what if naruto was secretly hero like spiderman

# Chapter 1: The Transformation

The morning sun blazed over Konoha, its golden rays catching on the carved faces of the Hokage Monument. Four months had passed since Naruto Uzumaki's return from his two-year training journey with Jiraiya, and yet, some things remained stubbornly unchanged.

Naruto stood at the bridge where Team 7 often met, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the wooden railing. Sakura was running late. Kakashi was—well, Kakashi was always late. The familiar pattern should have been comforting. Instead, it scraped against his nerves like a dull kunai.

"Damn it," he muttered, kicking at a pebble and watching it splash into the water below. "Two years away, and it's like nothing's different."

But that wasn't entirely true. Things had changed. He'd grown stronger, faster, more disciplined. He'd mastered new jutsu, improved his chakra control, and even—occasionally—thought before he acted.

And still, the whispers followed him.

"There's the Nine-Tails kid."

"Keep your distance."

"I heard he almost killed a teammate once."

Naruto's fist clenched, then relaxed. He'd long ago learned to pretend he didn't hear them, but pretending didn't make the sting fade.

"Hey! Naruto!" Sakura's voice cut through his brooding. She jogged toward him, pink hair bouncing, her smile genuine but tinged with something else—caution, maybe. Even Sakura, his teammate who knew him better than most, sometimes looked at him with that careful distance in her eyes.

"You're late," he said, flashing his trademark grin—the one that hid everything. "I was about to send out a search party."

"Sorry," she replied, slightly breathless. "Hospital rounds ran long. Lady Tsunade had me practicing a new healing technique."

"Is Kakashi-sensei—"

"Going to be at least another hour? Probably." She leaned against the railing beside him, their shoulders almost touching but not quite. "He's debriefing with Lady Tsunade about those Akatsuki sightings near the Land of Rivers."

The mention of Akatsuki sent a familiar chill through Naruto's body. Another constant—the shadowy organization that hunted him for the beast sealed inside him.

"Any news?" he asked, working to keep his tone casual.

Sakura shook her head. "Nothing concrete. Just rumors." She studied him with those perceptive green eyes. "Are you okay? You seem... tense."

"I'm fine," Naruto lied easily, years of practice making the words sound almost true. "Just restless. Think I'll get some solo training in if Kakashi-sensei's going to be a while."

Sakura frowned. "Where are you going to train?"

A reckless idea sparked in Naruto's mind. "The Forest of Death."

"Naruto! That's—"

"Perfect," he finished for her. "Challenging terrain, no distractions, no villagers giving me the side-eye." The last part slipped out before he could catch it.

A flash of hurt crossed Sakura's face. "Not everyone—"

"I know," he said quickly. "I didn't mean you. Or our friends. It's just..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the frustration that had been building in him since his return. "I need to blow off some steam, that's all."

Sakura hesitated, then nodded. "Just be careful, okay? And be back for the mission briefing at four."

Naruto shot her a thumbs-up, already turning to go. "Believe it!" he called over his shoulder, the catchphrase automatic, a shield between his true feelings and the world.

---

The Forest of Death lived up to its name. Massive trees stretched toward the sky, their canopies blocking most of the sunlight, casting the forest floor in perpetual twilight. Poisonous plants, quicksand bogs, and predatory animals made it a perfect training ground for those willing to risk its dangers.

Naruto leapt from branch to branch, pushing himself harder with each jump. The physical exertion felt good, a welcome escape from the thoughts that had been plaguing him. His sandals barely touched each landing point before he was airborne again, a blur of orange and black against the forest's greens and browns.

"Shadow Clone Jutsu!" he called out, his hands forming the familiar sign.

A dozen copies of himself appeared around him, identical down to the determined set of his jaw. Without a word, they attacked. It was a brutal, chaotic melee, exactly what Naruto needed. He dodged, countered, employed every trick Jiraiya had taught him. Each clone that dissipated sent its memories back to him, allowing him to adjust his strategy in real-time.

But it wasn't enough.

"More!" he growled, creating another wave of clones. Sweat poured down his face, his muscles burned, but he couldn't stop. Not when there was this pressure inside him, building like a storm.

He didn't notice how deep into the forest he'd gone until he sent a clone crashing through a tangle of vines, revealing a clearing he'd never seen before. The clone vanished in a puff of smoke upon impact with a strange, pulsating mound at the center of the space.

Naruto froze, his remaining clones vanishing as his concentration broke. The mound was roughly the size of a small boulder, its surface covered in what looked like translucent, amber-colored paper. It hummed with energy that made the hairs on Naruto's arms stand up.

"What the hell...?" he whispered, approaching cautiously.

Inside the papery structure, movement caught his eye. Hundreds—no, thousands—of tiny, iridescent insects crawled over each other, their bodies glowing with faint chakra signatures.

Curiosity overcame caution. Naruto crouched beside the nest, studying the strange insects. They weren't like any he'd seen before—not even during his travels with Jiraiya. Each was no larger than his fingernail, with six legs that ended in sharp, hook-like appendages and bodies that pulsed with a blue-green light.

"Chakra insects?" he murmured. "Shino would probably know—"

A sharp crack interrupted him. The surface of the nest had split where his clone had impacted it, and the insects were now swarming toward the opening. Toward Naruto.

"Crap!" he yelped, scrambling backward. But he wasn't fast enough.

The swarm descended on him in an angry, buzzing cloud. Naruto swatted at them, trying to create a clone to distract them, but the insects seemed drawn to his chakra like moths to flame. Several landed on his exposed skin—arms, neck, face—their tiny legs finding purchase.

Then came the pain.

It started as pinpricks, dozens of them simultaneously, before erupting into a burning sensation that raced along his nerves like liquid fire. Naruto cried out, his back arching as the venom—or whatever it was—entered his system.

Vision swimming, he staggered to his feet and ran blindly through the forest. The world tilted and spun around him, trees blurring into streaks of color. His foot caught on a root, sending him tumbling down a steep embankment. He hit the bottom hard, the impact knocking what little breath remained from his lungs.

Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. The last thing Naruto saw before unconsciousness claimed him was a tiny, glowing insect crawling across the back of his hand, its mandibles still buried in his skin.

---

Naruto woke to the sound of dripping water. For one disorienting moment, he thought he was in the familiar sewer-like mindscape where the Nine-Tails dwelled. But the air was fresh, tinged with the scent of moss and earth, and the water was just a gentle rain filtering through the canopy above.

His entire body felt... different. Wrong, somehow. Like his skin had shrunk in the wash.

"How long was I out?" he groaned, pushing himself upright. The forest was darker now; he'd lost hours, at least.

The mission briefing. He'd missed it.

"Sakura's gonna kill me," he muttered, then winced as the sound of his own voice seemed to echo painfully inside his skull. Every sense felt dialed up to eleven—the dripping raindrops sounded like hammers, the forest smells were almost overwhelming, and he could see with perfect clarity despite the deepening twilight.

Naruto staggered to his feet, and immediately noticed another strange sensation. His balance felt... perfect. Better than perfect. It was as if some new instinct had awakened in him, making him hyperaware of his body's position in space.

"What did those bugs do to me?" he wondered aloud, examining his arms and hands. The bite marks were already fading—the Nine-Tails' healing factor at work, no doubt—but something else caught his attention.

Almost imperceptible changes in his skin texture, like thousands of microscopic barbs.

Frowning, Naruto placed his palm against the trunk of a nearby tree. When he tried to pull away, his hand stuck fast. Panic fluttered in his chest.

"What the—" He yanked harder, and his hand came free with a sound like tearing Velcro. "That's... new."

Experimentally, he placed his other hand against the bark. Same result. Then both hands. Both feet. In moments, Naruto found himself climbing the massive tree without using any chakra at all—his body simply adhered to the surface naturally.

Halfway up the trunk, an instinct he couldn't name made him leap. He expected to fall, but instead, his body twisted in mid-air with impossible agility. He landed on a branch twenty feet away, crouched in a position he'd never consciously learned, fingers splayed against the wood.

"Holy shit," he breathed, adrenaline and excitement coursing through him. He jumped again, further this time, and again his body seemed to know exactly how to move, how to land. It was exhilarating. He bounded through the forest canopy like it was second nature, each movement more confident than the last.

Then something else happened. As he prepared to jump a particularly wide gap between trees, Naruto felt a strange sensation at his wrists. He flicked his hand instinctively, and a thin strand of blue-white chakra shot from his palm, attaching to a branch ahead of him.

Naruto stared in disbelief at the glowing thread. It was stronger than it looked—he could feel that somehow—and it held firm when he tugged on it. Without thinking, he gripped the chakra thread and swung, letting out a whoop of surprise and delight as he arced through the air.

For an hour, maybe more, Naruto experimented with his new abilities in the deepening darkness of the forest. The enhanced senses. The adhesive skin. The perfect balance and agility. And most incredibly, the chakra threads that he could now produce at will, strong enough to support his weight and precise enough to target objects at surprising distances.

Eventually, reality reasserted itself. He was late—extremely late—and his teammates would be worried. More than that, he needed to figure out what was happening to him. Were these changes permanent? Were they related to the Nine-Tails somehow? Would they be seen as another reason to fear him?

That last thought stopped Naruto cold. The villagers already looked at him with suspicion because of what he contained. If they knew he was changing, becoming something even he didn't understand...

"I can't tell anyone," he decided, the exhilaration of discovery giving way to caution. "Not yet. Not until I understand it better."

As he made his way back toward the village, moving with his newfound grace through the treetops, a strange idea began to take shape in Naruto's mind. These abilities—they weren't the Nine-Tails' power. They were something new. Something that belonged just to him.

And maybe, just maybe, they were something he could use without the weight of his reputation hanging around his neck.

The first stars were appearing in the sky as Naruto reached the edge of the forest. In the distance, Konoha's lights glimmered like earthbound constellations. His village. His home. The place he'd sworn to protect, even when it didn't want him.

"Things are about to get interesting," Naruto murmured, a smile spreading across his face as he flexed his wrist, watching a thin strand of chakra dance between his fingers. "Believe it."

# Chapter 2: The Masked Hero Emerges

"Three break-ins this week alone! What are our taxes paying for if not protection?"

The merchant's voice carried across the bustling Hokage Tower lobby, cutting through the usual administrative hum like a thrown kunai. Naruto, slouched against the wall waiting for Sakura and Kakashi, couldn't help but eavesdrop. His newly enhanced hearing picked up every word with crystal clarity, turning the distant conversation into front-row theater.

"Please lower your voice, Himura-san," a harried desk chunin pleaded. "I understand your frustration, but with the Akatsuki threat and border patrols doubled—"

"So my family's livelihood doesn't matter because we're just civilians?" The merchant—Himura—slammed his palm on the desk. "My entire inventory of imported silks, gone! That's six months of income, vanished!"

Naruto's eyes narrowed. Three days had passed since his transformation in the Forest of Death, and he'd spent every waking moment secretly testing his new abilities. The strength of his chakra threads, capable of supporting ten times his weight. The adhesive properties of his skin, allowing him to scale the Hokage Monument in seconds flat. The precognitive sense that warned him of danger before it struck—a buzzing in his skull he'd come to call his "danger sense."

And now, an opportunity to use these gifts had literally walked through the door.

"Naruto!"

He blinked, the merchant's complaints fading as Sakura approached, her footsteps light but determined. A whiff of antiseptic and cherry blossom shampoo reached him before she did—another gift of his enhanced senses.

"You're actually early," she said, genuine surprise coloring her voice. "Are you feeling okay?"

He forced a grin, scratching the back of his head in feigned embarrassment. "Just trying to be more responsible, Sakura-chan. Pervy Sage would lecture me for hours about punctuality."

The lie came easily, though the truth was far simpler: he hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep. Every nerve ending buzzed with hyperawareness, his body humming with untapped potential.

"Well, miracles do happen," she teased, then lowered her voice. "About yesterday—where did you disappear to? Kakashi-sensei was worried."

"I lost track of time training," Naruto said, which wasn't entirely untrue. "Got home late and crashed."

Before Sakura could press further, Kakashi materialized beside them in a swirl of leaves, his visible eye curved in his trademark smile. "Good morning, team."

"You're only twenty minutes late," Naruto observed, checking an imaginary watch. "Who are you and what have you done with our sensei?"

Kakashi's eye narrowed slightly. "Sharp today, aren't we, Naruto?" Something in his tone suggested more than casual observation. "Lady Tsunade has a mission for us, but first..." He glanced meaningfully at the still-arguing merchant. "Seems Konoha has an internal problem."

Naruto feigned ignorance. "What's going on?"

"A series of break-ins targeting civilian businesses," Kakashi explained, steering them toward the stairwell. "Normally handled by the Military Police, but they're stretched thin with the increased security protocols."

"Aren't we too high-level for catching thieves?" Naruto asked, even as his mind raced with possibilities.

Kakashi shrugged. "Our mission is elsewhere. Border patrol near the Valley of the End—we leave tomorrow. But keep your eyes open around the village. Whoever's behind these robberies knows our security patterns."

The seed of an idea, planted when he'd overheard the merchant, began to sprout in Naruto's mind.

---

Midnight painted Konoha in brushstrokes of silver and shadow. Most shinobi—even the ANBU—patrolled predictable routes, leaving blind spots a clever thief could exploit. Blind spots Naruto now observed from his perch atop a water tower, the cool metal against his gloved fingertips.

The disguise had been the hardest part. He'd raided his closet, combining black shinobi pants with a dark blue, long-sleeved compression shirt. A weapons pouch strapped to his thigh contained smoke bombs and flash tags—nothing traceable to him specifically. Standard-issue black shinobi sandals covered his feet.

But it was the mask that had required true inspiration.

During his training trip, Jiraiya had taken him to a festival where artisans sold traditional masks. Naruto had purchased one on a whim—a stylized fox face, white with crimson markings. He'd modified it, adding a mesh panel over the eye holes that obscured his bright blue irises but allowed him to see perfectly.

"Kitsune," he whispered, testing the name he'd chosen for this new persona. A fox—sly, clever, quick. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Movement in the marketplace below caught his attention. Three figures, moving with the practiced stealth of trained shinobi but without chakra signatures that identified official Konoha personnel. One carried a large sack already bulging with stolen goods.

Naruto's pulse quickened. His first real test.

He launched himself off the water tower, free-falling six stories before shooting a chakra thread to a nearby awning. The sensation of swinging through Konoha's skyline sent adrenaline surging through his veins—terror and elation merged into something transcendent.

He landed silently on a rooftop above the thieves, crouching low to observe.

"Hurry up," one hissed, a woman with a voice like gravel. "The patrol passes in eight minutes."

"Relax," another replied, male, working on the lock of an upscale clothing boutique. "I could crack this in my sleep."

The third—taller, broader, clearly muscle—kept watch, shifting nervously.

Naruto took a deep breath. No shadow clones—too much his signature style. No rasengan—same problem. Just his new abilities and whatever natural talent for improvisation he possessed.

He dropped silently behind the lookout, tapping his shoulder. "Lose something?"

The man whirled, kunai drawn, but Naruto was already gone—flipped over him with acrobatic grace to land beside the lock-picker.

"What the—" The thief's curse cut short as Naruto's fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling.

"It's a shinobi!" the woman shouted, hands flashing through seals.

Naruto's danger sense flared. He leapt straight up as a wave of earth jutsu shattered the ground where he'd stood. Landing on the boutique's awning, he shot two chakra threads simultaneously—one snagging the woman's ankle, the other wrapping around the lookout's wrist.

With a powerful yank, he pulled them both off balance, sending them crashing into each other.

"Not a shinobi," Naruto called, his voice deliberately pitched lower than normal. "Not tonight."

The lock-picker had recovered, sending three shuriken whistling toward him. Naruto dodged with millimeter precision, each weapon sailing past where he'd been a heartbeat before. His body moved on instinct, a fluid grace he'd never possessed before the insect bites.

He countered with a chakra thread to the man's chest, using it to pull himself forward into a flying kick that sent the thief tumbling into a stack of crates.

The fight lasted less than two minutes.

When it ended, three unconscious thieves lay zip-tied in front of the boutique they'd attempted to rob, their sack of stolen merchandise beside them. Naruto—no, Kitsune—crouched on a lamppost above, admiring his handiwork.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent him scurrying into the shadows. A moment later, two Military Police officers rounded the corner, stopping short at the sight of the trussed-up criminals.

"What the hell?" one exclaimed.

Naruto suppressed a laugh, shooting a chakra thread to a distant rooftop and swinging away into the night. The rush was indescribable—better than any successful mission, better even than mastering a new jutsu.

For once, he'd helped without the burden of being Naruto Uzumaki, jinchūriki of the Nine-Tailed Fox. For once, his actions would be judged solely on their merit.

He liked it. A lot.

---

The next three nights established a pattern. After training with Team 7 during the day, Naruto would return home, nap until midnight, then slip out as Kitsune to patrol Konoha's vulnerable civilian districts.

Each night brought successes—two muggers caught in the act, a break-in foiled at an elderly couple's home, a child rescued from a fire before the emergency services arrived. Small victories that would never make ninja mission reports but meant everything to the civilians involved.

Word spread through Konoha's civilian quarters. A mysterious protector. A masked figure who appeared when needed most. Some said ANBU, others claimed a vigilante. A few whispered the name they'd heard: Kitsune.

By the fourth night, Naruto had grown bolder, confident in his abilities and the anonymity of his disguise. Which is why, when he heard about the Merchant Guild's shipment of rare materials arriving after hours, he decided to stake it out.

The Merchant Guild headquarters occupied a sprawling complex near Konoha's main gate—a walled compound housing offices, meeting halls, and most importantly, secure vaults for the most valuable goods passing through the village.

Kitsune perched on the roof of a neighboring building, the chilly night air biting through his outfit. His stakeout dragged past the two-hour mark with nothing to show but an increasingly stiff neck and numb fingers.

"Maybe I got bad information," he muttered, about to call it a night when his danger sense erupted like a lightning strike down his spine.

Below, shadows detached from deeper shadows—six figures moving with coordinated precision toward the Guild's service entrance. Not opportunistic thieves but professionals. The group moved with military discipline, maintaining visual contact while communicating through subtle hand signals that even Naruto's enhanced vision could barely track.

One approached the service door, hand glowing with chakra as they pressed it against the security seal. After a moment's resistance, the seal shimmered and died, the door swinging open silently.

"Okay, that's just showing off," Naruto whispered, impressed despite himself. Breaking a security seal without triggering any alarms required jōnin-level expertise.

He followed from above as the group entered the building, moving from rooftop to rooftop, occasionally using his chakra threads to bridge larger gaps. Through skylights, he tracked their progress toward the main vault—the probable location of tonight's shipment.

Inside the Guild hall, the infiltrators subdued two night guards with ruthless efficiency—nerve strikes that left them unconscious but alive. Four of the thieves positioned themselves as lookouts while two began working on the vault's formidable seal array.

Naruto considered his options. Six opponents, all with advanced skills, in an enclosed space. Direct confrontation would be suicide. But if he waited until they opened the vault and separated...

His planning screeched to a halt as a new complication arose. A young woman—probably an administrative assistant working late—emerged from a side office, a stack of papers in her arms. She froze at the sight of the intruders, papers slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to scatter across the floor.

"Shit," Naruto hissed as one of the lookouts lunged toward her.

No more time for planning. He crashed through the skylight, glass raining down as he landed in a crouch between the woman and her attacker. A chakra thread shot from his wrist, snagging the chandelier above, and with a powerful yank, he brought it crashing down onto two of the lookouts.

"Run!" he shouted to the woman, who stood paralyzed with shock.

The remaining four thieves recovered quickly, surrounding him in a practiced formation. One launched a barrage of senbon that Naruto barely dodged, the needles embedding in the wall behind him with enough force to suggest poison.

"Take him down," ordered one—clearly the leader, a tall figure with a voice distorted by some kind of vocal jutsu. "The shipment is priority."

Naruto backflipped onto a marble column as two attackers converged on his position, their coordinated strikes suggesting years of training together. His danger sense screamed continuously now, an overwhelming cacophony that made it hard to think.

He shot a chakra thread at a decorative shield mounted on the wall, yanking it free to use as an improvised weapon. The heavy metal disc caught one attacker in the chest, sending them sprawling.

"Who is this guy?" hissed one of the thieves. "ANBU?"

"Doesn't fight like ANBU," the leader replied, drawing a tantō with a blade that glinted oddly in the moonlight. "Too flamboyant."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Naruto quipped, launching himself into a spinning kick that connected solidly with another thief's temple.

Three down, three to go.

The fight intensified, driving deeper into the Guild hall. Naruto relied increasingly on his new abilities—sticking to walls to avoid attacks, using his chakra threads to swing from fixtures, trusting his danger sense to warn him of strikes he couldn't see.

He was winning—barely—when disaster struck. The administrative assistant hadn't fled as instructed but had hidden behind a column, watching the battle with wide eyes. The leader spotted her and changed tactics instantly, throwing their tantō not at Naruto but at the innocent bystander.

"No!" Naruto's body moved before his mind fully processed the threat, a chakra thread shooting out to deflect the blade. It worked—the tantō embedded in a wooden beam instead—but the distraction cost him.

A brutal kick connected with his ribs, sending him crashing into a display case. Glass shattered around him, slicing through his outfit in a dozen places. His mask slipped, momentarily exposing the lower half of his face before he could adjust it.

The woman had seen—had stared directly at him in that moment of vulnerability. How much had she glimpsed? Enough to recognize him?

No time to worry about it now. Two of the downed attackers had recovered, bringing the odds back to five against one. Naruto's ribs throbbed, his breathing labored. This was getting out of hand.

Time for a calculated risk.

"You want flamboyant?" he called, fingers forming a familiar seal behind his back. "I'll show you flamboyant."

He'd sworn not to use shadow clones as Kitsune—too distinctively Naruto—but he crafted just one, keeping it hidden in the rafters. As he engaged the thieves again, his clone worked silently above, untying a massive tapestry depicting the founding of Konoha.

At Naruto's signal, the clone released the tapestry, which unfurled like a descending wave, momentarily blinding the thieves. Naruto capitalized on the distraction, firing chakra threads in rapid succession to bind three of the attackers before they could react.

The leader, however, sliced through the restraints with another tantō, this one crackling with lightning chakra.

"Enough games," they snarled, hands blurring through seals.

Naruto's danger sense exploded with warning just as the floor beneath him liquefied into churning mud, threatening to drag him under. He leapt to a chandelier, swinging in an arc that launched him directly at the leader, leg extended in a flying kick.

The leader blocked, but the force drove them both through the Guild's front window in a shower of glass and splintered wood. They tumbled into the street outside, separating with battle-honed instinct to reassess.

But the commotion had drawn attention. Lights flickered on in nearby buildings. Shouts echoed from the direction of the Military Police station two blocks away.

The leader assessed the situation with cold calculation. "Retreat," they commanded. Smoke bombs detonated around them, obscuring the street in acrid gray clouds.

By the time Naruto's enhanced senses could penetrate the smokescreen, the thieves had vanished—along with any evidence of their attempted heist.

Military Police would arrive any second. The woman inside had seen part of his face. His outfit was torn, exposing skin that might reveal his identity.

Time to go.

With the last of his strength, Naruto shot a chakra thread to a distant rooftop and swung away from the scene, adrenaline barely masking the pain of his injuries. Behind him, the Merchant Guild stood in disarray—broken windows, shattered displays, unconscious guards—but its vault remained secure.

A partial victory, at best.

---

"—most daring attempt in years! Only foiled by the intervention of the mysterious Kitsune!"

Naruto winced as Sakura slapped the newspaper down on the table between them. His ribs—taped hastily in his apartment at 3 AM—protested the sudden movement.

"You've been quiet," she observed, sliding into the booth across from him at Ichiraku Ramen. "Not hungry?"

Naruto forced himself to slurp a mouthful of noodles, though even his beloved ramen tasted like cardboard through the fog of exhaustion. "Just tired," he managed. "Didn't sleep well."

That, at least, wasn't a lie. After dragging himself home from the Guild fiasco, he'd spent an hour picking glass from his hair and shoulders before collapsing for a measly two hours of sleep. Dawn had found him groggy, sore, and late for team training.

Sakura studied him with narrowed eyes. "You look like hell, honestly. Are you getting sick?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, attempting to project his usual boundless energy while his body screamed for rest. "What's all this about a 'mysterious Kitsune' anyway?"

Sakura's expression brightened with excitement. "You haven't heard? It's all anyone's talking about! Some vigilante in a fox mask has been stopping crimes all over the civilian district. Last night, he single-handedly prevented a major heist at the Merchant Guild."

"Sounds like an idiot with a death wish," Naruto grumbled, then caught himself. "I mean, shouldn't that be left to the professionals?"

"That's the thing," Sakura leaned forward conspiratorially. "Rumor has it he is a professional—maybe ANBU operating off-books, or even a jōnin testing new stealth tactics."

Naruto choked on his broth. "What makes them think that?"

"Witnesses say he can stick to walls without using chakra, shoot some kind of thread from his hands, and move faster than trained shinobi," Sakura explained. "Akemi Matsuri—she's the Merchant Guild assistant who saw him up close—told reporters he saved her life. Called him 'Konoha's guardian spirit.'"

Naruto's chopsticks slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. "She saw him up close? Like, his face?"

"Just the lower half, apparently. Mask got damaged in the fight." Sakura shrugged. "Enough for her to tell he's young, though—probably our age or a bit older."

Before Naruto could process the implications, a shadow fell across their table. Kakashi stood there, visible eye unreadable.

"Meeting at the Hokage Tower," he announced without preamble. "Now."

"But I haven't finished my ramen!" Naruto protested.

Kakashi's gaze lingered on him a beat too long. "It can wait. Lady Tsunade's orders."

The walk to the tower passed in uncomfortable silence, Naruto's mind racing with possibilities. Had the administrative assistant recognized him? Was his secret already blown, less than a week after discovering his new abilities?

The Hokage's office buzzed with activity when they arrived. Tsunade sat behind her desk, expression thunderous as she reviewed what appeared to be damage reports. Shizune hovered nearby, clutching Tonton to her chest with unusual tension.

More concerning were the others present: Ibiki Morino from Interrogation, two ANBU captains Naruto recognized by their masks, and the head of the Military Police.

"Ah, Team Seven," Tsunade acknowledged, gesturing them forward. "Good. We have a situation."

"The Merchant Guild incident?" Sakura asked.

"That's part of it." Tsunade steepled her fingers. "For the past week, an unknown individual has been operating in Konoha without authorization, engaging in vigilante activities across the civilian sector."

"The 'Kitsune' from the papers," Naruto supplied, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"Yes," Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "Initially, we weren't concerned—petty criminals apprehended, lost children found, minor heroics. But last night crossed a line. This 'Kitsune' interfered with what we now believe was a coordinated infiltration by foreign agents targeting sensitive materials."

Naruto's stomach dropped. "Foreign agents? Not just thieves?"

"Intelligence suggests a team from Hidden Stone," one of the ANBU captains interjected. "The Merchant Guild's shipment included rare earth elements used in advanced explosive tags—materials Stone has been unable to source due to our border restrictions."

"So Kitsune did you a favor," Naruto pointed out, unable to help himself. "Stopped them from getting the stuff."

"Or complicated an ongoing counterintelligence operation," Ibiki countered coldly. "We've been tracking this cell for weeks, gathering information on their network. Now they've scattered, taking their intelligence with them."

Tsunade silenced further debate with a raised hand. "The point is, we have an unknown element operating in our village during a time of heightened security. I want this vigilante identified and brought in. Immediately."

Naruto swallowed hard. "Don't you have more important things to worry about? Like the Akatsuki?"

"This is a matter of internal security," Tsunade snapped. "We cannot allow unauthorized individuals to interfere with village operations, regardless of their apparent intentions."

She turned to Kakashi. "Your team's border patrol mission is postponed. I'm reassigning you to lead the investigation into Kitsune's identity."

Naruto felt the blood drain from his face. His own sensei, hunting for him?

"Any leads so far?" Kakashi asked, his casual tone belied by the sharp focus in his visible eye.

"The witness described a male, likely 16 to 20 years old, physical build consistent with shinobi training," Ibiki reported. "Blond hair visible where the mask was damaged."

Naruto's hand instinctively rose to his signature blond locks before he caught himself, turning the movement into an awkward scratch of his neck.

"We're compiling a list of candidates from village records," Ibiki continued. "All blond male shinobi in that age range with the necessary skill level."

"Which means I'm probably on it," Naruto blurted, then scrambled to recover. "I mean, I fit the description, right? Blond, teenager, awesome ninja skills."

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him with varying degrees of suspicion and incredulity.

Tsunade broke the tension with a snort. "Uzumaki, your stealth skills are legendary—for being abysmal. Witnesses described Kitsune as 'graceful' and 'fluid.' Words I don't believe anyone has ever applied to you."

The insult stung, but relief washed through Naruto. His old reputation as a clumsy, loud-mouthed ninja was working in his favor.

"Besides," Kakashi added, his eye crinkling in what might have been amusement, "Kitsune was active during our team training yesterday evening. Unless you've mastered being in two places at once..."

Naruto forced a laugh. "Yeah, that'd be quite a trick, right?" Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the cool temperature of the office.

"Nevertheless," Tsunade continued, "I want this vigilante found before they further compromise village security or get themselves killed. Kakashi, your team will focus on nighttime patrols of the civilian districts. If Kitsune appears, apprehend him. Use force if necessary, but I want him alive for questioning."

"Understood," Kakashi nodded.

"Dismissed," Tsunade waved them away, already turning to the ANBU captains to discuss other security matters.

As Team 7 filed out of the Hokage's office, Naruto's mind raced. How could he continue as Kitsune with his own team hunting for him? Could he risk taking a break, knowing civilians might be hurt in his absence? Was his short-lived career as Konoha's guardian already over?

"Naruto, are you coming?" Sakura called from the hallway.

"Yeah, just a second." He jogged to catch up, schooling his features into his usual carefree expression.

Kakashi eyed him thoughtfully. "We'll meet at the east gate at sunset to begin patrols. Get some rest before then, Naruto. You look... exhausted."

Something in Kakashi's tone—a subtle emphasis, perhaps—sent a chill down Naruto's spine. Did his sensei suspect? It seemed impossible, and yet...

"Sure thing, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto agreed with forced cheer. "I'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by sunset, believe it!"

As they descended the tower stairs, Naruto stared out a passing window at Konoha spread below, its streets and buildings bathed in midday sunlight. Somewhere out there, civilians were going about their day feeling a little safer because of what he'd done as Kitsune.

He couldn't give that up. Not yet.

But continuing meant deceiving his team, disobeying direct orders from the Hokage, and risking exposure of his new abilities—abilities he still didn't fully understand himself.

"What would you do, Pervy Sage?" he whispered, wishing his godfather were here to offer guidance.

The answer came not in Jiraiya's voice but in a memory of his own words, spoken long ago: "That's my ninja way—I never go back on my word!"

Kitsune would continue his patrols. And Naruto Uzumaki would have to become a better actor than he'd ever been before.

# Chapter 3: Rising Reputation

The needle pierced fabric with mechanical precision, guided by hands unused to such delicate work. Naruto bit his lower lip in concentration, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he completed another stitch. The apartment around him had transformed into a makeshift workshop—sketches plastered across walls, fabric samples draped over furniture, and a half-dozen ruined prototypes scattered across the floor.

"Damn it!" He pricked his finger for the eighth time that evening, a bright droplet of blood welling up instantly.

Two weeks had passed since his confrontation at the Merchant Guild. Two weeks of increasingly elaborate deceptions to maintain both identities. Two weeks of Team 7 hunting the very vigilante he became each night.

And his original costume was in tatters.

"This would be so much easier with shadow clones," Naruto muttered, sucking the injured finger. But using clones to craft his disguise would leave chakra residue, potentially traceable. Every aspect of Kitsune had to remain disconnected from Naruto Uzumaki.

The fabric beneath his fingers—a specialized material he'd "borrowed" from the shinobi outfitting department—rippled with subtle blue-black iridescence. Lightweight, durable, and most importantly, chakra-resistant. It would absorb rather than reflect his energy signature, making him harder to track.

A sharp rap at his door sent him scrambling, kicking materials under the bed and throwing a blanket over his workspace.

"Just a second!" he called, heart hammering as he stuffed the half-finished mask into a hollow ceiling tile—one of seven hiding places he'd created throughout his apartment.

Naruto swung the door open to find Sakura, her expression vacillating between concern and irritation. The hallway light caught in her pink hair, setting it ablaze against the darkening sky outside.

"You missed training," she said without preamble, brushing past him into the apartment. "Again."

"I was—" Naruto's mind raced for an excuse that wouldn't invite further investigation. "—practicing a new jutsu. Lost track of time."

Sakura's gaze swept the room, lingering momentarily on the blanket-covered worktable. "Must be some jutsu. This is the third session you've skipped this week."

"It's complicated," he offered lamely.

She stepped closer, clinical eyes examining his face. "You look exhausted, Naruto. There are circles under your eyes dark enough to pass for Gaara's."

The comparison startled a laugh from him. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse," she confirmed, her stern expression softening. "What's going on with you? And don't say 'nothing'—I've known you too long for that to work."

The genuine concern in her voice made lying even more difficult. Naruto slumped onto his couch, running hands through unkempt hair. "Just haven't been sleeping well," he admitted, offering a fragment of truth. "Nightmares."

Not a complete fabrication. The few hours of sleep he managed were plagued by dreams—the insect swarm engulfing him, Kakashi unmasking him before the village, civilians screaming as he failed to save them.

Sakura sat beside him, close enough that the scent of her shampoo—cherry blossoms and something medicinal—filled his enhanced senses. "About what?"

"The usual," he shrugged. "Akatsuki. The Nine-Tails. Not being strong enough when it matters."

Her hand found his, squeezing gently. "You should have said something. I could get you sleeping aids from the hospital."

"No!" The vehemence of his response surprised them both. Naruto backpedaled quickly. "I mean, thanks, but I don't want to be groggy if something happens. I'll be fine."

Sakura studied him, unconvinced. "Well, you should know—Kakashi-sensei's getting suspicious of your absences. Especially with all this Kitsune business heating up."

Ice crystallized in Naruto's veins. "What do you mean?"

"The vigilante's become something of a celebrity," she explained, leaning back into the worn cushions. "There's a civilian newspaper running daily 'Kitsune Watch' segments. Children are wearing fox masks in the streets. Someone even painted a mural of him on the side of the civilian library."

"Seriously?" Naruto couldn't suppress a grin.

"It's not funny," Sakura frowned. "Lady Tsunade's furious. Kitsune stopped another robbery last night—a jewelry store in the merchant quarter. Left five thugs hanging upside down from a street lamp with a note pinned to their leader's chest."

"A note?"

"'Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Kitsune,'" Sakura quoted. "The civilians ate it up. The shinobi council, not so much."

Pride and concern battled for supremacy in Naruto's chest. His alter ego was making a difference—tangible, undeniable impact. But at what cost?

"Any leads on who he is?" he asked, striving for casualness.

"Nothing solid. The investigation team has ruled out most of the blond shinobi on their initial list." A smirk tugged at her lips. "Including you, obviously."

"Me? Why would I be a suspect?"

"Because you fit the physical description, dummy," she laughed, tapping his forehead protector. "But Kakashi-sensei pointed out that Kitsune was spotted on the other side of the village during your ramen-eating contest with Choji last week."

Naruto silently blessed his shadow clone's performance at Ichiraku while he'd been stopping a warehouse arson across town. "Right! Totally impossible then."

Sakura rose, stretching arms overhead. "Anyway, I came to remind you we have patrol tonight. East district, eight o'clock sharp. Kakashi-sensei says if you're late again, he's recommending a psychiatric evaluation."

The threat, however idle, sent a chill through him. A medical exam might reveal his altered physiology.

"I'll be there," he promised.

Her hand rested momentarily on his shoulder. "Get some rest until then, okay? You're no good to anyone if you collapse."

After she left, Naruto returned to his sewing, fingers moving with renewed urgency. East district patrol meant Kitsune would need to operate elsewhere tonight. The southern civilian sector, perhaps—far from Team 7's searching eyes.

He held up his creation, analyzing the modifications. The new uniform was sleeker, the midnight blue material accented with crimson at the shoulders and down the sides. More importantly, it incorporated proper armor—lightweight ceramic plates protecting vital areas without sacrificing mobility.

The mask, too, had evolved. No longer a simple festival purchase, but a custom-built apparatus that protected his entire head. Built-in filters would prevent gas attacks, while the reflective eye lenses would conceal his distinctive blue irises completely.

"Let's see them catch me now," he whispered, admiring his handiwork with exhausted satisfaction.

---

"Extra! Extra! Kitsune saves family from burning building!"

The newspaper vendor's cries carried across the crowded marketplace, drawing a throng of eager civilians. Naruto paused his shopping, ears perking at the mention of his alter ego.

A week had passed since his conversation with Sakura, and Kitsune's reputation had only grown. Each night brought new opportunities to help, and civilians had begun looking to the shadows for their masked protector rather than waiting for official assistance.

Naruto drifted toward the newsstand, joining the crowd gathering around a young boy hawking papers with impressive lung capacity.

"Third rescue this week!" the kid continued, waving a paper emblazoned with a stylized fox mask illustration. "Read Matsuda-san's exclusive interview with the mother who says Kitsune appeared 'like a spirit' to save her children!"

Naruto fished coins from his pocket, exchanging them for the latest edition of "The Civilian Voice"—a previously obscure publication that had quadrupled its circulation since beginning its Kitsune coverage. The headline screamed across the front page: "KITSUNE: HERO OR MENACE? Council Condemns While Citizens Celebrate."

His eyes scanned the leading article, written by editor-in-chief Morino Ibuki:

"While the Hokage's office continues its campaign against Konoha's mysterious protector, ordinary citizens have embraced Kitsune as the champion they've long needed. 'The shinobi are busy with their wars and politics,' said Takara Ueno, whose jewelry store was saved from robbery last month. 'Kitsune looks out for regular people.' Sources within the administration refuse to comment on why village leadership remains hostile toward an individual who has demonstrably improved civilian safety. One must question whether Lady Tsunade's priorities truly include all residents of Konoha, or merely its ninja elite..."

Naruto winced at the inflammatory tone. The last thing he wanted was to create division between civilians and shinobi. That wasn't Kitsune's purpose.

"Pretty harsh stuff," a voice commented over his shoulder.

Naruto jumped, nearly dropping the paper. Shikamaru stood behind him, expression caught between amusement and calculation as he nodded toward the headline.

"Didn't mean to startle you," the shadow-user remarked, though his raised eyebrow suggested otherwise. "Interesting reading choice."

"Just curious," Naruto shrugged, folding the paper with forced nonchalance. "Everyone's talking about this Kitsune guy."

Shikamaru's eyes—always too perceptive—lingered on Naruto's face. "What do you think about him?"

The question carried weight beyond casual curiosity. Naruto chose his words carefully. "Seems like he's helping people who need it."

"By undermining the village's security protocols and chain of command," Shikamaru countered, falling into step beside Naruto as they left the newsstand. "Creating a separate system of justice outside official channels."

"Maybe official channels weren't getting the job done," Naruto shot back before catching himself. "For civilians, I mean."

Shikamaru's lips quirked. "Maybe." He stretched, gaze drifting toward the clouds. "The whole thing's troublesome, if you ask me. But I've been assigned to the investigation team, so my opinion doesn't matter much."

Ice crystalized in Naruto's stomach. "You're hunting Kitsune now?"

"Analyzing patterns," Shikamaru clarified. "Times, locations, methodology. Building a profile."

"Found anything?" Naruto couldn't help asking.

"Nothing conclusive." A hint of professional frustration crept into Shikamaru's voice. "His movements suggest intimate knowledge of Konoha's layout, including blind spots in ANBU patrol routes—so likely a village insider. But the fighting style doesn't match any known shinobi." He glanced sideways at Naruto. "It's almost like he's intentionally masking his real techniques."

Naruto nearly tripped over his own feet. "Weird," he managed.

"Very," Shikamaru agreed. "Whoever Kitsune is, he's not just strong—he's smart. Methodical. Building a persona distinct from his real identity."

They reached an intersection, and Shikamaru paused. "Anyway, gotta report to Intelligence. Try to stay out of trouble, Naruto." Something knowing flickered in his eyes. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

As Shikamaru ambled away, Naruto exhaled shakily. The net was tightening. How long before someone—Shikamaru, Kakashi, anyone—made the connection?

---

The training ground resembled a small war zone. Craters pockmarked the earth, trees lay splintered like matchsticks, and scorch marks scarred stone outcroppings. At the center of the destruction, Naruto stood panting, sweat streaming down his face in rivulets.

"Again," he gasped, hands forming a familiar seal. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"

Five perfect duplicates materialized around him, each dropping immediately into Kitsune's distinctive fighting stance—lower to the ground than Naruto's usual posture, arms held differently to facilitate chakra thread production.

"Remember," he instructed his clones, "no signature moves. No Rasengan. No mass clone techniques. Nothing that screams 'Naruto Uzumaki.'"

His duplicates nodded, understanding the stakes. For two hours now, they'd been drilling alternative fighting methods, incorporating his spider-like abilities with taijutsu styles borrowed from observation of other ninja. A bit of Lee's Leaf Hurricane here, some of Kakashi's efficient strikes there, all modified to utilize his enhanced strength and acrobatic capabilities.

"Go!" Naruto commanded.

The clones attacked simultaneously, moving with synchronized precision. Naruto leapt straight up, adhering to an overhanging branch before swinging around it like a gymnast. As he released, his body twisted mid-air, hands tracing complex patterns that sent chakra threads shooting toward two of his attackers.

The threads connected, wrapping around their ankles. With a powerful yank, Naruto sent them crashing into each other.

"Better!" he called out. "But still too recognizable!"

The remaining clones pressed their advantage while he was airborne. One launched kunai with pinpoint accuracy, while two others circled to flank him.

Naruto's danger sense flared—that tingling at the base of his skull warning of incoming threats. He contorted impossibly, the kunai passing harmlessly through the space where he'd been a heartbeat before. As gravity reclaimed him, he shot another thread to a distant boulder, changing his trajectory to land in a crouch atop it.

"You're still telegraphing your movements," he critiqued as his clones regrouped. "Kitsune needs to be unpredictable."

One clone scratched its head. "Maybe we should try combining the threads with—"

The distant sound of voices froze them all mid-discussion. Without command, the clones dispelled instantly, leaving Naruto alone in the devastated clearing, heart hammering against his ribs.

"—just over this ridge," a familiar voice carried on the wind. Kakashi.

Naruto scrambled to erase evidence of his specialized training. The crater pattern would be recognized as shadow clone practice, but the thread marks embedded in tree bark needed to go. He darted around the clearing, scraping away the telltale indentations with kunai before leaping to the treeline just as Kakashi and Guy emerged into the clearing.

"Enthusiastic youth!" Guy's booming voice echoed through the forest as he surveyed the destruction. "Someone's been training with impressive vigor!"

From his hiding spot, Naruto watched Kakashi kneel to examine a patch of disturbed earth, visible eye narrowed. "These are fresh," he noted. "Within the hour."

"One of your students perhaps?" Guy suggested. "The pattern suggests shadow clones—Naruto's specialty, is it not?"

Kakashi rose slowly. "Perhaps."

The subtle tension in his former sensei's shoulders sent warning signals through Naruto's system. He'd need to be more careful—find more remote training grounds, vary his schedule.

As the jonin continued their conversation, Naruto slipped away silently, new skills making his retreat imperceptible even to elite ninja. The close call only reinforced what he already knew: time was running out.

---

Evening descended on Konoha like a velvet curtain, streetlights flickering to life one by one across the village. From his perch atop the civilian hospital, Kitsune observed the shifting patterns of movement below—workers returning home, restaurants filling with dinner crowds, children being called in from play.

His new costume felt right against his skin, the reinforced material moving with him like a second skin. Three weeks of nightly patrols had honed his instincts, teaching him to read the rhythm of Konoha's civilian districts. He knew which alleys attracted trouble, which shops were vulnerable, which routes drunks took home from bars.

Tonight, however, something felt off. The normal energy of the evening carried an undercurrent of tension he couldn't place.

Kitsune tilted his head, enhanced hearing scanning for abnormalities. There—a child crying several blocks away, nothing unusual. Street vendors calling final sales—normal. But beneath it all, something else... a subtle disruption in the air itself, like the pressure change before a storm.

He launched himself off the rooftop, trusting instinct to guide him. Chakra threads shot forth, carrying him in sweeping arcs across the skyline. Civilians below pointed upward, some cheering at the now-familiar silhouette passing overhead.

"Kitsune!"

"Did you see that?"

"He's patrolling earlier tonight!"

The voices faded as he swung deeper into the maze of residential streets comprising the western civilian quarter. Here, modest family homes and small apartment buildings housed those who kept Konoha functioning—shopkeepers, teachers, cooks, cleaners. The backbone of the village.

As he traversed the area, the wrongness intensified. Kitsune paused on a water tower, crouching to extend his senses fully. The sound came again—not quite audible, more a vibration felt than heard. A disturbance in the natural chakra flow of the area.

His eyes narrowed behind reflective lenses. Someone was using chakra—powerful, malevolent chakra—nearby.

Kitsune followed the sensation like a bloodhound tracking a scent, moving with silent efficiency through the darkening neighborhood. The trail led to a modest two-story home set slightly apart from its neighbors, surrounded by a small garden. Nothing visibly amiss, yet the chakra disruption emanated from within like heat from a furnace.

He circled the perimeter, enhanced vision penetrating the gathering darkness. No lights burned inside despite the early evening hour. No movement visible through windows. The front door stood slightly ajar—a breach in the normal patterns of residential life that set alarm bells ringing.

Kitsune approached cautiously, every sense heightened to painful acuity. The porch boards didn't creak beneath his tread as he reached the entrance, listening intently. Nothing but that persistent wrongness in the chakra flow.

He pushed the door open with a fingertip, revealing a standard entryway, shoes neatly arranged, family photos lining the walls. Everything appeared normal except for the absolute stillness—and the metallic scent of blood.

His heart rate accelerated as he moved deeper into the home, following the coppery odor to the living room. The scene that greeted him seared itself instantly into memory.

A family—father, mother, two children no older than Academy students—arranged in a precise circle on the floor. Their bodies sat upright, eyes open but unseeing, expressions frozen in terror. At the circle's center, arcane symbols painted in still-wet blood formed a complex pattern.

Genjutsu. Powerful enough to freeze victims in place while the caster worked. And from the barely perceptible rise and fall of their chests, they still lived.

Relief flooded him momentarily, until he registered what this scene truly represented—preparation for a ritual sacrifice. He'd seen similar patterns in Jiraiya's scrolls warning of forbidden techniques.

"Admiring my work?"

The voice slithered from the shadows behind him, oily and amused. Kitsune spun, chakra threads ready at his fingertips.

A figure emerged from the hallway darkness—tall, emaciated, with skin pale as a corpse and eyes like burnt coals. The man wore standard shinobi attire, but the slashed forehead protector at his throat identified him immediately. Missing-nin.

"I don't often have an audience," the man continued, head tilting at an unnatural angle. "Though I've heard whispers about Konoha's masked defender. How... fortuitous."

Kitsune positioned himself between the intruder and the immobilized family. "Release them," he demanded, voice distorted through his mask's filter.

The missing-nin's smile revealed blackened teeth. "I'm afraid they're essential components, little fox. The blood of a complete family unit, harvested at the precise moment of terror—a catalyst for the most exquisite transformation."

"The only transformation happening tonight is you into a patient at the Konoha Strict Correctional Facility," Kitsune countered, falling into his combat stance.

The missing-nin sighed theatrically. "So provincial. Don't you recognize the opportunity before you? Shimura Kenji, former jonin of the Hidden Mist, master of blood transmutation jutsu. The knowledge I could share—"

"Not interested in your resume," Kitsune cut him off. "Last chance to surrender."

Kenji's expression hardened. "Bold words from a child playing dress-up."

Without warning, the missing-nin's hands blurred through seals, too fast for normal eyes to track. But Kitsune's enhanced perception caught each movement, recognizing the pattern of a flesh-manipulation jutsu an instant before completion.

He launched himself sideways as the floorboards beneath his previous position erupted in crimson spikes—blood from the symbols animating into solid, lethal projections.

"Impressive reflexes," Kenji noted, continuing his assault without pause.

The living room transformed into a death trap as blood from the ritual circle responded to the missing-nin's command, forming weapons that launched toward Kitsune from every direction. He twisted mid-air, contorting his body between the projectiles in movements impossible for normal human physiology.

One blood-spear grazed his shoulder, the material hardening on contact to slice through his reinforced costume. First blood drawn.

Kitsune landed in a crouch atop a bookshelf, assessing options. Direct combat in this confined space endangered the family. He needed to draw Kenji outside.

"For a 'master' of blood jutsu, your aim needs work," he taunted, launching himself through the front window in an explosion of glass.

The missing-nin took the bait, pursuing him into the front garden with a snarl of rage. "You interrupt years of planning, child! Do you have any concept of what I seek to accomplish?"

"Something psychotic involving hurting innocent people," Kitsune called back, leading him further from the house. "Bad guys aren't that original."

Fury contorted Kenji's features as he slammed his palm to the ground. "Blood Release: Crimson Hunting Pack!"

The earth trembled, then split as creatures formed from animated blood clawed their way to the surface—wolf-like constructs with gleaming ruby eyes and teeth like needles.

"Okay, that's new," Kitsune admitted as the pack circled, growling with voices like tearing silk.

They attacked as one, converging from all sides with unnatural speed. Kitsune leapt straight up, higher than humanly possible, shooting chakra threads to the nearest rooftop. As he pulled himself skyward, two blood-wolves followed, their forms stretching impossibly to pursue.

Kitsune twisted mid-air, hurling flash bombs that detonated among the creatures. The concentrated light disrupted their composition, causing two to dissolve into inert puddles. The rest regrouped, more cautious now.

Below, Kenji worked through another sequence of seals, expression contorted with concentration. Whatever technique he prepared, Kitsune couldn't allow its completion.

He fired three chakra threads simultaneously—one snagging a garden statue, another wrapping around a drainpipe, the third aimed directly at Kenji's chest. The missing-nin dodged the direct attack but failed to anticipate Kitsune's true strategy.

Using the threads as anchor points, Kitsune created a triangular slingshot, launching himself feet-first toward his opponent with devastating momentum. The impact sent them both crashing through a garden wall into the street beyond.

"Enough games," Kenji spat, blood trickling from his mouth as he rose from the rubble. "Blood Release: Crimson Armor!"

The blood from his injuries flowed outward, enveloping his body in a glistening carapace of hardened plasma. Reinforced with chakra, the living armor extended into wicked blades at his forearms and shoulders.

"You're not the only one with fancy tricks," Kitsune retorted, firing chakra threads at a street lamp.

Using it as a pivot point, he swung in a wide arc, building momentum before releasing at precisely the right moment. His body became a projectile, spinning into a devastating kick that connected with Kenji's armored chest.

Instead of resistance, Kitsune's leg sank into the blood armor, which liquefied on impact before resolidifying, trapping his limb. Kenji's triumphant laugh sent chills down his spine.

"Predictable," the missing-nin sneered, arm-blade rising for a killing stroke.

Kitsune's danger sense screamed. With no time to think, he channeled chakra through his trapped leg—not in threads, but in a powerful, concussive burst. The energy explosion shattered the blood armor, freeing him and sending Kenji staggering backward.

No time to recover. Kitsune pressed his advantage, launching into a combination of strikes he'd developed specifically for Kitsune's fighting style—a fluid sequence borrowing from multiple taijutsu forms but belonging to none.

Kenji, momentarily disoriented, failed to counter effectively. Each blow connected with precision, targeting pressure points and chakra nodes. The missing-nin's techniques required concentration and seal-formation; Kitsune allowed him neither.

"What—are—you?" Kenji gasped between impacts, blood armor failing to reform under the relentless assault.

Kitsune didn't answer, focusing entirely on neutralizing the threat. A final spinning kick connected with Kenji's temple, sending him crashing into a storefront. Glass shattered, alarms blared, and civilians who had gathered to watch from a distance cheered.

But victory came with complications. The commotion had drawn attention beyond civilian onlookers. Chakra signatures approached rapidly—shinobi on patrol, responding to the disturbance.

Kitsune bound the unconscious missing-nin with specialized restraints from his utility belt, designed to disrupt chakra flow. He worked quickly, aware that seconds remained before official forces arrived.

Just as he finished securing Kenji, a familiar chakra signature materialized nearby—unique, powerful, unmistakable.

Kakashi.

Kitsune straightened, turning to face his former sensei. The jōnin stood casually at the edge of the destruction zone, hands in pockets, visible eye assessing the scene with deceptive indifference.

"Interesting technique you used there," Kakashi remarked conversationally. "The chakra burst to escape the blood armor. Creative."

Beneath his mask, Naruto's blood ran cold. That particular application of chakra—raw energy expelled from chakra points—was something Kakashi had taught him during their training for nature transformation.

"Improvisation," Kitsune replied, voice modulator disguising any recognizable tones. "The family inside that house needs medical attention. Genjutsu victims."

Kakashi didn't move. "The medics are already en route. ANBU will secure the prisoner." His gaze intensified. "Which leaves the question of what to do about you."

Kitsune took a measured step backward. "I was just helping."

"By engaging an A-rank missing-nin alone? Without authorization or backup?" Kakashi's tone remained mild, but his posture shifted subtly—the stance of a predator preparing to pounce. "Brave, but reckless."

"Would you have preferred I let them die?" Kitsune challenged, calculating escape routes. "The official response was nowhere to be found."

"We had intelligence on Shimura Kenji's activities," Kakashi countered. "A task force was being assembled. Your intervention, while well-intentioned, disrupted a coordinated operation."

Kitsune gestured toward the house. "Tell that to the family who would've been sacrificed while your task force was 'assembling'."

The air between them crackled with tension. In the distance, more chakra signatures approached—ANBU reinforcements, most likely. Time was running out.

"The Hokage wants you brought in," Kakashi stated, shifting his headband to reveal his Sharingan eye. "I suggest you come voluntarily."

"Another time," Kitsune replied, tensing to move.

Kakashi sighed. "It never is 'another time' with your type, is it?"

He attacked with blinding speed—even by jōnin standards—appearing behind Kitsune in a flash. But against enhanced reflexes and precognitive danger sense, even Kakashi's legendary quickness wasn't enough.

Kitsune twisted impossibly, body contorting mid-air to avoid the strike aimed at his nerve cluster. Chakra threads shot from both wrists simultaneously—one creating distance between them, the other snagging his former sensei's ankle.

Kakashi, momentarily surprised by the counter, found himself pulled off-balance just long enough for Kitsune to land on a nearby wall, adhesive abilities keeping him attached to the vertical surface.

"Fascinating," Kakashi murmured, Sharingan eye cataloguing every movement. "That wasn't chakra control for wall-walking. You're actually adhering to the surface."

Kitsune didn't respond, aware that every second of observation gave Kakashi more data. He needed to end this encounter now.

With a flourish more theatrical than necessary—but essential for his persona—Kitsune fired multiple chakra threads to surrounding buildings, creating a complex web of glowing strands. Before Kakashi could intercept, he pulled himself into the network, swinging through it with acrobatic grace that defied normal human capability.

The chase that followed stretched across six blocks of Konoha's civilian district. Kakashi pursued relentlessly, anticipating trajectories with his Sharingan, cutting off escape routes with earth jutsu, nearly capturing Kitsune twice with lightning-fast interceptions.

But in the end, Kitsune's combination of enhanced abilities, intimate knowledge of the area's layout, and sheer desperate determination won out. A final, audacious swing carried him over the village wall into the surrounding forest, vanishing into the darkness beyond.

Kakashi stood atop the wall, watching the shadows where his quarry had disappeared. His exposed Sharingan had captured every movement, every technique, every nuance of Kitsune's fighting style.

"Interesting," he murmured, memorizing the patterns for later analysis. Something about those movements tugged at his memory—familiar yet altered, like a song played in a different key.

He turned away, heading back to report to the Hokage, unaware that in the forest below, Naruto Uzumaki was frantically changing out of his Kitsune costume, heart hammering with the closest call yet.

---

Kakashi's apartment was spartan by design—functional furniture, minimal decorations, nothing to suggest personality beyond a small shelf of Icha Icha novels. The jōnin sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers steepled beneath his masked chin as he reviewed the mental footage captured by his Sharingan.

Kitsune's movements played on loop in his mind—the impossible contortions, the adhesive abilities, the chakra threads. But beneath those flashy techniques lay something else, something that had bothered him since their encounter.

Fundamentals. The base fighting stance. The weight distribution during aerial maneuvers. The particular way Kitsune recovered from imbalance.

Kakashi had trained hundreds of shinobi during his career, each developing unique physical signatures as distinctive as fingerprints. And despite the obvious attempts to disguise it, something in Kitsune's foundational movements struck a chord of recognition.

A knock at his door interrupted his analysis. "Come in," he called, already knowing who it would be.

Tsunade entered without ceremony, closing the door behind her. "Your report said you nearly apprehended him."

"'Nearly' being the operative word," Kakashi acknowledged, rising to greet the Hokage. "He's remarkably effective at evasion."

"So I've noticed," Tsunade replied dryly, taking the room's only chair. "Three squads have failed to intercept him in as many weeks. Yet tonight, you came closest."

Kakashi shrugged. "I had the advantage of surprise. Next time, he'll be prepared."

"What's your assessment?" Tsunade's amber eyes fixed on him with characteristic intensity. "Now that you've seen him in action."

"Skilled," Kakashi answered thoughtfully. "Young, based on his movements and physique. The abilities are unlike anything I've encountered—the adhesion isn't chakra-based wall-walking, and the threads aren't puppet technique variants."

"A kekkei genkai?"

"Possibly, though none I'm familiar with." Kakashi paused, considering his next words carefully. "There's something else. His foundational movements—the unconscious patterns beneath the flashier techniques—they seem... familiar."

Tsunade leaned forward. "One of our shinobi?"

"I can't place it exactly," Kakashi admitted. "It's like seeing someone you know wearing a convincing disguise. You recognize something, but can't identify what."

The Hokage's expression darkened. "I don't like unknown quantities in my village, Kakashi. Especially with the Akatsuki circling and tensions rising with the smaller nations."

"With respect, Lady Tsunade, his actions so far have been beneficial. The missing-nin he apprehended tonight was preparing a ritual sacrifice that would have killed four civilians."

"That's not the point," she snapped. "We cannot have unauthorized individuals operating outside the chain of command. Today it's stopping criminals, tomorrow it could be something else entirely." She rose, pacing the small room. "The civilian reaction concerns me most. This... adulation. It undermines faith in official channels."

Kakashi remained silent, aware they were approaching political territory outside his purview.

"Double the patrol rotations," Tsunade ordered, moving toward the door. "I want Kitsune identified and brought in within the week. Use whatever resources necessary."

After she departed, Kakashi returned to his meditation, once again replaying the encounter in his mind. The pieces almost fit together—the physical patterns, the timing of Kitsune's appearances, the targets he chose.

A theory began to form, so unlikely he almost dismissed it immediately. And yet, when he considered the evidence...

"It couldn't be," he murmured to his empty apartment. "Could it?"

---

Naruto's reflection stared back at him from his bathroom mirror, hollow-eyed and exhausted. Fresh bruises from his encounter with Kakashi bloomed across his torso, joining older injuries not yet fully healed despite the Nine-Tails' accelerated regeneration.

The night's events played on repeat in his mind—the family he'd saved, the missing-nin he'd defeated, the chase across Konoha's rooftops. Victory tinged with the growing certainty that his double life was becoming unsustainable.

Kakashi had come too close. His former sensei knew him too well, had trained him too thoroughly to be deceived forever. The Sharingan missed nothing, especially patterns ingrained through years of practice.

"What am I doing?" he whispered to his reflection, pressing palms against the cool porcelain sink.

The question had no easy answer. As Kitsune, he'd saved lives that might otherwise have been lost—the family tonight, shopkeepers, children, ordinary citizens who fell through the cracks of Konoha's security network. He'd given civilians hope, a sense that someone watched over them specifically.

But the cost mounted daily. Deception of friends. Physical exhaustion. The constant fear of discovery. And now, active pursuit by the very people he respected most.

A soft tap at his window startled him from his thoughts. Hinata Hyūga balanced on his narrow sill, concern etched across her gentle features.

Naruto hastily pulled on a shirt, concealing the worst of his injuries before unlatching the window. "Hinata? What are you doing here?"

She slipped inside with graceful economy of movement. "I saw you r-returning from the forest," she explained, her stutter more pronounced when nervous. "You were limping. I was worried."

"I'm fine," he assured her automatically. "Just some training accidents."

Her pale, pupil-less eyes studied him with unsettling directness. "Naruto-kun, I—" She paused, gathering courage. "I know."

Two simple words that stopped his heart mid-beat. "Know what?"

"About Kitsune." Her voice dropped to a whisper despite them being alone. "I've known for a week."

The room seemed to tilt beneath his feet. "How?"

"The Byakugan." She tapped gently beside her eye. "During patrol with my team last week, I saw someone swinging through the marketplace using chakra threads. I activated my Byakugan to investigate and... recognized your chakra network. It's distinctive because of the Nine-Tails."

Naruto collapsed onto his bed, the weight of exposure crushing his chest. "Are you going to tell Lady Tsunade?"

Hinata's eyes widened in shock. "Of course not!" She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "I wanted to... to offer help."

"Help?" he repeated incredulously.

She nodded, a blush coloring her cheeks. "You're exhausted trying to maintain both identities. You need someone to create alibis, to cover for your absences, to tend your injuries."

"Why would you risk that?" Naruto asked, genuinely baffled. "The Hokage would—"

"Because I believe in what you're doing," Hinata interrupted, uncharacteristic determination hardening her voice. "And because..." The blush deepened. "Because that's what friends do."

Relief flooded him so suddenly he nearly laughed. "Friends," he echoed, testing the weight of the word.

"So," Hinata prompted, straightening her shoulders with newfound confidence. "Will you accept my help, Kitsune-sama?"

The honorific startled a genuine laugh from him. "Drop the 'sama' and you've got a deal."

Her answering smile illuminated features too often hidden behind shyness. In that moment, with the weight of his secret finally shared, Naruto recognized something fundamental about true heroism—it wasn't a solitary burden to be carried alone, but a responsibility best supported by those who shared one's values.

"Thank you, Hinata," he said quietly.

Outside, dawn painted Konoha's skyline in hues of amber and gold, a new day rising over a village that slept more peacefully for the vigilance of its masked guardian. And for the first time since donning the Kitsune persona, Naruto felt not just the responsibility of his chosen path, but also its possibilities.

# Chapter 4: Dual Lives

The kunai whistled through the air, its trajectory a dead giveaway. Naruto twisted aside with millisecond precision, the blade slicing empty space where his shoulder had been a heartbeat earlier. In the same fluid motion, he launched three shuriken in response—not at his attacker, but at the thin wire barely visible in the afternoon sunlight.

The wire snapped with a musical twang, releasing a cascade of practice dummies that crashed toward him in a thunderous avalanche. Instead of evading, Naruto dropped flat, pressing himself against the dew-slick grass as the targets rumbled overhead.

"That's three seconds faster than yesterday," Hinata called from her position at the edge of the training field, stopwatch in hand. Her smile gleamed in the late afternoon sun. "Your reaction time is improving."

Naruto sprang to his feet with a groan, muscles protesting after four straight hours of drills. "Still not fast enough for what I need."

The private training ground—a secluded clearing deep in Konoha's eastern forest—had become their sanctuary over the past week. Here, hidden from prying eyes, Naruto could freely practice techniques that blended his natural shinobi abilities with his newer, spider-like gifts. And Hinata, true to her word, had proven an invaluable training partner.

She approached now, lavender eyes scanning his form with analytical precision. "The problem isn't your speed. It's that you're still moving like Naruto when you need to move like Kitsune."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He swiped a forearm across his sweat-drenched brow.

"Watch." Hinata dropped into a fighting stance—not her traditional Gentle Fist position, but an imitation of Naruto's brawler style. She threw a punch, following with a kick combination that anyone familiar with Team 7 would recognize instantly. "This is how Naruto Uzumaki fights. All power, direct approaches, overwhelming force."

She shifted subtly, her posture lowering, center of gravity changing. When she moved again, it was with liquid grace, each motion flowing into the next with economical precision. "This is how Kitsune should move. Less power, more efficiency. You're still thinking like a ninja who can afford to take hits because of your healing factor."

"Since when did you become such an expert on fighting styles?" Naruto teased, but the admiration in his voice was unmistakable.

Hinata's cheeks flushed crimson. "I-I've always studied different combat approaches. The Byakugan makes it easy to analyze movement patterns."

A sharp whistle cut through their conversation—the alert system they'd established to warn of approaching chakra signatures. Without a word, they sprang into action, Naruto gathering his specialized equipment while Hinata activated her Byakugan.

"Two jonin on patrol," she reported. "Coming from the northwest, approximately four hundred meters out."

"Time to disappear." Naruto stuffed the last of his gear into a waterproof pack and slung it across his shoulders. "Same time tomorrow?"

Hinata nodded, already gathering the conventional training weapons scattered across the clearing to make it appear as though she'd been practicing alone. "I'll cover for you at the mission briefing. Remember, food poisoning from expired milk."

"You're the best, Hinata." He flashed her a grateful grin before darting into the treeline, his enhanced agility making his movement nearly silent.

Left alone, Hinata took a steadying breath and resumed a standard Hyuga training kata. By the time the patrol arrived, they'd find nothing but a young kunoichi practicing family techniques in solitude.

---

"Food poisoning? Again?" Sakura's skeptical gaze bored into Hinata like a diamond-tipped drill. "That's the third time this month."

The Hokage's office buzzed with pre-mission activity—chunin assistants shuffling paperwork, ANBU guards standing sentinel in shadowed corners, and Team 7 minus one hyperactive blond ninja awaiting assignment. Hinata, volunteering as temporary replacement, withered under Sakura's scrutiny.

"H-he really should check the expiration dates," she managed, cursing the stutter that always betrayed her nerves. "The m-milk was practically solid."

Kakashi, leaning against the wall with his ever-present orange book, offered a noncommittal hum. "Curious how these episodes coincide with our Kitsune investigation rotations."

Hinata's heart threatened to burst from her chest. "C-coincidence?"

"Indeed." Kakashi's visible eye curved in what might have been a smile or a predator's assessment—impossible to tell beneath his mask. "Most curious."

Tsunade slammed a folder onto her desk with enough force to make everyone flinch. "Enough about Uzumaki's dietary incompetence. We have more pressing matters." Her amber eyes focused on the assembled ninja with laser intensity. "Two mining villages on our northern border have reported unexplained disappearances. Primarily children."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Human trafficking?" Sakura asked, medic-nin instincts immediately assessing worst-case scenarios.

"Unknown." Tsunade's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against her desk. "But the timing is suspicious. Both villages supply rare minerals used in advanced weapons forgery. Their production has slowed due to the missing workers."

Kakashi closed his book with a soft snap. "How many missing?"

"Seventeen over the past month. Youngest is seven, oldest fourteen."

Hinata's throat constricted, memories of her own kidnapping attempt surfacing unbidden. Children taken, families shattered, communities paralyzed by fear—precisely the sort of mission that would ignite Naruto's righteous fury. And he wasn't here to help.

Because he was out being Kitsune instead.

The sudden realization struck her like a physical blow. His dual identity wasn't just exhausting him—it was splitting his effectiveness, forcing impossible choices between parallel duties.

"—Hyuga will take point on the reconnaissance," Tsunade was saying, snapping Hinata back to attention. "Your Byakugan is essential for this operation. Departure in thirty minutes. Any questions?"

"What about Naruto?" Sakura asked. "Should we wait—"

"Not necessary." Tsunade's tone brooked no argument. "He can sit this one out. Maybe it'll teach him to check expiration dates."

As they filed out, mission parameters clutched in hand, Hinata felt Kakashi's calculating gaze following her. The jonin's instincts were legendary—how long before he connected the dots between Naruto's absences and Kitsune's appearances?

She needed to warn Naruto. But with departure imminent and a four-day mission ahead, that warning would have to wait.

---

Kitsune soared between buildings, the dying sunlight catching on his costume's crimson accents like trails of fire. Below, afternoon crowds pointed skyward, some cheering, others merely tracking his progress with curious eyes. He'd become as much a fixture of Konoha's skyline as the Hokage Monument—a flash of blue and red offering reassurance by his mere presence.

"There he goes!"

"Kitsune's on patrol early today!"

"Mom, can I get a mask like his for my birthday?"

The voices faded as he swung deeper into the village, his enhanced hearing catching fragments of everyday life—arguments, laughter, commerce, romance. The tapestry of normalcy that he fought to protect.

Landing in a graceful crouch atop the civilian academy, Kitsune paused to catch his breath. His muscles burned with accumulated fatigue, a week of minimal sleep taking its toll despite his supernatural endurance. With Hinata departed on mission, he'd lost his only ally, the only person who understood both sides of his life.

Movement in the academy courtyard below caught his attention. A class of young students—none older than eight—practiced emergency drills under the watchful eye of their civilian instructor. Unlike children training to become ninja, these kids would grow up to be bakers, merchants, crafters—the beating heart of Konoha's civilian society.

Something about their formation seemed off. Kitsune leaned forward, enhanced vision zooming in on the exercise. The children stood too close to the practice tower—a three-story wooden structure used for evacuation drills. And the tower itself...

His danger sense erupted like lightning down his spine.

The support beams were cracking, structural integrity compromised by age and weather. As he watched, hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the main support column, wood groaning under stresses it was never designed to bear.

"Get away from the tower!" he shouted, his voice lost in the afternoon breeze.

No time for subtlety. Kitsune launched himself off the roof, firing chakra threads mid-descent that anchored to adjacent buildings. Using the threads like zip lines, he swung toward the courtyard in a wide arc, the wind screaming past his mask.

The instructor noticed him first, mouth dropping open in shock at the costumed figure plummeting toward her class. The children followed her gaze, excitement replacing focus as they pointed and shouted.

"Kitsune!"

"It's really him!"

"Look how he flies!"

None of them noticed the ominous creaking of the tower behind them. None except Kitsune, who heard every splinter, every crack, calculating the structure's imminent collapse with terrible certainty.

He hit the ground running, covering the distance to the class in three powerful strides. "The tower's collapsing! Move, NOW!"

Comprehension dawned on the instructor's face, followed immediately by horror as she turned to see the tower beginning to tilt. "Children! Emergency formation! Run to the—"

Her instructions died beneath the deafening crack of breaking timber. The tower lurched, its upper section breaking free and plummeting toward the frozen children below.

Time seemed to slow for Kitsune, his enhanced senses processing the scenario in microseconds. Twenty-two children in the danger zone. Instructor moving too slowly. Falling debris would hit in approximately 2.6 seconds. Conventional evacuation impossible.

He needed to catch the entire tower.

Chakra threads shot from both wrists in rapid succession, a dozen glowing strands latching onto the plummeting structure. Kitsune dug his heels into the dirt, arms straining as the threads went taut. The combined weight threatened to dislocate his shoulders, pain flaring white-hot through his joints.

"Not... enough..." he gasped, threads stretching to their limits.

In desperation, he channeled chakra through his feet, anchoring himself to the ground like a living pillar. More threads erupted from his fingertips, enveloping the falling tower in a luminous web. The structure's descent slowed but didn't stop—he was merely delaying the inevitable.

"Get them out of here!" he shouted to the instructor, who snapped from her paralysis and began herding children toward safety.

Kitsune's muscles screamed in protest, threads vibrating with tension as he fought gravity itself. Sweat poured down his face beneath the mask, vision blurring as his body approached its limits. Even with his enhanced strength, he couldn't hold the weight much longer.

The last child cleared the danger zone just as his grip faltered. With a final, desperate heave, Kitsune redirected the tower's fall, using his threads to swing it away from the school building and into an empty section of the courtyard.

The impact shook the ground, dust and splinters exploding outward in a choking cloud. When visibility returned, the tower lay destroyed but contained, its devastating potential neutralized.

Kitsune dropped to one knee, chest heaving, arms trembling with exertion. The courtyard erupted in cheers as children and teacher alike registered what had happened—what had almost happened.

"He saved us!"

"Did you see those glowing string things?"

"That was AWESOME!"

Their jubilation was infectious, washing over Kitsune in a wave that temporarily drowned his exhaustion. He rose shakily, offering a theatrical bow that sent the children into fresh paroxysms of excitement.

A flash of movement at the academy gate caught his attention. Civilians gathered, drawn by the commotion—and among them, a familiar face. Morino Ibuki, editor of The Civilian Voice, scribbling frantically in a notepad while a photographer captured the scene.

Great. Just what he needed—more publicity.

Kitsune backed away from the adoring crowd, muscles protesting every movement. He needed to disappear before—

"Kitsune! Don't move!"

—shinobi arrived.

Two ANBU materialized at the courtyard entrance, masks gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Behind them came a squad of Military Police, spreading out to cut off escape routes.

"Looks like my exit cue," Kitsune muttered, firing a chakra thread at the academy rooftop.

The thread connected, and he yanked himself skyward just as a water jutsu sliced through the space he'd occupied. Landing in a roll, he sprinted across the rooftop, chakra threads already seeking anchor points for his escape.

The pursuit lasted seventeen minutes—three minutes longer than his previous record. The ANBU had obviously studied his movement patterns, anticipating his preferred routes and laying traps at strategic intersections. Only his danger sense and enhanced agility saved him from capture on four separate occasions.

By the time he finally lost them in the warren-like streets of the eastern merchant quarter, the sun had set and pain radiated through every fiber of his being. Worse, he'd been forced to double back repeatedly, taking him far from his planned destination—his apartment, where fresh clothes and blessed rest awaited.

Concealed in the shadow of a water tower, Kitsune checked his chakra reserves. Dangerously low. Using the chakra threads to support the tower's weight had drained him more than expected. If he encountered another patrol...

"One problem at a time," he whispered, plotting the safest route home through Konoha's twilight skyline.

---

"KITSUNE: GUARDIAN ANGEL OF KONOHA'S CHILDREN"

The headline screamed across the front page of The Civilian Voice, accompanied by a remarkably clear photograph of Kitsune suspended mid-air, chakra threads glowing as he redirected the falling tower. Beneath it, Morino Ibuki's byline introduced a scathing editorial:

"While Konoha's administration diverts shinobi resources to hunting our greatest protector, Kitsune once again demonstrated his unwavering commitment to civilian safety. Yesterday's heroic rescue at Konoha Civilian Academy raises disturbing questions about the Hokage's priorities. Why were ANBU dispatched to apprehend the very hero who saved twenty-two children from certain death? Why has basic infrastructure maintenance been neglected while funds flow freely to military expansions? As parents, we must ask: Who truly values our children's lives—the masked guardian who risked everything to save them, or the leadership that would rather capture him than thank him?"

Tsunade slammed the newspaper onto her desk with enough force to crack the hardwood. "This is getting out of hand."

Across from her, Shizune flinched at the display of temper. "The civilian council is demanding a formal response. They're calling for a public commendation of Kitsune's actions."

"Commend a vigilante operating outside the law? Absolutely not." Tsunade reached for her sake cup, found it empty, and glowered. "Where's Kakashi? He was supposed to report an hour ago."

As if summoned by her irritation, a knock sounded at the door. Kakashi entered with his trademark unhurried gait, visible eye scanning the destroyed newspaper with mild interest.

"Made the front page again, I see."

Tsunade's glare could have melted steel. "Your team was responsible for the northeastern patrol quadrant yesterday. Care to explain how Kitsune not only appeared there in broad daylight but also managed to escape from four ANBU and six Military Police?"

Kakashi shrugged, the picture of unconcern. "He's resourceful. And motivated."

"That's your analysis? 'Resourceful'?" Tsunade's fingers tightened around her empty cup. "We have the best tracking teams in the Five Nations, and they can't catch one costume-wearing showboat?"

"With respect, Lady Hokage, perhaps we're approaching this wrong." Kakashi's posture straightened slightly, a subtle tell that he was more engaged than his casual tone suggested. "Kitsune's actions have consistently benefited the village. Yesterday's incident at the academy—"

"Was a security breach," Tsunade interrupted. "Unauthorized civilian access to a school facility. The fact that the tower collapsed is a separate maintenance issue that will be addressed."

"Twenty-two children are alive because of that security breach."

The observation hung in the air between them, neither accusation nor defense but simple fact. Tsunade's amber eyes narrowed.

"Are you defending him, Kakashi?"

"I'm suggesting we consider his motives. And results." He met her gaze steadily. "The incident yesterday marks his nineteenth intervention in civilian matters deemed 'low priority' by our standard response protocols."

"Your point?"

"Perhaps Kitsune exists because we created space for him." Kakashi's voice remained neutral despite the implied criticism. "Our security systems prioritize shinobi concerns and village-level threats. For the average civilian, a home invasion or local danger doesn't register on our response scale."

Tsunade leaned back, a calculating gleam entering her eyes. "You've given this considerable thought."

"I've been chasing him for three weeks. Hard not to."

"And have your thoughts led to any conclusions about his identity?"

A fractional hesitation, almost imperceptible. "Nothing definitive."

Tsunade's fingers drummed against her desk, the rhythm betraying her agitation. "This can't continue, Kakashi. Public opinion is splitting along civilian-shinobi lines. The village council is divided. Even my ANBU are debating Kitsune's merits in their barracks." She rubbed her temples, the gesture uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I need him identified. Brought in. Before this situation deteriorates further."

"Understood." Kakashi bowed slightly. "I'll adjust our approach."

After he departed, Tsunade moved to the window overlooking Konoha. The village sprawled beneath her, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Somewhere in that maze of streets and buildings, a masked figure was making a mockery of her authority—yet simultaneously protecting her people.

"What would you do, old man?" she whispered to the carved face of the Third Hokage adorning the mountain. "What happens when doing the right thing and following the rules aren't the same?"

The stone visage offered no answers, its expression as inscrutable in death as it had often been in life.

---

Naruto's chopsticks hovered midway to his mouth, ramen cooling as his attention fixed on the conversation at the adjacent table. Ichiraku Ramen bustled with its usual dinner crowd, the familiar symphony of slurping noodles and animated chatter creating perfect cover for eavesdropping.

"—wouldn't have made it out without him," a civilian woman was saying, her voice trembling with residual emotion. "The apartment was already filled with smoke. My son—" She broke off, composing herself. "Kitsune appeared at the window like some kind of spirit. Carried Takeo out across the rooftops to safety."

Her companion, a grizzled man in construction worker's clothes, nodded sympathetically. "My brother's shop was saved last week. Three thieves, all armed with knives. Kitsune had them hanging from a streetlight before the Military Police even knew anything was happening."

"The Hokage should be thanking him, not hunting him," the woman declared, loud enough to draw nods from nearby tables.

Naruto ducked his head, focusing on his ramen to hide the conflicted pride warming his cheeks. Three weeks into his double life, and Kitsune's reputation had taken on a life of its own. Whispered conversations like this one occurred throughout Konoha's civilian quarters—stories shared, embellished, mythologized.

He slurped his noodles mechanically, body aching from the previous day's exertions. Without Hinata to cover for him, maintaining both identities had become exponentially more difficult. Team training, Kitsune patrols, mission assignments, civilian rescues—the physical toll was mounting, his legendary stamina finally meeting its match.

"Need a refill, Naruto?" Ayame's voice broke through his exhausted haze. The ramen chef's daughter smiled down at him, concern visible beneath her professional cheer. "You've been staring at that empty bowl for five minutes."

"What? Oh!" He blinked, surprised to find he'd absently finished his meal. "No, I'm good. Thanks, Ayame."

"Are you sure? You don't look so good." She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Dad's worried about you. Says you only had two bowls yesterday instead of your usual five."

Great. Even his eating habits were betraying him.

"Just tired," he offered with a weak grin. "Been training extra hard lately."

"Well, don't overdo it." She collected his bowl, hesitating. "Oh, I almost forgot! Sakura was looking for you earlier. Said it was urgent—something about a mission briefing you missed?"

Naruto's stomach plummeted. The northeastern border patrol—he'd completely forgotten in the chaos of yesterday's academy rescue.

"When did she come by?" he asked, already calculating excuses.

"About an hour ago. She seemed pretty upset."

Perfect. Just perfect.

Naruto paid his bill and stepped into the cool evening air, mind racing. He needed to find Sakura, explain his absence, then somehow complete a four-hour patrol of the western district where rumors of a smuggling operation had surface—

"There you are!"

Sakura's voice cracked like a whip across the street, freezing him mid-step. She marched toward him, green eyes flashing with irritation that barely masked genuine concern.

"Sakura-chan! I was just coming to find you—"

"Save it." She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "That's the third briefing this week, Naruto. Lady Tsunade is running out of patience."

"I got distracted training and—"

"Don't." Her voice softened, anger giving way to worry. "Don't lie to me. Not again."

The sincerity in her tone twisted like a kunai in his gut. Lying to Tsunade was one thing. Lying to Kakashi, a necessary evil. But lying to Sakura, watching concern cloud her expressive face because of his deception—that cut deeper than he'd expected.

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely. "Things have been... complicated."

"Then uncomplicate them." She stepped closer, medical training evident in the clinical way she assessed him. "You're running yourself into the ground. Dark circles under your eyes, reduced appetite according to Ayame, muscle tremors in your hands that you're trying to hide by keeping them in your pockets."

Naruto blinked, startled by her observation. He hadn't even realized he'd stuffed his hands away.

"Whatever's going on," she continued, "it's not worth your health. Even your incredible stamina has limits, you know."

An idea struck him—a partial truth that might satisfy her concern without revealing everything. "I've been working on a new technique. Something... different. It's taking a lot out of me."

"A new technique?" Skepticism laced her voice. "For three straight weeks?"

"It's complicated," he repeated, then added hastily, "But amazing! When I perfect it, you'll be the first to see, believe it!"

The familiar phrase, delivered with a shadow of his usual enthusiasm, seemed to mollify her slightly. "Just... take better care of yourself, okay? And don't miss tomorrow's mission. Border patrol, northern quadrant, 0600 hours."

"I'll be there, promise." He crossed his heart with exaggerated solemnity, earning an eye-roll that carried more affection than annoyance.

As she walked away, Naruto's smile faded. Another promise to keep, another commitment to juggle, another piece of his fragmenting life to maintain. And tonight's Kitsune patrol couldn't wait—not with the smuggling ring targeting civilians with addictive substances from the Land of Grass.

Sighing, he ducked into an alley to begin the now-familiar ritual of becoming Konoha's guardian.

---

The warehouse district slumbered beneath a moonless sky, its massive structures casting deeper shadows across already dark streets. Perfect hunting grounds for those with business best conducted away from prying eyes. Perfect patrol territory for Kitsune.

He crouched atop a storage facility, the night air carrying hints of salt and preserve chemicals from the fish processing plant below. For two hours he'd observed the coming and going of dockworkers, identifying patterns, separating routine from suspicious.

The informant's tip had been specific—a shipment of "dream dust" from the Land of Grass would arrive tonight, distributed through a network that primarily targeted civilian youth. The narcotic had already claimed three lives in neighboring villages, its victims primarily teenagers seeking escape from ordinary lives.

Movement near Loading Bay 7 caught his attention. Three figures, moving with the exaggerated stealth of those unused to covert operations. Not shinobi, then—civilian criminals, which explained why this operation remained low on Konoha's priority list.

Kitsune tracked their progress, enhanced vision cutting through darkness as they approached a weathered cargo container separated from its fellows. One carried a duffel bag that hung heavy at his side. Another performed an amateur chakra detection sweep—likely a washout from basic ninja training, repurposing limited skills for illegal ventures.

"Perimeter clear," the scanner reported in a stage whisper that carried clearly to Kitsune's enhanced hearing. "No patrols for at least twenty minutes."

The third figure, taller and broader than his companions, rapped a complex pattern against the container door. After a moment's pause, it slid open, revealing a fourth man within—this one bearing the hardened physique and vigilant posture of professional muscle.

"You're late," the guard growled. "Boss doesn't like waiting."

"Couldn't be helped," duffel bag carrier replied, voice pitched high with nervous energy. "Military Police increased patrols after that academy incident. Kitsune's got everyone jumpy."

The name of his alter ego sent a peculiar thrill through Naruto, pride mingled with unease. Even criminals adjusted their operations in response to Kitsune's activities now.

The group disappeared into the container, door sliding shut behind them. Kitsune descended silently, using chakra threads to lower himself in controlled bursts until his feet touched ground thirty yards from the target.

Approaching cautiously, he pressed an ear against the container's metal wall. His enhanced hearing picked up multiple voices—at least six distinct speakers engaged in tense negotiation.

"—premium quality, direct from the northern fields. Uncut, maximum potency." An oily voice, practiced in sales pitch.

"Quantity's less than promised." This speaker radiated authority—the leader, presumably.

"Difficulties at the border. Increased security." A nervous chuckle. "Your Hokage's getting paranoid in her old age."

"Our problem is the price, not the quantity," the leader responded coolly. "Fifty thousand for this amount is highway robbery."

"You're paying for exclusivity. No one else in Konoha has access to product this pure."

A metallic sound—weapons being drawn or money counted, impossible to determine through the wall. Kitsune needed eyes inside before intervening. The container had no windows, no convenient observation points.

Improvisation time.

He extended a chakra thread with painstaking slowness, guiding it toward the narrow gap beneath the container door. The luminous strand would be visible in direct light, but if he kept it in shadow, pressed against the ground...

The thread slipped under the door like a curious serpent, its tip rising once inside to provide visual input. Kitsune focused, the specialized jutsu he'd developed allowing him to "see" through the thread as though it were an extension of his optic nerve.

The container's interior resolved in blue-tinted vision—seven men arranged around a folding table, the center of which held both the duffel bag and a metal briefcase. One man in expensive civilian clothing appeared to be examining a crystalline substance, rubbing it between his fingers before touching it to his tongue. The others watched with varying degrees of impatience and wariness, most armed with standard weapons rather than shinobi tools.

No innocents present. No bystanders to protect. Perfect.

Kitsune withdrew the observation thread and readied his approach. Direct confrontation would be simplest—the confined space would actually work to his advantage, limiting their mobility while his wall-climbing abilities would allow him full use of the container's interior dimensions.

He backed up several paces, planning to breach with maximum impact. Sometimes, fear itself was the most effective weapon against non-shinobi opponents.

The container door exploded inward with a thunderous crash as Kitsune launched himself through the entrance, chakra threads already firing to snag weapons and light fixtures. Disorienting, overwhelming, terrifying—exactly as planned.

Except for one critical miscalculation.

"Shinobi!" someone screamed as chaos erupted. Bodies scrambled in every direction, overturning the table and sending both drugs and money scattering across the floor.

What Kitsune hadn't anticipated was the guard—the one he'd pegged as professional muscle—performing seals with practiced efficiency. Not a civilian enforcer. A missing-nin.

Fire erupted from the man's hands, a concentrated jet of flame that scorched the air between them. Kitsune's danger sense screamed a split-second warning, allowing him to twist aside as heat seared past his shoulder, igniting crates stacked against the far wall.

"Kitsune!" the fire-user spat, recognition dawning in his eyes. "The boss will pay extra for your head!"

The other smugglers seemed equally surprised by their colleague's abilities, pressing themselves against walls to escape the suddenly dangerous confrontation. Only the well-dressed leader maintained his composure, calmly retrieving a tantō from within his expensive jacket.

"Two million ryo to whoever kills Konoha's pet hero," he announced, the blade gleaming in the firelight.

Great. Now he had a bounty.

Kitsune dodged another fire attack, the confined space working against him as flames rebounded off metal walls. The container was becoming an oven, smoke already beginning to choke the air. If the fire spread to neighboring containers—many holding flammable materials—the entire warehouse district could go up.

"Guess we're doing this the hard way," he muttered, firing chakra threads to the ceiling and yanking himself upward.

Adhering to the container roof, he crawled across it upside-down, disorienting his opponents who struggled to track his movement through thickening smoke. The missing-nin launched another fire jutsu blindly, the attack dissipating harmlessly against the far wall.

Kitsune dropped behind him, launching into a spinning kick that connected solidly with the man's kidney. The fire-user crashed into the still-burning crates, howling as embers ignited his clothing.

The remaining smugglers rushed Kitsune en masse, crude weapons slashing the air with more enthusiasm than skill. His enhanced reflexes made their attacks appear almost comically slow, like civilians moving through water. He disarmed three in rapid succession, using chakra threads to bind their hands before any could react.

Only the leader posed any actual threat, his tantō technique suggesting formal training. He circled warily, blade weaving hypnotic patterns as he sought an opening.

"Impressive costume," the man remarked, surprisingly conversational for someone in a burning metal box. "I wonder what's beneath it. A face worth two million ryo, I expect."

"Sorry to disappoint, but you won't be collecting." Kitsune fired threads toward the man's ankles, intending to yank him off-balance.

The leader surprised him by slicing through the threads with remarkable precision, the tantō's edge gleaming with chakra enhancement. "I've studied your techniques," he explained with a cold smile. "You're not the only one with sources in the Hokage's office."

The implication—a mole among Konoha's ranks—registered just as the leader launched his counter-attack. The tantō slashed toward Kitsune's abdomen with deadly intent, its chakra-sharpened edge capable of slicing clean through his costume's armor.

Kitsune contorted mid-air, the blade missing his torso by millimeters. His back slammed against the container wall, the impact momentarily stunning him. In that fraction of vulnerability, the leader pressed his advantage, tantō driving toward Kitsune's throat.

Instinct took over. Naruto's hand shot up, catching the blade between his palms inches from his neck. Blood welled where edge met flesh, but he held firm, enhanced strength straining against the leader's surprising power.

"Who... are you?" Kitsune grunted, genuinely curious about this unexpectedly formidable civilian.

The man's smile widened. "Someone who recognizes opportunity when masked idiots create power vacuums."

With his free hand, he drew a kunai from within his sleeve—a move so unexpected that Kitsune's danger sense barely registered in time. The second blade drove toward his ribs, forcing him to release the tantō and twist aside.

The move saved his life but cost him position. The kunai scored a burning line across his side, slicing through costume and skin with equal ease. Kitsune gasped, involuntarily clutching the wound—a rookie mistake that created another opening.

The leader capitalized instantly, tantō arcing toward his mask. Kitsune jerked backward, the blade catching the edge of his mask and ripping it partially away from his face. Cool air rushed against his exposed cheek and jaw, the mask hanging askew.

Panic surged through him. His identity—his entire secret life—hung by literal threads.

The fire had spread now, consuming crates and product alike. Smoke billowed in choking clouds, visibility reduced to arm's length. The wounded missing-nin had recovered enough to stagger upright, preparing another jutsu despite his burns.

Time to end this.

Kitsune pressed his mask back into place with one hand while firing chakra threads with the other. Not at his opponents, but at the metal briefcase lying forgotten amid scattered drugs. The case hurtled toward him, and he caught it with practiced ease before unleashing a barrage of threads in all directions.

The luminous strands enveloped the entire interior space, forming a complex web that trapped the remaining smugglers like flies. Only the leader avoided entanglement, his blade dancing with precision to sever threads that came too close.

"Impressive," Kitsune acknowledged, genuine respect coloring his distorted voice. "But this ends now."

He charged forward, feinting left before dropping into a sweeping leg strike. The leader jumped to avoid it—exactly as planned. Mid-air, with no solid surface for leverage, the man was momentarily helpless as Kitsune fired a thread point-blank into his chest.

The impact sent him crashing into the container wall, where more threads instantly cocooned him from shoulders to ankles. His tantō clattered uselessly to the floor.

"The authorities will be here soon," Kitsune announced to his captured audience. "The evidence—" he hefted the briefcase, "—will be waiting for them. Along with detailed confessions, I'm sure."

The missing-nin, still partially free, snarled through burned lips. "You think this changes anything? There are dozens more operations like this one. Hundreds! The Hokage can't be everywhere, and neither can you!"

"Maybe not," Kitsune conceded, backing toward the exit as the fire intensified. "But I can be more places than you think."

With that enigmatic parting, he slipped through the container door into the blessed coolness of night air. Sirens wailed in the distance—Military Police responding to reports of fire in the warehouse district. Time to disappear.

Despite the successful bust, Naruto's thoughts remained troubled as he swung through Konoha's darkened streets. The leader's fighting skills, the hint of information leaking from the Hokage's office, the expanding criminal operations targeting civilians—all painted a more complex picture than simple opportunistic smuggling.

Worse, his mask had been damaged, his identity nearly exposed. And the wound in his side, while not life-threatening, would be difficult to explain if anyone saw it before the Nine-Tails' healing factor erased the evidence.

Lost in these worries, his usually impeccable spatial awareness failed him. As he rounded the corner of an apartment building, a familiar chakra signature registered too late.

Sakura stood on a balcony directly in his path, watering plants in the moonlight.

Their eyes met in a moment of mutual shock—her green ones widening in recognition of the village's most wanted vigilante, his blue ones visible through the damaged mask in a moment of unintended revelation.

Kitsune twisted mid-air, altering his trajectory with a hastily fired chakra thread. The desperate maneuver sent him crashing onto an adjacent rooftop instead of sailing past her balcony as intended.

"Wait!" Sakura called, already leaping to pursue.

No time to think. Only react.

Kitsune scrambled across the rooftop, ignoring the burning pain in his side as he fired chakra threads in rapid succession. Each swing carried him further from Sakura, but her shinobi training made her a far more formidable pursuer than Military Police or even ANBU.

She followed his aerial path with impressive determination, her chakra-enhanced leaps keeping pace with his swings. "I just want to talk!" she shouted, closing the distance with alarming speed.

Kitsune glanced back, calculating. At her current velocity, she'd intercept him within thirty seconds. His wound hampered his movement, each swing sending fresh pain lancing through his side. And if she got close enough to see his face clearly through the damaged mask...

A desperate plan formed. Risky, but the only option.

He altered course abruptly, swinging toward a familiar building—his own apartment complex. If he could reach his window before Sakura caught up, he might pull off the most audacious deception yet.

The distance closed agonizingly slowly, each second stretching as Sakura gained ground. Twenty yards to his window. Fifteen. Ten.

With a final, powerful swing, Kitsune crashed through his partially open window, tumbling across the floor of his darkened apartment. No time for finesse. He tore off his mask and the outer layer of his costume, stuffing both into the hidden compartment beneath his mattress.

The wound in his side screamed as he yanked on a t-shirt, blood immediately soaking through the fabric. He could hear Sakura landing on the exterior walkway, her footsteps approaching his door.

Three seconds to spare. Not enough time to remove the rest of the costume concealed beneath civilian clothes.

A desperate inspiration struck. Naruto grabbed the milk carton from his refrigerator, upending it over his head just as Sakura's knock rattled his door.

"Naruto! Open up! Emergency!"

He staggered to the door, dripping milk and genuine sweat, clutching his side in a way that might be mistaken for stomach cramps rather than a knife wound. The door swung open to reveal Sakura, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Sakura-chan?" he croaked, summoning his most pathetic expression. "What's wrong?"

She blinked, taking in his milk-soaked appearance with visible confusion. "What... what happened to you?"

"Food poisoning," he groaned, doubling over theatrically. "Told you the milk was bad... been throwing up for hours..."

Sakura's gaze swept past him, scanning the apartment with the sharp attention to detail that made her an excellent medic-nin. "Did you see anyone come through your window just now?"

"My window?" Naruto turned, feigning surprise at the open window. "Must've forgotten to close it. Why?"

"I was chasing—" She stopped, frustration crossing her features. "Kitsune. He was right here, I swear it. I followed him to this building."

"Kitsune? The vigilante guy?" Naruto shuffled to his bathroom, continuing the food poisoning charade while buying precious seconds. "Haven't seen anyone. Been kinda busy hugging the toilet, you know?"

He made retching noises for added effect, watching through the bathroom doorway as Sakura investigated his apartment. Her thoroughness would be admirable in any other circumstance.

"This doesn't make sense," she muttered, peering out the window. "I saw him come this way."

"Maybe he went to another floor?" Naruto suggested, returning to the main room with a towel to mop milk from his hair. "There's like thirty apartments in this building."

Sakura's eyes narrowed as she studied him. For a terrifying moment, he thought she'd see through the deception—notice the costume beneath his civilian clothes, spot the blood seeping through his shirt, sense his chakra signature still fluctuating from exertion.

Then her expression softened. "You really do look terrible, Naruto."

He managed a weak smile. "Told you. Expired milk is my kryptonite."

"Kryptonite?"

"Something Pervy Sage used to say. Means weakness."

She approached, medical instincts clearly warring with her pursuit of Kitsune. "Let me check you over. Your color's off, and—"

"No!" The rejection came too forcefully, raising her suspicions instantly. Naruto backpedaled. "I mean, I'm disgusting right now. Throw-up everywhere. You don't want to get near me, trust me."

Sakura hesitated, clearly torn between duty as a medic and respect for his apparent embarrassment. "If you're sure..."

"Totally sure. I'll see you tomorrow for the mission. Good as new, believe it!" He began herding her toward the door with as much subtlety as he could manage, which wasn't much.

"Okay, but if you're not better by morning, I'm doing a full examination," she warned, allowing herself to be nudged into the hallway. "And Naruto? If you see anything suspicious—"

"I'll send up a flare," he promised, already closing the door. "Goodnight, Sakura-chan!"

The door clicked shut. Naruto pressed his forehead against it, listening as her footsteps receded down the hallway. Only when he heard her descend the stairwell did he allow himself to slide to the floor, adrenaline ebbing to leave pain and exhaustion in its wake.

"Too close," he whispered, lifting his shirt to examine the wound. The bleeding had slowed, early signs of the Nine-Tails' healing already evident around the edges. By morning, it would be merely a pink line, gone entirely by afternoon.

But the implications remained. Sakura had seen him—the real him, if only briefly—through the damaged mask. The costume needed repairs. The wound, while healing, limited his mobility for tonight at least. And somewhere in the village, a smuggling operation had tentacles reaching into the Hokage's administration itself.

Naruto dragged himself to his feet, moving to retrieve the damaged mask from its hiding place. The reflective eye coverings had cracked during his desperate flight, and the lower portion hung by mere threads where the tantō had sliced through the reinforcement.

A perfect metaphor for his current situation—holding together by threads, with every vulnerability increasingly exposed.

"I can't keep doing this alone," he admitted to the empty apartment, the words hanging heavy in the midnight air.

As if in answer, a soft tap came at his window. Naruto tensed, grabbing a kunai before recognizing the chakra signature.

Hinata crouched on his sill, her Byakugan active, concern etched across her features. "Naruto-kun," she whispered, slipping inside with fluid grace. "I just got back from the mission and heard about the warehouse fire. Are you—" She stopped, eyes widening at the blood soaking his shirt. "You're hurt!"

"It's nothing," he assured her, the lie automatic. "Already healing."

She ignored his protest, approaching with the confidence she only displayed in moments of genuine need. Gentle fingers lifted his shirt, assessing the wound with clinical precision.

"Deep, but clean," she reported, relief evident in her voice. "The Nine-Tails' chakra is accelerating healing, but you've lost blood." Her pale eyes lifted to his, noting the exhaustion etched in every line of his face. "What happened?"

"Everything," Naruto sighed, the weight of weeks bearing down on him all at once. "Sakura almost caught me. My mask is damaged. There's a criminal organization with sources in the Hokage's office. And I'm so tired I can barely stand."

Hinata guided him to the bed, surprising him with her assertiveness. "Tell me everything. But first—" She produced a small container of medicinal salve from her equipment pouch. "This will help with the pain and prevent infection until your healing factor closes the wound completely."

As she tended his injury with gentle efficiency, Naruto found himself talking—really talking—for the first time in weeks. The pressure of secrecy, the physical toll, the emotional weight of deception, the growing complexity of what he'd thought would be simple vigilante work.

Hinata listened without judgment, her quiet strength an anchor in the storm of his increasingly complicated existence. When he finished, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant sounds of Konoha's nightlife filtering through the open window.

"You need help," she said finally, stating the obvious with simple clarity. "Real help. Not just alibis and training."

"I know, but who—"

"Me." She met his gaze steadily, a blush coloring her cheeks despite her determined expression. "Let me be Kitsune sometimes."

Naruto blinked, certain he'd misheard. "What?"

"We're similar in height and build. With the costume and mask, no one would know the difference." Her fingers twisted together, old nervous habits resurging despite her resolve. "I could patrol certain nights, give you time to recover, maintain your presence as Naruto while Kitsune is seen elsewhere."

The idea was so unexpected, so perfectly logical, that Naruto could only stare. Hinata—shy, gentle Hinata—offering to don a vigilante disguise, to risk censure and punishment from the very village leadership her clan served so faithfully.

"Why would you risk that?" he asked, the question barely audible. "Your family, your position—"

"Because it matters," she interrupted, voice strengthening. "What you're doing matters. And because..." Color deepened across her cheekbones. "Because you matter, Naruto-kun. To the village. To me."

Something shifted between them in that moment—an acknowledgment of feelings long unspoken, of a bond deeper than mere friendship. Naruto reached out, his hand covering hers in a gesture of gratitude that words couldn't express.

"Thank you," he whispered, the simple phrase inadequate for the magnitude of her offer.

Outside, dawn painted Konoha's skyline in hues of lavender and gold, a new day bringing new challenges, new dangers, new possibilities. But for the first time since donning the mask, Naruto didn't face them alone.

The dual lives of Naruto Uzumaki and Kitsune continued their parallel tracks—but now with a partner to share the burden, to illuminate the path forward through increasingly treacherous waters.

# Chapter 5: The New Threat

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the rain-slick streets of Konoha in stark relief. Thunder followed, a bass drum rumble that vibrated through bone and stone alike. Perfect weather for staying indoors—and perfect cover for those with intentions best hidden in darkness.

Kiba Inuzuka sprinted through the downpour, Akamaru racing at his side. The massive ninken's fur was plastered to his body, making him look half his usual size, while his master's leather jacket gleamed like obsidian under the sporadic flashes of lightning.

"Almost home, boy," Kiba muttered, his enhanced senses scanning the seemingly deserted street. Something felt off—a scent carried on the rain-laden air that didn't belong. Something metallic, antiseptic, wrong.

Akamaru growled low in his throat, confirming Kiba's suspicions. They were being followed.

Without breaking stride, Kiba flashed a series of hand signals to his partner. Akamaru peeled away, vanishing into an alley as Kiba abruptly changed course, heading away from the Inuzuka compound. Better to lead potential threats away from family.

The rain intensified, falling in sheets that reduced visibility to arm's length. Even Kiba's acute senses struggled to penetrate the veil of water. He ducked under an awning, pressing himself against a shop front, nostrils flaring as he tried to isolate that strange scent once more.

There—coming from three distinct directions. He was being triangulated.

"Fang Over Fang ready, Akamaru?" he whispered, knowing his partner would hear despite the storm's fury.

The answering bark was swallowed by a thunderclap. In that same instant, three shadows detached from the surrounding darkness, converging on Kiba's position with inhuman speed.

Kiba's hands flashed through seals. "Beast Mimicr—"

Pain exploded at the base of his skull, vision tunneling as an unseen fourth attacker struck from behind. He staggered, fighting the encroaching darkness with feral determination. His assailants materialized around him—humanoid figures clad in sleek, form-fitting suits that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the intermittent lightning.

Their faces were obscured by smooth masks with glowing blue eye slits, giving them an otherworldly appearance. One raised a hand toward him, palm housing some kind of mechanical device that emitted a high-pitched whine.

"Inuzuka Kiba," intoned a voice devoid of emotion. "Your tracking abilities and beast transformation techniques have been selected for preservation."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kiba snarled, blood trickling from a gash on his temple. Where was Akamaru? Had they gotten to him first?

"Resistance is counterproductive," continued the figure. "The extraction process is already optimized for minimal discomfort."

The device in the attacker's palm glowed brighter, its whine intensifying to a pitch that made Kiba's teeth ache. He tried to move, to fight, but his limbs felt leaden, unresponsive.

A furious howl cut through the night as Akamaru burst from concealment, jaws closing around the arm of the nearest attacker. The ninken's massive weight drove the figure to the ground, the device in its palm shattering against the pavement.

"Good boy!" Kiba shouted, the momentary distraction breaking whatever hold had been placed on him. He lunged at the nearest opponent, claws extended—

Only to freeze mid-stride as a new figure stepped into the confrontation.

Taller than the others, clad in the same light-absorbing material but with a mask of deep crimson, the newcomer raised both hands in a languid gesture. The very air seemed to thicken, pressure building like the moment before a detonation.

"How disappointing," the red-masked figure remarked, voice melodic despite its artificial modulation. "I had hoped for a more... educational acquisition."

Energy pulsed from his extended hands—not chakra, not quite, but something adjacent to it. The wave struck both Kiba and Akamaru simultaneously, driving them to their knees. Pain radiated through every nerve ending, a fire that consumed without burning.

Kiba's vision swam, consciousness slipping away despite his desperate struggle to remain awake. His last thought before darkness claimed him was simple, primal fear—not for himself, but for Akamaru.

The red-masked figure stepped closer, towering over Kiba's prostrate form. "Begin extraction."

A streak of blue and crimson dropped from the sky, impacting the ground between Kiba and his attackers with enough force to crater the pavement. Water exploded outward from the point of impact, momentarily obscuring the new arrival.

"Sorry to drop in uninvited," Kitsune announced as the spray settled, his mask gleaming in the storm-light. "But I have a strict 'no kidnapping' policy for this village."

The black-suited figures reacted with practiced coordination, two immediately flanking while two others produced weapons—slender batons that crackled with electricity at their tips.

The red-masked leader merely tilted his head, the gesture somehow conveying amused interest despite the expressionless facade. "The famous Kitsune. Your timing is impeccable—we were just discussing acquisition of new specimens."

Kitsune positioned himself protectively over Kiba and Akamaru's unconscious forms. "The only thing you're acquiring tonight is a one-way trip to Konoha's detention center."

"Bold words from someone so... collectible." The leader raised a hand, the gesture almost lazy. "Secure the Inuzuka. I'll handle our masked friend personally."

The subordinates moved with mechanical precision, spreading out to surround Kitsune while maintaining their triangular formation. Their synchronized movements suggested extensive training—or something less natural.

Kitsune's danger sense flared, a persistent buzz at the base of his skull warning of imminent threat from multiple vectors. He fired chakra threads from both wrists simultaneously, one set latching onto a nearby water tower, the other wrapping around Kiba and Akamaru.

In one fluid motion, he yanked himself and his unconscious charges skyward, the attackers' electrified batons slicing through empty air where he'd stood a heartbeat earlier. Landing atop the water tower, he quickly secured the Inuzukas with additional threads.

"You'll be safer up here, dog breath," he muttered, turning to face his pursuers.

They were already scaling the tower, moving with the eerie synchronicity he'd noted before. No hand signs, no visible chakra use—just an uncanny ability to climb sheer surfaces that mimicked his own adhesive capabilities.

"Interesting," Kitsune whispered, observing their technique with professional curiosity despite the danger.

The red-masked leader remained on the ground, arms crossed as he watched the confrontation unfold. Something about his posture set alarm bells ringing in Naruto's mind—the casual confidence, the assessment rather than engagement. This wasn't a thwarted abduction; it was a data-gathering exercise.

No time to analyze further. The first attacker reached the tower's edge, baton crackling with lethal potential. Kitsune sidestepped the initial thrust, using the attacker's momentum to flip them over his shoulder. Instead of falling, the figure adhered to the tower's side, immediately reorienting for another assault.

"Definitely not normal," Kitsune observed, firing chakra threads to entangle a second attacker. The threads connected, wrapping around the figure's torso—only to pass through as though meeting no resistance.

"What the—" Kitsune barely avoided the electrified baton that materialized through his dissipating threads, the weapon passing close enough to raise the hairs on his arms through the costume.

Some kind of substitution jutsu? No—something else, something he'd never encountered before.

The third and fourth attackers reached the tower top, converging from opposite sides in perfect coordination. Kitsune leapt straight up, higher than humanly possible, twisting to fire threads in a circular pattern that created a web around the water tower's perimeter.

Landing in the center of his creation, he channeled chakra through the glowing strands. The entire structure vibrated, threads humming with increasing intensity until water sloshed violently inside the tower. With a final surge of energy, the top of the water tower exploded outward, unleashing a torrent that swept the attackers from their perches.

"Let's see you climb through that," Kitsune muttered, satisfaction short-lived as the figures below righted themselves with inhuman agility.

The red-masked leader finally moved, stepping forward with deliberate grace. "Most illuminating. Such fine control over an externalized chakra construct. Not a bloodline limit, I think—something acquired." He raised a hand, palm housing a device similar to those his subordinates carried but more elaborate, with crystalline components that pulsed with inner light. "I simply must have a sample."

The device activated with a subsonic thrum that Kitsune felt more than heard. His chakra threads vibrated, their usual steady glow fluctuating wildly. Then, to his horror, the threads began to unravel—not breaking, but literally deconstructing, particles of chakra pulled toward the leader's device like iron filings to a magnet.

Kitsune severed the connection instantly, but not before feeling a disturbing drain—as if something essential had been siphoned from him. He stumbled, momentarily light-headed.

"Fascinating," the leader purred, the device in his palm now glowing with the same blue-white energy as Kitsune's threads. "Such purity of conversion, such efficiency. Your abilities will make an excellent addition to our collection."

"Who are you people?" Kitsune demanded, buying time as he assessed escape routes. Kiba and Akamaru remained unconscious, deadweight he couldn't abandon to these... whatever they were.

"How remiss of me." The leader offered a mocking bow. "You may call me Dokeshi. My colleagues and I are simply humble collectors of exceptional talents. Think of us as... archivists of human potential." He gestured toward his palm device. "And you, Kitsune, have just become our most coveted acquisition."

He raised his hand, and to Kitsune's shock, a chakra thread—identical to his own—shot forth from the device. It moved with less grace than Kitsune's creations but possessed the same fundamental properties, latching onto a fallen roof tile with adhesive strength.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Dokeshi nodded toward the thread. "My technology allows me to sample, analyze, and replicate unique chakra expressions. A pale imitation of the original, admittedly, but with refinement..." He let the implication hang in the rain-heavy air.

Cold realization washed over Naruto. These weren't just kidnappers or common criminals. They were something far more dangerous—collectors of abilities, harvesters of bloodlines and talents. And they wanted Kitsune's powers.

Before he could respond, familiar chakra signatures approached from the east—Konoha shinobi on patrol, finally responding to the disturbance. Dokeshi sensed them too, his posture shifting subtly.

"It seems our introduction must be cut short," he said, retracting the copied chakra thread into his device. "But rest assured, we'll continue this fascinating exchange soon." He turned to his subordinates. "Disengage. Acquisition parameters have shifted."

The black-suited figures retreated with the same uncanny synchronization, vanishing into the storm-darkness as though they'd never existed. Dokeshi lingered a moment longer, the expressionless mask somehow conveying amusement.

"Until our next collection attempt, Kitsune." He paused, head tilting. "Or should I say... Na—"

A chakra thread shot toward him with blinding speed, aimed directly at the vocal modulator in his mask. Dokeshi dodged with millimeter precision, the thread slicing through empty air.

"Touchy," he chuckled, the sound distorted through his mask. "Your secret is safe for now. It makes the hunt more interesting."

With that, he melted into the rain-soaked darkness, leaving Kitsune alone with the unconscious Inuzukas and a growing sense of dread.

The patrol was close now—too close to risk remaining. Kitsune quickly checked Kiba and Akamaru, relieved to find steady pulses despite their unnatural slumber. Whatever Dokeshi had done to them, it didn't appear immediately life-threatening.

He propped them in a sitting position against the water tower's remains, arranging them to appear as though they'd simply been caught in the crossfire rather than targeted specifically. With luck, they wouldn't remember the details of their attackers—or Kitsune's intervention.

As the patrol's chakra signatures rounded the final corner, Kitsune fired a thread to a distant rooftop and vanished into the storm, mind racing with implications. Dokeshi had nearly spoken his real name—a possibility too terrifying to contemplate.

Whatever game The Collectors were playing, the stakes had just become exponentially higher.

---

The Konoha Hospital emergency ward buzzed with controlled chaos. Medics rushed between examination rooms, their white coats billowing behind them like sails in a storm. The air smelled of antiseptic, blood, and the subtle tang of healing chakra—a combination Naruto had experienced more times than he cared to count.

He slouched in an uncomfortable waiting room chair, doing his best to project casual concern rather than the gnawing worry eating him alive. Across from him, Hinata sat with perfect posture despite the hour, her pale eyes occasionally activating with the subtle veins of Byakugan to check on the treatment rooms beyond.

"Any change?" Naruto asked, voice pitched low enough that only her enhanced hearing would catch it.

She shook her head minutely. "Sakura is still examining them. Lady Tsunade arrived five minutes ago."

The Hokage's involvement elevated a simple assault case to something far more concerning. Naruto shifted restlessly, replaying the night's events. According to the official report—which he'd casually overheard while delivering "breakfast" to Kiba—both Inuzukas had been found unconscious near a damaged water tower, with evidence of a struggle involving "unknown assailants" and "possible vigilante intervention."

No mention of The Collectors. No description of Dokeshi's chakra-draining technology. Either the details had been classified, or Kiba and Akamaru remembered nothing of the encounter.

"Naruto."

He looked up to find Shikamaru standing before him, rain still beading on his jonin vest. The shadow-user's expression betrayed nothing, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.

"Hey, Shikamaru. Any news about Kiba?" Naruto asked, aiming for nonchalance.

"Stable. Unconscious. Same as the last three." Shikamaru dropped into the chair beside him, voice pitched for privacy. "Interesting pattern developing. All victims possess unique abilities or bloodline traits. All found in similar states of chakra depletion. All with the same microscopic puncture wound at the base of the skull."

Naruto's mouth went dry. "Three others? When?"

"Over the past week. An Aburame, whose insects mysteriously abandoned him during the attack. A retired ANBU with a rare affinity for sound-based genjutsu. A civilian metallurgist with the ability to identify ore compositions by taste." Shikamaru's fingers formed their familiar thinking triangle. "The pattern suggests selective targeting based on unique capabilities."

"And Kitsune?" Naruto asked, hating himself for fishing but needing to know. "Was he involved in the other cases?"

"Eyewitnesses place him at two of the three scenes, apparently attempting intervention." Shikamaru's gaze sharpened. "Curious coincidence, don't you think? Our mysterious vigilante crossing paths with our mysterious attackers multiple times?"

Before Naruto could respond, the treatment room doors swung open. Tsunade emerged in full Hokage regalia, her expression thunderous. Behind her trailed Sakura, clutching a medical clipboard with white-knuckled intensity.

"Nara, my office, thirty minutes," Tsunade barked as she passed their seating area. "Bring the Yamanaka analysis and the recovered metallurgical samples."

After she departed, Sakura approached, exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. "He's stable. Both of them are. But whatever hit them—" She shook her head, professional detachment slipping. "I've never seen chakra pathways disrupted like this. It's as if something literally extracted specific energy patterns while leaving the rest intact."

"Like a targeted chakra drain?" Hinata asked, medical knowledge gleaned from years of Hyuga training evident in her precise terminology.

"More sophisticated than that." Sakura sank into a chair, rubbing her temples. "A standard drain depletes chakra indiscriminately. This was surgical—targeting the exact pathways associated with Kiba's enhanced senses and transformation techniques."

Naruto's blood ran cold. Dokeshi's technology was even more advanced than he'd realized. Not just copying techniques, but extracting them at the source.

"Will he recover?" he asked, genuine concern overriding his need for information.

"Lady Tsunade believes so, with time. But..." Sakura hesitated, conflict evident in her expression—the medic's responsibility to confidentiality warring with friendship. "This makes four cases in eight days. Each targeting completely different abilities. Each with the same precision extraction method."

"Someone's collecting unique abilities," Shikamaru supplied, voicing what they all suspected. "The question is why—and how."

Naruto stood abruptly, unable to remain still with the weight of knowledge crushing him. "I should check on Kiba. Maybe he's woken up."

"Naruto." Sakura's tone stopped him mid-stride. "There's something else. According to the ANBU who found them, there's evidence Kitsune intervened again. Just like with the Aburame case."

"The vigilante guy?" Naruto feigned mild interest. "Weird coincidence."

"Four times isn't coincidence," Shikamaru countered. "Either he's involved with these attackers, or..."

"Or he's their target too," Hinata finished softly, eyes meeting Naruto's for the briefest moment.

The implications hung in the air, thick as the storm clouds still gathering outside. If The Collectors were targeting unique abilities, Kitsune's chakra threads would represent an irresistible prize—especially if, as Dokeshi suggested, they weren't a bloodline trait but something acquired. Something that could potentially be replicated.

Something that had already been sampled.

"I need some air," Naruto announced, turning toward the exit before anyone could read the dawning horror in his expression.

Hinata rose smoothly. "I'll come with you. I could use some fresh air as well."

Outside, rain continued to fall, gentler now but persistent. Naruto led them to a covered walkway connecting the hospital to the medical research wing, deserted at this early hour. Only when he was certain they were alone did he allow his carefree mask to crack.

"They're after Kitsune," he whispered, hands clenching into fists. "This Dokeshi guy, he—he copied my chakra threads. Has some kind of technology that can sample and replicate abilities."

Hinata activated her Byakugan briefly, confirming their privacy before responding. "The precision extraction Sakura described—it's like they're building a library of techniques."

"Worse than that. Their leader, he knew things. About me." Naruto swallowed hard, the admission difficult even with Hinata. "He almost said my name, Hinata. My real name."

Her eyes widened, alarm replacing her usual gentle expression. "That's—"

"Impossible, I know. But he said it like he was certain." Naruto paced the narrow walkway, nervous energy making stillness impossible. "And the way they moved—it was wrong. Too coordinated, too mechanical. Even their chakra felt strange."

"Could they be using some kind of mind control on their subordinates?" Hinata suggested, analytical mind cutting through panic to examine possibilities. "Or perhaps a variation of the puppet technique?"

"Maybe. But that doesn't explain how they targeted specific ability pathways, or how Dokeshi extracted a sample of my chakra threads." Naruto's expression darkened. "Or how they found Kiba in the first place. How they knew about the Aburame, or the others."

Hinata's brow furrowed in concentration. "Someone with inside knowledge of Konoha shinobi capabilities. Access to classified personnel files."

"A traitor in the Hokage's office," Naruto concluded grimly. "Just like that smuggling leader hinted at."

They fell silent, the implications too disturbing to voice aloud. If someone with access to classified information was feeding data to The Collectors, no one with unique abilities was safe—including those closest to Naruto.

"You need to warn Lady Tsunade," Hinata said finally, voice firm despite her natural reticence. "Not as Naruto, but as Kitsune. Provide enough details to help them prepare defenses, even if it means risking capture."

Naruto shook his head vehemently. "Too dangerous. With a leak in her office, any official meeting would be compromised before it began. And if Dokeshi really does know who I am..."

"Then we need more information." Hinata's resolve strengthened visibly, her quiet confidence emerging in crisis. "About The Collectors, about Dokeshi, about this technology they're using."

"I know where to start," Naruto decided, pieces clicking into place. "The metallurgist. Shikamaru said he could identify ores by taste. That's why they targeted him—they needed his ability to analyze whatever materials they're using in their devices."

Hinata nodded, following his logic. "And they would need specialized equipment to process those materials. That creates a trail."

"Exactly." Naruto's expression hardened with determination. "Tonight, Kitsune pays a visit to some metal shops. But first, I need to check something."

"What?"

"Kiba said something to me last week—about Akamaru detecting strange scents near the Academy. Chemical smells that didn't belong." Naruto's eyes narrowed. "I think The Collectors might have been scouting Konoha longer than we realized."

A door opened at the far end of the walkway, a nurse emerging with a clipboard. Naruto immediately shifted his posture, rubbing the back of his head in his characteristic gesture of embarrassment.

"Anyway, that's why I can't eat ramen before missions anymore," he announced loudly, the abrupt topic change convincing no one but serving its purpose as the nurse passed them with a curious glance.

Hinata played along seamlessly, her shy smile returning as though it had never left. "That's very r-responsible of you, Naruto-kun."

Once alone again, Naruto's expression turned solemn. "We need to be careful, Hinata. These aren't ordinary enemies. They're methodical, prepared, and they have technology we don't understand."

"We'll face them together," she replied, the simple declaration carrying more weight than flowery promises could have achieved.

Naruto nodded, grateful beyond words for her unwavering support. As they returned to the hospital's main entrance, he couldn't shake the feeling that Kitsune's creation had unleashed consequences far beyond what he'd ever imagined—consequences now threatening everyone he cared about.

---

The Records Repository beneath Konoha's Administrative Building resembled a paper labyrinth, its endless rows of shelving stretching into shadow-filled recesses lit only by the occasional flickering lamp. Few ventured into the musty depths unless absolutely necessary, making it perfect for Naruto's purposes.

He moved silently through the stacks, enhanced senses navigating the gloom with ease. No mask tonight, no costume—this reconnaissance required Naruto Uzumaki's legitimate access as a village shinobi, though his true purpose remained decidedly off-books.

Reaching the section marked "Metallurgical Imports — Restricted," he began scanning file labels. The organization system defied conventional logic, requiring three backtracked paths before he located what he sought: inspection records for specialized metal shipments entering Konoha during the past six months.

"Let's see what our mysterious collectors have been importing," he muttered, pulling a thick folder from its place.

The technical specifications within meant little to him—alloy compositions, purity percentages, conductivity ratings—but the shipping manifests painted a clearer picture. Six separate deliveries of rare metals to a research facility operating under the name "Convergent Technologies," all within the past three months. All cleared with authorization codes that, according to the margin notes, had been flagged for verification but ultimately approved.

More concerning were the materials themselves: chakra-conductive alloys typically restricted to ANBU weapons development, experimental composites with neural-reactive properties, and several compounds labeled simply "Origin: Unknown—Classification Pending."

Naruto committed the delivery addresses to memory, replacing the file exactly as he'd found it. He was about to leave when voices echoed from the repository entrance—one bored chunin guard and one immediately recognizable baritone.

Kakashi.

"—shouldn't take long. Just need to verify some requisition discrepancies," Kakashi was saying, footsteps already descending the stairs into the archives.

Naruto pressed himself against the shadowed side of a bookshelf, heartbeat thundering in his ears. No legitimate reason existed for him to be browsing restricted metallurgical import records at—he checked the wall clock—11:47 PM.

The footsteps approached his section, accompanied by the soft rustle of pages being turned. Naruto remained motionless, not daring to breathe as Kakashi passed within arm's reach of his hiding place.

"Curious pattern," Kakashi murmured to himself, apparently finding what he sought. "All approved with the same authorization override."

More page-turning, followed by a thoughtful hum. "And all matching the composition analysis from the device fragment recovered at the Inuzuka incident."

Naruto's ears pricked at this new information. Device fragment? Had part of Dokeshi's technology been damaged during the confrontation?

"Most interesting of all," Kakashi continued his solo dialogue, "the chakra signature embedded in the fragment matches traces found at three separate Kitsune sightings."

Cold dread washed over Naruto. They'd connected The Collectors to Kitsune already—but how? And why was Kakashi investigating alone, after hours, without official documentation?

Unless... he didn't trust the official channels either.

The realization struck with stunning clarity. Kakashi suspected a security leak just as Naruto did, and was conducting his own independent investigation. The question remained: how close was he to connecting all the dots?

Footsteps retreated, files reshuffled into their proper places. Naruto remained frozen, barely allowing himself to breathe until Kakashi's presence faded completely from the archives.

Only then did he emerge from hiding, mind racing with implications. Kakashi was assembling the same puzzle, working the same angles—but with greater resources and analytical skill. It was only a matter of time before he identified Convergent Technologies as a front for The Collectors, tracked their facilities, and potentially discovered their connection to Kitsune.

To Naruto.

"Time's running out," he whispered to the empty archives, making his decision. Tonight, Kitsune would investigate the delivery addresses. Tomorrow might be too late.

---

The first two addresses proved disappointing—legitimate-seeming businesses with no obvious connection to Dokeshi's operation. The third, however, radiated wrongness from the moment Kitsune laid eyes on it.

Nestled between a textile warehouse and an abandoned brewery on Konoha's industrial outskirts, the nondescript building bore signage identifying it as "Convergent Specialty Materials." Its windows were reflective black glass, entrances limited to a single reinforced door and a loading bay sealed with a heavy metal shutter. Most telling were the security measures—too sophisticated for a simple metalworking shop, including chakra-detection barriers and motion sensors disguised as ordinary fixtures.

"Definitely not a coincidence," Kitsune muttered, observing from a neighboring rooftop.

The facility's security posed no insurmountable challenge for someone with his abilities. Within fifteen minutes, he'd identified a blind spot in the sensor array—a ventilation outlet on the northern face, its intrusion countermeasures disabled for maintenance according to the blinking status light on its housing.

Perfect.

Kitsune approached from above, adhering to the building's side before removing the vent cover with practiced efficiency. The opening was narrow—designed to prevent exactly this kind of infiltration—but his enhanced flexibility allowed him to contort through spaces that would stop most shinobi.

The ventilation shaft emptied into a utility closet, which in turn provided access to a darkened hallway. Kitsune paused, senses straining for any indication of security personnel. Nothing but the soft hum of electronics and the distant whir of climate control systems.

Too easy.

His danger sense confirmed the assessment, a persistent buzz at the base of his skull warning of unseen threats. Either the facility was more thoroughly monitored than external appearances suggested, or this was—

"A trap," he whispered, realization dawning too late.

The lights blazed to life with blinding intensity, accompanied by a subsonic pulse that sent him staggering. Four panels in the hallway floor slid open, deploying automated turrets that swiveled toward him with mechanical precision.

"Intruder identified," announced a synthesized voice from hidden speakers. "Containment protocols initiated."

The turrets fired—not bullets or energy beams, but capture nets composed of the same light-absorbing material worn by The Collectors. Kitsune dodged the first volley with millimeter precision, firing chakra threads to the ceiling and yanking himself upward as the nets deployed beneath him.

No time for stealth now. He needed information and an exit strategy, preferably in that order.

Kitsune sprinted down the hallway, the turrets tracking his movement with uncanny accuracy. Each intersection presented more automated defenses—pressure plates, laser triggers, additional turrets—all designed not to kill but to capture.

"They were expecting me," he realized, vaulting over a deployable barrier. "This entire facility is one giant mousetrap."

The hallway terminated at a reinforced door, its access panel requiring biometric authentication. No time for finesse. Kitsune channeled chakra through his threads, creating a concentrated cutting edge that sliced through the door's locking mechanism like superheated wire through ice.

The door slid open, revealing a laboratory that stopped him in his tracks.

Glass containment units lined the walls, each housing what appeared to be a suspended animation chamber. Within each transparent pod floated a humanoid figure, connected to monitoring equipment by a web of tubes and sensors. Some contained recognizable individuals—the Aburame youth who'd disappeared last week, the sound-genjutsu specialist mentioned in Shikamaru's report.

Others housed subjects Kitsune didn't recognize—a woman with scaled skin, a man with six-fingered hands, a child no older than eight whose features shifted between male and female even as he watched.

"The Collectors' collection," he breathed, horror mounting as he processed the scene. "They're not just copying abilities—they're harvesting the people who possess them."

At the center of the laboratory stood a circular platform surrounded by diagnostic equipment. Hovering above it was a glowing matrix of energy—not chakra, not entirely, but something that incorporated chakra within a more complex framework. The matrix pulsed with multiple signatures, each distinct yet somehow harmonized into a coherent whole.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Kitsune whirled to find Dokeshi standing in a previously hidden doorway, his red mask reflecting the matrix's pulsating light. Gone was the rain-soaked figure from their previous encounter, replaced by what could only be described as a cybernetic enhancement of the original form. Metallic components integrated seamlessly with the light-absorbing suit, particularly around the hands and forearms, where crystalline structures housing familiar-looking devices nestled in recessed compartments.

"I call it the Convergence Engine," Dokeshi continued conversationally, gesturing toward the floating matrix. "The culmination of two decades' research into chakra transference, storage, and integration. Each signature you see represents an acquired ability, preserved in its purest expression." His mask tilted, the gesture somehow conveying pride despite its expressionless surface. "Some donated willingly. Most... less so."

"You're harvesting people," Kitsune snarled, struggling to contain the rage building within him. "Experimenting on them, stealing what makes them unique."

"Such limited perspective." Dokeshi sighed, the sound distorted through his vocal modulator. "I'm preserving extraordinary gifts that would otherwise be lost to death, diluted through generational transfer, or squandered on individuals without the vision to fully utilize them."

He approached the matrix, hand passing through its glowing structure with practiced familiarity. The energy responded to his touch, coalescing around his fingers like a loyal pet seeking affection.

"Imagine a world where abilities aren't restricted by accident of birth," he continued, voice taking on an almost reverent quality. "Where the finest talents of a generation could be preserved, combined, enhanced. Where chakra nature, bloodline limits, physical augmentations—all become components in a greater evolutionary design."

"You're not preserving," Kitsune countered, gesturing toward the containment pods. "You're imprisoning. Experimenting. Destroying lives for your 'greater design.'"

"Some sacrifice is inevitable in pursuit of transcendence." Dokeshi's tone hardened. "But I didn't lure you here for philosophical debate, fascinating though it might be." He turned fully toward Kitsune, the devices in his palms activating with an ominous hum. "Your abilities represent something truly novel—chakra externalization with properties I've never documented before. Not inherited, not developed through traditional training."

He took a step forward, head tilting in that unsettling, curious manner. "Acquired through... unusual circumstances, perhaps? An accident? An encounter with something beyond conventional understanding?"

The question struck too close to the truth. How could Dokeshi know about the chakra-enhanced insects? Had he been tracking Naruto even before the transformation?

"The only thing you're acquiring tonight is a one-way ticket to a maximum-security cell," Kitsune replied, firing chakra threads toward the ceiling supports. If he could bring down enough debris to block Dokeshi's pursuit, he might reach the containment pods, free at least some of the prisoners—

His threads never reached their target. Dokeshi raised one palm, the device within emitting a focused beam that intercepted the chakra constructs mid-flight. The threads froze, suspended in air, before being drawn inexorably toward the collector's device like water down a drain.

"Remarkable conversion efficiency," Dokeshi commented, the device absorbing the last traces of Kitsune's technique. "Nearly ninety-seven percent retention of original properties. Your threads will make an excellent addition to the Engine."

Kitsune launched himself at Dokeshi, abandoning ranged attacks for direct engagement. His enhanced strength and speed should have given him the advantage in close quarters—but Dokeshi moved with impossible fluidity, each strike countered before it fully developed, each approach anticipated with uncanny precision.

"Predictive combat algorithms," Dokeshi explained, easily sidestepping a spinning kick. "Derived from Sharingan analysis, enhanced with Byakugan spatial mapping, refined through quantum probability calculation." He caught Kitsune's wrist mid-strike, the grip inhumanly strong. "Your movements were catalogued during our previous encounter. The system has been optimizing countermeasures since."

With casual strength, he hurled Kitsune across the laboratory. The impact with a monitoring console sent pain lancing through Kitsune's shoulder, equipment shattering beneath him in a shower of sparks and broken glass.

An alarm immediately triggered, red lights pulsing as an automated voice announced: "Critical system failure. Containment protocols compromised. Emergency purge initiated."

The pods lining the walls hissed as their preservation fluid began draining, monitoring equipment disengaging from the suspended subjects. Dokeshi's posture shifted instantly from casual confidence to alert concern.

"No!" he shouted, the first genuine emotion Kitsune had heard from him. "Override authorization Delta-Seven-Epsilon!"

The computer ignored his command, continuing the emergency protocols. Dokeshi turned toward a central control station, attention momentarily diverted from Kitsune.

Opportunity.

Kitsune fired chakra threads with his undamaged arm, the glowing strands wrapping around Dokeshi's ankles. With a powerful yank, he pulled the collector's feet from under him, sending him crashing into his precious Engine.

The matrix destabilized upon contact, its harmonious pattern dissolving into chaotic energy fluctuations. Alarms intensified as containment field integrity dropped, the laboratory's lighting flickering ominously.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Dokeshi snarled, regaining his footing as the matrix continued to deteriorate behind him. "Years of collection, of integration, of perfect harmony—destabilizing because of your reckless interference!"

"Better destroyed than used to hurt more innocent people," Kitsune shot back, pressing his advantage despite the pain radiating from his injured shoulder.

He launched another attack, this time using chakra threads to swing a heavy equipment rack toward Dokeshi. The collector dodged, but in doing so positioned himself directly beneath a coolant conduit that had begun leaking due to the earlier impact.

Kitsune fired a precision thread, slicing through the conduit's remaining support. Pressurized coolant exploded downward, engulfing Dokeshi in a cloud of super-cooled vapor. The temperature drop was dramatic enough to affect even the collector's enhanced systems, ice crystals forming instantly across his suit's surface.

Not waiting to see if the impromptu cryogenic treatment would hold, Kitsune rushed to the nearest containment pod. Its occupant—the Aburame youth—was regaining consciousness as the preservation fluid drained, confusion evident in his expression.

"Can you walk?" Kitsune asked, helping him from the pod.

The young man nodded groggily, swaying but upright. Around the laboratory, other pods completed their emergency protocols, releasing confused and disoriented captives.

"Everyone who can move, help those who can't," Kitsune ordered, the natural authority in his voice cutting through their confusion. "Exit through the main hallway, follow the emergency lighting to the nearest evacuation point."

As the freed prisoners organized themselves with surprising efficiency, Kitsune turned his attention back to Dokeshi. The coolant cloud had dissipated, revealing...

Nothing. The collector had vanished.

Kitsune's danger sense flared an instant before impact. Dokeshi slammed into him from behind, the collision driving them both into the destabilizing Convergence Engine. Energy crackled around them, the matrix's disrupted fields creating unpredictable flares of power that scorched equipment and melted structural supports wherever they touched.

"If I cannot preserve my collection," Dokeshi hissed, voice distorted not by his modulator but by genuine rage, "I will at least acquire its finest specimen."

His hand clamped around Kitsune's throat, the device in his palm activating with searing intensity. Pain unlike anything Naruto had ever experienced ripped through him—not just physical, but something deeper, as if Dokeshi were attempting to extract his very essence through the contact point.

Through blurring vision, Kitsune saw tendrils of blue-white energy flowing from his body into Dokeshi's device—not just chakra, but something more fundamental. The same energy he'd observed in the matrix, the distilled essence of ability itself.

"Your threads are merely the surface expression," Dokeshi whispered, fascination coloring his tone despite the chaos surrounding them. "The true gift lies deeper—a complete physiological reconfiguration. Enhanced strength, adhesion capabilities, sensory augmentation... magnificent."

The laboratory was collapsing around them now, structural supports failing as the Engine's destabilized energy ate through metal and concrete alike. Emergency klaxons wailed, automated systems announcing evacuation protocols in a voice devoid of the panic that filled the fleeing technical staff now streaming toward exits.

With the last of his strength, Kitsune drove his knee upward, striking Dokeshi's arm at precisely the joint where flesh met mechanical enhancement. The collector's grip faltered just enough for Kitsune to break free, staggering backward as the extracted energy snapped back into his body like an overextended rubber band.

"This facility is lost," Dokeshi acknowledged, the matrix behind him collapsing into a singularity of destructive potential. "But my work continues elsewhere. And you—" His mask tilted, that eerily familiar gesture of fascinated assessment. "You'll be seeing me again, Naruto Uzumaki."

The name hit like a physical blow, confirming Kitsune's worst fears. Somehow, Dokeshi knew his true identity.

No time to process the implications. The Engine's collapse had reached critical stage, energy tendrils whipping through the laboratory with increasing violence. Kitsune fired chakra threads toward the exit, pulling himself clear of the destruction zone as Dokeshi activated some kind of teleportation device, his form dissolving into particles that scattered before reassembling elsewhere.

The laboratory detonated behind him as Kitsune raced through corridors now choked with fleeing personnel. None tried to stop him—their only concern escape from the facility's imminent destruction. He passed the freed captives being guided toward emergency exits by the more cognizant among them, relieved to see all accounted for.

Kitsune burst through an external door just as the building's central section imploded, the Convergence Engine's death throes consuming its birthplace in a spectacular display of uncontrolled energy. The shockwave caught him mid-leap, sending him tumbling across the industrial complex's outer courtyard to land in an ungraceful heap behind a storage shed.

Pain radiated from a dozen injuries, his costume torn and scorched in multiple places. But he was alive—and more importantly, The Collectors' primary research facility was destroyed, their captives freed.

Yet the victory felt hollow as Dokeshi's parting words echoed in his mind. The collector knew his identity. Knew his name. And had somehow escaped with at least a partial sample of his abilities.

In the distance, emergency response teams converged on the devastation—ANBU, Military Police, medical units alerted by the facility's automated distress signals. Kitsune dragged himself to his feet, knowing he had minutes at most before questions would be asked that he couldn't answer.

"Got to move," he muttered, firing a chakra thread toward a distant rooftop. The construct wavered, his energy reserves dangerously depleted after Dokeshi's partial extraction. But it held long enough to carry him beyond the immediate search perimeter.

Three more threads, each weaker than the last, brought him to a secluded alley where emergency supply caches had been established throughout Konoha for exactly this purpose. Naruto collapsed against the brick wall, breath coming in ragged gasps as he fumbled with the hidden compartment.

The civilian clothes inside would allow him to become Naruto again—assuming he could stay conscious long enough to change. Darkness edged his vision, exhaustion and chakra depletion taking their toll despite the Nine-Tails' accelerated healing.

"Just... a little longer," he wheezed, struggling with the clasps of his damaged costume.

A gentle hand covered his, familiar chakra signature registering through the fog of near-unconsciousness. "I've got you," Hinata whispered, materializing from the shadows like a guardian spirit. "Rest now."

Naruto slumped forward, allowing himself the luxury of surrender to darkness with Hinata's steady presence as anchor.

---

"—unprecedented breach of village security. Four confirmed fatalities among research staff, eighteen injured, and twenty-three test subjects recovered in varying states of physiological alteration."

Ibiki Morino's gravelly voice penetrated the fog of Naruto's half-consciousness, dragging him toward full awareness despite his body's protests. He remained motionless, eyes closed, cataloguing his surroundings through other senses.

Soft cotton sheets beneath him. Antiseptic smell with undertones of healing herbs—the Hyuga private medical facility, not the village hospital. Multiple chakra signatures nearby—Hinata closest, then Neji slightly further away, both positioned to block direct line of sight from the room's entrance.

And in the doorway, Ibiki continued his report to someone whose chakra signature made Naruto's pulse quicken: Tsunade.

"The facility was registered as a metallurgical research center," Ibiki continued, apparently unaware that Naruto had regained consciousness. "But preliminary evidence suggests human experimentation focused on bloodline traits and unique abilities. The technology recovered from the site is... concerning."

"Concerning how?" Tsunade's voice was sharp with suppressed emotion.

"It appears designed to extract, analyze, and replicate chakra-based abilities. Some components incorporate principles we've only theorized. Others utilize materials unknown to our research division." A rustle of papers. "Most disturbing are the integration modules—designed to combine extracted abilities within a single host organism."

"Human weaponization," Tsunade concluded grimly. "Any indication who's behind it?"

"The facility operated under the name 'Convergent Technologies,' but ownership traces through seven shell corporations before disappearing into financial black holes." Ibiki paused. "There is, however, another factor to consider."

"Kitsune," Tsunade supplied, tone hardening further.

"Multiple eyewitnesses place him at the scene, apparently fighting facility security to free the test subjects." Ibiki's voice remained professional despite the controversial subject. "And according to preliminary statements from the rescued captives, he orchestrated their evacuation under life-threatening conditions."

A weighted silence followed this report, broken finally by Tsunade's reluctant acknowledgment. "So our vigilante problem may have inadvertently exposed a much larger security threat."

"That appears to be the case, Lady Hokage."

Footsteps approached Naruto's bedside, stopping just short. He could feel Tsunade's assessing gaze, the medic in her automatically cataloguing visible injuries while the Hokage processed security implications.

"And young Uzumaki?" she asked, voice softening marginally. "Hyuga Hiashi's message said he collapsed from chakra exhaustion during training with his cousin and daughter."

"Preliminary examination suggests standard depletion patterns consistent with his explanation," Neji answered smoothly, the lie flowing with perfect Hyuga dignity. "Naruto-san was attempting to incorporate Gentle Fist principles into his wind-nature training when the collapse occurred."

"Hmm." The skepticism in Tsunade's hum spoke volumes. "Curious timing, given the events across town."

"Coincidence, Lady Hokage," Hinata offered, her usual stutter absent in the practiced deception. "We've been training at this hour for several weeks."

Another weighted silence, during which Naruto maintained the steadiness of breathing that mimicked deep sleep. Finally, Tsunade sighed.

"Keep me informed of his recovery. And Hiashi has my thanks for providing private care—the main hospital is overwhelmed with casualties from the research facility."

Her footsteps retreated, followed by Ibiki's heavier tread. Only when the main door slid shut did Naruto risk cracking one eye open.

"They're gone," Neji confirmed, Byakugan briefly activating to verify. "Though I suspect Lady Tsunade's acceptance of our explanation was more courtesy than conviction."

Naruto pushed himself upright, wincing as various injuries protested the movement. "How bad is it?"

"You had severe chakra pathway disruption consistent with forced extraction," Hinata reported, slipping easily into her medical role. "Multiple lacerations, second-degree burns across twelve percent of your body, and a dislocated shoulder that Neji-niisan reset while you were unconscious."

"Not exactly what I meant," Naruto clarified, though grateful for the assessment. "The facility—The Collectors—how much does Konoha know?"

"Enough to mobilize ANBU hunter teams searching for this 'Dokeshi' and his associates," Neji replied, retrieving a folder from beside the bed. "I was able to access the preliminary intel report while escorting Lady Tsunade. The technology they recovered is unlike anything our research division has encountered—parts appear derived from Lightning Country's cybernetic experiments, others incorporate theoretical applications of space-time manipulation previously considered impossible."

He handed Naruto several photographs, each showing components recovered from the destruction. Even to Naruto's untrained eye, the technology appeared decades beyond Konoha's current capabilities—sleek designs housing crystalline matrices, interface modules anatomically shaped for human integration, power sources that glowed with self-sustaining energy.

"They're building something," Naruto murmured, pieces clicking together in his mind. "The ability extraction, the metallurgist kidnapping, the specialized components—Dokeshi is constructing some kind of... ultimate integration system."

"A method to combine all collected abilities within himself," Hinata concluded, following his logic. "Creating a composite being with dozens of bloodline traits and unique capabilities."

"But why target Kitsune specifically?" Neji asked, ever the strategic thinker. "According to witness statements, he seemed particularly focused on capturing you—or rather, your alter ego."

Naruto's expression darkened. "Because my abilities aren't a bloodline trait. They're... something else. Something he can't classify or categorize easily." He hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal even to allies. "And because he knows who I am beneath the mask."

Hinata gasped softly, while Neji's stoic expression cracked with genuine alarm.

"He said my name," Naruto continued, the admission painful but necessary. "My real name. Called me Naruto Uzumaki just before the facility collapsed."

"That's... problematic," Neji acknowledged, masterfully understating the catastrophic implications. "If he reveals your identity to Konoha authorities—"

"It's worse than that," Naruto interrupted. "If he knows who I am, he knows who I care about. Who my friends are. Who might be leveraged against me." His fists clenched in the bedsheets. "Everyone close to me just became a potential target."

The realization hung heavy in the air, its weight crushing any relief their immediate escape might have provided. Naruto's double life, begun as a simple desire to help overlooked civilians, had evolved into something far more dangerous—a catalyst for threats that now endangered the entire village.

"We should inform Lady Tsunade," Neji suggested after a lengthy silence. "Your identity is compromised regardless. Better to control the disclosure than allow this Dokeshi to dictate terms."

"Not yet," Naruto decided, resolve hardening despite the logical appeal of Neji's suggestion. "Dokeshi mentioned sources within the Hokage's administration—the same hint I got from the smuggling operation. Until we identify the leak, official channels aren't secure."

"Then what do we do?" Hinata asked, practical concerns overriding the fear evident in her eyes.

Naruto swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the protests of his healing body. "We go on the offensive. Dokeshi thinks he's hunting Kitsune—time to show him what it means to be hunted by a fox."

---

The Hokage Tower's west face caught the setting sun's final rays, windows blazing like molten gold against darkening stone. Within those illuminated panes, decisions that would shape Konoha's future unfolded in hushed conversations and classified briefings.

Naruto clung to shadowed eaves thirty feet below the Hokage's office window, enhanced hearing easily penetrating the supposedly soundproof glass. His body still ached from the confrontation at the research facility two days prior, but the Nine-Tails' healing factor had addressed the worst injuries. What remained was a bone-deep weariness that no amount of ramen or sleep seemed to touch.

But exhaustion could wait. Information couldn't.

"—at least seventeen similar facilities documented across the Five Nations," Kakashi was saying, his usually casual tone edged with uncharacteristic tension. "All operating under different shell corporations, all researching components of the same technology."

"A coordinated operation on this scale suggests nation-state backing," Tsunade replied, the clink of ceramic suggesting she'd set down her sake cup with controlled force. "Yet our intelligence assets report no connection to any major village."

"Because it's not a village operation," Kakashi countered. "Everything points to a private consortium—well-funded, highly compartmentalized, with infiltration assets in multiple administrative systems."

A rustle of papers, followed by Tsunade's sharp intake of breath. "These names... some are members of our own council."

"Potential collaborators, witting or unwitting," Kakashi clarified. "The pattern suggests Dokeshi's organization identifies individuals with access to sensitive information, then applies leverage—financial incentives, blackmail, or in some cases, apparent ideological alignment with their transhumanist philosophy."

"And Kitsune?" Tsunade asked, voice carefully neutral. "How does our masked vigilante factor into this web?"

A weighted pause followed. Naruto's heartbeat accelerated, ear pressed against the cool stone as he strained to catch Kakashi's response.

"The evidence suggests he stumbled onto The Collectors' operations while pursuing his civilian protection activities," Kakashi finally answered. "Whether by design or coincidence, his unique abilities drew Dokeshi's attention, elevating him from peripheral nuisance to primary acquisition target."

"Unique abilities," Tsunade repeated. "After three months of investigation, we still have no conclusive identification for Kitsune, no explanation for his capabilities, no understanding of his motives beyond the obvious hero complex."

"Perhaps because we've been looking in the wrong places," Kakashi suggested mildly. "Or at the wrong people."

Naruto's blood ran cold. That tone, that specific inflection—Kakashi knew. Or strongly suspected.

"Meaning?" Tsunade prompted.

"Kitsune's fighting style incorporates elements from multiple Konoha shinobi traditions—Academy basics, ANBU movement patterns, even traces of techniques taught exclusively to certain genin teams."

"Suggesting insider knowledge or training," Tsunade concluded. "That's hardly narrowing the field, Kakashi."

"What if," Kakashi continued with deliberate casualness, "we consider the timing of Kitsune's first appearance? Approximately three months ago, corresponding with a period when one of our more... energetic shinobi exhibited uncharacteristic exhaustion, missed training sessions, and demonstrated subtle but significant changes in physical capabilities?"

Silence stretched, heavy with implication. Naruto hardly dared breathe, the confirmation of his worst fears playing out six meters above his hiding place.

"You can't be serious," Tsunade finally responded, disbelief evident despite her lowered voice.

"The evidence is circumstantial but compelling. Notably, this individual has never been seen in the same location as Kitsune despite multiple opportunities. Their chakra signatures, while superficially different, share certain unique resonance patterns when analyzed at quantum levels."

"This is Naruto Uzumaki we're talking about," Tsunade hissed, abandoning pretense. "The least subtle, least secretive, least capable-of-maintaining-a-cover-identity shinobi in the entire village!"

"Which makes it the perfect disguise," Kakashi countered softly. "Who would suspect that the loudest, most recognizable ninja in Konoha could simultaneously be its most elusive vigilante? The misdirection is honestly brilliant."

Footsteps paced across the office floor—Tsunade, Naruto guessed, processing implications with physical movement as was her habit when agitated.

"If you're right," she said finally, "it creates even greater complications. Dokeshi wouldn't be pursuing just any unique abilities—he'd be after whatever gives Naruto his Kitsune capabilities plus potential access to the Nine-Tails' chakra."

"A concerning combination," Kakashi agreed. "Though I suspect whatever allows Naruto to produce those chakra threads and adhere to surfaces isn't related to his jinchūriki status. It's something new, something acquired recently."

"Have you confronted him?" Tsunade asked.

"Not directly. I've been waiting to accumulate definitive proof before bringing the matter to your attention." A pause. "And perhaps, if I'm being honest, allowing him the opportunity to continue his work while monitoring from a distance."

"You approve of his vigilante activities?" Tsunade's tone suggested raised eyebrows.

"I recognize their value to civilian sectors often overlooked by our official response protocols," Kakashi replied diplomatically. "And I've observed how the responsibility has matured him in ways traditional missions haven't."

Another lengthy silence, during which Naruto could practically hear the wheels turning in Tsunade's strategic mind.

"We'll continue this discussion tomorrow," she decided finally. "Bring me your complete file on Naruto's activities—both identities. And Kakashi? Not a word of this to anyone, including the subject himself. If Dokeshi has infiltrated our administration as deeply as you suggest, any confrontation with Naruto must be handled with extreme discretion."

"Understood, Lady Hokage."

The conversation shifted to other matters—patrol schedules, ANBU deployments, increased security protocols following the research facility's destruction. Naruto remained frozen in place, mind racing with implications.

Kakashi knew. Had known for some time, apparently. Had been watching, analyzing, protecting from the shadows while Naruto thought himself clever and undetected. And now Tsunade knew as well, or strongly suspected.

The game had changed fundamentally. His secret identity wasn't secret anymore—at least not to the two people in Konoha whose opinions mattered most to him. The question remained: what would they do with that knowledge?

And more urgently, what would Dokeshi do with his?

As dusk deepened into true night, Naruto finally detached from his listening post, dropping silently to the ground thirty meters below. His enhanced senses detected no pursuit, no observation, but the weight of exposed secrets followed him nevertheless as he made his way through shadowed streets toward the Hyuga compound.

Hinata would need to know about this development. They would need to accelerate their plans, prepare countermeasures, warn potential targets. The collectors had been temporarily disrupted, but Dokeshi remained at large—with partial samples of Kitsune's abilities and knowledge of the face behind the mask.

Konoha's masked guardian had never felt more vulnerable—or more determined to protect those now endangered by his choices.