Naruto : Blazing Legend

Chapter 38: The World Ten Thousand Years Later

The hospital room felt smaller in the darkness, shadows pooling in corners like spilled ink. When Sarutobi Hiruzen arrived that night, his face betrayed none of the shock that must have coursed through him upon learning the truth—that the boy lying unconscious before him had somehow awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan at merely eleven years old.

"This information goes no further," the Third Hokage commanded, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Not a word to anyone. Understood?"

The silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken implications. Everyone present—the medical staff, Tsunade, and Yamanaka Inoichi, still bedridden from his psychic wounds—understood the gravity of what they'd witnessed.

"Inoichi," Hiruzen continued, his tone softer but no less serious, "what can you tell me about that illusion?"

The blonde shinobi shifted uncomfortably with phantom pain still lancing through him where those impossible bullets had found their mark. "Hokage-sama, I've never encountered anything like it. The world he created... it was alien. Metal carriages that moved without horses, a language I couldn't understand initially, and strangest of all—no chakra. No ninja. As if our entire way of life was nothing but mythology."

Hiruzen's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. After dismissing the others and posting ANBU guards, he returned to his office with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there in months. A three-tomoe Sharingan at eleven—if the boy could one day awaken the Mangekyō, he might become Konoha's greatest asset.

But then the specter of Uchiha Madara rose in his mind, and the joy curdled into anxiety. Power without proper guidance had nearly destroyed the village once before. This time, there could be no mistakes. The Will of Fire would have to be more than words—it would have to become the boy's very soul.

---

The sound of ceramic against ceramic drew Yamanaka Inoichi from his restless sleep. Across the room, Rei sat hunched over what appeared to be his fifteenth bowl of rice, eating with the desperate intensity of someone who'd been starving for days.

When the boy finally set down his chopsticks, Inoichi couldn't contain himself any longer. "Explain. Everything."

Rei's account was carefully measured—seventy percent truth, thirty percent omission. He spoke of developing an experimental genjutsu that had trapped him within his own subconscious, of how the technique had evolved beyond his control and sealed away his memories of the real world.

"You're telling me," Inoichi said, veins bulging on his forehead as his voice rose, "that I nearly died saving you from a trap you set for yourself?"

The accusation hung in the air like a blade. Inoichi had endured phantom agony, the Hokage had mobilized ANBU to hunt for assassins that didn't exist, and all of it—all of it—because a child had been playing with forces beyond his comprehension.

"I didn't expect the memory suppression," Rei said quietly. "The genjutsu was supposed to be controllable."

What he didn't say—couldn't say—was the truth about his Sharingan evolution technique. If word reached the wrong ears within the Uchiha clan, desperate members might attempt to replicate his methods. The thought of his kinsmen deliberately trapping themselves in psychological labyrinths, of children dying in pursuit of power, made his stomach turn.

"What was that world?" Inoichi asked finally, his anger giving way to curiosity. "Those strange inventions, the way people lived..."

Rei's answer came wrapped in careful fiction. "Ten thousand years in the future," he said with practiced wonder. "A world where peace has finally come. Where ninja are just stories, and people solve their problems with words instead of kunai. No wars, no bloodshed—just the small struggles of everyday life."

The lie came easily, but it served a purpose. Let them think him an idealistic dreamer rather than someone who possessed knowledge that could shatter their understanding of reality.

Inoichi stared at him for a long moment. "Ten thousand years... that's a lifetime multiplied by lifetimes. Do you really believe such a world is possible?"

"Maybe not in our time," Rei replied. "But someday. The next generation, or the one after that—they'll find a way."

The older man sighed, suddenly looking every one of his years. "You have such faith in tomorrow, Rei. I hope the world doesn't crush that out of you."

After offering his heartfelt thanks for the rescue—because whatever his methods, Inoichi had risked everything to save him—Rei accepted the inevitable lecture about the dangers of experimental jutsu. The man's concern was genuine, even if he couldn't understand the true stakes involved.

Two days later, they were both discharged. Yamanaka Inoichi's report to the Hokage painted Rei as an idealistic visionary, someone who dreamed of a world without conflict. It was exactly the impression Rei had hoped to create.

Hiruzen, reading between the lines of intelligence reports about escalating tensions across the nations, felt a profound relief. This child would never become another Madara—not someone who dreamed of peace spanning millennia.

---

Life as the Third Hokage's guard resumed its familiar rhythm, though everything had changed beneath the surface. The three-tomoe Sharingan granted Rei perception beyond his wildest expectations, and he threw himself into mastering the subtle arts of chakra manipulation with single-minded focus.

Fire chakra could turn his blade into a brand that seared as it cut. Wind made his strikes impossibly sharp, able to slice through steel as if it were paper. Lightning added paralysis to his arsenal, ensuring that even a glancing blow could disable an opponent. Each element brought new possibilities, new ways to survive in a world that grew more dangerous by the day.

From his position at Hiruzen's side, Rei witnessed the endless parade of intelligence reports and mission assignments that kept the village running. The information painted a picture of a world teetering on the edge of chaos.

In Kirigakure, a nine-year-old named Zabuza Momochi had single-handedly butchered over a hundred of his fellow academy students during the graduation exam. The boy's brutality had become legend overnight, and the Third Mizukage's blood mist policies showed no signs of slowing.

"They've been quiet since the Second War," Hiruzen murmured one evening, watching smoke curl from his pipe into the darkening sky. "All that time to build strength, to plan. The Mist isn't content to remain in the shadows anymore."

The signs were everywhere for those who knew how to read them. Sunagakure's aggressive expansion, the growing boldness of smaller villages, the way traditional alliances strained under the weight of competing interests. A storm was gathering, and when it broke, it would make the previous conflicts look like children's squabbles.

"Senzo, all of you—front and center," Hiruzen called suddenly. "We have work to do."

The four ANBU materialized instantly, but their formation remained incomplete for several heartbeats. Finally, in a swirl of displaced air, a fifth figure appeared.

"My apologies for the delay," came a familiar voice from behind a mask. Namikaze Minato—though few knew his name yet—had inherited much of the ANBU's administrative burden after Hatake Sakumo's resignation. The weight of that responsibility showed in the tight lines around his visible eye.

"Minato will brief you on the mission," Hiruzen said, disappearing into the building with the abruptness of someone who had learned to delegate out of necessity.

The blonde shinobi removed his mask, revealing features that would one day grace the faces carved into the Hokage Monument. "I'm Namikaze Minato. Since we'll be working together, let's dispense with the formalities, shall we?"

The request made sense—trust was essential for any team, and trust began with knowing who stood beside you.

"ANBU Hawk," the first man said, pulling away his porcelain facade. Senzo was a veteran in his thirties, with the kind of weathered handsomeness that spoke of too many close calls. The teardrop-shaped mole beneath his left eye gave him an almost melancholy appearance. "Water release specialist. This isn't my first time working with you, Minato."

"ANBU Parrot." The tall man's introduction was economical, matching his sparse frame and no-nonsense demeanor. Daki had the compact build of someone who'd learned to make every movement count, every strike matter. "Taijutsu and earth release."

"ANBU Sparrow," came the third introduction from the shortest member of their group. Gaku Kawama barely reached shoulder height on his companions, but Rei had learned not to judge capability by size. "Sensory specialist, trap-setting, weapons mastery." The dark green hair and sharp eyes marked him as someone who saw everything and forgot nothing.

Finally, all attention turned to Rei. He pulled away his mask with a slight smile, meeting Minato's gaze directly.

"ANBU Chi. Uchiha Rei. Five-element chakra manipulation, kenjutsu, and..." he paused, letting his Sharingan flare to life for just a moment, "visual prowess."

If Minato was impressed by the casual display of mastery that would challenge most jōnin, he hid it well. But Rei caught the sharp intakes of breath from his other teammates, the way their stances shifted slightly in recognition of what they were truly dealing with.

In a world where power determined survival, Rei had just announced himself as someone worth watching. The question that remained was whether they would see him as an asset—or a threat that needed to be carefully managed.

The mission briefing would tell them which.

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