Chapter 28 preview

Author’s note: This chapter is from Naruto’s dream, recalling his childhood in Konoha and upbringing with Itachi. It’s definitely darker. Not bad, just sad. So get ready. And the chapter still being edited, so please forgive any typos, etc. Also, check out the gorgeous art by anonaruto for Chapter 26. I think she’s captured Naruto perfectly! And her sketch for it is just as lovely!

From Chapter 27 – Festival, Part 2

He closed his eyes. The only sound now was of his own blood thrumming in ears. His breathing began to modulate. Then slowly, slowly, the hand knotted in his shirt relaxed its grip.

“Konoha…” his mind whispered. But thankfully no more terrifying images of destruction came rushing forth.

Instead, only the pulsing of blood continued. It pounded softly in his ears, like distant footsteps.

“Konoha…”

Another picture appeared, carried in on a cloud of swirling, suffocating yellow dust.

A gust of wind ruffled Katsuro’s hair, flicked up the edges of his cloak around where he had fallen asleep on the dark hillside. But he didn’t feel it. He was no longer Katsuro. He was no longer there.

He was in Konoha, back where it all started.

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Chapter 28 – The Stolen Child

The yellow cloud puffed and swirled, and for a moment, everything was lost behind it’s haze. Only the steady thrum remained. Then the cloud slowly lifted.

Sun streaked down in front of the old orphanage, warming the dusty sidewalk and the two large planters there. Sickly tree sprouted from the planters, peppering the ground behind them with shade. And it was there, tucked into the angled blue shadow, that a slip of boy crouched excitedly.

Shaking shaggy blond locks from his eyes, he listened hard. The steady pounding grew closer. He grinned.

Even at that distance he could tell the people approaching were ninjas by their distinctive pattern of walk. It wasn’t the hurrying shuffle of villagers, the relentless clopping of the teachers or the jerky patter of the other children. This smooth, uniform gait was always a giveaway. And the boy had studied enough ninjas from the low windows of the orphanage to know the sound of one passing by, even at night.

He leaned his head against the planter, a fat stick clutched to his chest. His trusty kunai. As a spy on a secret mission, he couldn’t be without it. The rhythmic grind of footsteps was nearly upon him.

Pretending is was of the utmost importance, he took his best guess as to how many were approaching. He curled out three chubby fingers and waited. The sound passed behind him. Slowly, he tipped his head out, watching the road to see if he was right.

Sure enough, three men strode by, real kunai jingling in their pouches. Their laughter was low and masculine, and their whispered voices conveyed all manner of interesting things. He wished he could hear it. Probably about missions, and who’s the strongest, and how many enemies they defeated and—

“Oi! Sneaking around like that will get you in trouble.”

A fourth shinobi’s face appeared above the planter in an unsettling ring of smoke. He was tall and silver haired, and looked mildly irritated. He took one last drag on his cigarette before stamping it out in the planter, eyes never leaving the child’s face.

The boy scrambled to his feet and stared open-mouthed at the shinobi. It was the closest he’d ever been to one.

Flicking his eyes to the small red plaque by the door that read “Children’s Home,” the man snorted.

“Take off runt. You’ll get in trouble if your caught out here.”

The boy finally found his voice. “No I won’t. Cause they don’t know I’m out here. I snuck out!” He was nearly shouting in his delight.

The shinobi rolled his eyes, glancing around for his companions. He looked again at the door in exasperation. Didn’t they care that a child had escaped?

“Hey, hey are you going on a mission?” The boy looked up and down, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Have you ever fought anyone? Where are your weapons?” He clutched the stick — his trusty kunai — proudly to his chest. “I’m going to be a ninja too!”

But the shinobi only scoffed distractedly. “Get lost kid. You’ll never be a ninja.” He craned his neck toward the door. Still no one. He’d have to drag the little ankle-biter back inside himself. Then he’d give them a piece of his mind—

“Yeah I am,” the boy kept on, undeterred. “I’ll go to ninja school, then I’ll go on missions, and then—”

The shinobi laughed outright, really looking at the kid for the first time. Just an unkempt scrap of a boy with a mop of dirty-blond hair. “You? At the academy? They don’t let riffraff in there. And you’re nothing special….”

But even as the words left his mouth, his bored expression sharpened. He noticed something on the boy’s cheeks. Something unmistakeable.

The shinobi leaned down, reaching for the child’s face. But before he could grab him, the kid angrily kicked out as hard as he could. Sudden, shooting pain eclipsed everything. Gripping his shin, the ninja swore savagely.

The boy skittered back a few steps, face twisted with childish determination, hands balled into fists.

It had been the same when some of the older boys had picked on him about his “silly dream.” He wanted to be a ninja, more than anything. And he wouldn’t give it up, not even when the kids started to pummel him. He fought back, swinging and kicking. It must have worked too, because now those boys barely looked at him.

And whether it was those stupid boys or even a real, live ninja, he wouldn’t give it up. He’d find a way. Wasn’t that what being a ninja was all about?

The boy harrumphed his determination, tightening the fist around his stick-kunai until his knuckles were white.

“I’m going to be a ninja! And I’ll go to the ninja school! Just you wait!”

Still clutching his leg, the silver-haired shinobi leveled a ferocious look at the kid.

“You little shit,” he growled. “You’re not going to be a ninja.”

Then, before the boy could blink, the shinobi lunged forward and caught his face, squeezing it painfully.

The boy’s blue eyes, wide with surprise, now registered fear. The man bent down closely inspecting his cheeks. He was looking at the marks, the three lines on each cheek, the ones that were getting darker each year. They marked him as different, and he didn’t know why.

But somehow, this man did.

“I can’t believe it….” He turned the boy’s head from side to side, roughly thumbing the marked skin.

The boy squirmed, trying to free his head from the painful vice-grip. His eyes were watering. He was starting to panic. Desperately he turned his face into the fleshy hand and sank his teeth into anything he could get.

The shinobi yelped and let go in an instant. The boy leapt back, unsure if he could make it to the safety of the fenced in yard or the front doors before the man could—

“You can’t fool me,” the shinobi said, straightening. He rubbed his hand, eyes flashing angrily at the boy. “I know who you are…Na-ru-to.”

Fists still tight, little Naruto watched the man warily. But any thought of running was forgotten. How did he know his name….

The shinobi snorted at kid’s stubborn resiliance. He had expected the brat to scamper off when he had the chance. Now he’d have to teach him a lesson.

“They’ll never let you near the academy,” he taunted, eyes narrowing. “Why would they? I know your little secret…. You’re the demon child.”

He rubbed his hand significantly before continuing. “And I am a teacher at the academy. So, I’ll be watching for you. And I will personally make sure you don’t even get near…the school….”

The shinobi’s voice thinned. He wanted to punish the kid, wipe that defiant look off his scruffy little face. But the child looked up as if he’d spoken another language.

Blinking, Naruto gaped like a fish. His small fists loosened, the will to fight forgotten. He shook his head in utter confusion. “Wh-What? What do you mean? I don’t understand…. ”

The silver-haired shinobi threw his head back with laughter. “You mean…no one’s told you? What a joke!”

“Told me what?!”

The man leaned closer. His voice was low and poisonous.

“That you’re the container for a demon.” His eyes glinted with wicked delight. “I’ve seen the scroll with my own eyes. That’s why you’re hidden away here.” He waved a hand at the orphanage. “And these people were forced to take you. No one wanted that burden. Who would?”

He glanced back at the kid, slack-faced under the weight of the revelation.

“You’re lucky you’re here, though,” the shinobi continued, rubbing his sore hand and looking the kid up and down. “You ought to be locked in a cell.”

The uniform grind of another set of footsteps echoed around the corner. This time, Naruto didn’t hear it.

However the man in front of him did. And as much as he hated kids, he hated getting caught even more. He massaged the sore spot, pissed that this little upstart managed to injure him twice. Demon or not, he’d killed men for less than that.

“You’ll never be a Konoha ninja,” he declared, jabbing a finger into Naruto’s lifeless shoulder, rocking the boy. “Now fuck off.”

The shinobi jogged up behind him, never hearing the parting shot. He gave the silver-haired man a good-natured shove.

“Leave him alone, Mizuki,” the newcomer said. He offered a squinty smile to the object of Mizuki’s badgering. “Don’t listen to him, kid,” he said, nodding back at his teammate. “You can be whatever you want.”

He gave the kid a quick thumbs up, his broad grin wrinkling the bandage that stretched across his face.

But behind him, the silver-haired shinobi shook his head ruthlessly.

His companion didn’t notice. “Come on,” he said, tugging Mizuki’s arm. “The others are already there. And if we’re late, the good missions will be gone….”

The conversation faded away with the thudding of their footsteps. They turned out of lane, never looking back.

Numbed to his core, Naruto stood frozen on the sidewalk. Blond hair gently ruffled across his forehead.

It couldn’t be true…. Could it?

Just then, a hot wind pushed down the lane, flapping his clothes, rattling the dead leaves at his feet and stirring up clouds of yellow dust from the road. He blinked against it, closed his dry mouth.

Was this why he was here? In an orphanage? No one wanted him because he was…he was…a demon?

He swallowed hard.

An old woman scuttled by, clutching a small package, the breeze blowing at her back. She cut a wary glance at the boy, brought the parcel protectively to her chest and continued briskly down the lane.

He stared into the dull quiet left in the wake of the breeze. He felt…wounded. But he knew he couldn’t be because the ninja had barely touched him.

Slowly he opened his palm, staring at the fat stick clutched there. It was no longer his trusty kunai.

It was as if the shinobi had infected him with these new thoughts. Nothing made sense to him now. He opened his fingers and let the stick clatter to the ground.

Slowly he turned, went up the steps and slipped back through the front door. He didn’t even try to hide the obvious fact that he’d been outside the compound.

And that was when he first noticed it….

The teacher who surely saw him coming through the door, but turned her back, ignoring him instead of punishing him. The darkly suspicious looks of the older boys in the hall. The ones who had pummeled him, but now avoided him whenever they saw him. The children scattering into the rooms almost as soon as they caught his eye. Their laughter continuing beyond the doors, but their kind words never reaching him.

It had always been this way.

But now, the brutal words of the shinobi came back to him. They were forced to take him. No one wanted him. It couldn’t be true, he thought fiercely.

Yet as the weeks passed, the words would haunt him.