Naruto: Born Gifted in Konoha

To most people, Saitama's death seemed unremarkable. They felt a bit of regret, then moved on without further thought.

After all, young men like Saitama dying on the battlefield were not uncommon.

Saitama was simply one of the more outstanding among them.

Once someone dies, they're no longer useful. Any reputation or evaluation left behind has nothing to do with that person anymore.

Perhaps it's just proof that this person once existed. After many years, when even those who remember him leave this world, he will completely fade away.

...

Mist Frontline.

"Shizune, have you made your decision?" Tsunade asked, hugging Shizune and looking down at her.

"Yes. There's no point staying here anymore. I've decided to travel around with Tsunade-sama."

Shizune's eyes were still red, but she had already wiped away her tears.

"Okay then. We'll leave once things stabilize here."

Tsunade gently patted Shizune's head. She understood Shizune's grief.

...

That unknown wasteland.

Dozens to hundreds of meters underground stretched a wide tunnel. No one knew who dug it or where it led.

Plop! A drop of water hit the ground, creating a soft echo and awakening the faintly glowing figure below.

"Where am I?" Saitama's mind was in chaos. He still hadn't shaken off that unbearable burning sensation.

The moment he woke up, he tried to stand up, his hand instinctively reaching for his waist.

However, none of it worked—felt like he only had his head left.

He couldn't sense his own body at all—no hands, no feet, nothing—and couldn't control any part of himself.

After adjusting for some time, Saitama finally managed to move his head slightly, turning it with difficulty to one side—he sensed another presence there.

Suddenly, Saitama saw a pale white figure whose black eyes were staring at him rather curiously.

Rather than fear, Saitama immediately recognized who this was.

"You're awake?" White Zetsu crouched beside him, jabbing Saitama's shoulder with one hand like he was mildly curious, then asked.

Saitama saw White Zetsu poke him, but his body didn't react at all—as though it wasn't even his anymore.

At this realization, Saitama suddenly noticed his shoulder had turned as pale and bloodless as White Zetsu's!

"You've been unconscious... Hmm, let me count... Well, anyway, several days." White Zetsu began explaining, raising his hand halfway through as if trying to count, then shook his head helplessly and gave up.

Saitama recognized White Zetsu, but he didn't speak, silently observing the changes happening to his body.

From his perspective, every visible part of his body was a chaotic mix of pale and normal skin tones, forming an ugly, patchy pattern like a blotched mutt.

Though arms and legs were visible, whenever he attempted to move them, his intention wasn't followed—the body wouldn't obey.

"Don't waste effort. You probably can't control your body yet. It hasn't synced up with you completely. Your nerves and muscles are still adjusting!"

White Zetsu realized Saitama was struggling to control his limbs and offered this explanation accordingly.

"Who are you, and where is this?"

Out of options, Saitama decided to ask White Zetsu straight up. He needed to act like he'd never seen him before, since this version of White Zetsu hadn't appeared in public yet in this era.

Luckily, he barely had control over his facial muscles anyway, so no unnecessary expressions showed.

"Who me? I'm White Zetsu. As for where we are? Not a clue. Heh."

White Zetsu leaned in close, his moss-green hair swaying slightly on top of his head as he stared into Saitama's eyes.

"Hmm." Saitama closed his eyes, starting to piece things together. He was sure that being rescued had something to do with Madara Uchiha.

White Zetsu wouldn't have acted on his own.

A faint metallic clinking echoed from the darkness, but Saitama couldn't move at all, so he couldn't see what it was.

Even his sensory abilities were useless now — his mind was chaotic, unable to focus.

White Zetsu saw the approaching figure, stood up, and walked toward that person.

"Lord Madara!"

Saitama's spirits lifted — he knew the main player had arrived. He tried to squint and focus his gaze in Madara's direction, though all he could make out was a blurry silhouette hidden in darkness.

"Awoke already?" An aged voice sounded, clearly addressing Saitama.

"Hmm." Saitama looked toward the rocky ceiling above, giving a brief reply.

He had no idea what Madara was after — but if he'd gone through the trouble of rescuing him, there'd be strings attached, no doubt about it.

Something dragged across the ground, scraping against the floor.

The sound gradually approached Saitama as Madara came to stand before him.

Pale long hair, an old face covered with age spots and wrinkles.

An unremarkable-looking old man simply appeared within Saitama's field of vision.

But Saitama knew better than to underestimate this seemingly dying old man. Even at his peak, he probably wouldn't stand a chance against Madara in this condition.

"Most of your body has already been consumed by Amaterasu flames. I used White Zetsu and Hashirama Cell culture to reconstruct your physical form. I hope you can accept it."

Madara leaned on a black sickle with his right hand, his expression unreadable as he stared directly at the naked Saitama.

"Just surviving is a miracle in itself!" Saitama wanted to smile at the powerful boss before him, but the muscles in his face refused to obey.

"Good then. It should take some time to adapt to this new body. Just lie here and adjust properly. If you need anything, just ask for White Zetsu."

After dropping these words, Madara turned around and left immediately.

It was only now that Saitama noticed the black tubes attached to Madara's back — and realized the scythe was being used as a cane.

Is Madara treating me like I've taken Obito's place? Narrowing his eyes, Saitama seemed to realize something.

"Well then, rest well here! I'll come check on you later."

White Zetsu bent down, bringing his face close to Saitama's as he spoke, then followed Madara's footsteps and left this place.

All that remained was the sound of Saitama's steady breathing and the slow drip of water echoing through the silence.

Not too bad—it gave Saitama more time and space to think over his next step.

Going back to Konoha wasn't an option anymore, and Saitama wasn't about to try it anyway.

This encounter with Danzo made one thing perfectly clear.

Trying to make others understand you is a waste of time! If your power is strong enough and you impose your will on others, everything becomes simple.

In the past, Saitama had always tried to do his part, supporting the Uchiha clan and believing that if he could stop them from going down their fated path, the clan might escape destruction.

Saitama had tried his best—he never stopped believing the Uchiha had a bright future ahead. With him around, they could rise again and reclaim their glory in Konoha.

But who could've foreseen that Danzo, that old schemer, would turn his attention toward him?

Only when Danzo's gone will the Uchiha finally know peace!

At this thought, Saitama's murderous intent toward Danzo flared intensely.

Yet through this experience, he finally solidified an idea he'd long been considering.

Why should he be the one trying to accommodate others? Why shouldn't others try to understand and accommodate him instead?

Why must he play second fiddle? He was a reincarnated outsider who knew everything that would happen—who says he can't take charge instead?

Now that he had been saved by Madara, Saitama completely understood the path he would walk.

Unite the Shinobi World and bring true peace! The endless wars have always come from rivalries between the villages and nations.

Once unified, there would be no problem left unsolved!

Lying there, Saitama's eyes gleamed with a new kind of light!

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