what if naruto die in 4th shinobi world war and reborn with all his memories and abilities

# Chapter 1: The Ultimate Sacrifice

The sky above the battlefield had turned the color of a fresh bruise—purple and angry, shot through with veins of crimson chakra that pulsed like exposed nerves. Naruto Uzumaki stood at the front lines, his golden chakra cloak flickering against the encroaching darkness, a lighthouse defying an impossible storm. The earth beneath his feet was no longer earth at all—just pulverized rock and the remnants of jutsu, slick with blood and worse things.

"You still think you can win this, don't you?" Madara's voice cut through the cacophony of battle, smooth as polished stone and just as cold. "Such beautiful delusion."

Naruto wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the ancient Uchiha who hovered above the battlefield like a dark god. Behind Madara, the Ten-Tails writhed—a monstrosity of chakra and malice that blotted out half the horizon, its single eye tracking Naruto with predatory focus.

"I don't think, I know," Naruto shot back, forcing confidence into his voice despite the tremor in his legs. Around him, the Allied Shinobi Forces were scattered like broken toys—some still fighting, many motionless. Too many motionless.

A flash of blue lightning announced Sasuke's arrival at his side. The last Uchiha looked nearly as battered as Naruto felt, his usually immaculate appearance marred by grime and blood, Sharingan spinning wildly in his right eye, Rinnegan glowing purple in his left.

"This isn't working," Sasuke muttered, his breathing ragged. "He's toying with us."

"Naruto! Sasuke!" Sakura's voice rang out as she landed beside them, her hands already glowing green with healing chakra. "Half our forces are down. The medical corps can't keep up."

Kakashi appeared in a swirl of leaves, his mask torn and his normally lazy posture now rigid with exhaustion. "The eastern flank just collapsed. We're being surrounded."

Naruto clenched his fists, feeling Kurama's chakra surge in response to his emotions. "We need to hit him harder—"

"Harder won't work." The voice came from behind them, unexpected and familiar.

Naruto turned to see Obito Uchiha limping toward them, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. The man who had been their enemy, who had unleashed so much pain, now wore an expression Naruto had never seen on him before—regret.

"He's absorbed too much chakra," Obito continued, his voice rough. "Conventional attacks just feed his power."

The battlefield shuddered as the Ten-Tails slammed one massive limb into the earth, sending shinobi flying like leaves in a typhoon. The beast's roar vibrated in Naruto's chest, rattling his teeth and bones.

"There has to be a way," Naruto insisted, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He'd never faced an enemy so completely overwhelming. Not Pain, not even Obito at his worst had seemed this unstoppable.

Kurama's voice rumbled within his mind. "Kit, he's targeting the Tailed Beasts. Can you feel it? That jutsu he's preparing—it's designed to extract us all at once."

Naruto's eyes widened as he sensed the massive buildup of chakra around Madara. The air itself seemed to be bending toward the Uchiha, warping reality around him.

"He's going to try to take all the Tailed Beasts at once," Naruto said aloud, causing Sasuke's head to snap toward him.

"All of them? Is that even possible?"

Kakashi's visible eye narrowed. "With the Rinnegan and the power he's amassed... yes."

Naruto closed his eyes, diving into the mental landscape where Kurama resided. The massive fox sat before him, nine tails swishing anxiously, ruby eyes fixed on Naruto with unusual solemnity.

"If he takes you, it's over," Naruto said.

Kurama nodded, fangs gleaming. "Not just me. If he gets all of us, there will be no stopping him. The Infinite Tsukuyomi will become reality."

"There has to be a way to stop him," Naruto insisted, pacing in the ankle-deep water of his mindscape.

Kurama's massive head lowered until his eye was level with Naruto. "There is one way, but the price..." The fox trailed off, something like sorrow flashing across his vulpine features.

"Tell me."

"We could overload his extraction technique. Pour so much chakra into it that it backfires." Kurama's tails lashed the water. "But it would require channeling every drop of my chakra at once—more than your body was ever designed to handle."

Naruto stared back at his partner, understanding dawning slowly. "You're saying it would kill me."

"Yes."

The word hung between them, heavy and final. Naruto took a deep breath, then smiled—a small, sad thing that didn't reach his eyes.

"But it would save everyone else."

"Potentially, yes. But Naruto—"

"Then we do it."

Kurama reared back. "Just like that? No argument? No attempt to find another way?"

Naruto's smile widened, becoming genuine. "You know me better than that, Kurama. If there was another way, I'd take it. But we're out of time, out of options. And I never go back on my word—that's my ninja way."

The great fox stared at him for a long moment, then slowly bowed his massive head. "You've grown, kit. From an annoying brat to... to someone I'm proud to call partner."

"Don't get sappy on me now, you big furball," Naruto laughed, but his eyes shone with unshed tears.

When Naruto opened his eyes again, barely a second had passed in the real world. Sakura was still knitting a gash on Sasuke's arm closed. Kakashi was scanning the battlefield with his Sharingan. Obito stood silently, watching Madara with haunted eyes.

"I need to get closer to him," Naruto said, voice steady despite the death sentence he'd just accepted.

Sasuke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you planning, dobe?"

"Something reckless and stupid," Naruto replied with a grin that didn't quite hide the fear beneath it. "Cover me?"

Before anyone could object, a familiar voice called out behind them. "Naruto-kun!"

Hinata Hyūga landed gracefully beside them, her Byakugan active, veins bulging around her pale eyes. Despite the dirt and blood smeared across her face, she moved with determination, her gaze fixed on Naruto with an intensity that made his heart stutter.

"Hinata," he breathed, suddenly finding it hard to look her in the eye. How do you say goodbye to someone who has loved you so completely, so patiently?

"The Ten-Tails is gathering chakra," she reported, professional despite the worry evident in her voice. "And Madara's chakra network is... changing. I've never seen anything like it."

"We don't have much time," Naruto said, more to himself than to her. He reached out suddenly, taking her hand. "Hinata, I—"

"Don't," she interrupted, surprising him. Her eyes, pale as the moon, saw too much—always had. "Whatever you're planning... I can see your chakra fluctuating. You're preparing for something dangerous."

Naruto swallowed hard. "I have to do this."

Her fingers tightened around his. "Then do it. I believe in you." The simple faith in those words nearly broke him.

Sasuke stepped forward, obsidian and violet eyes boring into Naruto's. "What are you not telling us?"

Naruto met his gaze steadily. "I'm going to overload his extraction jutsu. Pour so much chakra into it that it backfires on him."

Kakashi's eye widened with horrified understanding. "Naruto, the chakra required for that would—"

"I know." Naruto cut him off gently. "Believe it."

Sakura lunged forward, grabbing his jacket. "No! There has to be another way! We'll find it together, like we always do!"

The desperation in her voice made Naruto's chest ache. He placed his hand over hers, feeling the strength in her fingers—the same strength that had saved countless lives, including his own, more times than he could count.

"Sakura-chan, there isn't time." He looked at each of them in turn—his precious people. "This is what I was born for. To protect everyone." A flash of memory—his father's words during the Pain attack. His mother's smile as she faded away. "It's what my parents gave their lives for."

Obito stepped forward, face twisted with emotion. "It should be me. I started this—"

"And I'm finishing it," Naruto said firmly. "Besides, it has to be a jinchūriki for this to work."

The air shimmered as Madara's jutsu began to take form—vast chains of chakra reaching out toward the remaining Tailed Beasts on the battlefield. The shinobi alliance forces scattered in panic as the ground beneath them fractured.

"It's starting," Naruto said. "I need to go now."

Sasuke grabbed his shoulder, turning him roughly. For a moment, Naruto thought his friend might try to stop him—but instead, Sasuke merely nodded, something unreadable flashing in his mismatched eyes.

"Don't mess this up, usuratonkachi."

Naruto grinned despite everything. "When have I ever?"

Sasuke's lip twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?"

A laugh bubbled up from Naruto's throat—how strange to be laughing now, at the end. But it felt right somehow.

Kakashi stepped forward, eye crinkled in that familiar way that meant he was smiling beneath his mask. "Naruto," he said simply, voice thick with emotion. "You've surpassed us all."

Sakura's fist connected with Naruto's shoulder—gentle by her standards, which meant it only hurt instead of shattering bone. "You better come back somehow," she demanded, tears streaming down her face. "Or I'll never forgive you!"

"I'll try, Sakura-chan," he lied, because some lies were kinder than the truth. He turned to Hinata last, words failing him.

She stepped forward and, to his surprise, pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Go," she whispered against his skin. "Save everyone. That's the Naruto-kun I fell in love with."

With one last look at his precious people, Naruto turned and launched himself toward Madara, golden chakra blazing around him like a comet.

Behind him, he heard Sasuke barking orders, organizing a distraction to give Naruto his opening. Explosions rocked the battlefield as the remaining Allied forces rallied for one final push.

As Naruto raced across the broken landscape, memories flashed through his mind in rapid succession:

The lonely swing outside the Academy.

Iruka shielding him from Mizuki's attack.

Team 7's first bell test.

The bridge in the Land of Waves where he found his ninja way.

The Chunin Exams, facing Neji, defying destiny.

The Valley of the End, fighting Sasuke, failing to bring him home.

Training with Jiraiya, growing stronger with each passing day.

Returning to the village, taller and wiser but still determined.

Pain's invasion, finding forgiveness instead of revenge.

The war, fighting alongside shinobi from all nations.

So many memories, so many precious moments that had shaped him. And now, it was ending. Not the way he'd imagined—there would be no Hokage hat in his future, no peaceful retirement surrounded by family—but ending in a way that felt right. Protecting everyone, just as he'd always promised.

"MADARA!" Naruto roared as he closed the distance, gathering nature energy to supplement Kurama's chakra.

The ancient Uchiha turned toward him, lips curving in a smirk. "The jinchūriki comes to me? How convenient."

"This ends now!" Naruto formed a Rasenshuriken in each hand, infusing them with Kurama's chakra until they blazed like miniature suns.

Madara merely spread his arms. "Yes, it does."

The extraction chains shot toward Naruto, but instead of dodging, he welcomed them, allowing them to connect with his chakra network. Immediately, he felt the painful pull as they began to draw on Kurama's power.

"Now, kit," Kurama growled within him. "Everything I have is yours."

Inside his mindscape, Naruto placed both hands on Kurama's massive snout. "Thank you, my friend. For everything."

The fox's eyes gleamed with something that might have been tears. "In another life, perhaps we'll meet again."

"I'd like that," Naruto whispered.

In the physical world, Naruto's body began to glow from within, chakra pouring from every pore, every cell. The extraction chains greedily devoured the offered power, glowing brighter and brighter as they carried impossible amounts of chakra back to Madara.

"What are you doing?!" Madara shouted, his confident smirk faltering as the chains began to vibrate, overloaded with energy.

Naruto didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was raw from screaming, though he didn't remember starting. The pain was beyond anything he'd experienced—every cell in his body felt like it was being torn apart and reassembled, over and over. His chakra network, designed to channel enormous amounts of energy, was still insufficient for the torrent now coursing through it.

Through blurred vision, he saw Madara's expression shift from confusion to alarm as the extraction jutsu began to destabilize. The chains connecting them splintered, fractures of light appearing along their length.

"STOP THIS!" Madara commanded, attempting to sever the connection—but it was too late. The feedback loop was established, with Naruto pumping more chakra than the jutsu could safely process.

Naruto's consciousness began to fragment. He was dimly aware of the battlefield around him—of Sasuke and Sakura screaming his name, of Hinata's tears, of Kakashi standing frozen in horror. He wanted to tell them it was okay, that this was his choice, but his voice was gone, sacrificed to the maelstrom of power that was consuming him from the inside out.

As his vision darkened, Naruto's lips curved into a smile—his signature expression, the one that had carried him through orphaned loneliness, through hatred and prejudice, through battle after impossible battle. One last gift to those watching, to let them know he wasn't afraid.

The extraction chains shattered like glass, the backlash of energy slamming into Madara with the force of a thousand exploding tags. The Uchiha's scream of rage and pain was cut short as the chakra storm engulfed him, tearing through the carefully constructed defenses of the Rinnegan.

As for Naruto, his body simply... unraveled. There was no other word for it. Like a tapestry pulled apart thread by thread, the chakra that had sustained him—had defined him—dispersed into the atmosphere, leaving nothing behind but a faint golden glow that lingered for a heartbeat before fading away.

On the battlefield, silence fell. The Ten-Tails, suddenly masterless, roared in confusion. The Allied Forces stared in disbelief at the empty space where their hero had stood just moments before.

Hinata fell to her knees, Byakugan still active, desperately searching for any trace of Naruto's chakra signature. Finding nothing, she pressed her hands to her mouth to hold back a scream.

Sakura's medical training kicked in, driving her forward despite her shock. "Search the area! He might be—" But she couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice the impossible hope that he had somehow survived.

Sasuke stood motionless, Sharingan and Rinnegan recording every detail of Naruto's final moments—a memorial he would carry forever, whether he wanted to or not.

Kakashi turned away, shoulders hunched as if bearing a physical weight. Another name for the memorial stone. Another student gone before his teacher.

In the chaos that followed—the subduing of the Ten-Tails, the confirmation of Madara's defeat, the beginning of recovery efforts—no one noticed the subtle shift in the fabric of reality. No one felt the ripple that traveled outward from where Naruto had fallen, crossing dimensions, bending time itself.

No one, that is, except Naruto.

He floated in darkness—or perhaps the darkness floated in him. It was impossible to tell where he ended and the void began. There was no pain here, no sensation at all beyond a peculiar weightlessness, as if he had been untethered from physical laws.

"Am I dead?" he wondered, and was surprised to hear his own voice, though his lips hadn't moved.

"That depends on your definition," another voice answered—familiar, achingly so.

Light bloomed in the darkness, resolving into the figure of a man in a white Hokage robe, blonde hair framing a face that was so like Naruto's own.

"Dad?" Naruto whispered.

Minato Namikaze smiled, the expression warming his serious features. "Hello, son."

More figures materialized around him—Hashirama and Tobirama Senju, Hiruzen Sarutobi, Tsunade. The Hokage, past and present, gathered in a semicircle before him.

"The kid's got guts, I'll give him that," Tobirama remarked, arms crossed over his armored chest. "Taking out Madara and the Ten-Tails at the cost of his own life."

"Just like his parents," Hiruzen added softly, puffing on his ever-present pipe.

Hashirama stepped forward, dark eyes intense beneath his heavy brow. "Naruto Uzumaki. You have altered the course of history with your sacrifice. The shinobi world survives because of your actions."

"So I really am dead," Naruto said, strangely calm about the realization.

"Your physical form has been destroyed," Tsunade confirmed, her youthful appearance maintained even in this place. "Your chakra dispersed."

"But you're not quite gone," came another voice, sweet and strong—a voice Naruto had heard only a handful of times but would recognize anywhere.

Kushina Uzumaki materialized beside Minato, her long red hair floating around her as if underwater. She reached for Naruto, and somehow he was in her arms, held in an embrace he had craved his entire life.

"Mom," he breathed, burying his face in her shoulder. She smelled like home—though how he knew that, when he'd never truly known her in life, was a mystery.

"My beautiful boy," Kushina murmured, stroking his hair. "So brave. So foolish. Just like your father."

"Hey," Minato protested mildly, but he was smiling as he joined the embrace, one arm around each of them.

For a moment—or perhaps an eternity, time seemed meaningless here—Naruto allowed himself to sink into their warmth, to be simply a son held by his parents. But eventually, reluctantly, he pulled back.

"What did you mean, I'm not quite gone?" he asked, looking between the gathered Hokage.

Tobirama stepped forward, red eyes gleaming with the intensity that had made him such a formidable Hokage in life. "Your physical form was destroyed, yes. But chakra cannot be created or destroyed—only transformed."

"Your chakra, and Kurama's, was not simply dispersed," Hashirama added. "It was... relocated."

Naruto frowned. "Relocated where?"

"When," Minato corrected gently. "Or perhaps both where and when would be more accurate."

Before Naruto could process this, the void around them shifted, darkening further until they stood in absolute blackness. Then, a pinprick of light appeared—expanding slowly to reveal what looked like a window into another world.

Through this window, Naruto could see a small village—not a hidden shinobi village, but a civilian settlement nestled in a valley between gentle hills. People moved about their daily business, unaware of being observed.

"What is this place?" Naruto asked.

"A village on the border between the Land of Fire and the Land of Rivers," Hiruzen explained. "Fifteen years before your birth."

"Before my—?" Naruto's eyes widened. "You're saying I've been sent to the past?"

"Not quite yet," Kushina said. "But you could be."

A new presence made itself known—not a person, but a feeling. A weight of attention focused on Naruto with such intensity that it felt almost physical.

"Naruto Uzumaki," came a voice that seemed to bypass his ears entirely, speaking directly into his mind. "Your interference in the natural order has created... complications."

Naruto turned, trying to locate the source of the voice, but saw nothing in the darkness. "Who are you?"

"I am the guardian of this junction—the crossroads between what was, what is, and what may be."

"Some call it Fate," Hashirama supplied. "Others, Destiny. It has many names across many cultures."

"Your sacrifice was noble," the presence continued. "But the manner of your death has created a fracture in the timeline. Such fractures must be mended—or exploited."

"Exploited?" Naruto repeated, confused.

"You have earned a choice, Naruto Uzumaki. Your chakra—your very essence—can be used to seal the fracture, ensuring the timeline continues as it was meant to. Or..." The presence paused, the quality of its attention shifting. "Or you may pass through the fracture yourself, beginning a new life in the time before your original birth."

"You're offering to send me back in time?" Naruto asked, stunned. "With what, my memories? My abilities?"

"All that you are would go with you. But there would be... limitations. Your physical form would be new, untrained. Your chakra reserves would need time to develop. Even Kurama would be diminished, requiring years to regain his full strength."

"And the catch?" Naruto pressed, knowing instinctively that such an offer would come with conditions.

The presence seemed to approve of his perception. "The catch, as you put it, is that your presence would inevitably alter the timeline. The future you knew would change in ways even I cannot fully predict. The people you loved may become strangers. The bonds you forged may never form."

"Or they might be saved," Naruto countered, thinking of all those who had died—Neji, Jiraiya, so many others. His parents.

"Perhaps. But interfering with fate carries its own risks. Some deaths are... fixed points. Attempting to prevent them could lead to worse outcomes."

Naruto looked at his parents, standing together, hands clasped. "What would you do?" he asked them.

Minato smiled sadly. "We can't answer that for you, son. This is your choice."

"But know that whatever you decide," Kushina added fiercely, "we are proud of you. We have always been proud of you."

Naruto closed his eyes, weighing the options. Return to a world before he was born, with all his knowledge but none of his power, facing the uncertainty of a changed timeline. Or pass into whatever awaited beyond this void, his sacrifice complete, his story ended.

The choice, when it came down to it, wasn't really a choice at all.

He opened his eyes. "I want to go back. I want a chance to save them all."

The presence seemed to sigh—whether in relief or resignation, Naruto couldn't tell. "So be it. The fracture will become your passage. But remember, Naruto Uzumaki: changing fate has consequences. Not all of them kind."

The window into the past expanded, edges bleeding into the void around them, reality bending as the fracture widened.

Naruto turned to his parents one last time. "Will I see you again?"

Kushina smiled through her tears. "We'll always be with you, even if you can't see us."

Minato nodded. "Trust yourself, Naruto. Trust Kurama. And remember that the future is never set in stone."

The gathered Hokage began to fade, their forms becoming translucent, then transparent, until only their voices remained.

"Good luck, kid," Tsunade's voice echoed.

"Make us proud," from Hiruzen.

"Use your knowledge wisely," Tobirama advised.

"The Will of Fire burns strongest in you," Hashirama's voice was the last to fade.

Then Naruto was alone with the presence and the widening fracture.

"It is time," the presence said. "Step through, and begin again."

Naruto approached the fracture, feeling its energy pulling at him, tugging at the very essence of what remained of him.

"Kurama?" he called mentally. "Are you with me?"

For a moment, he feared the fox had been lost in the void. Then came the familiar rumble, fainter than before but unmistakable.

"Always, kit. Though I warn you, I'll be sleeping for a while when we arrive. Dimensional travel is... exhausting."

Naruto grinned. "Just like you to use the end of the world as an excuse for a nap."

With that final exchange, Naruto stepped into the fracture. Light engulfed him, blinding in its intensity. He felt himself being pulled apart again, but differently this time—not destroyed but reconstructed. Atom by atom, cell by cell, his consciousness stretched across the gap between then and now.

The sensation was beyond pain, beyond pleasure—it simply was. And then, abruptly, it wasn't.

Darkness again, but warm darkness. Muffled sounds surrounded him. A steady, rhythmic beating. The sensation of floating in liquid.

With a shock, Naruto realized where—or rather, when—he was.

Unborn. Still in the womb.

Panic gripped him briefly—trapped, helpless—but then Kurama's presence brushed against his consciousness.

"Rest now," the fox murmured, already sounding half-asleep himself. "We have time."

Time. Yes. That was the one thing they had now that they hadn't had before. Time to plan, to prepare, to change everything.

Months passed in peaceful darkness, Naruto's adult consciousness drifting in and out of awareness as his infant brain developed. And then, suddenly, pressure. Movement. The warm darkness becoming a tight squeeze, pushing him toward—

Light. Blinding, harsh light. Cold air on wet skin. The indignity of being handled by giant hands. A sharp smack, and then—

His first cry in this new life. A wail of protest and announcement: I am here. I exist. I have returned.

Through blurry newborn eyes, Naruto saw faces peering down at him. Not Minato and Kushina—these were strangers. A woman with brown hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, exhausted but smiling. A man with a thick beard and calloused hands, looking both terrified and elated.

"He's perfect," the woman whispered, reaching for him. "Our little Hikaru."

Hikaru. A new name for a new life.

As he was placed in the woman's arms—his new mother's arms—Naruto felt a complex tangle of emotions: grief for what he'd lost, hope for what he might change, and the strange dissonance of being simultaneously an infant and a battle-hardened shinobi with the memories of a full life behind him.

"Welcome to the world, little one," the bearded man—his new father—said, voice thick with emotion.

Welcome to the past, Naruto thought as his infant body, obeying its natural instincts, nuzzled against his new mother's breast.

In the distance, beyond the walls of the small village clinic where he'd been born, Naruto's enhanced senses picked up the faint sounds of celebration. People laughing, music playing.

"What's happening outside?" his new mother asked, noticing his attention shift.

The midwife smiled as she cleaned up. "The spring festival. Your son picked an auspicious day to be born."

A festival, Naruto thought. A new beginning.

As his infant body surrendered to its first sleep outside the womb, Naruto's mind remained active just long enough to make a promise to himself: This time, things would be different. This time, he would save them all.

Inside him, Kurama slumbered, the Nine-Tailed Fox's chakra a faint but reassuring presence. Together, they had been given a second chance—not just for themselves, but for the entire shinobi world.

The wheel of fate had turned, and Naruto Uzumaki—now Hikaru of the small border village—was ready to rewrite destiny itself.

# Chapter 2: A Second Beginning

The morning sun spilled through threadbare curtains, painting golden stripes across a small wooden floor. Hikaru—the boy who had once been Naruto Uzumaki—sat cross-legged in a patch of light, his five-year-old face scrunched in concentration. Dust motes danced around him, swirling in currents only he could sense.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, tiny fingers forming a familiar seal. "Just a little chakra. Just enough to—"

A sharp crack echoed through the small room as the floorboard beneath him splintered. Hikaru tumbled backward, landing with an undignified yelp that was decidedly un-shinobi-like.

"Stupid body," he muttered, rubbing his backside. Five years into this new life, and he still couldn't properly gauge his chakra output. Adult mind trapped in a child's form—it was like trying to pour an ocean through a drinking straw.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. The door flew open to reveal Kazuo, Hikaru's new father, his thick beard now streaked with premature gray at thirty-five.

"What in the world—" Kazuo's eyes darted from his son to the cracked floorboard, bushy eyebrows drawing together. "Hikaru! What have I told you about jumping on the furniture?"

Hikaru plastered on his most innocent smile—a expression he'd perfected over two lifetimes. "Sorry, Dad! I was practicing my ninja jumps!"

Kazuo's stern expression softened, weathered hands coming to rest on his hips. "Ninja jumps again? You and your imagination." He ruffled Hikaru's hair—brown like his mother's, not the sunshine blonde of his previous life. "Your mother's almost got breakfast ready. And afterward, you're helping me fix this floor, young man."

"Yes, sir!" Hikaru chirped, scrambling to his feet.

As Kazuo turned to leave, Hikaru caught a familiar melancholy in the man's eyes—the look that appeared whenever "ninja" entered the conversation. In this small border village where farmers and merchants lived simple lives, Hikaru's obsession with shinobi was seen as an odd, somewhat concerning quirk.

If only they knew.

Downstairs, the cottage buzzed with morning activity. Mei, his mother in this life, hummed as she flipped rice cakes on the iron griddle, her brown hair tied back in a practical bun. The small kitchen smelled of miso and grilled fish—so different from the instant ramen that had been his staple in his previous life.

"There's my little troublemaker," Mei said without turning around, mother's instinct telling her exactly who had entered the room. "Destroying furniture again?"

"It was an accident," Hikaru protested, sliding onto a cushion at the low table.

"Your accidents seem very purposeful these days." Mei turned, setting a small bowl of rice before him. Her eyes—green like fresh leaves, so different from Kushina's—studied him with the peculiar mix of love and perplexity that had become her default expression. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours."

More than you could possibly imagine, Hikaru thought, but smiled and stuffed his mouth with rice instead of answering.

The routine was comfortable, if confining. Breakfast with his new parents, helping with chores, playing with village children who seemed impossibly innocent compared to the battle-hardened shinobi he'd fought alongside. It was peaceful. Safe.

And it was driving him crazy.

After breakfast, while helping Kazuo repair the floorboard, Hikaru broached a familiar subject.

"Dad, have you ever been to Konoha?"

Kazuo grunted as he pried up the damaged wood. "The Hidden Leaf? Once or twice for trading. Why?"

"What's it like? Are there really ninja everywhere? Do they walk on water and breathe fire?" Hikaru pressed, knowing exactly what the answers were but needing to maintain his cover as a curious child.

"They're just people, Hikaru. Dangerous people." Kazuo handed him a nail to hold. "The less we ordinary folk interact with shinobi, the better."

"But they protect the village, right? And go on adventures and save princesses and—"

"They're soldiers, son." Kazuo's voice turned hard, a tone he rarely used. "They kill for money. Whatever tales you've heard, the reality is blood and death." He sighed, features softening at Hikaru's crestfallen expression. "I know the stories sound exciting, but trust me—our life here is better. Safer."

Hikaru nodded dutifully, but inside, Kurama stirred.

"He speaks from experience," the fox observed, voice still weak after five years but growing stronger by the day. "I sense old grief there."

"I know," Hikaru replied mentally. "I've tried to piece it together. I think they lost someone to shinobi violence. Maybe that's why they moved to this nowhere village."

"A complication we didn't anticipate."

"One of many," Hikaru agreed, handing his father another nail with practiced ease.

Later that afternoon, while Kazuo delivered furniture to a neighboring village and Mei worked in their small vegetable garden, Hikaru slipped away to his secret training ground—a clearing in the forest, far enough from the village to avoid detection but close enough that he could rush back if needed.

The moment he entered the familiar space, his childish demeanor fell away. His posture straightened, eyes sharpening with adult intelligence. Even his voice changed, dropping the high-pitched enthusiasm of youth for something more measured.

"Alright, let's try again," he said to himself, centering his body in the clearing.

Five years of careful practice had yielded frustratingly modest results. His chakra reserves were growing but remained a mere fraction of what he'd commanded in his previous life. His five-year-old body, though healthy and energetic, lacked the muscle memory, flexibility, and raw strength he'd once possessed.

Still, progress was progress.

Hikaru closed his eyes, focusing on the warm energy coiled within his core. Chakra—the lifeblood of every jutsu, the power that had once let him face gods and demons.

"Shadow Clone Jutsu," he whispered, forming the cross-seal with deliberate precision.

A puff of smoke erupted beside him. When it cleared, a single clone stood there—wobbly-kneed and slightly paler than the original, but unmistakably a success. The clone grinned, triumph lighting up its face.

"We did it!" they shouted in unison, high-fiving with childish enthusiasm that, for once, wasn't feigned.

The clone promptly dissolved into smoke.

Hikaru sighed. One clone, holding form for less than ten seconds—a far cry from the thousands he'd once summoned without breaking a sweat. But considering most adult shinobi struggled to create even one functional clone, it was impressive for a five-year-old civilian child.

"Your chakra control is improving," Kurama observed. "But your reserves are still developing."

"I know," Hikaru mumbled, dropping onto a fallen log. "At this rate, I'll be thirty before I can use Rasengan again."

"Patience, kit. This body must grow naturally. Push too hard, and you'll damage your chakra network permanently."

Hikaru blew out a frustrated breath, watching a leaf spiral down from the canopy above. He caught it mid-descent—a small victory for his developing reflexes.

"Time," he said, twirling the leaf between his fingers. "That's what I need to figure out next. Exactly when am I, and what's happening in the shinobi world right now."

Standing, he dusted off his simple homespun pants and moved to the center of the clearing again. This time, he sat cross-legged on the ground, closed his eyes, and extended his senses outward—another exercise he practiced daily.

In his prime, Naruto had been able to sense chakra signatures across vast distances. Now, Hikaru strained to detect anything beyond a few hundred meters. But it was enough to ensure no one was watching him—and occasionally, to detect passing shinobi on the distant trade road.

Today, luck was with him. Three chakra signatures moved along the road to the east—disciplined, controlled, definitely shinobi. Hikaru gathered himself and sprinted through the underbrush, staying low and quiet as he approached the road.

Crouching behind a thick thornbush, he peered through the leaves at three figures walking at a civilian pace. Their headbands glinted in the dappled sunlight—the spiral leaf symbol of Konoha. Two men and a woman, chuunin or jounin by their vests, carrying scrolls rather than weapons—messengers, not hunters.

Hikaru strained his ears to catch snippets of conversation.

"—border patrol reported movement near Suna's territory—"

"—Hokage wants increased surveillance—"

"—rumors about the Kazekage's health—"

His heart leapt. Information! The mention of the Kazekage narrowed the timeline. If they were discussing the Third Kazekage's health, that meant—

"The Third Hokage's summit next month should clarify things," the female shinobi said, adjusting her pack.

Hikaru froze. The Third Hokage. Not the Fourth. Which meant Minato Namikaze hadn't yet been appointed Hokage. Which placed him approximately...

"Sixteen to seventeen years before your original birth," Kurama supplied, following his train of thought. "Before the Third Shinobi War reached its peak."

Hikaru's small hands clenched into fists. Earlier than he'd thought. The entity that sent him back had been generous with time—perhaps too generous. Years of waiting before the critical events he needed to change.

The shinobi passed, their voices fading as they continued down the road. Hikaru remained hidden, mind racing with implications.

If he was seventeen years before his original birth, that meant:

- Minato and Kushina were alive but not yet married

- Obito, Kakashi, and Rin were still children

- The Uchiha massacre was decades away

- Orochimaru likely hadn't yet defected

- The Third Shinobi War was brewing but hadn't fully erupted

This changed everything. His original plan—to prevent key tragedies like his parents' deaths and the Uchiha massacre—would need to be completely revised. He had more time, but also more variables. More opportunities for things to go catastrophically wrong.

"Hikaru! HIKARU!"

His mother's voice, distant but panicked, snapped him back to his current reality. Scrambling to his feet, he raced back toward the village, mind still churning with revelations.

"Where have you been?" Mei demanded when he burst from the tree line, her face pale with worry. "I've been calling for ages!"

"Sorry, Mom! I was chasing a rabbit and got lost," he lied smoothly, adopting his most contrite expression.

Mei's fear transformed into exasperation. "How many times have I told you not to go into the forest alone? There are wild animals, bandits—" She pulled him into a fierce hug. "Don't scare me like that."

Guilt twisted in Hikaru's stomach. These people genuinely loved him, had raised him for five years now. Yet here he was, lying to them daily, planning to eventually leave them behind. The collision of his adult mind and child's emotions created a confusing tangle of loyalties.

That night, after a dinner punctuated by Kazuo's gentle lecture about forest safety, Hikaru lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind far from sleep.

"I need a proper training regimen," he whispered to Kurama. "If I'm going to be useful when the time comes, I can't waste these years."

"Agreed," the fox rumbled, more alert than he'd been in months. "But your new parents are becoming suspicious of your abilities. The broken floorboard this morning was careless."

"I know, I know." Hikaru rolled onto his side, watching moonlight filter through his window. "I need to be more subtle. Train at night, maybe. And I need information—real information, not just scraps overheard from passing shinobi."

"What you need is a plan. You can't simply wait here for seventeen years."

Hikaru nodded, determination hardening his childish features into something older, fiercer. "First, I master the basics again. Chakra control, physical conditioning, the fundamental jutsu. Then, when I'm ready..."

"Konoha," Kurama finished for him.

"Konoha," Hikaru agreed. "But not yet. I'd be too conspicuous—a five-year-old civilian with advanced chakra control? The Yamanaka would be in my head before I could say 'believe it.'" He smiled wryly at the old catchphrase. "No, I need to wait until I'm at least seven or eight. Old enough that prodigy status won't seem impossible."

"And your new parents?"

The smile faded. "That's... complicated."

Sleep eventually claimed him, dreams filled with two sets of parents—one lost, one found—and the weight of futures yet to be written.

---

Seasons changed. Hikaru turned six, then seven, growing like a weed despite his disciplined training regimen. Each night, after his parents slept, he slipped from the house to practice in his forest clearing—pushing his small body to its limits, then pushing further.

By day, he maintained his cover as a bright but ordinary child. He made friends with village children, helped with chores, and only occasionally slipped and demonstrated knowledge or skills beyond his years.

It was during the winter of his seventh year that everything changed.

The village market bustled despite the cold, farmers hawking winter vegetables, hunters selling rabbit and deer, merchants displaying goods from distant towns. Hikaru trailed behind his mother, carrying a small basket already half-filled with turnips and dried beans.

"Can we get sweet buns?" he asked, spotting the bakery stall—a childish request that wasn't entirely an act. His adult mind might remember sophisticated tastes, but his child's body still craved simple pleasures.

"If you behave," Mei smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We need to get thread first, and—"

Her words cut off as screams erupted from the village entrance. People scattered, baskets and goods abandoned as they fled toward the residential area.

"Bandits!" someone shouted. "Bandits at the gate!"

Hikaru's heart rate spiked, adrenaline flooding his system with familiar urgency. His mother grabbed his arm, already turning to run, but Hikaru stood rooted, assessing the situation with combat-honed instincts.

Six men on horseback thundered into the market square, crude weapons gleaming. The village had no formal defense force—just a few farmers with pitchforks forming a pathetic line across the square, already breaking as the first rider charged.

"Hikaru, come on!" Mei tugged desperately at his arm.

"Go, Mom," he said, voice suddenly devoid of childish inflection. "Get somewhere safe."

"What—"

Before she could finish, Hikaru twisted free of her grasp and darted toward an overturned cart, ignoring her horrified scream. He couldn't stand by while innocent people were hurt—not when he had the skills to help, however diminished.

From behind the cart, he assessed his options. Direct combat was out of the question—his seven-year-old body simply lacked the mass and reach. But chakra...chakra could even the odds.

A bandit cornered a young woman against a wall, blade raised. Without hesitation, Hikaru gathered chakra in his feet and launched himself forward—not with the blinding speed of his former self, but fast enough to appear as a brown-haired blur.

His small fist, charged with precisely controlled chakra, connected with the bandit's kidney. The man crumpled with a strangled cry, weapon clattering to the cobblestones.

"Run!" Hikaru told the woman, who stared at him in shock before fleeing.

The other bandits noticed their fallen comrade, attention swinging toward the child who had somehow taken down a grown man.

"What the hell?" their leader growled, a scarred brute with missing teeth. "Get the brat!"

Two riders broke off, charging toward Hikaru with swords drawn. Time seemed to slow as combat instincts took over. Hikaru's hands flashed through familiar seals—Snake, Ram, Monkey, Boar, Horse, Tiger.

"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"

The technique—one he'd copied from Sasuke a lifetime ago—emerged as a mere fraction of its potential power. Instead of the roaring inferno that could incinerate trees, a basketball-sized flame shot from Hikaru's mouth, striking the ground before the charging horses.

It was enough. The animals reared in terror, throwing their riders to the ground with bone-jarring force.

The village square went silent save for the panicked whinnying of horses. Villagers peered from hiding places, eyes wide with disbelief. The remaining bandits hesitated, suddenly uncertain about attacking what had appeared to be an easy target.

Hikaru stood in the center of the square, small chest heaving, hands still raised in a defensive position. Despite his exhaustion—the fireball had drained nearly half his available chakra—he forced his face into the most intimidating expression a seven-year-old could manage.

"Leave," he commanded, his high-pitched voice somewhat undermining the threat. "Now."

The bandit leader's face contorted with rage and humiliation. "You little demon!" he snarled, spurring his horse forward, sword raised for a killing blow.

Hikaru gathered his remaining chakra, preparing for a technique that would almost certainly render him unconscious—but before he could move, a blur of green intercepted the charging bandit.

The leader flew from his saddle, crashing into a market stall with splintering force. His sword embedded itself in the ground, quivering.

Where the bandit had been, a man now stood—tall and lean, wearing the distinctive flak jacket of a Konoha jounin. Silver hair caught the winter sunlight as he turned, revealing a young face with sharp features and intelligent eyes.

Hikaru's breath caught. Not just any jounin—Sakumo Hatake. The White Fang of Konoha. Kakashi's father.

A man who, in the original timeline, would commit suicide after being dishonored for choosing his comrades over a mission. A man whose death would shape Kakashi's rigid adherence to rules, setting him on a path of isolation and grief.

A man who was very much alive right now, casually disarming the remaining bandits with fluid grace that made combat look like dance.

"Is everyone alright?" Sakumo called when the last bandit lay groaning on the ground. His voice was warm, confident—so similar to Kakashi's but lacking the perpetual boredom his son would later affect.

Villagers emerged cautiously, murmuring in relief and gratitude. Mei burst from the crowd, running straight to Hikaru and wrapping him in a bone-crushing embrace.

"What were you thinking?" she sobbed against his hair. "You could have been killed!"

Over her shoulder, Hikaru saw Sakumo's gaze fix on him—sharp and assessing, the look of a shinobi who had witnessed something unexpected. Deliberately, Hikaru let his shoulders slump, his expression becoming childlike again.

"I just wanted to help, Mom," he whimpered, infusing his voice with fear now that the danger had passed. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," she agreed, pulling back to check him for injuries. "How did you—what was that fire—"

"That," Sakumo interrupted, approaching with measured steps, "is an excellent question." He crouched before Hikaru, bringing their faces level. "That was impressive chakra control for someone so young. And untrained, from the looks of it."

Whispers rippled through the gathering crowd. Mei's arms tightened protectively around Hikaru.

"He's just a child," she said, a tremor in her voice. "He doesn't know what he's doing."

Sakumo's eyes—dark gray, kind yet penetrating—remained fixed on Hikaru. "That fireball suggests otherwise. Where did you learn that technique, young man?"

Hikaru calculated rapidly. Denial was pointless—too many witnesses. A partial truth, then.

"I saw a ninja do it once," he said, allowing a note of childish awe to enter his voice. "When we traveled to the big town for the harvest festival. I've been practicing ever since! Did I do it right? It was supposed to be bigger, I think, but—"

"You copied a C-rank fire technique by watching it once?" Sakumo's eyebrows rose. "And taught yourself to mold chakra?"

Hikaru rubbed his neck sheepishly—a gesture carried over from his past life. "Is that strange? I just... felt the energy inside me and figured out how to use it."

Sakumo straightened, turning to address Kazuo, who had pushed through the crowd to reach them. "Your son has extraordinary potential. Natural talent like this appears once in a generation, if that."

Kazuo's expression darkened, one arm going around Mei's shoulders. "He's our son, not a weapon for Konoha."

"Dad!" Hikaru protested, with genuine indignation. "I want to learn more! I want to be a ninja!"

The words hung in the winter air, a declaration that couldn't be taken back. Kazuo's face fell, as though he'd been expecting but dreading this moment for years.

Sakumo watched the family dynamic with shrewd eyes. "I understand your concerns," he said to Kazuo. "But talent like this will emerge whether it's trained or not. Without proper guidance, he could hurt himself or others accidentally." He gestured at the broken cart where Hikaru had unleashed his fireball. "Today was lucky. Next time might not be."

Murmurs of agreement rose from the villagers. They had seen both the danger and the protection Hikaru's abilities could provide. The complicated emotions on their faces told a story—fear of the power, gratitude for its use in their defense, worry about what it meant for one of their children to be so different.

"We need to discuss this as a family," Mei said firmly, rising to her feet with Hikaru still clutched to her side. "Thank you for your help with the bandits, shinobi-san, but this decision isn't yours to make."

Sakumo inclined his head respectfully. "Of course. But I'll be in the village until tomorrow, securing these bandits for transport to proper authorities. If you'd like to speak further..." He produced a scroll from his vest pocket, offering it to Kazuo. "Information about Konoha's Academy. Should you decide his gifts should be nurtured."

Kazuo took the scroll reluctantly, as though it might burst into flames. Nodding stiffly, he guided his family through the dispersing crowd, back toward their small cottage at the village edge.

The walk home passed in tense silence. Inside, Kazuo carefully closed the door before turning to face Hikaru, his expression unreadable.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the table.

Hikaru complied, mind racing through scenarios. This confrontation had come years earlier than he'd planned, but perhaps it was for the best. A nudge from Sakumo Hatake—a man he might be able to save—was an unexpected advantage.

"How long?" Kazuo asked, voice tight. "How long have you been practicing... whatever that was?"

"Fire Release," Hikaru supplied automatically. "Um, a couple of years? Since I was five, I guess."

"Five," Mei whispered, sinking onto a cushion. "All those times you disappeared into the forest..."

Hikaru nodded, genuine remorse coloring his features. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought you'd be mad."

"We're not mad," Kazuo said, though his white-knuckled grip on the back of a chair suggested otherwise. "We're terrified. Do you have any idea what happens to children with gifts like yours? They become soldiers. They fight in wars. They die."

The raw pain in his voice confirmed Hikaru's suspicions about his adoptive parents' past. They'd lost someone to the shinobi world—someone precious.

"I don't want to die," Hikaru said quietly. "I want to protect people. Like I did today."

"You're seven years old!" Mei burst out. "It's not your job to protect anyone!"

"But I can," Hikaru insisted, letting some of his true self show through the child's facade. "I'm good at it. And I'll get better with training."

Kazuo and Mei exchanged looks—the silent communication of long-married couples that conveyed volumes without words. Finally, Kazuo unrolled the scroll Sakumo had given him, spreading it on the table.

"The Academy accepts students as young as eight," he read, voice flat. "With special exceptions for exceptional talents." He looked up. "Is this really what you want? To leave us, leave everything you know, for a life of violence?"

The question hit harder than Hikaru had expected. These people had raised him, loved him, created a safe haven for his second childhood. Leaving them would hurt—both them and him. But staying meant abandoning his mission, abandoning all the people he'd returned to save.

"I don't want to leave you," he said honestly. "But I need to do this. I can feel it—" he pressed a hand to his chest, "—in here. This is my path."

Mei began to cry silently, tears tracking down her cheeks. Kazuo's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"We always knew you were special," he said softly. "From the day you were born. The way you looked around, so alert. The way you never cried unless you needed something. As though you understood everything."

If only you knew, Hikaru thought.

"We'll talk to the Konoha shinobi tomorrow," Kazuo continued, each word clearly painful. "But you need to understand—this is a one-way journey. Once you enter that world, there's no coming back to the simple life we have here."

Hikaru stood, circling the table to embrace his parents—these good people who had loved him without reservation, despite the strangeness they'd sensed in him. "I'll always come back to you," he promised. "No matter what."

Later, as moonlight once again filtered through his bedroom window, Hikaru stared at the ceiling, processing the day's events.

"The White Fang," Kurama mused. "An unexpected ally. His suicide is still years away, if my timeline calculations are correct."

"A chance to change things earlier than we planned," Hikaru agreed. "If I can save Sakumo, I might prevent Kakashi from becoming so... Kakashi."

"Your entry to Konoha will draw attention. A civilian-born child with advanced chakra control and knowledge of jutsu."

"I'll need a cover story. Something believable." Hikaru rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "I can play the part of a self-taught prodigy. Claim I learned from books and observation."

"And when they ask you to perform techniques you shouldn't know?"

"I'll be careful. Stick to basic jutsu at first, nothing that would raise too many alarms." He paused, considering. "The Third Hokage will be suspicious no matter what. I'll need to be prepared for questioning."

"Yamanaka mind techniques could expose everything."

Hikaru grimaced. "I'm counting on you for that, furball. If they try to enter my mind—"

"I'll shield your memories," Kurama confirmed. "Though it will be... unpleasant for the Yamanaka in question."

A smile tugged at Hikaru's lips. "Just don't eat them."

He fell asleep planning contingencies, the path to Konoha—and all its potential pitfalls—unfolding in his dreams.

---

Morning brought snow and resolution. Hikaru packed a small bag while his parents spoke with Sakumo Hatake in their modest sitting room. The voices drifted up through the floorboards—his father's reluctant questions, his mother's occasional soft sobs, Sakumo's patient explanations.

Hikaru folded a hand-knitted sweater Mei had made him, tucking it carefully into his pack. These small treasures—physical reminders of love—were things the original Naruto had never possessed. He wouldn't take them for granted.

When he descended the stairs, three solemn faces turned toward him. Sakumo, now seeing him with professional assessment rather than battlefield confusion, seemed even more intrigued.

"Your parents have agreed to let you enter preliminary training," the jounin said, choosing his words carefully. "Not a full commitment to the Academy yet, but an evaluation period in Konoha. If, after three months, you still wish to become a shinobi—and if your instructors believe you have the necessary aptitude—then we can discuss formal enrollment."

A compromise. Hikaru nodded seriously, though inwardly he was already calculating how best to use these three months to establish himself.

"When do we leave?" he asked, adjusting the pack on his small shoulders.

"Today," Sakumo replied. "I've completed my mission, and since Konoha lies on my return path, the Hokage has authorized me to escort you."

Mei stepped forward, kneeling to adjust Hikaru's collar with trembling hands. "We've packed food for the journey," she said, voice steady despite the redness around her eyes. "And some money—not much, but enough for emergencies."

"I'll be okay, Mom," Hikaru assured her, reaching up to touch her cheek. "I promise."

The farewell was quick but emotional. Kazuo's bear hug lifted Hikaru off his feet. Mei kissed his forehead, whispering prayers and admonitions to be careful, to write often, to remember he always had a home with them.

Then they were walking away from the only home this new body had known, following the White Fang of Konoha toward a future that diverged ever further from the timeline Naruto had lived before.

"So," Sakumo said once the village disappeared behind them, forest closing around the narrow road. "That was quite a technique yesterday. Where did you really learn it?"

Hikaru blinked up at the jounin, momentarily startled. "I told you. I saw a ninja use it and copied it."

Sakumo's mouth quirked upward. "And I pretended to believe you because your parents were upset enough already. But we both know that's not how jutsu work. Fire Release is one of the more complex chakra transformations. Academy students train for years to produce even a spark."

Hikaru mentally kicked himself. Of course Sakumo wouldn't buy such a flimsy explanation. Time to adapt.

"I found a scroll," he improvised, injecting just the right amount of childish defiance into his tone. "In a merchant's cart last year. It had pictures and instructions. I... borrowed it."

"You stole a jutsu scroll," Sakumo translated, sounding more amused than disapproving.

Hikaru shrugged, scuffing his foot against the snowy path. "I was gonna give it back. But then I tried the jutsu and it worked, and I got excited and...um...accidentally burned the scroll."

Sakumo laughed, the sound startlingly similar to Kakashi's rare chuckles. "Well, at least that explains something. Though it doesn't account for your chakra control, which is..." he paused, searching for an appropriate word, "...unusual for your age and background."

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds their footsteps and the occasional bird call. Sakumo moved with the effortless grace of a predator—like his son would one day—while Hikaru had to occasionally jog to keep up with the jounin's longer strides.

"Am I in trouble?" Hikaru finally asked.

Sakumo glanced down, expression softening. "No. But you're a puzzle, Hikaru. And shinobi are trained to solve puzzles."

"I'm just a kid who wants to learn cool jutsu," Hikaru insisted, widening his eyes innocently.

"Hmm." Sakumo's noncommittal response spoke volumes. "We'll see what the Academy instructors make of you."

The journey to Konoha would take three days at civilian pace. By nightfall, they'd made good progress, stopping at a small wayside inn where Sakumo was apparently known. The innkeeper greeted him warmly, casting curious glances at his young companion but asking no questions when Sakumo requested a room with two beds.

After a simple dinner, Hikaru sat cross-legged on his bed, watching Sakumo clean his legendary white light chakra sabre—the weapon that would one day give him his famous moniker.

"Can I ask you something, Sakumo-san?" he ventured.

The jounin looked up, hands never pausing in their methodical maintenance. "Of course."

"What's it really like? Being a shinobi?"

Sakumo considered the question with appropriate gravity. "It's duty and sacrifice," he said finally. "It's knowing you have the power to protect what matters, and the burden of using that power wisely." His eyes—so like and unlike Kakashi's—studied Hikaru with penetrating intelligence. "Why do you want this life, Hikaru? Truly?"

The directness of the question caught Hikaru off-guard. In his previous life, adults had rarely bothered to ask Naruto such things, assuming his dream of becoming Hokage was childish fantasy or attention-seeking.

"Because," he began, then paused, weighing his words carefully. "Because I can feel this power inside me, and I know it's meant for something important. Not just showing off or fighting, but helping people. Protecting them." He met Sakumo's gaze steadily. "I think that's what power is for."

Something flickered in the White Fang's expression—surprise, perhaps, or recognition.

"An unusual perspective for one so young," he observed quietly.

Hikaru shrugged. "My dad says I was born old."

Sakumo's laugh was unexpected and genuine. "I believe it." He sheathed his sabre with a metallic whisper. "Get some sleep, Hikaru. We've got a long journey ahead."

In the darkness later, as Sakumo's even breathing indicated sleep, Hikaru lay awake, mind churning with possibilities. Saving Sakumo Hatake hadn't been in his immediate plans—he'd expected to arrive in Konoha years later, closer to the critical events he needed to change. But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

"Opportunity rarely announces itself," Kurama rumbled in his mind. "This could be advantageous."

"Or dangerous," Hikaru whispered back. "I'll need to be careful not to change too much too soon."

"Some ripples are inevitable. What matters is directing the current."

Philosophical foxes. Just what he needed.

The next two days passed in companionable travel. Sakumo, Hikaru discovered, was nothing like the rigid, rule-bound shinobi his son would become following his death. This Sakumo told jokes, shared (appropriately censored) mission stories, and patiently answered Hikaru's questions about chakra theory and village politics.

By the third day, as they crested a final hill, Konoha came into view—sprawling and vibrant, nestled against the Hokage Monument bearing only three faces. Hikaru's breath caught at the sight. Home, yet not home. Familiar yet strange, smaller than he remembered but somehow more alive.

"Welcome to Konohagakure," Sakumo said, a note of pride in his voice. "The Village Hidden in the Leaves."

Hikaru's steps faltered momentarily as emotions crashed through him—grief for what was lost, hope for what might be saved, and a bone-deep longing for the people who had once been his precious bonds. Somewhere in this village, Minato and Kushina lived, young and alive and unaware that their fate had already been altered by a time traveler who was, paradoxically, their unborn son.

"It's big," he managed, the understatement nearly making him laugh despite the lump in his throat.

Sakumo rested a hand on his shoulder—an unexpectedly comforting weight. "It can be overwhelming at first. But you'll find your place here, Hikaru. I have a feeling about you."

The gates loomed before them, chunin guards straightening as they recognized the White Fang. Papers were presented, formalities observed. Hikaru passed through the massive gates with his heart thundering in his chest, stepping once again into the village that had been both his greatest joy and deepest sorrow.

Konoha bustled around him—civilians shopping, shinobi leaping across rooftops, street vendors calling their wares. The familiar-yet-different landscape of buildings spread before him, notably missing the Hokage faces of Tsunade, Kakashi, and himself. Missing the destruction of Pain's attack. Missing the legacy of the Fourth Hokage.

A clean slate.

"I'll take you to the Academy first," Sakumo was saying, guiding him through streets that teemed with life and possibility. "The instructors will want to assess your abilities immediately."

Hikaru nodded, only half-listening. His senses—already sharper than a normal child's—strained to absorb everything. Every face he passed might be someone he once knew, or someone who had died before he ever met them.

A flash of yellow caught his eye—a young man with spiky blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, walking alongside a red-haired woman whose laughter carried across the street. Hikaru stumbled, his composure cracking for the first time since leaving his adoptive parents.

Minato and Kushina. Young—perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Not yet married. Not yet the Yellow Flash and the Red-Hot Habanero in their prime. But unmistakably his parents.

Sakumo caught him before he could fall. "Steady there. Are you alright?"

"Fine," Hikaru managed, tearing his gaze away from the oblivious couple. "Just tired from the journey."

The White Fang's shrewd eyes followed Hikaru's earlier line of sight, noting the young couple now turning a corner. "Ah. Minato Namikaze and Kushina Uzumaki. Two of our most promising jounin."

"They look nice," Hikaru said lamely, struggling to keep his voice casual.

"They are. Perhaps you'll meet them someday, if your training goes well." Sakumo steered him toward a large building that Hikaru recognized instantly—the Konoha Ninja Academy. "For now, let's focus on getting you settled."

Hikaru allowed himself to be guided forward, his small hand clutched in Sakumo's larger one. Behind them, Minato and Kushina vanished from sight, unaware that their son-who-wasn't-yet-their-son had just taken his first steps toward changing their destiny.

I'll save you this time, Hikaru promised silently. Both of you. No matter what it takes.

Inside him, Kurama stirred, nine tails swishing with anticipation. "The game begins in earnest now, kit. Are you ready?"

As they crossed the threshold into the Academy—into his new life as a Konoha shinobi—Hikaru squared his small shoulders, blue eyes gleaming with determination that had once inspired armies.

"More than ready," he replied. "Believe it."

# Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past and Future

Morning light splintered through Konoha's canopy, dappling the Academy courtyard in gold and shadow. Hikaru—once Naruto Uzumaki, hero of the Fourth Shinobi World War—stood rigid before the entrance, gripping the straps of his backpack until his knuckles blanched. The building hadn't changed, yet everything had. No graffiti marred the walls. No swing hung from the old oak where a lonely boy had once watched other children go home to families. Different time. Different life.

"Ready?" Sakumo Hatake's hand settled on his shoulder, warm and steady.

Hikaru exhaled slowly. "Ready."

The Academy's hallways smelled of chalk dust and floor polish, the scents hitting him with a visceral wave of déjà vu. Children's voices echoed from classrooms—some familiar cadences that made his heart skip, though the words belonged to strangers.

Outside the Headmaster's office, Sakumo crouched to eye level. "Remember our story. Orphan from a border village. Self-taught from a scroll you found. Keep it simple."

"I know." Hikaru fidgeted with his civilian clothes, already mapping exit routes and defensive positions—habits ingrained from a lifetime of combat.

The Headmaster—a scarred chunin named Hiroshi with calculating eyes—studied Hikaru like a specimen under glass. "Sakumo-san tells me you can already perform Fire Release." His tone dripped skepticism. "Rather unusual for a civilian child."

Hikaru ducked his head in practiced modesty. "I just copied what I saw, Headmaster-san."

"Show me."

They moved to a training ground—a smaller version of the familiar Team 7 grounds where Kakashi had once tested them with bells. Hikaru centered himself, feeling dozens of eyes tracking his movements. Not just the Headmaster and Sakumo now—other instructors had materialized, drawn by whispers of a prodigy.

"Small," Kurama cautioned inside his mind. "Not too impressive."

Hikaru nodded imperceptibly, formed the seals with deliberate imperfection, and exhaled a fireball the size of a beach ball—respectable for a genin, extraordinary for a seven-year-old civilian.

Murmurs rippled through the watching instructors.

"Again," demanded the Headmaster. "But this time, try a basic Clone Jutsu."

Hikaru almost laughed. In his first life, that simple E-rank technique had been his greatest failure. Now, with his chakra control refined through two lifetimes of training, he formed a single perfect clone that stood beside him, matching his cautious smile.

The Headmaster exchanged glances with a silver-haired instructor. Something unspoken passed between them.

"The boy shows promise," the Headmaster conceded, turning to Sakumo. "We'll take him, with conditions. Initial probationary period. Accelerated placement with the second-year students, with supplementary lessons to fill knowledge gaps. Monthly evaluations."

Sakumo's hand settled on Hikaru's shoulder again—a gesture of victory and protection. "He'll exceed your expectations, Hiroshi-san."

As they left the office, paperwork completed and Academy uniform in hand, Sakumo guided him toward the village center. "You've made quite an impression."

"Is that good or bad?" Hikaru asked, watching a pair of ANBU flit across rooftops overhead. So many familiar faces hidden behind masks he couldn't see.

"Both." Sakumo's voice lowered. "Talent draws attention—not all of it welcome. I've arranged temporary housing for you in the shinobi dormitories. Simple quarters, but secure."

Hikaru nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of his situation. Here he stood, seven years old again, about to live alone in Konoha with no parents, no team, surrounded by ghosts of a future that might never happen. The déjà vu was suffocating.

Sakumo, misreading his silence, squeezed his shoulder. "It's a lot to take in. But you'll adjust quickly."

"I know," Hikaru said, with the certainty of someone who had done this before. "I always do."

---

The dormitory room was spartan but adequate—a bed, desk, small kitchenette, and bathroom. Far better than his first apartment had been. Hikaru arranged his meager belongings with methodical precision, placing his adoptive mother's hand-knitted sweater in the drawer like a talisman.

"Not exactly homey," he muttered, surveying the blank walls.

Kurama stirred within him. "Familiar, though."

Hikaru snorted. "At least there's no graffiti on the door this time."

That first night, he couldn't sleep. Konoha's ambiance filtered through the thin walls—distant laughter, shinobi leaping across rooftops, the gentle rustle of leaves that gave the village its name. Sounds of home that weren't quite right. Like a favorite song played slightly off-key.

He slipped from bed and padded to the window. The Hokage Monument loomed in the distance, three stone faces watching over the sleeping village. Only three.

"This is really happening," he whispered, pressing his palm against the cool glass. "We're back."

"And remarkably inconspicuous," Kurama replied sarcastically. "A seven-year-old orphan performing jutsu that most genin struggle with. Not suspicious at all."

"I'm working with what I've got," Hikaru hissed. "Besides, talented orphans are practically a Konoha specialty."

The fox snorted but didn't disagree.

Dawn found him already dressed and reviewing Academy scrolls, memorizing information he'd once failed to learn and forgotten to appreciate. This time would be different. This time, he wouldn't be dead last.

The Academy classroom buzzed with the energy of twenty eight-year-olds when Hikaru entered, trailing behind a chunin instructor named Koharu (no relation to the future elder, thankfully). Conversations stuttered to silence as curious eyes tracked him—a new addition, mid-term, wearing civilian clothes with an Academy badge hastily pinned to the collar.

"Class, this is Hikaru," Koharu announced. "He's joining us under special circumstances. Please make him welcome."

Hikaru scanned the faces automatically, looking for anyone he might recognize. No one. These children were a generation before his own—they would be adults by the time the Rookie Nine formed. Some might even die in the coming war before he was originally born.

The thought sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine.

"You can sit there," Koharu pointed to an empty seat beside a serious-looking girl with dark hair and amber eyes.

Hikaru slid into place, offering a tentative smile. "Hi, I'm Hikaru."

The girl regarded him with cool assessment that reminded him painfully of Sasuke. "Yōko," she replied finally. "You're the boy everyone's talking about. The civilian who breathes fire."

News traveled fast in Konoha, as always.

"It was a small fire," Hikaru demurred, falling easily into his role. "I got lucky."

Yōko's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Luck doesn't shape chakra."

Before he could respond, Koharu called for attention, launching into a lecture on chakra theory that Hikaru could have recited in his sleep. He made a show of taking notes, scribbling observations that looked diligent but were actually assessments of his classmates' abilities. Years of combat had taught him to read chakra signatures instinctively, and he could already tell which children had serious potential and which would likely remain genin their entire careers.

During taijutsu practice, he deliberately held back, allowing himself to be pinned twice before "accidentally" displaying reflexes that shouldn't belong to a seven-year-old civilian. Just enough to confirm the prodigy rumors without setting off alarm bells.

By lunchtime, he'd acquired a small following of curious classmates peppering him with questions.

"Where are you from?"

"How'd you learn jutsu without a teacher?"

"Is it true you beat up bandits?"

Hikaru fielded each question with careful half-truths, building his cover story one believable detail at a time. Orphan. Self-taught. Lucky. Just a regular kid who happened to have a knack for ninjutsu.

Days bled into weeks. Hikaru settled into Academy life with practiced ease, excelling in practical exercises while maintaining believably average scores in written tests. He made friends—not close bonds, but enough social connections to appear normal. He trained in public just enough to justify his rapid "improvement," while keeping his true abilities hidden during midnight sessions in the forest.

Sakumo visited occasionally, checking on his progress with an interest that went beyond professional duty. Hikaru welcomed these visits, carefully cultivating the mentor relationship. Saving the White Fang would be his first major alteration to the timeline—a test case for the ripples one life could create.

---

One month after his arrival, Hikaru sat cross-legged on the Academy roof during lunch break, eyes closed in apparent meditation. In reality, he was extending his senses throughout the village, a technique he'd mastered in sage training but now had to accomplish through sheer concentration without the benefit of sage mode.

That's when he felt them—two chakra signatures so familiar they made his heart stutter. Bright yellow flash like bottled sunlight. Crimson swirls with undertones of suppressed power.

His eyes snapped open. Minato and Kushina were approaching the Academy.

Hikaru scrambled to his feet, pulse hammering. Too soon. He wasn't ready for this encounter. What were they doing here? In the original timeline, they'd had no connection to the Academy until years later.

He peered over the roof edge and spotted them—Minato's sunshine hair unmistakable even from a distance, Kushina's red locks dancing like flames in the autumn breeze. They chatted with an instructor near the entrance, Kushina gesticulating emphatically while Minato smiled that gentle smile that had graced the Hokage Monument in another life.

"They're here for a demonstration," came a voice behind him.

Hikaru nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Yōko standing there, arms crossed.

"What?"

"Namikaze-san and Uzumaki-san," she clarified, nodding toward the pair. "They're here to demonstrate advanced chakra techniques for the third-year students. My brother told me." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You look like you've seen ghosts."

Hikaru forced his features into casual interest. "I've just heard stories about them. The Yellow Flash and the, uh..." He trailed off, realizing Kushina wouldn't have her Red-Hot Habanero nickname yet.

"The Sealing Expert," Yōko supplied. "Uzumaki-san is teaching my brother's class about fuinjutsu basics." She studied Hikaru with unnerving intensity. "You're weird, you know that? Sometimes you talk like you're our age, and sometimes..."

The warning bells in Hikaru's mind clanged louder. "Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes you talk like my grandfather." Yōko shrugged. "Ancient."

Before Hikaru could formulate a response, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Yōko turned toward the stairs, then paused. "If you want to watch the demonstration, they're using Training Ground C. Not that second-years are invited." With that parting shot, she disappeared down the stairwell.

Hikaru remained frozen, mind racing. It was too tempting—seeing his parents in their prime, before tragedy rewrote their story. But also dangerous. He wasn't ready for their scrutiny, wasn't confident in his ability to maintain his cover under their intelligent gazes.

"Avoid them," Kurama advised. "For now."

With supreme effort, Hikaru turned away from the railing and headed for class. The fox was right. There would be time for careful, planned encounters later. Rushing in emotionally was exactly the kind of mistake that could expose him.

But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

That afternoon, during shuriken practice, Hikaru felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He turned, fingers still gripping a practice shuriken, to find Minato Namikaze leaning against the fence that surrounded the training yard, observing the second-years with casual interest.

Their eyes met across the dusty ground. Something flickered in Minato's expression—curiosity, perhaps. The future Fourth Hokage straightened slightly, head tilting in that characteristic way that signaled his analytical mind had engaged.

Hikaru quickly looked away, heart thundering. Focus on the target. Act normal. He threw the shuriken with deliberately imperfect aim, letting it hit the outer ring of the target instead of the bullseye he could have struck blindfolded.

"Adjust your wrist angle," came a gentle voice beside him, and suddenly Minato was there, casually demonstrating the correct posture. "Like this. See the difference?"

Hikaru stared up at his father—not his father yet, just a young jounin with kind eyes and unimaginable potential. The words jammed in his throat.

"Go ahead, try again," Minato encouraged, seemingly unperturbed by the boy's silence.

With shaking fingers, Hikaru accepted another shuriken from the practice bin, adjusted his stance as suggested, and threw. The star embedded itself dead center in the target with a satisfying thunk.

Minato's eyebrows rose. "Perfect adjustment," he remarked. "Quick learner."

"T-thank you, sir," Hikaru managed, forcing himself to meet those familiar blue eyes without revealing the storm of emotions behind his own.

"Namikaze Minato," the jounin introduced himself, offering a hand that would one day seal the Nine-Tails inside a newborn son.

"Hikaru," he replied, taking the hand. The simple touch sent a jolt through him—this was real, not genjutsu, not dreams. His father, alive and breathing.

"Ah, I've heard about you," Minato said, interest sharpening in his gaze. "The civilian-born prodigy Sakumo brought in. He mentioned you had unusual chakra control for your age."

Of course Sakumo would talk about him. Shinobi gossip networks were more efficient than any intelligence agency.

"I just practice a lot," Hikaru deflected, painfully aware of his classmates' curious stares.

"Practice is important," Minato agreed, "but natural talent is nothing to downplay either. Keep working hard, Hikaru-kun." With a friendly nod, he moved on to observe other students, leaving Hikaru both relieved and bereft.

That night, alone in his dormitory room, Hikaru pressed his forehead against the cool wall, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

"I wasn't prepared," he whispered. "I thought I was, but seeing him so close..."

"You maintained control," Kurama rumbled. "But he noticed something. The Yellow Flash misses little."

"He's not the Yellow Flash yet," Hikaru corrected automatically. "Not fully. He's still developing the Flying Thunder God technique. Still building his reputation."

"Still dangerous to our plans if he becomes too curious."

Hikaru pushed away from the wall, pacing the small room. "Or useful. If I can earn his trust early..." He trailed off, possibilities blooming. Minato would eventually become Hokage. Having his ear could be invaluable for the changes Hikaru needed to implement.

"And Kushina?" The fox's voice held an edge when speaking of his former host. "She is an Uzumaki. Her sealing abilities might sense my presence."

"I'll be careful around her," Hikaru promised, though the thought of avoiding his mother—her vibrant laugh, her fierce protection—felt like ripping open barely-healed wounds.

His future interactions would need to be meticulously planned. Calculated. No matter how much his heart yearned for familial connection.

---

Weeks turned to months. Hikaru's reputation at the Academy solidified as a rare talent—not unprecedented in a village that had produced the likes of Orochimaru and Kakashi Hatake, but unusual enough to warrant special attention. He was assigned additional training with various chunin specialists, ostensibly to help him catch up on shinobi basics, but clearly designed to test the limits of his abilities.

Hikaru balanced carefully on the knife's edge—displaying enough talent to maintain his prodigy status without revealing the full breadth of his knowledge and skills. He developed training "accidents" where he would "accidentally" demonstrate advanced techniques, then feign exhaustion afterward.

His classmates regarded him with a mixture of awe, envy, and wariness. Only Yōko treated him normally, her sharp observations and blunt questions a refreshing counterpoint to the whispers that followed him through Academy hallways.

"You're doing it again," she remarked during a study session in the library, not looking up from her scrolls.

"Doing what?" Hikaru asked, genuinely puzzled.

"That thing where you pretend not to know the answer when Koharu-sensei calls on you, then write the perfect response on your homework." She finally looked up, amber eyes unnervingly perceptive. "Why do you do that?"

Hikaru shrugged, carefully casual. "I think better when I'm writing than when I'm put on the spot."

"Liar," she said without heat. "You're hiding how smart you are. I just can't figure out why."

Before he could fabricate a response, a shadow fell across their table. Hikaru looked up to find a tall figure with wild white hair and distinctive red facial markings grinning down at them.

"Hitting the books hard, I see! That's dedication for ya!" boomed Jiraiya, looking younger and less weathered than Hikaru remembered, but unmistakably the Toad Sage.

Emotion surged through Hikaru with such force that he had to grip the edge of the table to keep his hands from shaking. Jiraiya. His godfather. His teacher. The man whose death had been one of Naruto's deepest regrets.

"Quiet in the library!" hissed the elderly civilian librarian from her desk.

Jiraiya winked at the woman, who blushed despite her scowl. "Sorry, sorry!" he stage-whispered, then turned back to the children. "You must be Hikaru, right? Mind if I borrow you for a bit? Academy business."

Yōko's eyebrows shot toward her hairline, but she said nothing as Hikaru gathered his books with suspiciously steady hands.

"What kind of Academy business?" Hikaru asked as they left the library, falling into step beside the legendary Sannin. Every instinct screamed danger—Jiraiya's appearance was no coincidence.

"The interesting kind," Jiraiya replied cheerfully, steering them toward a secluded training ground bordered by dense forest. "I hear you're quite the prodigy. Fire Release at seven, exceptional chakra control, tactical thinking that impresses even veteran instructors."

Hikaru maintained a carefully neutral expression. "I just work hard, Jiraiya-sama."

The Sannin's step faltered, almost imperceptibly. "Oh? You know who I am?"

Mistake. Civilians—especially children—wouldn't recognize Jiraiya on sight. The Sannin were famous among shinobi, but not household names to ordinary citizens. Not yet.

"Everyone talks about the Legendary Sannin," Hikaru recovered smoothly. "White hair, red lines..." He gestured vaguely at his own face. "And you write books, right?"

Jiraiya preened slightly. "My literary reputation precedes me! Though my finest works are still in development." His expression shifted subtly as they reached the training ground, playfulness giving way to shrewd assessment. "So, Hikaru-kun. Show me what you can do."

It wasn't a request.

For the next hour, Jiraiya put him through increasingly demanding exercises—basic Academy jutsu, chakra control tests, even rudimentary sealing practices. Hikaru navigated the minefield carefully, performing well enough to justify his reputation but introducing strategic weaknesses and failures.

Throughout it all, Jiraiya maintained his boisterous façade, but his eyes missed nothing.

"Not bad, kid," the Sannin declared finally, as Hikaru panted from genuine exertion. "You've got talent, that's for sure. But talent only gets you so far." He dropped into a crouch, bringing their eyes level. "Know what really makes a great shinobi?"

"Hard work?" Hikaru ventured, echoing what Lee would have said.

"That too. But I was thinking of instinct." Jiraiya's voice lowered, losing its theatrical quality. "The gut feeling that tells you when something's not quite right. When a situation seems... off."

The air between them hummed with unspoken suspicion.

"Like finding a civilian kid who performs jutsu most genin struggle with?" Hikaru offered, meeting the Sannin's gaze steadily.

Jiraiya's laugh broke the tension. "Exactly like that! You're an interesting puzzle, Hikaru-kun." He ruffled the boy's hair with surprising gentleness. "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

It wasn't a threat, but it wasn't exactly reassuring either.

As Jiraiya sauntered away, hands clasped behind his head in that familiar pose, Hikaru released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The encounter confirmed what he'd suspected—his arrival had attracted high-level attention. First Sakumo, now Jiraiya. How long before the Hokage himself took interest?

"You need to accelerate your timeline," Kurama advised. "Establish connections with key figures before suspicion hardens into investigation."

Hikaru nodded slightly. The fox was right. It was time to be more proactive.

---

The Uchiha compound sprawled across Konoha's eastern quarter, a village within a village. High walls surrounded traditional buildings marked with the distinctive red and white fan. Guards—Uchiha police officers—stood at the main gates, Sharingan occasionally flashing as they scrutinized passersby.

Hikaru observed from a distance, perched in a tree across the street. The compound bustled with life—Uchiha of all ages going about their daily routines, children playing in courtyards, elders sitting in gardens. So different from the silent, bloodstained ghost town he remembered from his first life.

"They're still integrated," he murmured to himself. "Not isolated yet."

In the original timeline, tensions between the Uchiha and village leadership had grown over years, gradually pushing the clan to the village outskirts, both physically and politically. That process had apparently not yet begun—or at least, not visibly.

A small figure exited the main gate, drawing Hikaru's attention. A boy, perhaps four or five years old, with distinctive raven-black hair and serious eyes that would one day evolve into the Sharingan. He clutched an older woman's hand—his mother, presumably—and looked around with the intense curiosity of early childhood.

Fugaku and Mikoto's eldest son. Itachi Uchiha.

The boy who would become Sasuke's beloved brother, then his most hated enemy, then finally a hero whose sacrifice remained unknown to all but a few. Currently just a child, unburdened by the impossible choices that would eventually break him.

Watching the young Itachi, Hikaru felt the weight of foreknowledge like a physical pressure on his chest. So many tragedies stemming from one clan's isolation and pride. So many deaths that could be prevented with the right intervention at the right time.

But not yet. The Uchiha massacre lay over a decade in the future. More immediate concerns demanded his attention.

Slipping from his observation post, Hikaru made his way toward the administrative district. The real power in Konoha operated from the shadows—not just the Hokage, but the Council, and most dangerously, Root.

Finding Danzo would be difficult. The war hawk operated behind layers of secrecy and misdirection. But his influence could be traced through policy decisions and personnel movements. Public records—even heavily redacted ones—might reveal patterns.

The Konoha Archives occupied a squat, windowless building adjacent to the Hokage Tower. Civilians rarely had cause to enter, but Academy students were permitted limited access for research papers and history projects.

Hikaru approached the front desk with practiced innocence, assignment scroll in hand. The desk chunin—a bored-looking woman with rectangular glasses—barely glanced up from her own reading.

"Academy section is third floor, west wing. No jutsu allowed in the stacks. Return materials to the carts when finished." She stamped his scroll without waiting for a response.

Perfect.

The third floor contained sanitized histories and basic jutsu theory—nothing classified or particularly useful. But it provided excellent cover for Hikaru to map the building's layout, identifying security measures and restricted sections for future reference.

Three afternoons of reconnaissance yielded a promising discovery: the archive's ventilation system connected all floors, including the restricted sections. Small enough to be a tight fit for most adults, but perfect for a child with chakra-enhanced flexibility.

On his fourth visit, Hikaru waited until the archive was nearly empty, then slipped into a bathroom on the third floor. A quick henge transformed him into a perfect replica of a dust bunny, allowing him to roll unnoticed beneath the stalls to the maintenance closet. From there, it was a simple matter to remove the ventilation grate and squeeze into the system.

Navigating by memory and sound, he made his way to the second floor—where mission reports and Council minutes were stored. The ventilation exit placed him in a shadowy corner between tall shelves. He released the henge and moved silently through the stacks, scanning labels with practiced efficiency.

"Council Proceedings, Classified - Years 45-50" caught his attention. Perfect. The current year was 47 by Konoha's calendar, placing these records right in his target range.

The scroll was sealed, of course, but with a basic privacy jutsu rather than anything complex—designed to keep curious chunin out, not to defeat determined infiltration. Hikaru formed careful hand signs, applying just enough chakra to disrupt the seal without triggering any alarms.

The scroll unrolled to reveal neat columns of text, much of it redacted with black ink. But patterns emerged as he skimmed multiple sessions:

...request for increased surveillance of [REDACTED] denied by Hokage, overturned by Council vote 2-1...

...proposition to relocate Military Police headquarters outside village center tabled for future consideration...

...recommendation that Uchiha clan members be excluded from ANBU selection based on [REDACTED] rejected by Hokage, marked for reconsideration next session...

There it was. The first threads of suspicion being woven. Not yet the tapestry of paranoia that would eventually strangle the clan, but the beginning. And behind each restrictive proposal, the shadowy influence of Danzo's faction.

Hikaru carefully re-sealed the scroll and replaced it, his mind racing with implications. The process was starting earlier than he'd realized. Subtle political maneuvering that would eventually erupt into the Uchiha massacre was already underway, a quiet cancer growing in Konoha's body politic.

"This complicates matters," Kurama observed as Hikaru made his way back through the ventilation system. "The root causes run deeper than Danzo alone."

"But he's the catalyst," Hikaru whispered, emerging from the bathroom after confirming it was empty. "Remove him from the equation, and the reaction changes."

"Or someone else steps into his role. Power vacuums rarely remain unfilled."

Hikaru had no answer for that uncomfortable truth. He exited the archives with a legitimate scroll on chakra theory, his cover story intact but his mind turbulent with new information.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across Konoha as Hikaru walked back toward the Academy dormitories. His route deliberately took him past a small ramen stand—not Ichiraku, which wouldn't open for another few years, but a predecessor that occupied the same street.

The savory aroma of broth and noodles made his stomach growl, reminding him he'd skipped lunch for his archive expedition. On impulse, he ducked under the short curtains and hoisted himself onto a stool.

"One miso ramen, please," he called to the cook, fishing coins from his pocket.

"Make that two," came a cheerful voice as someone slid onto the stool beside him. "And I'm paying for the kid's bowl too."

Hikaru turned, already knowing who he would find. Red hair cascaded over shoulders clad in a jonin vest. Violet eyes crinkled at the corners as Kushina Uzumaki grinned at him.

"You're Sakumo's project, right? The civilian wonder-kid?" She extended a hand. "Uzumaki Kushina. Nice to meet ya!"

Hikaru stared at her outstretched hand, momentarily frozen. His mother. Right here. Alive and vibrant and exactly as he'd imagined from the brief encounters in his mindscape during the war. The words lodged in his throat, a tangled mess of emotions threatening to expose everything.

"Cat got your tongue?" Kushina teased, wiggling her fingers. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Usually."

With supreme effort, Hikaru took her hand, surprised by the calluses that spoke of hard training and harder missions. "H-Hikaru," he managed. "Nice to meet you, Uzumaki-san."

"Just Kushina is fine," she insisted as their ramen arrived, steaming and fragrant. "I've heard interesting things about you, ya know! Not many kids can pull off Fire Release without formal training."

She spoke exactly like he remembered—that verbal tic ("ya know!") that he'd inherited in his first life, the rapid-fire enthusiasm, the warmth that enveloped anyone in her orbit.

"I got lucky," Hikaru demurred, focusing intently on his ramen to hide the tremor in his hands.

"Luck, my foot! That's talent and hard work." Kushina slurped her noodles with gusto, somehow making the undignified action seem charming. "Minato mentioned meeting you at shuriken practice. Said you had unusually refined chakra for your age."

Of course she knew Minato had met him. They were probably already dating at this point in the timeline.

"Namikaze-san was very kind," Hikaru said carefully.

Kushina's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Kind, huh? That's one word for him. I've got plenty of others, ya know!"

Despite his nervousness, Hikaru found himself smiling. His mother's energy was infectious—had always been, according to those who'd known her in his original timeline.

"Are you two... together?" he asked, feigning childish curiosity while fishing for timeline confirmation.

Kushina's cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair. "Wha—! That's a pretty personal question from a squirt I just met!"

"Sorry," Hikaru backpedaled. "It's just, the way you talked about him..."

Her expression softened. "Yeah, we're together. Going on three years now." She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think he's working up the courage to propose. He's been practicing this serious speech in the mirror when he thinks I'm not around."

Hikaru nearly choked on his ramen. His parents' courtship—the behind-the-scenes details he'd never known, revealed so casually over noodles.

"That's... nice," he managed, reaching for his water glass.

Kushina studied him with unexpected intensity, head tilted. "You know, there's something familiar about you. Can't quite put my finger on it."

Alarm bells clanged in Hikaru's mind. Was some part of her—the mother's intuition that transcended logic—recognizing him?

"She senses me," Kurama growled. "My chakra resonates with hers. We need to leave."

"I should go," Hikaru said abruptly, pushing away his half-finished ramen. "Early training tomorrow. Thank you for the meal, Kushina-san!"

He hurried away before she could respond, heart hammering against his ribs. That had been too close. Kushina's sensory abilities combined with her connection to Kurama made her dangerously perceptive.

"Hikaru!" she called after him. "Come by the dango shop Tuesday afternoons if you ever want more free food! I'm usually there with Minato and some friends!"

He raised a hand in acknowledgment without turning, forcing himself to maintain a normal walking pace until he rounded the corner. Then he sagged against the wall, breath coming in short gasps.

"That was reckless," Kurama admonished.

"I know," Hikaru whispered. "But I needed to see her. To talk to her."

"You're growing attached. Again."

"They're my parents." The simple truth hung in the air between them.

"Not in this timeline. Not yet. And if you're not careful, never."

The rebuke stung, but Hikaru knew the fox was right. He couldn't afford emotional indulgence, not when the stakes were so high. Every interaction had to serve his larger purpose—saving the future by changing the past.

Yet as he made his way back to the dormitory, Kushina's bright laughter echoed in his memory, a bittersweet reminder of everything he'd lost and everything he stood to gain.

---

Months passed in a blur of Academy training, covert research, and careful relationship building. Hikaru established himself as a dedicated student with unusual talent but believable limitations. He formed cautious friendships with classmates, cultivating the image of a somewhat reserved but kind-hearted orphan determined to build a future for himself.

His Academy instructors gradually increased their expectations, pushing him toward more advanced techniques. Hikaru responded with strategic progress—impressive but not impossible, always maintaining the delicate balance between showcasing his "potential" and concealing his true capabilities.

Sakumo Hatake remained his most consistent adult connection, visiting at least weekly to check on his progress and occasionally bringing his son—a solemn four-year-old Kakashi who regarded everything with precocious intensity. The future Copy Ninja showed no recognition of Hikaru, of course, but something in the child's analytical gaze suggested he found the older boy interesting.

"Father says you can already use Fire Release," young Kakashi stated during one visit, his face serious above the small mask he'd already adopted. "Show me."

Hikaru grinned at the familiar demanding tone. Some things never changed, regardless of timeline. "Only if you show me what you're working on first."

Little Kakashi's eyes narrowed, but he eventually relented, demonstrating a perfect leaf-sticking exercise that most Academy students struggled with. His chakra control was already exceptional.

"Very impressive," Hikaru said sincerely. "You'll be joining the Academy early, I bet."

Pride flickered across what was visible of Kakashi's face. "Father says next year, if my training continues well."

Sakumo, watching this exchange with obvious affection, caught Hikaru's eye. "He's determined to surpass me before he turns ten," the White Fang confided with a wink.

"I'll succeed," Kakashi stated with absolute conviction.

Hikaru ruffled the boy's silver hair, earning an indignant squawk. "I believe you will."

These interactions with Kakashi and Sakumo formed the foundation of Hikaru's first major timeline intervention. The White Fang's suicide lay roughly two years in the future—a mission gone wrong, a choice to save comrades rather than complete objectives, and the subsequent disgrace that would drive a proud man to take his own life, leaving his son bitter and emotionally crippled.

Preventing that chain of events required subtle groundwork, laid carefully over months.

"How do you define a successful mission, Sakumo-san?" Hikaru asked one evening as they shared tea in his dormitory room.

The White Fang considered the question thoughtfully. "Completing the assigned objectives while minimizing casualties and collateral damage," he answered, the textbook response of an elite jounin.

"Even if the objectives and the safety of your team conflict?"

Something flickered in Sakumo's eyes—as though Hikaru had brushed against a thought that already troubled him. "That's the hardest choice a team leader can face," he admitted. "The mission parameters say one thing, but your heart says another."

"What does the Will of Fire say?" Hikaru pressed, invoking Konoha's central philosophy with deliberate casualness.

Sakumo stared into his tea. "The First Hokage believed that the village exists to protect the people, not the other way around. That our true mission is always the preservation of what matters most." His voice lowered. "But the shinobi world isn't always so idealistic."

"If protecting what matters means failing a mission objective... is that really failure?" Hikaru asked, voice innocent but eyes steady.

The White Fang's sharp gaze met his. "Those are complex thoughts for someone your age."

Hikaru shrugged. "I think about things. Being alone gives you time for that."

"Indeed it does." Sakumo set down his cup. "The village teaches us that the mission comes first, but..." He hesitated, then continued with quiet intensity. "If I had to choose between completing a mission and saving my comrades, I would choose my comrades. Every time. A mission can be attempted again. Lives cannot be replaced."

Exactly what he needed to hear—confirmation that Sakumo already held the conviction that would eventually lead to his fateful choice. Now Hikaru needed to ensure that when that choice came, the village's reaction would be different.

Seeds needed planting in multiple gardens.

With careful "coincidences," Hikaru engineered meetings with influential figures throughout Konoha. A research question that required visiting the Intelligence Division where Inoichi Yamanaka worked. A minor training injury that brought him to the hospital during Tsunade's rounds. A "wrong turn" in the Hokage Tower that led to a brief encounter with the Third Hokage himself.

Each interaction was brief but calculated to leave an impression—the unusual orphan with remarkable potential and unexpected wisdom. Each conversation subtly touched on themes of comradeship, loyalty, and the true meaning of Konoha's ideals.

Meanwhile, his official training progressed rapidly. By the six-month mark, Hikaru had been promoted to third-year classes despite being a year younger than his classmates. His taijutsu, while deliberately not at his peak, showed the refined technique of someone with years more training than his age suggested. His ninjutsu repertoire expanded to include water and earth techniques alongside his fire affinity.

Jiraiya appeared periodically, his "random" visits obviously coordinated to test Hikaru's developing abilities. The Toad Sage maintained his boisterous facade, but his tests grew increasingly sophisticated—designed to reveal not just skill but adaptability, creativity, and hidden potential.

"You know," the Sannin remarked after watching Hikaru perform a flawless substitution jutsu during one such visit, "you remind me of someone."

Hikaru's pulse quickened. "Who?"

Jiraiya squinted thoughtfully. "Can't quite put my finger on it. Something in the way you move. The way you think through problems." He shrugged expansively. "Probably nothing. Old age playing tricks on me!"

But his eyes remained sharp, evaluating.

The cat-and-mouse game continued—Jiraiya probing, Hikaru deflecting, both aware of the dance but neither acknowledging it openly. In another life, this man had been Naruto's mentor and surrogate grandfather. In this timeline, he was both potential ally and potential threat.

Late one night, nearly seven months after his arrival in Konoha, Hikaru sat on his dormitory roof, staring at the stars. The same constellations he'd gazed at with Team 7 during missions, with Jiraiya during training journeys, with friends during peaceful moments between wars.

"Time is moving too quickly," he murmured to Kurama. "And too slowly."

"We have years before the critical events," the fox reminded him. "The Nine-Tails attack is still nearly a decade away."

"But the groundwork needs to be laid now," Hikaru insisted. "Relationships built. Trust established. Subtle changes implemented that will accumulate over time."

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket—innocuous to any observer, but containing his evolving plans in a cipher of his own creation. Key events marked with timestamps. People to save. Tragedies to avert. Enemies to neutralize before they could inflict their damage.

The Nine-Tails attack that would kill his parents and orphan his original self.

The Uchiha massacre that would set Sasuke on his path of revenge.

Orochimaru's experiments and defection.

Pain's attack on Konoha.

The Fourth Shinobi World War.

All preventable, if he maneuvered carefully enough.

A shadow fell across the roof tiles beside him. Hikaru didn't need to look up to recognize the chakra signature.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, kid?" Jiraiya asked, settling beside him with a grunt.

"Couldn't sleep," Hikaru replied truthfully, slipping the notebook into his pocket with practiced casualness.

"Stars keeping you company instead?" The Sannin leaned back on his palms, face turned toward the night sky. "They're good listeners, but terrible conversationalists."

Hikaru smiled despite himself. "Better than some people."

"Ouch! And here I thought I was excellent company." Jiraiya clutched his chest in mock pain.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, the cool night air carrying distant sounds of Konoha's nocturnal rhythms. Hikaru sensed the conversation wasn't random—Jiraiya had sought him out specifically, away from observers.

"You know," the Sannin finally said, voice deceptively casual, "I've traveled all over the Five Nations. Met all sorts of interesting people. Some with unusual abilities. Some with unusual... circumstances."

Hikaru's muscles tensed imperceptibly.

"There was this one kid in Ame," Jiraiya continued, gaze still fixed on the stars. "Orphan. War refugee. Seemed ordinary at first glance. Turned out he had the Rinnegan." He chuckled softly. "Life's funny that way. Extraordinary things hiding in plain sight."

The reference to Nagato—who would eventually become Pain—wasn't subtle. Jiraiya was fishing, testing waters.

"Sounds like a story," Hikaru offered neutrally.

"Oh, it is." Jiraiya glanced sideways at him. "My point is, I've learned to spot patterns. To recognize when something—or someone—doesn't quite fit the expected mold."

Here it was. The confrontation Hikaru had been both expecting and dreading.

"Are you saying I don't fit, Jiraiya-sama?" he asked, deliberately wide-eyed.

The Sannin turned fully toward him now, playfulness setting aside like a discarded mask. "I'm saying you're a puzzle, Hikaru. A seven-year-old civilian who performs jutsu with chunin-level precision. Who speaks and thinks like someone three times his age. Who seems to know things he shouldn't."

Hikaru's mind raced through response options. Denial would only confirm suspicion. Partial truth might be safer.

"I have... dreams," he said slowly, choosing each word with care. "Sometimes they feel more like memories. Of techniques, of battles, of people I've never met." He met Jiraiya's gaze steadily. "I've had them since I was very small. My parents—my adoptive parents—thought I was just imaginative."

It wasn't entirely a lie. The memories of his past life could be framed as prophetic dreams or visions.

Jiraiya's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Dreams, huh? Detailed enough that you can reproduce jutsu from them?"

Hikaru nodded. "And other things. History. Places I've never been." He hesitated, then added, "People who feel important, but I don't know why."

"Such as?"

The question was casual, but Hikaru recognized the trap. If he named people he shouldn't know, he'd only deepen Jiraiya's suspicion.

"I don't know their names in the dreams," he deflected. "Just... feelings. Connections."

Jiraiya hummed noncommittally, but something in his posture suggested he wasn't entirely satisfied with the answer. "Dreams like that could be significant, Hikaru-kun. Perhaps even prophetic."

The suggestion that Hikaru might have some form of precognition was exactly the seed he'd hoped to plant—a plausible explanation for any future "predictions" or uncanny insights he might need to share.

"You think so?" he asked, infusing his voice with childlike wonder. "I thought everyone had dreams like that."

"Not everyone, no." Jiraiya rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Have you told anyone else about these dreams?"

"Just Sakumo-san. A little bit," Hikaru admitted. "He said I have an old soul."

Jiraiya barked a laugh. "That sounds like him." The Sannin stood, stretching expansively. "Well, it's late, and little prodigies need their sleep. But Hikaru?" His voice took on a rare seriousness. "If you ever have dreams that seem... urgent. Important to the village's safety. You come find me. Understand?"

"Yes, Jiraiya-sama."

As the legendary shinobi leapt from the roof into the darkness, Hikaru released a slow breath. The conversation had been a test—one he'd neither definitively passed nor failed. Jiraiya remained suspicious, but he'd also opened a door for Hikaru to potentially share "foreknowledge" without immediately raising alarms.

A small victory, but significant.

"Clever," Kurama acknowledged. "The dream explanation gives you flexibility."

"For now," Hikaru agreed. "But Jiraiya won't be satisfied with that forever. He's too sharp."

"Then we'd better make progress before he decides to dig deeper."

Hikaru nodded grimly, turning his gaze back to the stars. Somewhere in the village, his future parents were perhaps enjoying a quiet evening together, unaware that their fate—and the fate of the entire shinobi world—was being quietly rewritten by the son they hadn't yet conceived.

---

Nine months after his arrival in Konoha, Hikaru implemented his first major timeline alteration.

The opportunity presented itself during a routine Academy exercise—a simulated reconnaissance mission in the forests surrounding Konoha. Students were divided into four-person teams, each assigned to locate and retrieve a specific marked scroll while avoiding instructor "enemies."

Hikaru's team included Yōko and two other third-years with complementary skills. Their target: a scroll hidden near the village's eastern border.

As they moved through the forest, Hikaru's enhanced senses detected something the exercise planners couldn't have anticipated—real enemy chakra signatures, concealed but detectable to someone with his experience.

"Stop," he hissed, halting his team with a raised hand. "Something's wrong."

"What is it?" Yōko asked, instantly alert.

Hikaru closed his eyes, concentrating. "Three... no, four shinobi. Not Konoha. About two kilometers northeast."

His teammates exchanged skeptical glances.

"How could you possibly know that?" demanded Takeo, the team's self-appointed leader.

"I just... can sense them," Hikaru said, knowing how implausible it sounded. "Look, we need to alert the instructors. This isn't part of the exercise."

"Right," Takeo scoffed. "You just want to distract us so your friend Yōko can get the scroll first."

Hikaru's patience, tempered by two lifetimes but still limited, snapped. "Fine. You two continue the exercise. Yōko, your choice. But I'm reporting this."

Without waiting for a response, he leapt into the trees, channeling chakra to enhance his speed—far beyond what his Academy peers could match, but necessary given the circumstances.

He found an instructor—a chunin named Hayate who would one day die before the Chunin Exams invasion—monitoring another team's progress.

"Hayate-sensei!" Hikaru called urgently. "Intruders in the eastern sector! Four shinobi with concealed chakra!"

To the chunin's credit, he didn't dismiss the warning outright. "How do you know this, Hikaru?"

"I sensed them while my team was moving through quadrant six," Hikaru explained rapidly. "Their chakra feels... hostile. Not Konoha."

Hayate's eyes narrowed. "Stay here with this team," he ordered, making a quick hand sign that sent a small bird-like construct of chakra flying toward the village—a messenger jutsu.

"I can show you exactly where—" Hikaru began.

"You will stay here," Hayate repeated firmly. "This is not Academy business anymore."

Within minutes, ANBU shadows flitted through the trees, converging on the coordinates Hikaru had provided. The exercise was quietly concluded, students returned to the Academy with minimal explanation.

Hours later, as Hikaru sat in his dormitory pretending to study while actually monitoring the village's chakra fluctuations, a knock came at his door.

The Third Hokage stood in his hallway, pipe in hand, eyes crinkled with that deceptively grandfatherly expression that masked one of the sharpest minds in the shinobi world.

"Hikaru-kun," Sarutobi Hiruzen said warmly. "May I come in? I believe we have matters to discuss."

The Hokage settled into Hikaru's only chair, declining tea with a gentle wave. "I wanted to personally thank you for your actions today," he began, smoke curling from his pipe. "Your warning allowed our forces to intercept four Iwa scouts who had penetrated our border defenses. Quite impressive for an Academy student to detect what our patrols missed."

Hikaru bowed his head respectfully. "I just sensed something wrong, Hokage-sama."

"Indeed." The Hokage studied him thoughtfully. "Sensory abilities of that caliber are exceedingly rare, particularly in one so young. A natural talent, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure," Hikaru answered truthfully. "I've always been able to feel people's... energy. Emotions too, sometimes."

Not a lie. His empathic abilities had been part of what allowed him to connect with the Tailed Beasts and change so many hearts during the Fourth War.

The Hokage puffed his pipe contemplatively. "Such gifts should be nurtured, Hikaru-kun. I'm assigning you supplementary training with our sensory division three afternoons a week."

"Thank you, Hokage-sama." Hikaru bowed again, recognizing both the opportunity and the surveillance this represented.

"Your instructors speak highly of your progress," Sarutobi continued. "They believe you could graduate early, with the right preparation."

Hikaru looked up sharply. Early graduation would accelerate his timeline significantly, granting him greater freedom of movement and access to more information. But it would also place him under increased scrutiny as a genin.

"I would be honored," he said carefully, "though I still have much to learn."

The Hokage chuckled. "Humility, too. Refreshing in one with your talents." He rose, adjusting his robes. "One more thing, Hikaru-kun. The nature of the intelligence those scouts were gathering suggests increased activity from hostile villages. The peace we currently enjoy may be shorter-lived than we'd hoped."

The warning was clear: war clouds were gathering. The Third Shinobi War—the conflict that would make legends of Minato Namikaze and Kakashi Hatake, that would transform Obito Uchiha into a masked villain—was approaching.

After the Hokage departed, Hikaru paced his small room, mind racing with accelerated timelines and adjusted strategies.

"The war begins sooner than we anticipated," Kurama observed. "This could work to our advantage or against us."

"It means Kannabi Bridge is coming," Hikaru muttered. "The mission where Obito 'dies' and gives Kakashi his Sharingan. One of the critical turning points."

"You cannot be everywhere at once, kit. Choices will need to be made."

Hikaru sank onto his bed, head in his hands. "I know. But which ones?"

The question lingered, unanswered, as night fell over Konoha.

---

Spring blossomed into summer, bringing oppressive heat that baked Konoha's streets and sent civilians seeking shade. In training grounds across the village, shinobi continued their preparations regardless of temperature—the approaching conflict lending urgency to every drill and exercise.

Hikaru, now approaching his eighth birthday in this timeline, divided his time between accelerated Academy training, sensory division lessons, and his own covert research. The extra attention from village leadership was both useful and dangerous—it provided access to information and resources, but limited his freedom to operate unobserved.

His plan to save Sakumo Hatake advanced steadily. Through carefully orchestrated conversations with influential jonin and strategic "overhearing" of key discussions, Hikaru gradually shifted perceptions around mission priorities and the value of teamwork versus objective completion.

Small ripples at first—a comment here, a question there—but the narrative was changing. Where once the absolute primacy of the mission was unquestioned, now discussions of the Will of Fire increasingly included the protection of comrades as an equal priority.

The groundwork was being laid, but would it be enough when Sakumo faced his fateful choice?

On a particularly sweltering afternoon, Hikaru made his way to Training Ground Three—the same ground where Team 7 would one day take their bell test. Today it stood empty, perfect for what he had planned.

Ensuring no one was watching, he performed a series of hand seals and slammed his palm to the ground. "Summoning Jutsu!"

Smoke billowed, then dissipated to reveal... nothing.

Hikaru frowned. He'd been attempting to reconnect with the toads for weeks, with zero success. In theory, his chakra signature should be recognizable to them across timelines—the summoning contract transcended normal space-time limitations. But something was blocking the connection.

"The entity that sent us back," Kurama theorized. "It warned of limitations. Perhaps this is one."

"Or maybe Mount Myoboku simply doesn't recognize me in this form, with these reduced chakra levels," Hikaru countered, frustration evident in his voice. "I need allies, Kurama. People who know the truth, who can help without exposing us."

"Perhaps you're looking in the wrong direction," the fox suggested. "There are other summoning contracts."

Hikaru considered this. The toad contract was currently with Jiraiya, who would eventually pass it to Minato, who would pass it to Naruto. Attempting to sign it now would raise impossible questions.

"We need to think bigger," he muttered, pacing the training ground. "Or differently, at least."

A familiar chakra signature approaching the training ground cut his musings short. Hikaru quickly shifted to a basic kata, making it appear he was simply practicing taijutsu forms.

Kushina Uzumaki strode into the clearing, her long red hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She wore standard jonin gear with additions unique to her style—sealing scrolls attached to her belt, protective symbols subtly woven into her clothing.

"Thought I might find you here, ya know!" she called cheerfully. "You've got a reputation for training till you drop."

Hikaru completed his form before turning to face her. "Kushina-san. What brings you here?"

"Looking for you, actually." She approached, twirling a kunai absently between her fingers. "Word is you're quite the sensory type. Detected those Iwa scouts when even our barrier team missed them."

Hikaru shrugged, maintaining his cover story. "I just have good instincts."

"Sure, sure." Kushina's smile turned sly. "And I'm just a regular kunoichi."

Before he could respond, she moved—faster than most eyes could track—and pressed a small paper seal to his forehead.

Hikaru froze, recognizing the design instantly. A chakra suppression seal, but with unique modifications that suggested Uzumaki origin. Not dangerous, but definitely not standard Academy material either.

"What's this for?" he asked, keeping his voice steady despite his racing heart.

Kushina circled him slowly, violet eyes narrowed in concentration. "Just checking something. Don't worry, it's temporary."

The seal tingled against his skin, its effect subtle but unmistakable—a gentle dampening of his and Kurama's chakra, separating their signatures for easier individual analysis.

"She knows," Kurama hissed in alarm. "She senses me."

Hikaru maintained his composure with effort. "Kushina-san, if I did something wrong—"

"Nope, nothing wrong." She completed her circle, stopping before him with hands on hips. "Just confirming a hunch." With a casual flick, she removed the seal, tucking it into her pocket. "You've got interesting chakra, kid. Dense. Potent. Reminds me of someone."

The last words hung between them, loaded with unspoken questions.

"Who?" Hikaru asked, forcing innocence into his voice.

Kushina's smile turned enigmatic. "Me, actually." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Must be why I like you! Kindred spirits and all that."

Whether she actually suspected anything or was simply noting genuine similarities, Hikaru couldn't tell. But the encounter left him shaken. Kushina's Uzumaki heritage and status as Kurama's former jinchūriki made her uniquely qualified to sense anomalies in his chakra signature.

That evening, as he updated his timeline journal, Hikaru added a new note: Limit direct contact with K.U. until better control established. Risk of exposure too high.

Writing the words felt like carving them into his own heart. To be so close to his mother—to crave her presence, her laugh, her fierce protectiveness—yet need to maintain distance for the sake of the mission... it was a special kind of torture.

But the Nine-Tails attack was the linchpin of everything. If he failed to prevent his parents' deaths, all other victories would be hollow.

October 10th loomed in the distance—years away still, but approaching with the inevitable momentum of fate. A deadline written in blood and sacrifice. His deadline.

Hikaru closed the journal, securing it with both physical locks and chakra seals before hiding it beneath a loose floorboard under his bed. Outside, Konoha's lights twinkled against the velvet darkness, peaceful and unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon.

The storm he had returned to prevent, whatever the personal cost.