Chapter 4: My Best Friend Wants to Be an immortal, and I Just Wanted Breakfast
From atop a distant building, Sasuke's eyes flicked toward the crimson and blue blur that had just wrapped the Green Goblin like a birthday present and was about to vanish into the city.
That was all it took.
One glance.
One command woven silently through a ripple of chakra, Sharingan precision at its most subtle.
Spiderman—Peter Parker—pivoted mid-swing. Confused. Alert. Almost like he'd forgotten where he was going. He dipped low and landed in an alleyway. Alone. Tense.
We were there before he hit the ground. Sasuke standing coolly against a brick wall. Me on a crate, legs swinging, pretending to eat an apple that didn't exist.
He never saw us.
Not really.
His mind opened like a book to Sasuke's eyes. Pages of pain, of heartbreak, of brilliance, of masked struggles and invisible burdens. And tucked in those pages were names, ideas, and more than one answer to our dilemma.
"Dr. Strange," I whispered, watching Sasuke's expression tighten.
"Mr. Fantastic," he replied flatly.
"And Doom."
"Too many variables. Doom interferes with Richards. Richards draws in Doom. Strange is a lightning rod for eldritch nightmares."
"But," I said, pointing to Peter like he was some museum artifact, "their knowledge—science and magic—it's not just flashy stuff. It's replicable. Teachable."
Sasuke nodded slowly. "We could learn it. Forge a new way home. No help. No risk of invasion. No chains of favor or alliances."
I looked at Peter again. His thoughts were running wild—Aunt May's bills, MJ's silence, academic pressure, guilt that pressed like gravity on his chest.
"I feel bad for him," I said honestly.
Sasuke said nothing at first.
Then, "He's a genius. Wasting away in poverty and grief. He shouldn't have to carry that much alone."
I blinked. "Are you sympathizing with him?"
"I'm acknowledging potential."
"Which means?"
Sasuke's Sharingan narrowed. "We could use him. I could plant a subtle command—something he wouldn't notice. He'd invent exactly what we need without ever knowing why."
My face dropped. "No. That's not right."
"He wouldn't be harmed. He'd just forget."
"That's worse."
"It's clean. Efficient. Risk-free."
"No. We're not doing that." My voice was firmer than I thought it would be.
Sasuke stared at me. We didn't argue often. Not like this.
"You trust too easily," he said.
"And you don't trust at all," I shot back. "That's not how this world works. We're not immortals here, Sasuke. We're guests."
He looked away first. Just for a second.
"We're not using him," I said. "Either we ask him for help properly, or we walk away."
He closed his eyes. "Then we walk."
And so we did.
Peter blinked and rubbed his temples. He thought he'd taken a wrong turn mid-swing, chalked it up to stress, and kept going.
He'd never know two aliens from another world had debated the morality of mind-controlling him in a back alley.
But one thing was certain: he had the knowledge.
And now we had a plan.
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The wind whispered softly atop the rooftop of the old brownstone, the hum of New York buzzing beneath their feet but Sasuke's eyes weren't on the city.
He was staring into the distance—beyond it.
Into something deeper.
"Genetic modification," Sasuke said, voice calm but intense. "Spider-powers, mutant genes, adamantium skeletons… All just pathways."
"To what?" I asked, leaning back, arms behind my head.
"To transcendence. To power." He turned to face me, the faint glow of his Sharingan flickering in one eye. "You heard what Peter said. These powers—mutations—can be induced. If I can understand how, I can replicate them."
I shook my head. "And do what? Grow spider legs out of your back? You already have Rinnegan, Eternal Mangekyou, and that cursed seal. Your body's been remodeled more than a tuning fork."
He smirked. "And yet, I'm still evolving. Why stop now?"
I frowned. "Because it messes with who you are."
"No," he said firmly. "Power doesn't change who you are. It reveals who you are. Orochimaru said something similar once. I used to think he was insane. Now… I think he was simply ahead of his time."
"Orochimaru wanted to become a immortal," I reminded him. "He sacrificed everything. Everyone."
Sasuke's voice lowered. "I'm not him. I don't need to steal bodies or betray people. But… if I want to be more—more than just a shinobi with borrowed power—why shouldn't I walk that path? Why can't I become the new Sage of Six Paths? Maybe that's my fate."
I was quiet for a long time.
I knew something Sasuke didn't. Something Jiraiya had pieced together . Something the Grand Sage Toad had shared with me in a dream I hadn't told anyone about.
"You really think the Sage of Six Paths is like one of their 'Celestials'?" I asked, redirecting.
Sasuke nodded. "Think about it. Born of chakra. A being who shaped the world. Maybe here, that's what Celestials are. Maybe he was one."
I didn't correct him. Not because I agreed, but because I knew if I challenged the idea, he'd double down.
"I'll find a way," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Even if I have to build it from scratch."
I wanted to believe in him.
But I also feared what he might become if he kept going down this road.
He was my best friend.
But sometimes… even best friends walk toward things you don't want to see.
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You ever get that feeling where your best friend—who's kind of emotionally constipated and definitely has anger issues—starts talking about becoming a immortal while you're just trying to enjoy a good morning breeze?
Yeah. That was me.
We were on the roof of some super tall building in New York, the kind of place that gives pigeons vertigo. I was munching on a bagel I may or may not have taken from the hotel kitchen (thanks, Sasuke's mind control), and he was doing his usual broody statue thing.
Then he dropped the line:
"I shall move with it, until I stand supreme once again. No—let us stand supreme. Because I don't want to be alone anymore."
I froze mid-chew.
Now, let me clarify. Sasuke doesn't do feelings. He fights them the way normal people fight mosquitoes—fast, aggressive, and with a lot of unnecessary force. So when he says something that sounds like it came straight out of a sad poetry journal, it hits different.
"You wanna stand supreme?" I asked, still chewing. "What, like with a throne and a cape? Gotta say, man, you're about two monologues away from supervillain territory."
He didn't laugh. He rarely does. Just looked at me with those sharp eyes, like he was trying to decide if I was a threat or a memory.
"Don't you trust me, Naruto?" he asked.
I stopped chewing.
Trust. That's a heavy word between us. It carries a history of broken bones, destroyed valleys, and a really awkward hug.
So I gave him the truth.
"I do. That's why I'm asking."
He looked away, his voice quieter now. "I only want power so that I never feel weak again. So I never have to lose... again."
That's when it clicked.
This wasn't about domination or glory.
It was about fear.
Sasuke—the same guy who could incinerate mountains with a glare—was scared. Not of dying. Not of losing a fight. But of losing us. Of being powerless to stop it.
"I get it," I said. "I really do. But chasing power like that... it's like eating too much ramen."
He raised an eyebrow. "...What?"
"Stick with me here. At first, it's amazing. You feel strong, full, unstoppable. Then your stomach turns, and suddenly you're puking in the bushes behind Ichiraku while your date leaves through the front door."
Sasuke blinked. "What...?"
"Point is—power's great. But if you don't have balance, it'll mess you up. You don't need to become a immortal. You already have something better."
He stared. "What's that?"
"Me, dumbass."
Silence. Then, maybe—just maybe—a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The wind picked up again, carrying the distant sound of sirens and city chaos.
"Fine," he muttered. "But I'm still experimenting with gene mods."
I sighed. "Yeah, well... just don't grow extra arms or anything. That'd be weird."
He didn't promise. He never does.
But for now, we sat together—two weird shinobi in a world of heroes, trying to make sense of our place between immortals, mutants, and monsters.
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So, there we were—two shinobi squatting on a rooftop, contemplating whether to enslave a flying lunatic with a maniacal laugh (aka Green Goblin) when the universe decided to hit the fast-forward button on our drama.
BOOM. Psychic ping incoming.
It wasn't subtle either. It felt like someone was poking my forehead from inside my brain, which is rude, by the way.
Sasuke narrowed his eyes. "We're being watched."
No surprise. We always are. But this time, it wasn't a drone, a ninja, or even some magical cloak-n-dagger thing. It was a bald guy with the mental strength of a tailed beast.
Enter: Charles Xavier. AKA Professor X. AKA: Bald guy in a floating chair who reads minds for fun.
Except… not today.
The moment he reached for us mentally, I reacted on instinct. With a little push of Ninshu, I shifted the connection from "let me eavesdrop on your thoughts" to "welcome to the danger zone." If he had gone even a centimeter deeper, he would've found himself mentally sparring with two chakra-powered ninja and a giant fox spirit who does not like uninvited guests.
To his credit, Charles backed off fast.
"Apologies," he said, voice echoing gently in our minds. "I meant no harm. I didn't realize you would notice such a slight touch."
Translation: "I thought you were dumb muscle but oops—you're psychic ninja demiimmortals."
We relaxed... slightly.
"No problem," I said out loud, which was weird since he was in our heads, but hey—manners matter.
He then invited us to his mansion. Wanted us to meet "others like us." Mutants, he called them. According to him, our bloodline abilities and chakra stuff were technically just "evolved mutations."
Sasuke scoffed. "We'd love to meet others. But don't expect us to wear matching outfits and call you Sensei Charles or whatever."
Fair.
We don't do teams anymore. Not after Team 7 imploded, exploded, and then emotionally healed itself through several world-ending threats.
Still, Charles seemed hopeful. Said we were welcome anytime, no pressure.
Nice guy. Too trusting. Definitely hiding something.
Once he rolled off into the psychic sunset, I looked over at Sasuke.
"You're thinking of stealing adamantium from Wolverine, aren't you?"
Sasuke didn't even blink. "I'm considering it."
I facepalmed. "Sasuke. He's Canadian."
"…And?"
"That means he's polite until he's not. And when he's not, he becomes a human chainsaw with daddy issues."
Sasuke smirked. "I'm not scared of Canadians."
"Famous last words."
He turned his gaze back to the skyline, probably calculating how much adamantium it would take to build himself a new skeleton, armor, or who-knows-what else.
I, on the other hand, was just thinking about how crazy our lives had become.
A week ago, we were ninja. Now? We were mutants. Or aliens. Or interdimensional war refugees who might accidentally rob the X-Men if we're not supervised.
Normal? Never heard of her.