study room on the second floor of the Haruno household. A small paper lamp flickered with warm orange light beside Naruto, casting shadows across the worksheets that lay sprawled in front of him. Sakura sat beside him, legs tucked neatly beneath her, her hand guiding his over each line like a patient scribe.
"'Evaluate,'" she said quietly, tapping her finger beneath the printed word. "It means to think carefully about something. You use it when you're making a decision or trying to figure something out. Can you say it back to me?"
Naruto furrowed his brow, then said slowly, "E...va...loot?"
Sakura giggled. "Almost. E-va-luate."
He repeated it—clumsily at first, then again with more clarity. She gave him a quiet nod and circled the word in the glossary he was building. It was the third night in a row they'd studied this way, long after the academy had dismissed, and longer still than any teacher had ever stayed with him.
But what surprised Sakura most wasn't Naruto's stubborn perseverance or even his ability to learn—it was how deeply the world had tried to convince her he couldn't.
She remembered the whispers. How many times had she heard it?
"That boy is trouble."
"He's dangerous. His eyes—there's something wrong with them."
"My daughter isn't allowed to sit near him."
And for a long time, she believed it. Or at least, she had never questioned it.
Until now.
Now, she saw him—not just his smile, not just his messy hair or loud voice, but the bruises beneath his shirt, the silence behind his eyes when no one was looking. And she saw something else too—something harder to name. Something precious.
He looked up at her, eyes squinting in that way they did when he wasn't sure if he got the answer right. And for reasons she couldn't explain—not even to herself—Sakura felt her chest tighten with something equal parts pain and purpose.
"Nope, not quite," she said, tapping the worksheet. "Look again at how you spelled 'guardian.' It doesn't need an 'e' after the 'i.'"
"Ugh," Naruto groaned, letting his head fall dramatically on the table. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"Because I pay attention in class," she said lightly. "And because my mom makes me practice every night."
He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes. "So now you're makin' me practice too."
She smirked. "That's right. I am."
Downstairs...
Mebuki Haruno listened in silence, her book forgotten in her lap. She didn't need to go upstairs to know what was happening. The soft murmur of voices, the gentle shift of the ceiling above her—it told her all she needed.
Beside her, Kizashi sat with arms crossed, eyes closed.
"She's changing," Mebuki said softly.
"She's growing," he replied.
"Do you think she understands what this will cost her?"
Kizashi's jaw worked for a moment before he said, "Not yet. But she's strong. And more importantly... she's good. If anyone can carry this, it's her."
Back upstairs...
Sakura flipped to the next page and slid another worksheet toward him.
Naruto groaned again but picked up his pencil without protest. She noticed the tiny smirk curling his mouth, a faint spark of mischief behind his eyes. It was the kind of expression that said: You can't break me. I've already been broken and survived.
As he scribbled out an answer to a reading comprehension question, she found herself thinking about the word evaluate again.
It wasn't just about solving questions. It was about judging worth.
And she realized—while watching Naruto chew the end of his pencil—that she had evaluated him wrongly, once. Just like so many others had.
But not anymore.
Not again.
She would teach him. She would protect him. She would walk beside him even if the entire village turned its back.
This wasn't just friendship anymore.
It was a quiet defiance. A seed of rebellion, sown in the soil of injustice. And it had started to take root inside her heart.
Date: October 18th, 998 A.S.
Time: 3:42 PM
Location: Konoha Academy, Practice Yard
The autumn sun fell in golden slants across the open yard behind the Academy. A light wind stirred the leaves, carrying with it the distant sounds of village life. Most of the students had left for the day, their laughter fading toward the village proper.
Only a few lingered: Naruto, sweating from extra target practice, stood by a tree, panting softly and trying to rub the grime off his face with his already-dirty sleeve. Beside him, Sakura knelt with her small notebook in hand, cross-checking his form against the kunai-throwing diagrams she had memorized.
"You almost had it that time," she said brightly. "Just lift your elbow before the release—like this." She demonstrated with a flick of her wrist.
Naruto blinked at her. "You sound like Iruka-sensei."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
A harsh voice cut through the air like a thrown shuriken. "Uzumaki! You're not supposed to be using the yard after dismissal! It's reserved for genin evaluations this evening!"
They both turned.
It was Mizuki.
His face was pinched with irritation, eyes locked not on Sakura, but Naruto—sharp, accusatory, and cold. He approached with brisk steps, clipboard tucked under one arm like it was a weapon.
"I told you last week, you little brat. These facilities are for real ninja prospects, not troublemakers who can't even make a straight throw."
Naruto's shoulders drew inward.
Sakura stood.
Straightened.
And then, without hesitation, stepped in front of him.
"That's not true," she said flatly.
Mizuki blinked, caught off guard.
"What was that, Haruno?"
"I said, that's not true. Naruto has every right to be here. He's training, just like I am. And besides, Iruka-sensei said the field could be used until 4 o'clock if we weren't disruptive. It's 3:42."
There was a beat of silence. Just enough for tension to stretch thin.
Mizuki's lips curled in something halfway between a sneer and a smirk. "So now you're his defense squad? Is that it?"
"I'm his teammate," she said, voice unflinching. "And if he's not welcome, then neither am I."
Behind her, Naruto's eyes widened. The words hit him like a physical thing—he looked down at the dirt between his toes, unsure how to hold the moment.
From a distance, under the red-leafed shadow of a tree, Iruka watched.
He'd seen Mizuki's posturing before—seen it turn subtle, cruel, and always safely beneath the threshold of formal complaint. But what he hadn't seen—what he'd never seen—was someone from the class stand up to it.
And not just anyone.
Sakura Haruno.
Bright, well-behaved, from a clean home. The kind of child Konoha loved to celebrate. And here she was, placing herself between the village's scorn and its scapegoat.
Something stirred in Iruka. A memory, distant and small: the smell of smoke on the night of the Kyūbi's attack, the sound of sobbing somewhere in the ruins. He remembered watching the Hokage cradle a baby and declare hope for the future.
That baby had grown alone.
Until now.
He approached quietly, just as Mizuki opened his mouth to retort.
"That's enough," Iruka said, voice calm but absolute.
Mizuki turned, his tone slipping quickly into oily courtesy. "Oh—Iruka-sensei, I was just making sure the boy didn't damage any—"
"I said that's enough." Iruka's eyes held his. "You can report any actual infractions to me. I'll review the logs myself."
Mizuki stiffened, then offered a shallow nod and left, his jaw tight.
Iruka stepped closer to the two children, his expression softening.
"You stood up for him," he said to Sakura.
"I wasn't going to let him be bullied," she said. "Not by someone bigger. That's not what shinobi are supposed to be."
Naruto shifted, unsure if he should speak. He didn't need to. Iruka's hand landed gently on his shoulder.
"You've got good instincts," the teacher said. "Both of you. What you did just now... that matters more than a hundred target drills."
He smiled. "You're already becoming the kind of ninja this village needs."
Sakura flushed. Naruto stood a little taller.
And Iruka, walking away from them a few moments later, found himself deep in thought.
What if this bond—this loyalty—wasn't just rare? What if it was a sign? A seed of something better? A new generation, finally willing to defy the quiet rot beneath Konoha's skin?
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps—perhaps—the village could heal.
And that maybe it would start with two children sitting side by side in the afternoon sun.
Date: October 19th, 998 A.S.
Time: 7:12 AM – Haruno Back Garden, Konoha
The grass was damp with morning dew when Naruto stepped barefoot into the small clearing behind Sakura's house, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Kizashi stood already waiting, arms folded, a sturdy cotton mat unfurled beside him. He wore no ninja flak vest—only an old jonin-style black shirt and pants that hinted at a past life not often spoken of.
"Good," the man said as Naruto yawned and stretched. "Right on time."
Naruto grinned sheepishly. "Sakura-chan said you were gonna show me stuff."
"I am. But first, you need to understand something." Kizashi knelt, motioning for Naruto to copy him. "Control without understanding is like throwing kunai blindfolded. You might hit something. But you won't hit what matters."
Naruto looked unsure, but nodded.
Kizashi reached into his pocket and held up a leaf—a perfectly average green one from the garden's maple tree.
"This," he said, "is going to teach you more than the Academy has."
Naruto blinked. "A leaf?"
Kizashi smiled. "This is a chakra focus drill. Your job is to stick the leaf to your forehead using only your chakra. No tape, no glue, no licking it and pretending you're smart."
Naruto gave a sheepish laugh.
They began. And for the next hour, Naruto struggled.
The leaf would stick—and then fall.
It would tremble on his brow—then slide off the moment he breathed wrong.
Kizashi did not scold him. He corrected his posture. Explained the difference between output and retention. He told him to breathe through his belly. He guided him again and again, never raising his voice.
By the end of the session, Naruto's face was flushed with frustration—but in that frustration was focus, something he'd never been taught how to harness.
When the leaf finally stuck for more than five seconds, Naruto let out a surprised shout of joy.
"I did it!"
Kizashi ruffled his hair. "Yes. And now you'll do it again. And again. Until you don't even think about it anymore. That's how shinobi are made—not by power, but by patience."
It was the first time in Naruto's life that a grown man had taken him seriously.
Time: 6:23 PM – Haruno Household, Dining Room
Dinner was simple—rice, grilled sweetfish, sautéed mountain greens with soy and sesame. Kizashi had prepared extra, and for the first time, Naruto sat with them at the table, not as a guest for a special occasion, but like he belonged.
He was tentative at first—waiting for someone to yell, or push him away.
But no one did.
Sakura talked excitedly about the project they were working on, and Naruto added awkward but earnest insights. Kizashi nodded approvingly. Even Mebuki, seated near the stove, said little.
It was only after the dishes were cleared and Naruto had gone home that the tension surfaced.
Sakura stood in the doorway, fingers curled in determination. "I want him to eat with us. Every night."
Mebuki turned from wiping the counter. "Every night?"
"Yes." Sakura's voice was soft, but firm. "It's not right. He eats garbage most days. Sometimes not at all."
Kizashi exhaled slowly, watching his wife.
Mebuki set the cloth down. "He's not part of this family, Sakura."
"He should be," she said.
Silence thickened the room.
Kizashi stepped forward, his voice calm. "We made that boy a promise—by choosing to help him. We can't go halfway."
Mebuki looked at him sharply. "You know what this could mean. If the elders find out—if the wrong people start asking questions—"
"Let them ask," Kizashi interrupted. "Let them answer. For what they've done."
Mebuki's eyes shimmered—not with rage, but fear. "He carries that thing, Kizashi."
"He's a child," he answered. "A lonely one. And he's growing. With our help."
Sakura looked between them, her throat tight. "If you make me choose between helping him and staying quiet, I'll choose him."
Mebuki turned away.
Kizashi's voice was gentle as he spoke again. "We're not at that point, Sakura. But this—what you feel? That's real. And it matters."
Sakura nodded. Then quietly turned and made her way upstairs.
Time: 9:17 PM – Haruno Home, Upstairs Hallway
Through the half-open door, Kizashi watched her sleep.
The glow of her bedside lamp had long since faded, and she had curled herself tightly under the covers, brow furrowed even in dreams.
Beside him, Mebuki leaned against the frame. "She's not a soldier."
"No," he agreed. "She's something rarer."
Mebuki crossed her arms. "You always did have a taste for difficult fights."
He gave her a sidelong smile. "She's worth it."
Mebuki didn't answer at first. Her eyes remained fixed on their daughter.
"She'll be caught between worlds if we let this grow."
Kizashi nodded.
"And she'll change them both," he replied.
Date: October 20th, 998 A.S.
Time: 6:03 AM – Naruto's Apartment, East Konoha
The floor was cold beneath his feet as Naruto padded across the battered wooden boards of his apartment. A soft, pale light filtered in through the torn blinds, casting stripes across the cluttered room. There were a few new additions now—a stack of books on shinobi history and basic arithmetic, a small plastic bin of toys next to his futon, and, folded neatly on the desk, a leaf Kizashi had given him the day before.
Naruto rubbed his eyes, yawned, and looked at it.
There was something deeply symbolic about that leaf.
It had no color-changing jutsu, no chakra-reactive seal, no hidden tricks. It was just a piece of nature, utterly ordinary. Yet it had defeated him dozens of times in a single morning.
Not today.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and peeled another leaf from the little stack he'd collected from a nearby tree. This one was fresh—glossy, soft, flexible.
Placing it carefully on his forehead, he closed his eyes, just like Kizashi had taught him.
Feel the chakra, he whispered inside. Pull it up from your belly. Not too much, not too little.
His brow tensed, and for a few seconds, the leaf clung to his skin.
Then it fell.
Naruto didn't grunt or groan. He just picked it up and tried again.
And again.
And again.
For nearly an hour, the boy sat alone in his quiet apartment, the silence broken only by the faint plop of a leaf striking the floor.
By the time the morning sun had fully risen and the streets outside began to stir with the sound of merchants opening their stalls and shinobi passing overhead in small formations, Naruto had reached fifteen seconds of stability.
He held the leaf on his forehead, eyes closed, face still—and counted.
...ten... eleven... twelve...
The chakra was flickering now, like a candle guttering in wind.
...thirteen... fourteen...
And—
Fifteen.
It fluttered to the floor.
Naruto exhaled like a man who'd just finished a long sprint, and then he grinned to himself.
"That's gotta be a record."
Time: 7:41 AM – Academy Grounds, Outer Steps
Naruto walked with a quiet confidence he rarely wore. His hair was still messy, his jacket a little too big in the sleeves, but something had changed in the way he moved. He wasn't bouncing with manic energy. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't looking around for a fight or someone to annoy.
He had a purpose.
As he sat on the outer steps near the school's courtyard, he pulled another leaf from his pocket and gently pressed it to his brow. He closed his eyes.
This time, it stayed.
One second.
Two.
Three.
By five, a group of kids had started watching. By ten, one boy snorted and pointed.
"What's the loser doing? Trying to grow trees on his head?"
Naruto opened one eye and smirked. "You countin'? 'Cause I'm at twelve."
At fifteen, the leaf dropped. He caught it in his palm.
Even the heckler had nothing to say after that.
Behind a nearby post, Iruka watched the entire scene unfold with quiet amazement. Not just at the fact that Naruto was succeeding—but at the maturity behind his actions. The restraint. The patience. Traits he had never imagined seeing in the boy, especially not so soon.
Naruto was changing.
And someone was helping him do it.
Date: October 20th, 998 A.S.
Time: 9:19 AM – Konoha Ninja Academy, Main Classroom
The classroom, as always, buzzed with youthful energy—chalk dust hung faintly in the air like mist, and sunlight poured through wide windows, glinting off headbands not yet earned. The desks were worn smooth from years of anxious hands and doodling fingers.
But today, something was different.
Iruka stood at the front of the room with a roll of practice questions tucked under one arm and an air of expectation in his eyes. His gaze swept across the room, briefly lingering on one boy in particular.
Naruto Uzumaki sat near the middle—not at the back, not near the window where dreamers often slouched—but beside Sakura, his back straight, his pencil in hand, and a slightly chewed leaf resting in his shirt pocket like a badge of quiet pride.
The test wasn't real—not yet. Just warm-up questions meant to jog the mind, the kind most of the students would half-heartedly guess at while waiting for the more exciting physical drills.
But today, Naruto's hand was in the air by the second question.
"Yes, Naruto?" Iruka said, trying not to betray the quiet hope rising in his chest.
Naruto stood and squinted at the board. "The... First Hokage's name was... Hashi...rama?"
"Hashirama Senju. That's correct," Iruka said with a nod.
Sakura beamed. He didn't notice—he was too focused on keeping the momentum.
Another question. He didn't raise his hand this time, but he mouthed the answer.
Then another—about chakra nature. He got it wrong, but not ridiculously wrong. He said wind when the answer was water.
Still, he was thinking.
By the end of the lesson, he'd attempted to answer nearly half the questions posed. Forty-five percent, Iruka noted mentally. Forty-five percent participation and, miraculously, about half of those were correct.
It wasn't just about academics. It was the intention. The effort.
And just as important, the room itself was shifting.
The laughter wasn't as cruel. The stares weren't as sharp. And when Naruto sat down to eat at the edge of the courtyard under the tree where he used to sit alone, two boys from the middle rows joined him—one shyly offering a bite of rice dumpling.
"Mom makes too many," the boy muttered. "Wanna try one?"
Naruto blinked.
Sakura, seated beside him, nudged his elbow gently. "Say thank you, dummy."
"Th-thanks," Naruto said, and took the treat with both hands like it was a sacred offering.
Not everyone had come around. There were still whispers, still side-glances. But they were fewer. Quieter.
Ino hadn't joined them that day—but she hadn't jeered either.
Small victories.
Iruka watched all of this from the window with his arms folded and the trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He wasn't naïve. He knew how hard the village had been on the boy. How deep the scars went.
But today, in that quiet patch of sunlight beneath the tree, Naruto laughed—a real laugh, not forced or defiant, but warm and surprised.
And it was contagious.
Even the wind seemed lighter.
Date: October 27th, 998 A.S.
Time: 3:05 PM – Konoha Academy Courtyard, Afternoon Break
Sakura Haruno wasn't just helping Naruto Uzumaki with his spelling anymore—she was defending his space with a level of devotion that bordered on territorial.
It wasn't spoken. It didn't need to be. Every day when lunch break came, she would tug his sleeve and lead him to their usual spot under the tree. There was no negotiation. That was where he ate. That was where she ate. And increasingly, where others had to ask to sit.
And they were asking now.
A quiet ripple had begun to spread through the Academy's girls. It was subtle, barely whispered—but it was there. Naruto's bruises were fading. His answers in class were sharper. He laughed more, smiled more, and when he sparred during physical drills, there was a wild, joyful tenacity to him that made people watch.
Even those who'd once scoffed.
"Hey, Sakura," a voice chirped one day. It was Kiyo, a girl with ribbon-tied braids and a soft spot for anyone with a troublemaker grin. "Can I sit with you two today?"
Sakura looked up from where she was helping Naruto unwrap a sweet bun her mother had packed for him. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Naruto blinked between them. "Uh, yeah, sure—"
"Not today," Sakura said, her voice polite—but firm.
Kiyo blinked, momentarily stunned. "O-okay... maybe tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Sakura answered, already turning back to Naruto. "You forgot to say thank you again, dummy."
"Th-thanks, Sakura-chan!" he mumbled, cheeks coloring as he bit into the bun.
Another time, a girl from the back rows—Hanami, who'd once called Naruto "dead last" in front of the entire class—approached him after he aced a target-throwing drill.
"You're kinda good now," she said, offering him a juice box.
Sakura was at his side in two steps.
"He already has one," she said, pulling a sealed bottle from her bag. "Mango. His favorite."
The tension was mounting—not overtly hostile, but clear in its shape.
Some whispered that Sakura was overprotective. Others said she was acting weird. Ino rolled her eyes and muttered something about brain damage when asked. But none dared challenge her directly.
Because when Sakura Haruno stood her ground, she didn't move for anyone.
Date: November 2nd, 998 A.S.
Time: 6:22 PM – Haruno Residence, Study Room
The light from the low-hanging lamp turned the study into a warm cocoon of amber and shadow. Scrolls lay unfurled on the floor, one draped across a small table where Naruto sat with his legs folded and his tongue sticking out in concentration.
Kizashi knelt beside him, fingers calloused from years of fieldwork tapping lightly at the parchment.
"This is a basic choke-point diagram," he said, pointing at the Xs and curved notations. "Tell me where you'd place an explosive seal."
Naruto frowned, squinting. "Uh... here? Near the narrow bend?"
Kizashi smiled. "Good. Why?"
"Because... it's where they gotta slow down. If they don't see it, boom."
"Exactly." He ruffled Naruto's hair. "And if you know that, you can stay one step ahead."
Naruto beamed at the praise. For a boy who'd been told so often that he was stupid, every word of approval was a spark in dry grass.
Nearby, Sakura scribbled something on a worksheet, glancing over occasionally.
"Next one," Kizashi said, opening another scroll. "These are field instructions. Same format ANBU use for basic extraction orders. Let's see how fast you can read the first two lines."
Naruto read them slowly but clearly. Stumbling here and there, but no longer lost in the letters.
It was astonishing how far he'd come. A month ago, he could barely spell his own name without flipping the letters.
Date: November 3rd, 998 A.S.
Time: 7:15 AM – Naruto's Room, Sunrise
The morning light caught on the threadbare curtains as Naruto crouched in front of his mirror, shirtless, a leaf stuck to his forehead. His eyes were narrowed, his breathing deep and even.
The seconds ticked by in his mind.
...Twenty-eight... twenty-nine...
...thirty-four... thirty-five.
"YES!" he shouted, jumping up with a grin.
From the hallway, Sakura leaned in with crossed arms. "Told you training at night would help. Now do it again—but with a second one."
Naruto gulped.
Sakura stepped inside, holding out another leaf. "On your left palm. If you can hold both, you're double cool."
He grinned.
The second leaf was placed carefully.
Five seconds. Then ten. Sweat formed on his brow.
"C'mon, Naruto..." Sakura whispered.
Fifteen.
The one on his forehead fluttered but held.
Twenty.
Both leaves were still.
Twenty-five... twenty-six...
The palm leaf dropped.
"Aw, man..."
"Still a win," Sakura said, grinning. "We'll get thirty by next week."
He looked at her then—really looked. She wasn't just being kind.
She believed in him.
And as he stood there with one leaf still clinging to his brow, Naruto realized something deeper than jutsu or chakra:
He was wanted. He was chosen.
Date: November 6th, 998 A.S.
Time: 10:17 AM — Hokage Tower, Konoha
The Third Hokage exhaled the long breath of a man who had lived through too many seasons of compromise.
He leaned back in his chair behind the polished wood desk, pipe in hand, the coals long since cooled. Behind him, the great window overlooked the terracotta sweep of the Hidden Leaf, sunlight glinting off rooftops and temple eaves. The village seemed at peace.
But peace was often a lie, and Sarutobi Hiruzen knew better than to believe in silence.
Iruka Umino stood before him—posture straight, voice calm—but the fire in his words was unmistakable.
"He's changing, Lord Hokage. He's learning. Naruto's writing is legible now. His chakra control is improving every week. He asks questions. And yesterday... he helped another student with their scroll translation."
The Hokage smiled softly. "It pleases me to hear that."
"It's not just him, either," Iruka pressed. "Sakura Haruno's been defending him almost daily. She helps him after school, corrects his worksheets, even—well, she almost threw a stapler at one of the assistant instructors last week."
"Oh?" Hiruzen's brow rose slightly.
"They scolded Naruto in front of the class for something he didn't do. Sakura was furious. I had to pull her aside to calm her down."
Hiruzen allowed a puff of silent amusement, though his eyes darkened with reflection.
"She's begun her own rebellion then," the Hokage murmured. "A girl still small enough to climb a tree but already brave enough to defy the current. Fascinating."
"She's not alone anymore," Iruka said. "Other students are starting to come around. It's slow, and it's fragile, but it's real."
Hiruzen's fingers idly tapped the curve of his pipe.
"And how long," he said softly, "do you think such a shift can go unnoticed?"
Iruka hesitated. "You think the Council will act?"
"They are already watching," the old man said. "Danzo most of all. That boy's name is an old wound. One they believe should remain scabbed over, unseen."
He sighed, deeply now, almost like an apology.
"Improvement breeds attention, Iruka. Attention invites fear. And the last thing they want... is a successful Uzumaki."
Iruka looked away for a moment, jaw clenched. "We can't stop him from growing."
"No," Hiruzen agreed. "Nor should we. But we must be ready for the consequences when the whispers grow into swords."
Date: November 6th, 998 A.S.
Time: 7:41 PM — Haruno Household, Living Room
The dishes were clean. The floor had been swept. Kizashi had retreated to his scrolls with a quiet pride in his step, humming something beneath his breath.
But Mebuki Haruno sat in silence by the window, her arms folded, eyes sharp and clouded with worry.
She had heard them in the market. Heard the half-joking tone and the not-so-funny words.
"Demon lovers, that Haruno family."
"She's letting that thing into her home?"
"Little witch'll be his bride if she's not careful."
Mebuki had grown up in this village. Served it. Nurtured it. She had known Kizashi's war scars and loved him anyway. She had believed in peace, in rebuilding after the Nine-Tails tore through their walls.
But belief did not erase reality. And reality was now crouched under her roof, smiling at her daughter with wide eyes and sticky fingers still too small to hold a kunai properly.
She watched Sakura in the kitchen now, carefully wrapping leftovers for Naruto to take home, humming under her breath like nothing was wrong in the world.
"Sweetheart," she said quietly, "come sit with me."
Sakura looked up, brow furrowing. "I just need to finish packing—"
"Now, please."
She obeyed, curling beside her mother with the bundle still in hand.
Mebuki touched her daughter's cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
Sakura blinked. "Because he's my friend."
"Friends don't always come home with you. They don't always sit at your table every night."
"I want him to."
"Even when people are staring?"
"I don't care."
"You should," Mebuki said softly. "This village is kind—until it isn't. What you're doing is brave. But brave girls become hunted girls when the wrong people feel threatened."
Sakura stared at her mother. "Are you threatened?"
Mebuki hesitated. The wind outside picked up, brushing dried leaves against the wooden sill.
"No," she said finally. "I'm scared. Because I see who you're becoming. And I know the cost of standing beside someone who's marked."
Sakura stood, her jaw set. "Then I'll pay it."
She turned and walked upstairs, bundle in hand, without another word.
Kizashi came out from the hallway moments later, arms crossed.
"She's stronger than we were at that age," he murmured.
"She's walking into a fire."
"And maybe she'll teach this village how not to burn."