The morning mist clung to Konoha's streets as Naruto walked to the Academy, his footsteps making no sound on the damp cobblestones. The other children gave him a wide berth—not just because of the Kyuubi rumors, but because of how he moved. Too smooth. Too quiet. Like a blade sliding from its sheath.
Iruka Umino felt it the moment Naruto entered the classroom. That unnatural presence. The way the boy's shadow seemed darker than it should be as he took his seat in the back corner.
"Today we'll practice shuriken throwing," Iruka announced, trying to ignore the chill down his spine. "Form two lines at the targets."
Naruto was last in line. When his turn came, he didn't fumble with the weapons like the others. His fingers closed around the star-shaped metal with disturbing familiarity.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
Three perfect throws. Each shuriken embedded itself at the exact center of three different targets without a single rotation.
The classroom fell silent.
"That's... impossible," Mizuki whispered. Even elite shinobi needed years to master the no-rotation throw.
Naruto simply retrieved his shuriken, his face unreadable.
---
Training Ground - Dusk
Sasuke Uchiha watched from the trees as Naruto practiced alone again. The blond boy's wooden sword moved through forms Sasuke had never seen—wide, sweeping arcs that somehow left no openings, footwork that defied normal balance.
What unsettled Sasuke most wasn't the skill.
It was the way Naruto's eyes glinted in the fading light.
Yellow.
Not the slitted pupils of the Kyuubi. Just... yellow. Like a hawk spotting prey.
When Naruto suddenly turned and looked directly at his hiding spot, Sasuke's breath caught. Those eyes saw him in a way that made his skin crawl.
The Uchiha fled without realizing why.
---
Hokage's Office - Night
Hiruzen Sarutobi studied the latest reports with growing unease.
"Again, no signs of outside influence?"
"None, Hokage-sama," the ANBU replied. "No secret teachers. No scrolls missing from the archives. The boy just... knows*."
The Third Hokage stared at the surveillance sketches—Naruto's sword stances analyzed frame by frame. Every expert agreed: these techniques shouldn't exist. The angles were all wrong for human anatomy. The footwork defied conventional chakra distribution.
Yet the boy performed them effortlessly.
"Keep watching," Hiruzen ordered. "But do not approach. Not yet."
As the ANBU vanished, the old man gazed at the full moon. Somewhere out there, a child moved with the grace of a thousand battles no one remembered.
---
Naruto's Apartment - Midnight
The wooden sword lay broken on the floor, splintered from overuse.
Naruto stared at his blistered hands. The pain meant nothing. The bleeding meant nothing.
Only the *cut* mattered.
In his mind's eye, he saw it again—that perfect black blade from his dreams. The way it cleaved through everything without resistance. The way it *sang*.
His fingers twitched, aching to hold something that didn't exist in this world.
A whisper in the dark:
"Soon."
Outside, the wind howled through empty streets, carrying the scent of coming storms.
---
To Be Continued...