Naruto: Thrown Into the Leaf

After a few days 

Otis completed his training early that day.

He had to meet the Third Hokage. A few days ago, he'd filled out a request form for early graduation from the Academy. Today, the Hokage had summoned him for the decision.

The sun was barely above the rooftops when Otis tightened the bandages around his forearms and stepped out of his hut. A thin mist still hung over the river behind him

His sandals padded softly against the dirt as he made his way toward Konoha.

Otis didn't run. The walk gave him time to think — about chakra, about throwing angles, and about the strange way the wind moved between buildings compared to the trees how it would effect his throwing trajectory

When he entered the market area, some villagers noticed him. Some whispered. A few lowered their heads. He was taller than most adults,

He kept walking.

By the time he reached the Hokage building, the guards out front looked up with mild interest

"You're... Otis, right?"

Otis nodded once.

"Go on in," the other said, after exchanging a glance. "He's expecting you."

Otis stepped past them without a word. The air inside was warm, filled with the scent of ink and paper. As he climbed the stairs to the Hokage's office, he heard the soft rustle of documents

He didn't knock. 

He waited outside the door as the ninja at the door informed the Hokage inside.

After a pause, the old voice within called out, "Come in."

Otis slid the door open.

The sunlight filtered through the windows of the Hokage's office. The room smelled of ink, smoke, and old wood.

Otis stood silently in front of the desk, hands at his sides, posture still. Despite being only eleven, he looked like he belonged in a jōnin lineup — tall and unnervingly calm.

It was the first time Otis had seen Hiruzen Sarutobi up close. The Hokage looked different from what he'd imagined — more worn. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair unkempt, his face lined deeper than the photos in the Academy suggested.

(Pic)

Hiruzen glanced up from a scroll, pipe in his mouth. His eyes took in the boy — 

"You're here for early graduation?" Hiruzen asked dryly.

Otis met his gaze. "Yes, Lord Hokage. I want to graduate early."

A pause.

Hiruzen tapped the stem of his pipe against the desk and picked up a scroll. It held Otis's records — above average in theory and the top of his class in taijutsu.

"Why do you want to graduate early?"

"They still teach the same basics. I've learned what I can,"

Otis didn't pause.

" and I want to learn chakra transformation."

Hiruzen raised an eyebrow. "Most genin don't get near elemental manipulation for years."

"Most genin don't throw boulders for breakfast."

Hiruzen chuckled. "Fair enough."

He leaned back, puffing smoke thoughtfully.

Studying Otis through the haze.

"You know early graduation has risks. Missions. Politics. And you'll attract attention."

"I'm ready "

Otis stood, still and steady as a stone as he said

"I have more strength than most of your genin."

Hiruzen exhaled a plume of smoke, his brow slightly raised.

"Physical strength?"

"Yes."

"And you want to graduate… because strength alone makes you ready?"

Otis didn't flinch. "No. I want to graduate because there's nothing left to learn in that building."

A long silence followed.

Hiruzen's smile faded slightly. "That you do."

Another pause.

"And if I say no?"

Otis tilted his head. "Then I'll wait. And keep training until it doesn't matter what anyone says."

Hiruzen studied him a moment longer.

Then leaned forward, resting both arms on the desk.

"Very well. You'll graduate…"

Otis blinked.

"...if you can beat a genin."

Otis stared at him.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Hiruzen said, smirking. "No paper test. Just one fight. One witness. Pass or fail."

Then, finally, he pulled out a small folder from a drawer — a sealed envelope.

"Take this to Iruka. He'll handle the rest. You'll take the graduation test in five days… in front of me."

"Understood."

Otis bowed and turned to leave.

***

Later That Day — Riverside Hut

The smell of sizzling oil filled the tiny hut.

Hinata stood near the small firepit, carefully flipping rice cakes on a flat pan. Her face was pink from the heat, a bit of flour smudged on her cheek. She hummed quietly under her breath — while Otis sat outside.

He had provided the ingredients — herbs, rice, freshly caught fish.

"Done!" Hinata called out, beaming, carrying the tray like it was a sacred offering.

Otis nodded. "Smells good."

"I tried a new miso soup recipe," she said.

"That's already better than Sayuri."

"Wha— really?" Her eyes widened.

"She scorched tea once." He gave a slow blink.

Hinata blinked. "How do you even burn water—"

"Talent," Otis said.

They both sat.

And then… they ate.

And kept eating.

And they kept eating.

Otis was biting through chunks of grilled fish like a machine.

Hinata was… fast.

Not messy — Her cheeks puffed out with rice balls, hands moving like a taijutsu master between plates.

(Pic)

Ten minutes in, Otis looked over.

She was matching him.

Bite for bite.

His eyes narrowed.

"Where do you put it?"

Hinata paused mid-chew, swallowed, and looked down at her stomach, then back at him.

"I have good metabolism."

Otis deadpanned. "You're a tiny furnace."

A pause. 

Then—

They both grabbed the last rice cake at the same time.

Their eyes locked.

Silence.

"You can have it," Hinata said quickly, flustered.

"Split it," Otis replied.

"Okay!"

They tore it in half.

Simultaneously bit into it.

Chewed in unison.

Then—

"This is weird," said a new voice.

Sayuri stood at the entrance, one brow raised, arms crossed, staring at the synchronized chewing.

"You two look like a couple of golems eating bricks."

Otis blinked. "Jealous?"

"Of the food? Yes."

Hinata swallowed, smiling nervously. "I-I made plenty, you can have—"

"No, no," Sayuri waved her off. "I'm just here to witness the tragedy."

She walked in, grabbed a half-finished rice ball, and bit into it.

"Hmm. You're scary good at this. He's definitely keeping you."

Hinata blushed. "I-I'm not—being kept—he's not—"

"Relax," Sayuri smirked. "I'm just saying — you eat like him, you cook like a wife. That's already two-and-a-half qualifications."

Otis sighed. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to."

She grabbed another plate.

Otis calmly sipped tea.

...

(A/N)

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