The night was deep and silent when Naruto unsealed the copied Scroll of Seals once more.
His apartment was dark save for a single candle on his desk, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows across the walls. Around him, a dozen shadow clones sat in meditative positions, each one processing the memories of dispelled predecessors who had been training throughout the day.
It had become routine now. During the day, he trained with Team Seven, enduring Kakashi's improved but still inadequate instruction. At night, he pursued his true education—the forbidden knowledge contained within the scroll he had copied from Mizuki's theft.
He had already mastered the Shadow Clone Technique and achieved functional proficiency with the Rasengan. His elemental manipulation had progressed rapidly, wind chakra now flowing through his techniques with deadly precision. But there was more in the scroll. So much more.
Tonight, he turned his attention to a technique he had noted during his initial copying but had not yet attempted.
The Chidori.
The technique had been developed by Hatake Kakashi himself, according to the scroll's notation. It was an assassination jutsu, concentrating lightning chakra into the hand until it produced a distinctive chirping sound—hence the name, "One Thousand Birds."
Naruto studied the theory with his usual detached focus. The technique required exceptional chakra control to maintain the lightning's coherence, as well as significant speed to properly utilize its assassination potential. The scroll also noted a critical weakness: the tunnel vision created by the speed necessary to employ the technique effectively, which limited the user's ability to perceive and react to counterattacks.
This weakness, the notation explained, was why the technique was considered incomplete until paired with the Sharingan—the doujutsu's predictive abilities compensated for the tunnel vision.
Naruto did not have a Sharingan.
But he had other advantages.
He formed the necessary hand seals, channeling his chakra through the lightning transformation pathway. The energy was different from wind—sharper, more volatile, requiring constant attention to prevent it from dispersing or arcing wildly.
His first attempt produced a weak crackling around his fingertips, barely visible in the candlelight.
He dispelled it and tried again.
Twenty attempts later, the crackling had intensified to a visible current dancing across his palm.
Fifty attempts, and he could hear the faint beginnings of chirping.
One hundred attempts, performed across multiple shadow clones simultaneously, and the sound was unmistakable—a high-pitched screaming of electricity that filled his small apartment with light and noise.
But it wasn't complete. Not yet.
The scroll described the full technique as producing enough power to punch through nearly any defense, the lightning chakra vibrating at frequencies that could sever molecular bonds. His current output was perhaps a quarter of that potential.
Naruto made a note of his progress and set several clones to continue practicing throughout the night. The Chidori would require more time to master fully, but he had confirmed its feasibility.
He turned to the next section of the scroll.
The Eight Inner Gates.
This was not a technique in the traditional sense, but rather a method of forcibly unlocking the body's internal limiters—the chakra pathway gates that normally regulated the flow of energy through the system. By opening these gates, a user could access power far beyond their normal capabilities.
At the cost of severe physical damage.
Naruto read the descriptions with clinical interest. The First Gate, the Gate of Opening, released the brain's restraints on muscle usage. The Second Gate, the Gate of Healing, forcibly increased physical strength and re-energized the body. The Third through Seventh Gates progressively enhanced the user's capabilities further, each one causing more damage than the last.
And the Eighth Gate—the Gate of Death—granted power that momentarily surpassed even the Five Kage.
At the cost of the user's life.
The scroll contained notes from the Third Hokage about a ninja named Might Dai who had opened all eight gates to protect his son and teammates, destroying himself in the process but taking four of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist with him.
Naruto considered this information. The Eight Gates technique was essentially a controlled self-destruction mechanism—burning the body's own tissues to fuel exponentially increasing power. It was the ultimate expression of trading longevity for immediate strength.
He found the concept... interesting.
Not because he had any desire to die. He didn't have desires at all, not anymore. But the mechanics of the technique—the way it systematically removed limitations in exchange for damage—suggested possibilities for modified application.
What if the gates could be opened partially? What if the damage could be mitigated through the healing factor provided by his tenant?
He set several clones to begin experimenting with the First Gate, carefully monitoring their physical condition as they attempted to release the brain's limiters. The results were immediately apparent—enhanced speed and strength, accompanied by visible stress on the muscles and joints.
When the clones dispelled, their memories confirmed both the power increase and the corresponding damage. But the damage, while significant for a normal person, was well within the parameters his body could recover from quickly.
The healing factor would allow him to use the Gates more liberally than most.
Another advantage filed away for future consideration.
The next section of the scroll drew his attention more strongly than any other.
Sealing Techniques.
The scroll contained an extensive collection of fuuinjutsu knowledge, ranging from basic storage seals to incredibly complex space-time manipulation formulas. Among them was the technique that had caught his attention during his initial copying—the one that had been developed by the Fourth Hokage himself.
The Flying Thunder God Technique.
Unlike most ninjutsu, the Flying Thunder God was primarily a sealing technique. It worked by creating special formula markers—seals that could be placed on objects, locations, or even people—and then using those markers as coordinates for instantaneous teleportation.
The theory was relatively straightforward. The application was anything but.
The scroll included detailed notes in what appeared to be the Fourth Hokage's own handwriting, explaining the development process and the many failed iterations that had preceded the final technique.
The key is not speed, one note read. It is connection. The seal creates a bond between the user and the marker—a thread of space-time that can be pulled to collapse the distance between them. Think of it as folding paper rather than running across it.
Naruto studied the seal formulas with intense focus, his shadow clones copying them onto practice paper and analyzing each component. The complexity was staggering—dozens of interlocking elements, each one precisely calibrated to work in harmony with the others.
But as he worked through the formulas, he began to notice patterns. The Fourth Hokage's notes had been written in a teaching style, as if intended for someone else to learn from. There were hints, suggestions, simplified explanations that seemed designed to make the technique more accessible.
Perhaps he had intended to teach this to someone, Naruto thought distantly. A student, or a successor.
The thought carried no emotional weight. It was simply an observation.
He continued his study, moving on to the preparatory exercises the notes recommended. The technique required extremely precise chakra control and a deep understanding of space-time theory. Both were areas he could develop through dedicated training.
He set more clones to work on the foundational exercises, then turned to the next section of the scroll.
What he found there made him pause.
Personal notes. Not technical documentation or technique descriptions, but actual writings from previous Hokages—observations, reflections, messages apparently intended for whoever might read the scroll in the future.
The first set of notes was from the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju.
If you're reading this, you've either stolen the scroll or been granted access to it. Either way, I hope you find what you're looking for. I created this repository to preserve techniques that were too dangerous for general use but too valuable to be lost entirely. Use them wisely.
I want to leave one piece of advice for whoever comes after me: power without purpose is meaningless. I've seen too many talented ninja destroy themselves chasing strength for its own sake. Find something worth protecting, and let that be your guide.
Naruto read the words without any particular response. The First Hokage's advice was well-intentioned, he supposed, but irrelevant to his situation. He wasn't pursuing power for its own sake. He was pursuing power because it was something to do. Because existing effectively was marginally better than existing ineffectively.
The concept of finding something worth protecting implied he was capable of valuing things. He wasn't.
He moved on.
The second set of notes was from the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju.
The techniques I've added to this scroll are the most dangerous I ever created. The Edo Tensei, in particular, should never be used—I developed it to understand death, not to weaponize it. The price of summoning the dead is too high for anyone to pay.
I've also included my notes on the Flying Thunder God. My student Hiruzen tells me I should keep this technique to myself, but I disagree. Knowledge belongs to the future, not to the dead. If someone after me can improve upon my work, so much the better.
One warning: the Flying Thunder God places tremendous strain on the user's chakra network. Use it sparingly until you understand your limits.
The warning was noted. Naruto's chakra reserves were far beyond normal parameters, but that didn't mean he should be reckless with space-time manipulation.
The third set of notes was shorter, from the Third Hokage himself.
I've maintained this scroll for decades now, adding techniques and observations as they become relevant. My hope is that it will serve future generations as a resource and a warning.
To whoever reads this: the power contained here is not a gift. It is a responsibility. Every technique has consequences—some immediate, some delayed, some that won't become apparent for years. Think carefully before you use them.
And remember: the strongest technique is the one you never have to use. A true ninja solves problems before they become conflicts.
More wisdom. More advice. All of it reasonable, all of it irrelevant to someone who couldn't feel the weight of consequences or the pull of responsibility.
Naruto turned to the final set of notes, expecting more of the same.
What he found was different.
The handwriting was the same as the Flying Thunder God notes—the Fourth Hokage's. But the tone was completely changed.
To my son—
Naruto stopped reading.
He stared at those three words for a long moment, processing their implications.
His son.
The Fourth Hokage had a son.
Naruto knew, on an intellectual level, that the Fourth had died sealing the Nine-Tailed Fox into a newborn child. That child was him. The timing aligned perfectly—the attack had been twelve years ago, on October 10th, on the day of his birth.
He had never put the pieces together before.
Or perhaps he had, somewhere deep in his subconscious, and simply refused to acknowledge the possibility.
He continued reading.
To my son—
If you're reading this, then you've found the scroll somehow. I hope it was through legitimate means, but knowing the village's treatment of jinchuuriki, I wouldn't be surprised if you had to take matters into your own hands.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for so many things. For sealing the Nine-Tails inside you. For not being there to raise you. For the burden I placed on your shoulders before you even opened your eyes.
I want you to know that it wasn't a decision I made lightly. The Nine-Tails was too powerful to destroy, and there was no other container that could hold it. Only an Uzumaki, with their incredible life force, could survive the sealing process. And you were the only Uzumaki available.
Your mother, Kushina—my wife, your mother—she was the previous jinchuuriki. She would have been able to contain the beast again if she hadn't been so weakened by childbirth. But she was, and I had no other choice.
I sealed her chakra into you as well, along with a portion of my own. Someday, when you're ready, you should be able to access our memories and communicate with us directly. The seal is designed to allow that connection.
I'm writing this in the moments before the sealing. Kushina is unconscious, and the Nine-Tails is rampaging through the village. I don't have much time.
I want you to know that we love you. Both of us. More than words can express. You are the greatest gift we ever received, even if we only had you for a few minutes.
I believe in you, Naruto. Whatever challenges you face, whatever hardships the village puts you through, I know you'll overcome them. You're our son. You're the child of the Yellow Flash and the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero. You have greatness in your blood.
Live well, my son. Find people who love you and hold them close. Become strong enough to protect them. And know that we'll always be with you, watching over you from beyond.
With all my love,
Minato Namikaze
The Fourth Hokage
Your father
Naruto sat motionless for a long time.
The candle had burned low, its flame guttering in the still air. Around him, shadow clones continued their work, oblivious to the revelation their creator had just received.
He should feel something.
This was the kind of information that should shatter a person's understanding of the world. The Fourth Hokage—the greatest hero of Konoha, the man whose face was carved into the mountainside—was his father. The mother he had never known was Kushina Uzumaki, the previous container of the Nine-Tailed Fox. They had loved him. They had died to protect him.
He should feel something.
Grief for the parents he never knew. Anger at the village for hiding this from him. Joy at finally learning where he came from. Pride at his heritage. Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Just emptiness, as always. Just observation without emotion. Just data without meaning.
Naruto read the letter again, searching for any flicker of response within himself. The words were beautiful. The sentiment was genuine. His father had loved him. His mother had loved him. They had died for him.
Nothing.
He folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the scroll. Then he sat in silence, staring at the guttering candle, trying to understand why he felt nothing about the most significant revelation of his life.
Perhaps this was the truest measure of how broken he was. Not the inability to feel joy or sadness, not the emptiness that consumed everything. But the inability to feel anything even when confronted with proof that he had been loved. That he had mattered to someone.
His parents had sacrificed everything for him.
And he couldn't even muster grief for their deaths.
A knock at his door interrupted his empty contemplation.
Naruto stood mechanically, moving to answer it without any particular expectation. It was very late—or very early, depending on perspective—and he couldn't imagine who would be visiting at this hour.
He opened the door to find Satsuki standing there.
She was dressed in sleepwear—a simple nightgown that did very little to conceal her dramatic figure. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and her eyes carried the slight unfocused quality of someone who had been asleep recently.
"Naruto-kun," she said softly. "I felt... something. I don't know how to explain it. But I woke up and I knew—I knew something was wrong. So I came."
Naruto looked at her for a long moment. She had sensed his distress? He hadn't thought he was experiencing distress. He hadn't thought he was experiencing anything.
But perhaps, on some level below conscious awareness, the revelation had affected him more than he realized.
"You should be sleeping," he said flatly. "It's late."
"I couldn't. Not when you might need me." Satsuki stepped forward, entering his apartment without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes moved across the space—the clones training in various corners, the candle guttering on the desk, the scroll still partially unfurled.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the scroll.
"My copy of the Scroll of Seals."
Satsuki's eyes widened, but she didn't seem particularly surprised. "You really did copy it. I wondered, after everything that happened."
"Yes."
"Have you been studying from it every night?"
"Yes."
She moved closer, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. "What were you reading just now? Before I knocked?"
Naruto considered whether to answer. The information was personal, private—the most significant secret of his life. But he couldn't think of any reason to conceal it from her.
"A letter," he said. "From the Fourth Hokage."
Satsuki tilted her head. "The Fourth wrote something in the Scroll of Seals?"
"Yes. Personal notes. Several of the Hokages did." He paused. "The Fourth's notes were addressed to me specifically."
It took a moment for the implication to register. When it did, Satsuki's dark eyes went very wide.
"To you... specifically? But that would mean..."
"He was my father."
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.
Satsuki stared at him, her expression shifting through several emotions in rapid succession—shock, disbelief, wonder, and finally settling on something that looked like fierce protectiveness.
"Your father," she whispered. "The Fourth Hokage was your father. And he wrote you a letter."
"Yes."
"What did it say?"
Naruto retrieved the relevant section of the scroll and handed it to her without comment. She read it quickly, her eyes moving across the words with increasing intensity. When she finished, she was trembling.
"He loved you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "He and your mother—they loved you so much. They died for you."
"Yes."
"Naruto-kun..." She looked up at him, tears beginning to form in her dark eyes. "How do you feel about this?"
It was the question he had been asking himself for the past hour. The question he still couldn't answer.
"I don't feel anything," he said honestly. "I should. I know I should. But there's nothing."
The tears spilled over, running down Satsuki's cheeks. But she wasn't crying for herself—she was crying for him. For the boy who had just learned his parents loved him and couldn't feel the joy of that knowledge.
"Then I'll feel it for you," she said, echoing Hinata's words from days ago. "I'll be happy for you, that you were loved. I'll be sad for you, that they're gone. I'll carry those feelings until you can carry them yourself."
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his in a tight embrace. Her tears dampened his shoulder, and her heart beat rapidly against his chest.
"You were loved, Naruto-kun," she whispered. "You ARE loved. So much. So much more than you know."
Naruto stood motionless in her embrace, accepting her warmth without reciprocating it.
He couldn't feel the love she was offering.
But some part of him—some tiny, distant part that still existed beneath the emptiness—recognized that she was trying.
That they were all trying.
And that maybe, someday, that would be enough.
The rest of the night passed in relative silence.
Satsuki refused to leave, insisting on staying with him until morning. She curled up on his bed, patting the space beside her in invitation. When Naruto declined—explaining that he didn't really sleep—she pouted but didn't press the issue.
Instead, she watched him train.
His shadow clones continued their work throughout the night, practicing the Chidori, experimenting with the First Gate, working through the foundational exercises for the Flying Thunder God. Satsuki observed it all with fascinated attention.
"You're incredible," she murmured at one point. "The things you're learning, the speed of your progress... it's like nothing I've ever seen."
"The shadow clones accelerate training significantly," Naruto explained. "Each clone that dispels transfers its memories and experiences to me. Multiple clones training simultaneously compounds the effect exponentially."
"I know how shadow clones work. What I mean is..." She shook her head, struggling to articulate something. "You're not training because you love it, or because you want to be strong for some specific reason. You're just... doing it. Like breathing. Like existing."
"Yes."
"That's sad."
Naruto considered the statement. "Is it?"
"Yeah." Satsuki's voice was soft, drowsy. "Training should be fun. It should make you feel alive, challenged, excited. But you don't feel any of that. You just do it because it's something to do."
"That's accurate."
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes drifting closed. Then, just before sleep claimed her:
"I wish I could make you feel again, Naruto-kun. I wish I could give you back everything the village took from you."
Naruto had no response to that.
But he filed her words away, noting them alongside all the other expressions of love and concern he had received.
Data. Information. Evidence that he mattered to someone.
He couldn't feel any of it.
But he could observe it.
And observation was better than nothing.
Dawn arrived, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
Satsuki stirred awake, blinking groggily at the unfamiliar surroundings before remembering where she was. She stretched languorously, her nightgown riding up to reveal more of her figure than was strictly appropriate.
"Morning," she murmured, yawning. "Did you train all night?"
"Yes."
"Of course you did." She sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "What time is it?"
"Five-thirty. We're scheduled to meet with the team at seven."
"Plenty of time, then." She stood, moving toward him with that familiar purposeful grace. "Naruto-kun?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for letting me stay."
He wasn't sure that "letting" was accurate—she had essentially invited herself and refused to leave—but he didn't see any value in pointing this out.
"You're welcome."
She smiled, that bright, warm expression that seemed specifically designed to reach him despite his emotional distance. "I'll head home to change, and then I'll come pick you up. We can walk to training together."
"That's not necessary."
"I know. But I want to." She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "See you soon, Naruto-kun."
And then she was gone, slipping out his door and into the early morning light.
Naruto stood in the silence of his apartment, his cheek still warm where her lips had touched.
He couldn't feel the affection behind the gesture.
But he could feel the warmth.
And warmth, he was beginning to realize, was not nothing.