The silence in the alleyway was only ever broken by the sharp, rhythmic impact of stones against flesh. Naruto Uzumaki, ten years old, curled into a defensive ball, his arms raised uselessly over his head, shielding himself from the scorn of the future heroes of Konohagakure.
"Go back to the orphanage, demon!" shrieked a civilian child, kicking dirt onto the orange jumpsuit.
"You don't belong in our village! You should have died with the monster!" yelled another, his voice strained with manufactured rage—a mimicry of the anger his parents had taught him.
Naruto didn't cry anymore. Crying made the beating last longer, and it made the cold ache in his chest worse. He simply endured, a ragged knot of bruises and humiliation, until a squad of Chunin passed by and casually dispersed the bullies, not out of care for him, but out of a need to maintain the illusion of peace.
He dragged himself out of the refuse, the familiar, suffocating feeling of being an outcast heavier than ever. It wasn't just the kids; it was the stares of the vendors, the quick closing of shop doors, the way even the simplest mission requests were ignored or passed over. He was a weapon, a vessel, but more than that, he was a living memorial to a tragedy they preferred to forget.
'Why do I stay?' The thought was sharp, clear, and unlike his usual optimistic denial, it lingered. 'Why protect people who only see me as a target?'
That night, he didn't sneak into Ichiraku Ramen. He didn't pull a prank. He went to his empty apartment, gathered a worn backpack with supplies, and looked at the chipped Hokage monument, not with aspiration, but with loathing.
"I'm done," he whispered, the sound rasping in the hollow air. "You can keep your village, and your hate."
He used a poorly executed Henge to disguise himself as a common merchant and slipped out of the Hidden Leaf Village's gates, not looking back once. The act of turning his back on the place that had birthed him, the place he was supposed to defend, felt like a clean, agonizing cut.
Naruto wandered for weeks, subsisting on berries and meager hunting. The immense chakra of Kurama was a constant, restless pressure, but without training, it was just a burdensome weight. His escape ended not with apprehension, but with kindness.
He found the small, unnamed farming hamlet deep in the Land of Fire, a place so remote it seemed forgotten by the five great nations. Here, he met Rin and Hana, an aging couple with hands calloused from soil and eyes full of gentle worry. They didn't recognize his jumpsuit or the symbol of the Leaf. They simply saw a starving, bruised boy.
They fed him, clothed him, and gave him a tiny room beside their storeroom. For six months, he lived a simple life. Rin taught him how to sow rice; Hana taught him how to make a sturdy, delicious stew. He was no longer the demon container; he was Naru, their quiet, helpful grandson. The hole in his chest began to mend. For the first time, he knew what it was like to be loved without condition.
This was his peace.
And that is why the destruction of it was so absolute.
It was a cold, starless night. The only sounds had been the distant frogs and the comforting rhythm of Rin's snoring in the next room.
The sound that woke Naruto was not natural. It was the sharp, slicing sound of paper cutting the wind.
He sat up just as a colossal chakra spike erupted outside their cottage. The air grew instantly heavy and oppressive, forcing a choking gasp from his lungs. The seal on his stomach began to burn, an agonizing, white-hot flare that woke Kurama from his slumber with a roar that Naruto barely heard.
"Run, kit! They're here! The organization—"
The wooden door of their humble cottage was instantly incinerated by a blast of purple fire. Standing in the doorway were three figures:
Pain—eyes ringed with the terrifying Rinnegan, cold, distant, and utterly devoid of mercy.
Konan—her face masked by a rain of hardened origami, her presence a silent threat.
Itachi Uchiha—the sharingan already spinning, looking at Naruto with a haunting mixture of duty and pity.
"The Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails," Pain's voice boomed, resonating with a terrifying power. "A fool to leave your cage. Your suffering ends now."
Rin, older and slower, stumbled into the main room, his face pale with terror. "Get away from the boy!" he cried, raising a gardening hoe in a futile, desperate attempt to protect the boy who had become his own.
"Insignificant," Konan muttered.
A shower of razor-sharp paper cut through the air, but not toward Naruto. It wrapped around the elderly couple. Before Naruto could even scream, the paper tightened, sealing their bodies, and exploded with silent, horrific efficiency.
Rin and Hana were gone. Reduced to smears of blood and tattered cloth.
The hole in Naruto's chest, the one that had just begun to heal, was ripped open and enlarged tenfold. It wasn't the pain of his own loss that broke him—it was the realization that his presence, his accursed existence, had killed the only people who had ever truly loved him. Konoha's bullying was abuse; this was the ultimate betrayal of his hope.
They will all pay. The thought was a freezing poison, chilling the very marrow of his bones.
Itachi stepped forward, his eyes locked on Naruto's. "Do not resist. This is fate."
Naruto did resist. He screamed a pure, unadulterated shriek of agony and rage. The seal burst open, and the Nine-Tails' power flared, bathing the room in a churning red.
It was useless. Pain merely lifted a hand. "Banshō Ten'in."
Naruto was ripped off the ground, the force of the pull shattering his ribs, dragging him violently toward the trio. His vision blurred as his spine screamed, but he saw Itachi and Konan activate a series of devastating, complex seals.
The extraction was slow, agonizing, and public. Pain anchored the boy while Konan and Itachi forced the massive, malevolent chakra out of its host. It was like having his soul forcibly peeled from his body. Naruto's consciousness retreated, his mind screaming, until the last, feral thread of Kurama was yanked free with a blinding flash of red light.
The power was gone. Naruto collapsed, a limp, broken doll, his chest seizing, his heart slowing to a flutter.
The Akatsuki vanished, satisfied with their catch, leaving the husks of two kind people and a dying boy in the ruined shack. They didn't check for a pulse. Why would they? No one survived a full tailed-beast extraction.
But they forgot one thing: Naruto was an Uzumaki.
As the blood pooled beneath him, thick and cold, a strange, electric thrumming started in his veins. The faint, long-dormant Uzumaki chakra, the residue of a thousand years of sealing power, began to awaken.
In the deepest well of his fading mind, a strange, vast new world opened. It was a kaleidoscope of red hair, ancient scrolls, whispering voices, and the collective, angry consciousness of every Uzumaki ancestor, all speaking one unified truth:
Vengeance.
The voice, cold and powerful, echoing from the void of the Chakra Kekkai no Me, spoke directly into his soul, a promise and a path:
"We live in you, descendant. We will teach you how to make them bleed."
Naruto Uzumaki opened his eyes. They were no longer blue. They were a dull, haunted silver, reflecting the death of his innocence and the birth of a demon.