Naruto: Reforming the system

The morning was pale with winter light, the kind that came quietly and without warmth.

Soji arrived at the Hokage Tower just after dawn.

He had prepared what he would say the night before, pacing the limits of his small apartment until his feet ached and his thoughts ran smooth. He'd written it down — in English, at first — then rewritten it again in the village's formal script. Not a speech, just points. Clear, specific.

The guards at the entrance recognized him and waved him in without question.

But when he reached the upper floors, he was met by a Chūnin secretary sorting through mission reports.

"Hokage-sama left before sunrise," she said apologetically. "There was an urgent meeting with the Land of Fire's treasury minister. He won't be taking visitors today."

Soji nodded, swallowing his disappointment. "Understood. I'll come back."

He turned and made his way down the stairs, the scroll in his hand growing heavier with each step. Timing was everything. And today — apparently — wasn't the day.

---

Soji stood outside the apartment building the village had assigned to Sasuke — a narrow stack of units tucked between a laundry shop and a weapons repair stall. It was cleaner than most of the lower districts, but every surface bore the same government lacquer: smooth, cold, and forgettable.

He climbed the steps quietly. Third floor. Left side. The door was shut, perfectly aligned, not a single mark on the frame. Soji knocked once, then again.

The latch clicked.

Sasuke opened the door, already dressed in his academy uniform. His hair was damp from a recent shower, and there was a faint scent of disinfectant from the building's shared washroom. His eyes registered Soji for a moment — no surprise, no irritation. Just the calm awareness of someone expecting nothing.

"Soji."

"Sasuke."

A beat passed. Then Sasuke stepped aside.

Soji entered, slipping off his sandals. The apartment was neat. Almost aggressively so. The futon was rolled and tied, the table cleared of all clutter. Even the corners were swept. The only sign of life was the half-eaten rice ball on the counter.

"You're up early," Soji said, though they both knew that wasn't unusual.

"Training," Sasuke replied.

Soji glanced at the weights in the corner, the scuffed shinobi manual beside them. "You're pushing hard."

"I have to."

Soji didn't argue. He moved to the window instead, letting the thin light catch his face. Outside, the rooftops still held a crust of frost. In the distance, smoke rose from chimney vents in the market ward.

He didn't say, You don't have to do this alone. He didn't say, You're just a kid. Those words had never worked — not in this world, and certainly not for Sasuke.

"I'm working on something," Soji said finally.

Sasuke glanced over, silent.

"My chakra has an inborn fire attribute," Soji continued. "It doesn't behave like normal chakra. It resists coating, doesn't spread cleanly, and compresses too tightly unless I'm careful. Because of that, a lot of standard jutsu don't work for me."

He paused. "So I'm building something different. A fighting style that fits how my chakra works."

Sasuke turned toward him slightly. "What kind of style?"

"Nintaijutsu," Soji said. "Like the Raikage's — but fire-based. It's close-quarters, direct. I'll fuse chakra into physical strikes, but also create bursts — localized blasts — to control the space around me. It's not just about punching with fire. It's about shaping the fight itself."

Sasuke studied him. "There's no precedent for that. How long do you think it'll take to create?"

Soji shrugged lightly. "Years. Maybe more. That's why I'm planning to ask the Hokage for formal mentorship."

Sasuke blinked. "The Hokage?"

"He's the only one who has both the knowledge and authority to help. If anyone can build jutsu around my chakra type, it's him. I can supply the concept — but he'll need to build the structure."

Sasuke didn't respond. His gaze drifted back toward the trees.

"What about you?" Soji asked. "What's your plan for getting stronger?"

Sasuke didn't answer immediately. Then, without looking up, he said, "I've been training."

"With who?"

"Myself."

Soji studied him for a long moment.

"Do you think that'll be enough?"

Sasuke turned toward him — not angry, but something behind the eyes had gone sharper.

"It has to be."

There was no room for anything else in his voice.

Soji exhaled. He looked around the room again, at the empty space. No scrolls on the wall. No family crests. Just one boy, and the silence he chose to live in.

He didn't push further.

"Alright," he said, brushing his hand lightly against the windowsill. "I'll head out. Thought I'd check in."

Sasuke gave a small nod. "Thanks."

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

---

He walked the streets of the village without aim, letting his legs carry him across the tiled roads and under the flapping banners of the morning shops. He didn't go home. Not yet.

Instead, he made his way to the edge of the Uchiha district — to the scorched gate that once bore the full crest of their clan. The fan symbol was still there, blackened but whole.

He stopped, looked at it.

Sasuke's path wasn't one he could block. Not with reason. Not with love.

He had tried to imagine a different outcome — one where the two of them walked side by side, healed together, learned together. But the more he watched, the clearer it became.

Sasuke's choices weren't just reactions to trauma. They were a structure. A shape already pressed into the mold of his soul. Like a piece on a board, his path had been etched long before Soji ever drew breath. Some things were deeper than choice. Some paths were written before the first step.

Still…

"If the fall is certain, I can at least lay something soft beneath it."

If Soji could give him strength — real, dangerous strength — earlier than before… maybe he could cut off the worst outcomes at the root.

Maybe he would not be tempted by poisonous fruits.

He turned from the gate and walked away.

The wind stirred faintly behind him, but the crest did not move.