Naruto - The God of Shinobi

4 days ago in the Underground Base -

Danzo sat in the dimly lit chamber of his underground hideout, fingers steepled together as he listened to the latest report from his Root operative. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the cold stone walls, making the atmosphere even heavier. The masked ANBU knelt before him, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"The last report concerns a civilian orphan. He secured first place in the Academy entrance exam. The Hokage has decided to reward him, though he has delayed announcing what the reward will be. The boy requested time to think."

Danzo's single visible eye narrowed slightly. "Hiruzen is rewarding an Academy entrant? Strange. He usually reserves such gestures for those who perform exceptionally in the first year. What is it about this child that warrants such attention?"

Silence hung in the room as the implications of his words settled.

Danzo's mind worked quickly. A mere orphan? A civilian? First place? He hadn't heard this name before.

"Hokage has taken an interest in him," the Root agent continued.

Danzo's fingers tapped against his cane. That was unusual. The Sandaime was sentimental, but he wasn't one to focus on random orphans—unless there was something unique about them.

"Tanaka Kazeo… why is this the first time I'm hearing about him?

Have you found anything unusual in the records? Bloodline traces? Ancestry connections?"

The root operative shook his head. "None, His file lists him as a civilian orphan. No clan ties, no remarkable background. Just another name in the war orphans' records."

That didn't sit right with Danzo. ' If Hiruzen was showing interest, there had to be more'

He had monitored the new academy batch but hadn't seen any exceptional names beyond the usual clan heirs and prodigies. And yet, Hiruzen had noticed him enough to delay a reward?

Danzo's gaze darkened.

"Gather information on this boy," he ordered. "I want his background, skills, and any signs of unusual talent. And when he requests his reward… I want to know immediately."

"If this child is someone Hiruzen sees potential in, then he may be worth observing. And if he truly possesses talent… he will belong to Root."

------

Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together, his gaze fixed on Okabe. The chunin stood before him, stiff-backed, yet there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—frustration? No, embarrassment.

The Third exhaled through his nose, watching Okabe shift his weight ever so slightly. A shinobi's pride was a fragile thing, especially when shaken by something they didn't understand.

"Report" Hiruzen commanded, his tone measured, neutral.

Okabe hesitated—not out of fear, but calculation. He was an elite chunin, someone who had been through wars, but today… today he had been touched.

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to meet the Hokage's gaze. "I did as you requested. I tested him." A pause. "And he landed a hit."

Silence.

Hiruzen's fingers twitched. A simple movement, but the air in the room grew heavier.

"He what ?"

The sharpness in his tone made Okabe instinctively straighten, his muscles tensing as if preparing for impact. Even now, after decades of peace, the mere presence of the Hokage carried the weight of countless battles.

Okabe swallowed, pressing forward. "It was… unexpected. I got complacent. I didn't even consider the possibility of him hitting me, so I wasn't on guard. But when he struck—" He stopped, his brows furrowing. "No… when he should have struck, I felt… nothing. No shift in air, no pressure change. One moment, there was a leg. The next, there wasn't."

Hiruzen stilled. His expression didn't change, but the flicker of something—concern? Curiosity?—flashed behind his eyes.

Okabe clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "I don't know how he did it, but it wasn't a simple feint. My instincts—" His voice dropped. "—they failed me."

Hiruzen exhaled, a slow deliberate action, hiding the unease coiling in his chest. This wasn't a coincidence. No, there was something about that boy.

The Hokage's expression darkened. "Erasing presence… without a sensory jutsu?"

A troubling thought stirred in his mind. A strong soul? A mutation? Or something else?

'Danzo… could this be connected to you?'

The weight of that possibility settled over him like a storm cloud. He needed to be sure.

His fingers curled slightly on the desk, but his voice remained neutral. "Continue observing him. Report any further developments."

Okabe hesitated, something unreadable in his eyes. He wanted to ask why—to understand why the Hokage himself was this invested. But he knew better. Questions were a privilege not afforded to soldiers.

"Yes, Hokage-sama." He bowed and left, his footsteps fading into the silence.

As Okabe left, Hiruzen sighed, reaching for his pipe. The ember at its tip glowed faintly as he took a slow drag.

"Tanaka Kazeo…" he murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

He would have to keep a close eye on this one.

For a moment, Hiruzen sat motionless, his thoughts churning.

Then, slowly, he reached for the old, dust-covered files hidden in the depths of his drawer.

Records that shouldn't exist. Files that had been buried.

------

Tour of academy -

The Academy wasn't just a school—it was a battlefield in disguise. A place where kids learned to fight, endure, and survive before they even understood what those words really meant.

The building itself felt old, its wooden floors scuffed from years of restless feet. The walls were lined with faded posters—chakra networks, vital points, mission formations—all meant to prepare students for a life where failure meant more than just bad grades.

The air smelled of ink, sweat, and the faintest hint of old paper, mixing with the distant aroma of rice and miso soup wafting from the cafeteria.

Inside the classroom, rows of wooden desks stood in perfect formation, each one carved up with kunai scratches or hastily scribbled battle strategies from students who had sat there before.

The blackboard at the front was still covered in notes from the last lesson—tactics and formations.

Half the class had probably dozed off during it.

Through the open windows, Kazeo could hear the steady thunk of kunai hitting wood. Outside, students ran through drills, their strained breaths and grunts blending with the occasional bark of an instructor correcting their form.

The training fields stretched beyond the main building, littered with battered dummies, trampled dirt, and the occasional scorch mark from an overzealous fire jutsu.

There was no mercy here—if you failed, you did it again until your muscles screamed, until your chakra reserves ran dry, until you either got better or broke.

They passed the infirmary next, a small building with sliding doors slightly open.

The sharp scent of antiseptic drifted out, and Kazeo caught a glimpse of a student inside, his arm wrapped in bandages.

Probably overdid it on a spar. Injuries weren't rare here—most of them weren't even treated like a big deal. A twisted ankle? A bruised rib? You just walked it off.

Then came the playground. A strange thing to exist in a place like this. The old swing set creaked in the breeze, the chains rusted, the seat empty. Kazeo's gaze lingered on it for a second. How many kids had sat there, feeling isolated, rejected like Naruto ?

How many had gripped those chains like they were the only thing holding them up?

The library, though—that was what really caught his attention. It wasn't just books and scrolls. It was a vault.

A reminder that power wasn't just given—it was hoarded, controlled. Rows of neatly stacked scrolls lined the shelves, filled with jutsu, strategies, history.

B-rank techniques sat in plain sight, just within reach for those who proved themselves. But anything higher? Locked away. Kept out of reach until you had bled enough to earn it.

"Even knowledge is something we have to fight for."

They moved on, passing the weapon storage—racks of wooden swords, practice kunai, and dulled shuriken lined the walls. The metallic scent of steel clung to the air, and the training swords bore fresh dents, proof that someone had been sparring earlier.

Finally, they reached the academy gardens—a rare pocket of peace. Towering trees cast long shadows across the ground, their leaves whispering in the wind. A large pond sat undisturbed, koi fish gliding beneath the surface, oblivious to the world beyond these walls. The air was cooler here, fresher, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and greenery.

For a moment, Kazeo almost let himself relax.

But he knew better.

This world wasn't peaceful. It never was.

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