Chapter Text
The sun dipped to the horizon, casting golden streaks across a sky smeared with fading clouds. The whispers of distant waves rolled faintly over the hills of Konohagakure, making the silence in the small garden behind Kushina’s home all the heavier. Naruto stood at the garden's edge, leaning lightly against the wooden frame of the house as his gaze fell outward, unfocused, his mind far removed from the present.
Kushina sat cross-legged on the grass, her small hands balled tightly into fists on her lap. Her vivid red hair tangled in the evening breeze but framed her tear-streaked cheeks like a fiery halo. Her face was twisted between sadness and anger, her breath hitching as she tried — and failed — to suppress the sobs wracking her small frame.
Naruto turned slightly, his violet eyes watching her quietly. This wasn’t the wild, brash Kushina he knew. This was a child confronting emotions she could barely understand, the weight of a grief too large for such small shoulders pressing down on her spirit.
“They destroyed it,” she hissed, breaking the silence. Her voice wavered but carried the sharpness of fury, borne more out of helplessness than hatred. “Uzushio… my home. It’s gone. They... they probably burned it, didn’t they?” She spoke quickly now, almost spitting the words. “Iwa, Kiri, Kumo... all of them. Together like cowards. They didn’t just destroy the village — they killed everyone! They killed them…” Her voice cracked, and the childish anger in her tone gave way to raw grief.
Naruto’s lips pressed into a firm line. He didn’t move toward her immediately, giving her space, watching her small, trembling frame as she buried her face in her hands. He let silence settle in her sobs before his quiet words stepped into the space between them.
“They didn't destroy everything,” he said softly.
Kushina’s hands fell away, her reddened eyes flickering toward him through the veil of her messy hair. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice sharp, mistrusting this notion as if rejecting the possibility of comfort entirely.
Naruto moved then. He crossed the small breadth of grass and crouched beside her, his presence steady and calm despite his own emotions threatening to crack through his practiced mask. He settled himself cross-legged beside her, his arms draped loosely over his knees, his face angled toward the horizon. The long pause before he spoke was heavy with care.
“Uzushio wasn’t just stone buildings or the whirlpool seals on every wall,” he began, his voice carrying the steadiness of someone who had buried their sadness beneath a practiced exterior. He gave a quiet pause, then continued, “It was alive. The people, the songs they sang, the way they laughed… even the ocean, the way it hugged the cliffs like it was protecting something precious. That was Uzushio. I remember…”
He stopped himself. For a moment, he stared into the distance, his eyes glossing over — not from tears, but from the weight of memory. He had walked the streets of the island village in several times in his youth, visiting with his family — he remembered his grandmother holding his hand as she led him through the white-stoned streets, as he traced the grooves of Uzumaki clan seals etched into pavements, the vibrant gardens filled with plants only native to the island. His heart clenched painfully, but he forced the grief behind his words, offering only calm to calm her storm.
“They were good people,” Naruto muttered quietly. “Hardworking, stubborn — very stubborn, like someone sitting right here. They survived through storms, through wars. I can still hear them laughing by the docks…” He trailed off, swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat.
“But what’s good about any of that now?” Kushina snapped suddenly, her voice cracking again. “They’re gone! How can they laugh or smile or fight if they’re…”
She couldn’t finish. Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears, hot trails streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her knees, curling inward.
Naruto didn’t hesitate this time. He turned fully to face her, closing the distance between them as he reached out gently and ruffled her unruly red hair. “Hey,” he said softly, his hand settling briefly against the top of her head. His voice dropped, so calm yet steady with quiet force. “They aren’t gone. Not really. Not as long as you’re still here.”
Kushina’s tear-filled eyes widened slightly at his words but narrowed shortly after. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m just one person — I can’t do anything. I... I can’t bring them back! I’ll forget their faces, stop hearing their voices, and one day—” Her words left her in a frantic rush as if speaking aloud would make it all inevitably true.
Naruto shook his head gently. “You won’t forget. And even if one day their faces fade and the voices grow quiet, Uzushio won’t ever vanish. Do you know why?”
"...Why?" she asked in the smallest voice Naruto had heard from her yet.
“Because Uzushio has a soul ,” he explained, his voice warm like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “It’s in the salt of the ocean, in the whirl of every breeze that circles you. It’s the stubbornness you carry — the same stubbornness that runs through every Uzumaki’s blood. No matter what, Uzushio survives because you survive. As long as there’s even one child born of Uzushio, the village’s soul lives on. It’ll protect you. Guard you.”
Kushina sniffled, anger melting into sadness once again before settling into quiet, exhausted listening. Naruto smiled faintly, his gaze soft as he watched her. “It won’t ever be forgotten, because people like you make sure it never will. Think about it — an Uzumaki doesn’t go anywhere quietly, yeah?”
Kushina blinked at him, her lips twitching slightly despite her lingering tears. “You… You sound stupid,” she mumbled, but her voice lacked the venom of before, and a small, hesitant smile quirked at her lips.
Naruto chuckled, his grin widening. “Maybe. But that just means I fit right in with the Uzumaki.”
His words hung in the air, and for the first time, Kushina laughed, just a small noise that broke through the gloom like a tentative ray of sunlight. Naruto joined her, his laughter soft and kind, but inside, his sadness pulsed faintly beneath the surface. Even so, he promised himself he wouldn’t let her see it. His burden was one she didn’t need to carry — not now, not ever.
The two sat in the grass for a while longer, the sound of distant waves accompanying their silence, even with Konoha being landlocked.
The Sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows that danced between the towering trees surrounding Team 7’s chosen training grounds. The rhythm of nature filled the silence — a rush of the river, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the occasional distant call of a bird almost felt like the only witnesses to their efforts. Kakashi’s absence wasn’t just an opportunity to train undisturbed, but also a subtle reminder of the weight they now carried. With their sensei down for the count, there was no one to guide them, no reassurance, no safety net — only themselves and the trust they had forged over years they technically hadn’t lived.
In the clearing near the stream, Naruto cracked his neck, a determined grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
“No Kakashi-sensei means no nose-in-the-book lectures today,” he said playfully, though there was an edge of seriousness beneath the mask of his usual energy. “I call dibs on the river. I’ve got some ideas I wanna test out!”
Without waiting for agreement, he stomped towards the water’s edge, leaving faint damp footprints in his wake, as Sasuke and Sakura rolled their eyes. No matter the universe or the time — or the Clan name he bore — Naruto was Naruto and would likely always be.
Standing ankle-deep in the rushing stream, Naruto clasped his palms together with a practiced motion, his face tightening in concentration. This particular jutsu was one the Uzumaki favoured due to its devastating nature — although it was also rather chakra-costly. Not that chakra had ever been a problem, and even less so, after his control became pinpoint precise. Said control wasn’t back yet, but he would be there, eventually.
Kurama’s chakra stirred faintly within him, but he pushed it back — it wasn’t time for power shortcuts yet. His focus today was solely on mastery. He ran through the seals with speed, fingers blurring as he visualized the chakra flow pulsing through his body.
Suiton: Gekiryū no Hebi[5] he declared, his voice low. The liquid rose up as though alive, twisting into a massive, serpentine form that slithered along the river’s surface. Its translucent body shimmered under the late sun, its head swaying gracefully as it awaited its master’s command.
But even as the creature held its form, Naruto furrowed his brow. “Darn it!” he muttered, his hands weaving more chakra to stabilize it. “It’s still sloppy. Too much tail weight, and the midsection wobbles too much.”
From her perch on an overhanging branch, Sakura cocked her head, observing. “You’re using brute force to control its shape,” she pointed out, her voice carrying calmly over the rushing water. “You’re not guiding the current through its center — it’s like pouring chakra into a bucket with no shape.”
Naruto’s fox like grin returned as he glanced up. “You’d be the only person I’d let call me blunt force,” he quipped before refocusing. “Alright, alright, less flooding chakra… Let’s try finesse.”
He pressed his hands together again, and when the serpent formed this time, its edges were sharper, the water flow more fluid. The serpent weaved through the air like silk, bending to his will as he grinned — a small victory.
Meanwhile, Sakura sat perched above him, her movements decisive yet restrained. A small vial dangled between her fingers, glistening with a faint pink hue. Another day of perfecting delivery methods for her poisons meant another opportunity for precision training, her specialty honed with obsessive effort.
Carefully, she uncorked the vial and dipped the tip of a fine senbon needle into the liquid, ensuring just the right amount coated it. She flicked it lightly, the drop of poison catching the light. Below her, Naruto had sent his water serpent coiling around a boulder, smashing it against its jagged surface. It broke apart with a sharp crack.
“Your water explosions are great and all,” Sakura mused without looking up, “but I’d love to see you fight after someone’s chakras have already completely shut down. No strength, no jutsu.” She inclined her head toward the senbon, her smile laced with mild amusement.
Laying flat in another corner of the clearing was a wooden effigy — a basic humanoid dummy Tazuna had slapped together for their training. Sakura’s gaze narrowed in on it. Her fingers moved in a blur as she withdrew several needles between each knuckle, no extra movements needed. With a deep, sharp breath, she hurled them —three needles ahead of her body and two spaced slightly apart for trajectory adjustment.
The dull thunk-thunk-thunk of needles sinking into the wood marked her hits, each one piercing the tiny target marks she’d painted over the dummy’s pressure points. The cherry on top? Only three left visible traces; the other two entered finely carved cracks that simulated cover.
“Impressive,” Sasuke observed curtly, leaning against a nearby tree. His arms crossed over his chest, though his tone didn’t carry overt praise — it never did.
Once, it had bothered her and a childish part of her had hungered for Sasuke to see her as... Something akin to an equal. But those times had long passed. Besides, she knew well, that despite his reserved nature, Sasuke meant what he said. He didn’t waste empty words on anyone.
True to form, Sasuke trained a short distance away, his demeanor a study in cold efficiency. The gleaming edge of his sword whispered through the air as he cycled through combinations of strikes, blocks, and counters against shadow clones he summoned for sparring. Each motion was deliberate, his Sharingan eyes scanning for even the smallest misstep. Every failure rooted out, every inefficiency corrected.
The clones attacked in unison, forcing him into a rhythmic clash of steel and technique. Lightning chakra sparked faintly along the edge of his blade as he wove it through their attacks, dissipating them into bursts of smoke one after another. When the last clone lunged at him wildly, Sasuke swiped vertically, dismantling it with such force the snap of his blade cutting air echoed through the clearing.
Dissatisfied, he glanced down at his hands, flexed his grip on the blade, and tilted his head. “Too predictable,” he muttered. His words weren’t directed at himself so much as the phantom opponents he had just defeated.
His mind was always calculating, stretching the boundaries of his skill. “Need closer counters. If an opponent forces the attack, hesitation will kill me.”
Team 7’s training continued in this vein — individually focused yet orbiting an unspoken connection. Naruto’s exuberance punctuated the silence as he occasionally teased Sakura about her attention to detail or grumbled at Sasuke’s lack of real encouragement.
“You know,” Naruto called eventually, his water serpent draped limply beside him as he sat on a stone, “if you smiled at least once today, Sasuke, it might remind me you’re human.”
Sasuke didn’t even twitch an eyebrow, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Last time I smiled, it broke your concentration for two hours.”
Sakura chuckled softly. “He's got a point.” Her green eyes flickered toward the now-fading light of the setting sun. “That’s enough for today. Save some chakra for tomorrow. Kakashi-sensei won’t be sleeping much longer, and I doubt Gato’s men will wait for us to recover.”
Naruto groaned but followed her lead, dragging himself out of the water and tossing Sasuke the faintest glare as he fell in step beside them.
The training ground fell silent once more as the three shinobi disappeared into the gathering shadows, the weight of their shared burdens left unsaid.
The forest grew quiet as dusky shadows began to seep into the edges of Team 7’s training ground, coating the air with a strange sort of stillness.
With the day’s practice winding down and muscles aching from their unrelenting regime, Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke gathered their things and set off down the trail toward Tazuna’s home. The camaraderie that accompanied their work was subtle but deeply ingrained — a natural fabric woven by years of working in unison, despite the reality of their current Genin roles.
The light footfalls of shinobi boots pressing against the dirt path were the only sound for a long time as they traveled. But there was a growing tension, almost imperceptible, whenever Sasuke’s gaze flicked toward Naruto. His quiet demeanor betrayed what was clearly a mounting internal debate.
Finally, a few paces behind Sakura, Sasuke broke the silence. “Naruto...” His voice was calm, measured, yet strangely softer than usual.
“Hmm?” Naruto was fiddling absentmindedly with a kunai, tossing it in the air with one hand and catching it with the other, his mind obviously still in training mode. He didn’t even glance back.
“We need to talk.”
The seriousness in Sasuke’s tone was impossible to misinterpret. Naruto’s hand stopped mid-throw as he turned to his teammate, blue eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s up, teme? This’s about our training?”
Sakura paused slightly ahead of the boys, glancing back with mild curiosity. Sasuke met her gaze and, with a slight tilt of his head, gestured for her to go on ahead. Without a word, she nodded and continued down the path. The unspoken trust between the three of them required no explanation. This was something Sasuke needed to discuss in private.
Naruto scratched the back of his head with mild confusion. “What’s with the cloak-and-dagger act, bastard? You couldn’t just wait until dinner?”
Sasuke stepped closer, setting his dark eyes firmly on Naruto. There was no malice in his expression, just intent. “It’s about your parents,” he said bluntly.
The air around them seemed to shift, the weight of that single word hanging thick. Naruto blinked, his casual demeanor slipping ever so slightly as he searched Sasuke’s face for an explanation.
“...What do you mean?” Naruto asked, his voice quieter now but steady.
Sasuke drew in a measured breath. “Minato Namikaze. Kushina Uzumaki. They’re... your parents, aren’t they?” It wasn’t phrased as a question so much as a statement, albeit a tentative one. “I thought it was strange —your ridiculous chakra reserves, the whisker marks, the way you unconsciously use wind chakra almost as if it’s built into your DNA. But everything snapped into place when Kakashi slipped up and mentioned something about the Fourth Hokage’s legacy.”
Naruto stiffened slightly, his hands shoving themselves into the pockets of his jacket. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue eyes flicking downward, then toward the tree line. “And?”
The simplicity of Naruto’s response left Sasuke slightly unmoored. The Uchiha had expected shock, anger, or something dramatic. Instead, Naruto’s head tilted back up, a faint but knowing smile playing at his lips.
“Well?” Sasuke pressed. His voice was calm but edged with urgency. “You’ve been pretending to act like you’re oblivious. Are you telling me it doesn’t matter?”
“Oh, it matters,” Naruto said, shrugging slightly, his voice carrying an almost wistful tone. “But... I’ve gotta say, it’s more funny than anything.”
“Funny?” Sasuke’s brows drew together, his confusion written clearly on his face.
“Yeah,” Naruto said with a small laugh that lacked its usual rambunctiousness. “Think about it: Kushina’s an Uzumaki, so she already counts as blood for me. My mom —well, the mom in our first universe — was her cousin or something like that. And as for Minato...” His grin shifted, softening. “He was one of my Genin, as you know. But what... Might have been less obvious, since you were not in the village often... Minato was... Like a son to me. Well, almost like one.”
Sasuke blinked, processing the weight of those words.
“Minato was scrappy back then but already a freakin’ genius,” Naruto continued, his voice tinged with a strange pride. “Took after the Senju’s ideals like it was his birthright — Will of Fire, protecting Konoha, all that stuff. When I heard he was the one that became the Yellow Flash, I wasn’t even surprised.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “So yeah. Big universe joke, right? Now he’s my dad. Go figure.”
Sasuke studied him for a moment, his dark, calculating gaze trying to parse the emotions behind Naruto’s words. “And you’re okay with that?”
Naruto’s playful grin faded, and his eyes took on a seriousness that startled Sasuke. “What’s there to be ‘not okay’ with? Kushina... Minato... They were good people in any version of this world. They cared about this village — about protecting everyone. That’s the kind of belief they trusted, and honestly?” He paused, his voice leveling into something that spoke to the life and losses both had endured. “That’s the kind of belief that belongs to all of us. No matter what reality we’re stuck in.”
Sasuke’s gaze dropped briefly to the ground; his hand tightened into a fist at his side. “Even if that means abandoning the family you remember?” he said lowly, his voice laden with doubt.
Naruto’s grin returned, though smaller this time. “Nah. I’m not abandoning anyone. Old family, new family — it’s all the same to me, y’know? The people you fight for, they’re... they’re the ones you carry in your heart. Minato and Kushina might be my parents here, but that doesn’t mean I stop being loyal to everyone I grew up with in our original world. All it means is I’ve got two families worth fighting for now.”
Sasuke looked up again, and for a fraction of a second, his guarded expression broke— just slightly. Within it was an emotion Naruto rarely caught from him: understanding, perhaps even a flicker of relief. But it was gone just as quickly as it had come.
“Still sounds like a load of crap to me,” Sasuke muttered, glancing away with an irritated scoff. But there was no venom in his tone, just a faint amusement that Naruto had come to recognize.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Naruto teased, rolling his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.” He clapped Sasuke on the back as he stepped past him. “But thanks for bringing it up. Kinda needed to think about it anyway.”
“Whatever,” Sasuke muttered as he followed Naruto, though his thoughts lingered on their conversation. Naruto’s ability to accept the chaos of their new reality with open simplicity wasn’t just frustrating — it was humbling.
Together, they walked back along the trail, Naruto’s loud voice already calling ahead to Sakura as if nothing had happened. For Sasuke, though, the weight of what Naruto had shared stayed with him, quietly planting itself somewhere deep amid the shards of his own doubts.
As they stepped inside Tazuna’s small home, the now-familiar scent of Tsunami’s cooking filled the air, though their eyes immediately landed on their teacher sitting upright on the futon in the corner.
Kakashi wasn’t quite alert — his body swayed with exhaustion, and a sweat-dampened cloth lay discarded beside him. The silver-haired Jōnin blinked lazily, slightly startled to see his team.
“Yo,” Kakashi muttered through a drowsy chuckle.
“Kakashi-sensei!” Naruto was the first to rush forward, his expression a mix of excitement and relief that softened into something startlingly professional.
Without prompting, Naruto’s fingers rested on Kakashi’s wrist, checking for his pulse with calm diligence. With his free hand, a subtle wave of green healing chakra spread through Naruto’s palm, brushing across Kakashi’s chest, lingering for a couple of moments.
The teacher did a double take at him.
“You’ll be fine by morning,” Naruto said matter-of-factly, his once-exuberant demeanor oddly calm. “Your reserves are shot, and you’ve overpushed your chakra flow channels, but a bit of mine should get you through the night.”
Kakashi arched a brow but said nothing, too preoccupied with the foreign level of composure Naruto exhibited. When Naruto finished the chakra transfer, Kakashi sat up straighter and blinked slowly, clearly feeling the renewed energy circulating through his system.
Sasuke stepped closer, arms crossed. “We’ve been working under the assumption that the Hunter-nin who took Zabuza’s body is his accomplice,” he began coolly. “Their senbon weren’t lethal. They were laced with something medicinal — potent enough to simulate death without causing lasting harm. Naruto mentioned there are several such concoctions...”
“And at least three of those can be made almost anywhere from certain combinations of plants,” the whiskered Uzumaki interjected.
Sakura picked up seamlessly, her tone clinical. “Zabuza will need roughly a week to recover. Until then, we have time to dismantle Gato’s network and stem his influence before Zabuza’s back in play.”
The sharp efficiency with which they relayed their conclusions sent a ripple of startled curiosity through Kakashi. Their insight wasn’t just logical — it was deeply rooted in hard-earned experience that didn’t align with the carefree Genin he’d assumed he would have on his hands.
“You’re full of surprises,” Kakashi muttered, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his lips, just barely peeking through his cloth mask; but before he could elaborate, the slam of a door cut through the moment.
Inari barreled into the room, his eyes ablaze with poorly-concealed tears. “Why do you even care about what happens here?! You’re going to die, just like everyone who stands up to Gato! This is pointless!” he shouted, trembling, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.
For a brief moment, silence descended upon the room. The warmth of Tsunami’s cooking lingered in contrast to the storm of emotions the young boy had unleashed. Then, Sakura stood, gazing directly at him.
“We’ve lived through situations like this before,” she began coolly but firmly, her green eyes sharp. “And let me tell you something — inaction gets you nowhere. People who choose to do nothing will suffer either way.”
Naruto followed, his voice uncharacteristically grounded. “Do you think we don’t know what losing looks like? It happens. It hurts. It stays with you. ” His sky-blue eyes softened. “But the fight is what makes life matter . As long as someone — just one person — believes, there’s a reason to get back up. Your grandpa believes. So we’ll keep fighting, even if you won’t.”
Inari’s lip quivered, the words landing like cold splashes of water across his burning fear. His eyes darted to Sasuke, expecting more harsh words, only to receive an impassable wall of silence. Sasuke’s stoicism said everything it needed to—his presence alone reflected strength, certainty, and an unwillingness to bend.
Tsunami appeared, pulling Inari away as the boy ran off toward the back of the house in silence, the slam of another door echoing faintly behind him. “I’m so sorry,” the woman began. “He’s—”
“No need,” Kakashi interrupted, shaking his head gently. He looked past her at the team settling once more, backs straight, shoulders squared, and expressions unyielding as they prepared dinner with the weight of soldiers rather than children.
For the first time since he had taken Team 7 under his wing, Kakashi wasn’t looking at Genin. He was looking at equals.