After sending that letter to Kakashi, Akira returned home and slipped back into his usual, leisurely rhythm of academy life. Days flowed into each other like lazy river water—unhurried, peaceful, exactly what he wanted. And just like that, one month passed.
On this particular morning, Akira sat in the Ninja Academy classroom, half-listening to Iruka's lecture while his eyes drifted toward the playground outside. The sunlight, the chatter, the open sky—everything looked like a miniature dream world to him. A world where he didn't need to worry, didn't need to fear, didn't need to study history with an aching mind.
Iruka's voice echoed somewhere in the background, but Akira's thoughts were elsewhere.
Life is good, he thought. Simulation system… I love you.
Then—
"AKIRA!"
Akira blinked.
Iruka was glaring at him with that teacher-expression that said: I like you, but also, please don't test my patience.
"Akira," Iruka sighed, "answer this question."
Akira didn't complain, didn't even relax his expression—he simply stood, lifted his gaze to the blackboard, and read the question that was already written there. The question was easy. Everything was easy.
Because a few months ago, Akira had taken another simulation, and in that simulation reward he had chosen Basic Academic Studies to Perfection. The result? He now knew every single academic-related thing the academy could possibly ask. What others studied for years, he simply… knew.
He didn't even need to try. Being a topper without effort was unexpectedly satisfying.
And that led him to another realization.
The simulation system wasn't completely random. Every reward that system gave him was exactly what he needed or desired in that moment from his future self. When he desperately wanted strength, he got rewards purely oriented toward power. When he wanted stability and basic support, he got perfect academic mastery. Lucky simulations gave him powerful things because he desired them intensely; daily simulations gave him one-tome Sharingan mastery instead of three-tome because that was the limit.
That was fair. If daily simulations could give him everything he wanted unlimitedly, he'd already be invincible a few days after receiving the system.
Akira was just about to speak his answer out loud when something… tugged at him.
A strange feeling.
His expression stiffened for a moment, and he turned his head toward the Hokage Building.
Iruka blinked, confused. The entire class stared. Akira might act lazy, but he was the undisputed top student. Anytime Iruka asked something, Akira knew the answer, even if it wasn't in the curriculum.
So when he suddenly paused, everyone noticed the change.
But Akira understood exactly what he had sensed.
Itachi.
Itachi had made his choice.
He had chosen Konoha over Hiruzen Sarutobi.
And if Itachi had made his move… then Akira also had to do his part.
Quietly, he communicated with the system.
And with the mark on letter as center,
A 3m x 3m x 3m cube of Dust release opened briefly—just enough.
Then Akira closed it, adjusted his expression, walked toward the blackboard, and began solving the question Iruka had asked.
It was a problem about the trajectory of a kunai thrown at a 45-degree angle, reaching a height of 10m, with wind speed of 16 m/s. If another person want his kunai to collide so at what angle and speed he should throw it if he is 100 m apart ?
Akira solved it in seconds.
The classroom fell silent.
Even Iruka was stunned. All the questions he gave Akira were top-tier, the kind of problems even adults struggled with. Iruka wasn't trying to embarrass Akira; he simply believed that if a student was that good despite hardly studying, then perhaps he needed the push to unlock even greater potential.
Akira understood the intention. So he never held it against Iruka.
Half an hour later, the theory class ended.
And now came the anticipated moment: practical class.
In both the real world and this shinobi world, theory made people sleepy but practical class awakened everyone's inner excitement. In Konoha's academy, practical class was the most exciting part of the day—especially for Naruto's class, which consisted of many elites. Even the supposedly "ordinary" students, like Sakura, were geniuses in their own right.
When they reached the training ground, Iruka started explaining about explosive tags.
Akira almost laughed.
He knew exactly what was about to happen—not because he could see the future, but because he knew Itachi's personality. Itachi would leave no clues behind. If it came out that Itachi's last known location was the Hokage Building, and then the Hokage disappeared, it would implicate the Uchiha clan. That would create unnecessary chaos.
Which meant…
An explosion was coming.
About ten minutes later, Iruka brought out a carefully wrapped detonating tag.
For normal civilians, it was a priceless item. For the academy, even more precious. They couldn't afford to waste it.
Iruka explained how an explosive tag worked, the hand sign required to activate it, the delay mechanism, and safety protocols. After the explanation, he asked:
"Now, who wants to place this tag on the tree I marked and activate it?"
Every student's eyes lit up.
It was like giving a group of children a real bomb and telling them to "have fun responsibly."
Naruto's eyes sparkled so brightly he looked ready to explode himself.
Iruka considered Akira, but ultimately shook his head. Akira was still too young, and while genius was fine, mistakes happened. Losing a prodigy in training due to a misstep was not something Iruka could risk.
So he chose Sasuke.
Sasuke accepted the tag with calm dignity, then gave Akira a small nod. He walked to the tree, placed the explosive tag, performed the seal, and dashed away stylishly.
Girls almost fainted from admiration.
Then—
BOOOOOOOM!
The sound that erupted was not normal.
Not even close.
Iruka froze.
The students froze.
This didn't sound like an academy-grade explosive tag. This sounded like a tailed beast ball detonating nearby.
Iruka's face turned pale. He understood immediately—something had happened inside the village.
He shouted:
"Everyone, evacuate to the shelter! Follow the school drill calmly! If you see civilians, guide them too! You are ninja apprentices—you have responsibilities!"
The students scattered in orderly formation.
Akira followed along quietly. He knew exactly what had happened, but he didn't want to stand around smiling like an idiot while everyone else panicked.
Once inside the shelter, Akira immediately looked for the Uchiha clan members and his mother who might also be in this shelter.
He knew the village would be mostly safe, but accidents could always happen. Maybe Obito was still wandering somewhere, maybe someone else would take advantage of the chaos. Even if it didn't happen in the simulation, Akira couldn't shake the worry.
Eventually, he found his mother, and only then did he relax slightly.
Three hours passed.
The explosion area was secured.
Sasuke and the others helped evacuate civilians.
By nightfall, the shelters were reopening.
That same night, Akira sat inside the Uchiha household with Nanao Uchiha. Across from him sat his father, drinking tea calmly… but with a strange excitement shimmering in his eyes.
Not excitement about the Hokage's death.
But excitement about…
The Hokage seat becoming vacant.
In his father's mind, this was a rare opportunity. No other clan currently had the strength to contend seriously for the role—except the Uchiha.
Akira felt a little bad for him. Maybe he could have supported Fugaku becoming Hokage like in another simulation. But after thinking deeply, and after sending that letter to Tsunade, Akira realized Fugaku was simply not the right material. A Hokage needed more than strength or prestige.
That night passed quietly.
The next morning, Konoha ninjas and Uchiha members gathered again at the explosion site. They searched through the ruins, but found nothing. Not even a hair.
That alone was suspicious—no explosion, no matter how strong, could reduce a human body to perfect dust.
But they had no leads.
Evening came, and everyone gathered at the cemetery to mourn the Third Hokage.
There, a surprising sight awaited them.
Two people stood silently before the spot prepared for Sarutobi Hiruzen's memorial.
Tsunade Senju.
And Jiraiya.
Akira blinked, then nodded to himself.
So Tsunade really came.
Maybe she came because she received the letter.
Maybe she came because she anticipated danger.
Or maybe she just wanted to see what was happening in Konoha with her own eyes.
Akira felt a trace of pity seeing her expression. Yes, she was violent, fond of gambling and alcohol, had zero qualities of a "wife material," and was at the age of a grandmother… but still, seeing such a strong and beautiful person with a sad face wasn't pleasant.
Jiraiya stood beside her as well.
Akira disliked his perverted habits, but he respected Jiraiya deeply. Jiraiya's humanity was real—his flaws made him believable, not like childish protagonists who claimed they would "change the world."
Jiraiya knew his limits.
He knew he couldn't bring peace alone.
But after hearing the prophecy that he would teach the "Child of Prophecy," he dedicated his life to finding that child.
Akira respected that.
He also noticed Jiraiya wasn't angry about the Hokage's death. Sad, yes. But not burning with vengeance. That meant Jiraiya already had information or a letter—probably from Tsunade.
After the funeral, days passed, and the Hokage election began.
Only jonin-level and above could cast votes. Akira didn't know the internal details.
One month later, the announcement came:
Tsunade Senju would become the Fifth Hokage.
And the Uchiha clan would be relocated from the village outskirts back to the central district—their original land, once taken by the four clans: Sarutobi, Shimura, and two others.
How those clans agreed… Akira didn't know.
But he definitely benefited.
Living in the center of Konoha was like living in the heart of a metropolitan city—everything more convenient, everything more valuable.
With that, Akira realized he had no major obligations for the next three-and-a-half years.
He could finally enjoy a peaceful academy life.
And slowly…
quietly…
three years passed.
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