It's been a year since then, I'm now 5 years old.
Sasuke was snoring again.
Loudly. Dramatically. Like a tiny war general resting after a successful campaign of being a brat.
I rolled over on my futon and groaned. Every part of me hurt — in that good-but-terrible way that let you know you were still alive but absolutely not thriving.
Even my toes hurt. Toes.
And somehow Sasuke, who fumbled his leaf exercise so hard it looked like he was trying to assassinate it, was sleeping like royalty. Blanket half off, drool on the pillow, face totally peaceful. I hated him.
"You don't deserve that level of peace," I whispered.
He snorted in response. Rolled over. Mumbled something about "biggest fireball ever."
Of course.
Because today…
Father didn't believe in warmups.
We met him at the southern training yard. No greeting. No instruction. Just him standing there with his arms folded like the personification of judgment.
"Chakra control," he said, like it was the only thing worth knowing.
Sasuke stepped up first. His chest puffed out like he was already imagining being applauded.
He slapped a leaf to his forehead, forced his chakra into it with all the grace of a hammer, and three seconds later it crinkled like burnt paper.
"Too much," Father said.
Sasuke's shoulders dropped.
I stepped up after. Slower. Quieter.
Held my leaf like it was something alive.
I shaped my chakra gently, the way Mikoto-kaa taught me — with intention, not force. Let it gather, spread softly through my hand, and rise. The leaf lifted. Fluttered.
Didn't break.
I thought I might've done alright. But Father said nothing. Just stared for a moment.
Then he stepped back. And showed us what Uchiha fire really looked like.
He formed a single seal — Tiger.
"Inhale," he said. "Gather chakra in the pit of your stomach. Not just chakra — heat."
He held our eyes, like he was daring us to look away.
"You must cloak the inside of your throat," he continued, voice steady. "Line your lungs. Your tongue. Even your lips. If you don't, you'll burn yourself from the inside out."
Sasuke swallowed audibly.
"You shape the chakra through breath," he went on. "Mix it with your will. Your pride. Then—"
He exhaled.
And the fire roared.
It wasn't a jutsu. It was a declaration. A wall of flame burst forward in a perfect arc, eating the air, lighting up the training field with a deep, controlled fury. Not wild. Not chaotic. Commanded.
Then, just as quickly, it vanished.
"The Great Fireball Technique is not merely a skill," Father said quietly. "It is a rite. Our clan's birthright. Every Uchiha carries it. Or they are not Uchiha."
He looked at us like he wasn't asking for questions. Like he never did.
Sasuke was vibrating with excitement. His fists were clenched at his sides, and I swear he looked ready to explode if someone didn't let him try it right that second.
Me? I was quiet.
I kept thinking about the way Father's fire didn't lash out. It obeyed. It knew him.
And deep down, I wondered if I'd ever be able to make something that powerful… and have it listen.
---
Now, back in our room, I stared at the ceiling again. The memory still burned in my throat.
I didn't know if I was ready for that yet.
"Sit still," Mikoto murmured, gently tugging a comb through my hair. "You're flinching."
"I'm not flinching," I said, flinching. "I'm… processing yesterday's trauma."
Behind us, Sasuke scoffed. "You barely did anything."
"I carried this clan on my back with that leaf," I snapped. "Your snoring kept me from recovering."
"Children," Mikoto warned, calm as ever. "I will tie your braids together if you don't stop."
Sasuke went quiet immediately.
Itachi-niisan leaned against the doorframe, watching us with his usual unreadable expression — somewhere between amused and eternally tired. His arms were folded neatly, his posture perfect. Even off-duty, he looked like he'd just stepped out of a scroll about noble shinobi behavior.
"I need to pick up a few scrolls from the archives," he said, looking at Mikoto. "I thought I'd take them with me."
Her hand paused at the end of my braid. "Both of them?"
Itachi nodded once.
Sasuke instantly puffed up. "I can carry things."
"I'll carry him," I muttered.
Mikoto said nothing for a moment. Just finished tying the ribbon at the end of my braid.
Then she reached out and gently brushed a bit of dust from my shoulder. "Be safe. Stay together."
It was the kind of thing she always said. Warm. Soft. A habit.
But something in her voice made me look up.
Her smile was small. And a little tired.
"Let them see you," she said. "Not just your name."
The compound gates opened with a familiar creak — one that always sounded louder when you were walking through them instead of behind them.
The village was already awake. Shopkeepers shouting about fresh produce. Vendors setting up skewers and dumplings. Kids darting through alleyways. ANBU above, masked and watching.
Konoha in motion.
Sasuke stuck close to Itachi's side, eyes bouncing from stall to stall. He was trying not to look impressed, which made it obvious.
I walked on the other side of Itachi. Quiet. Observing.
The civilians noticed us. Always did.
Some nodded politely. A few turned away faster than necessary.
Uchiha children weren't exactly common sights beyond the district. Most of us stayed where it was safe. Expected. Watched.
But here, we were just kids with black hair and sharp eyes. Almost.
We passed a patrol unit — three shinobi, one Chūnin instructor. He nodded to Itachi with respect.
"You're getting noticed," I said quietly.
Itachi didn't look at me. "That's not always a good thing."
Sasuke missed the meaning. "You're already famous," he said proudly. "You'll probably be Hokage before I'm a genin."
Itachi's mouth twitched, just barely.
"Don't be in such a rush," he said. "It's quieter down here."
I didn't know if he meant the ground or the years we hadn't lived yet.
We turned toward the main market square.
The smell of dango hit me first. Then grilled fish. Then ramen.
I blinked. "Wait. Are we going where I think we're going?"
Sasuke perked up. "Ichiraku?!"
Itachi gave a small nod.
Ichiraku smelled like warm broth and boiled eggs and a little bit of heaven.
Sasuke basically ran toward the stools the second we passed under the curtain. "I call the end seat!" he shouted, as if there weren't literally four of them and only three of us.
"You're so dramatic," I muttered.
"You're slow," he shot back.
Itachi ignored us both, nodded politely to the old man behind the counter — Teuchi-san, I remembered Mikoto calling him once — and took the stool second from the right. I slid onto the one next to him, which left the far end…
Already taken.
That's when I noticed him.
A little blond kid. Legs dangling off the stool, too short to reach the floor. Hair sticking up in five directions. Red-cheeked, napkin shoved into his collar like he was playing grown-up. His chopsticks were frozen halfway to his mouth.
I'd seen that look before.
On civilians watching our clan pass through the market.
On me, in the mirror, sometimes.
The look that said: I don't know how to ask if I can belong here, too.
Sasuke, of course, was oblivious. "Bet I can finish a large bowl faster than you," he challenged me.
"You choked on your own spit last time."
"That was a strategic cough."
"You nearly died."
Itachi sighed quietly.
I looked over again.
His bowl was mostly empty, save for a few strands he kept pushing around like he was pretending not to be done yet.
He caught me looking. Froze.
And then—
He looked down. Fast. Shoulders up. Like waiting for the scolding to hit.
I don't know what made me do it.
POV: Naruto Uzumaki
He didn't cry.
Even when the big kid hit him back harder than he expected. Even when the people dragged him off by the collar and gave him that look — the why do you always start things look. Even when the girl he'd stepped in for didn't say anything.
Just stood there, quiet, holding her sleeve where it had been torn.
Naruto had stared at the back of her head the whole time, waiting for something — a word, a glance, anything.
But it never came.
So he didn't cry.
Not out loud.
Now he was sitting at Ichiraku, shoulders hunched, fingers curled around a bowl of miso ramen.
The steam felt good on his face. It was warm here. He liked warm.
Teuchi-jiji didn't ask questions. Ayame-neechan gave him extra bamboo shoots without making a big deal out of it.
No one whispered here. No one pointed. No one said, 'Isn't that the Demon fox?'
Just ramen. Just space.
Just enough.
He slurped quietly. Not because he wanted to — he was Naruto. He loved loud. But today, the noise felt stuck behind his teeth.
His hand still ached.
So did his heart, a little.
But whatever. Hokages didn't cry, right?
The curtain behind him shifted.
Three people walked in.
He didn't turn to look at first — didn't want to.
Uchiha.
He'd heard of them. Everyone had.
The tall one walked like he didn't make mistakes. Calm. Straight-backed. Eyes like glass — clear, unreadable.
Then a smaller boy, scowling before he even sat down. Looked about Naruto's age. Maybe younger. Looked like he always scowled.
And her.
The girl.
Dark hair, same eyes as the other two, but softer. Still. She sat beside him — not right next to him, but close enough that he tensed without meaning to.
She didn't say anything.
Naruto hunched a little more over his bowl.
Tried to disappear.
But he could feel her looking.
Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't mess it up—
She leaned a little toward him.
"You're holding those backwards," she said.
Naruto blinked.
Looked down.
…Oh.
He flipped his chopsticks around so fast he almost dropped them. "I—I knew that," he said quickly. "I was just—testing. Y'know. Reflexes."
She raised an eyebrow.
Then smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a sneer.
Just a smile. Real. Small. Like it wasn't a joke.
Like he wasn't a joke.
Naruto stared.
She turned back to her brothers.
The little one was already arguing with her. "You hit me on purpose," he growled.
"You stepped into it," she shot back.
"I was dodging!"
"You were in the way!"
Naruto almost laughed. Almost.
The tall one — the oldest — said nothing. Just kept eating. Quiet. Steady. But his eyes flicked once toward Naruto.
And he nodded.
Not big.
Just enough.
Like he saw him.
Like he didn't mind.
Naruto sat there, bowl in front of him, chopsticks in his too-small hands, and felt… still.
Like for one second, he was allowed to just be a kid at a ramen shop.