Naruto - The God of Shinobi

There was also another problem.

The Organization.

A shadow that lurked beneath the surface, known only to the highest authorities across the shinobi world.

They were unknown, unseen, operating from the depths where even the most skilled ANBU couldn't reach.

And they had made a declaration to every major and minor village:

"A strong soul is an anomaly. A disruption to the balance. Kill them, bring proof, and we will reward you with Fuinjutsu of the highest order."

Seals that could turn the tide of war. Techniques that could cripple entire nations.

All for the head of someone like Kazeo.

Everyone dismissed it as superstition at first. An absurd notion, driven by fear.

But over the years, whispers turned into truths. Reports of children mysteriously disappearing. Unexplained deaths in rival villages. Shinobi eliminated before they could bloom into threats.

And now, one of them was in Konoha.

The other villages wouldn't ignore this.

Sooner or later, the whispers would reach the wrong ears.

They would come for him.

And if that happened…

I couldn't allow it.

Kazeo wasn't just a potential asset—he was a liability if left unchecked. If his mind continued to develop at this rate, if he saw the village as an enemy, if he chose the wrong side…

He could become a greater threat than any outside force.

I had to make sure that didn't happen.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the door he had just exited through.

Konoha had five future S-rank shinobi—Kakashi, Might Guy, Itachi, Shisui, and now, Kazeo.

The village's future depended on them.

And this boy… he was the most dangerous of them all.

I highly thought of him due to his carefully measured answers and deliberate attempts to act normal.

A child playing pretend.

Or so he thought.

I allowed myself a small, knowing smirk. He truly believed he had controlled that conversation, that he had given just the right amount of truth to keep himself safe.

Clever.

But not clever enough.

He had overlooked the simplest truth—children don't hesitate before answering questions like that.

A six-year-old orphan with no clear guidance should have been desperate for approval, eager to say what he thought I wanted to hear. But instead, he had paused, considered his words, and measured his tone.

That alone made him dangerous.

Not because of his strength.

Not because of his soul.

But because he was thinking.

And one day, he might decide Konoha is not worth protecting.

But If I change his thoughts, We will reclaim our former glory.

Now, I just needed to ensure peace lasted long enough for them to grow.

I leaned back in my chair, already strategizing how to weaken the other great villages.

////////////

Meanwhile, the boy—oblivious to how easily he had been manipulated and how highly the Hokage thought of him for carefully thinking before answering and trying to act normal—happily hummed his way back to the Academy.

Only God knows what expression Kazeo will make when he realizes how effortlessly the Hokage fooled him and how highly he regarded him.

But one thing was certain.

The 'kind-hearted' image of the Third Hokage wouldn't last forever.

////////////////

The academy hall was buzzing when I arrived. Children were chatting in groups, some bragging about their results, others complaining about their scores. A few were discussing my unexpected rank one position, eyes filled with skepticism or curiosity. I ignored them.

//////////

The proctor led me through the narrow streets, the familiar buzz of the village echoing in the distance. With each step, the reality of my new life settled in. No more shared beds, no more crowded meals with noisy kids arguing over who gets the last piece of bread. From now on, it was just me.

We stopped in front of a small apartment complex, its walls slightly worn from age but still standing strong. The proctor pushed open the wooden door, leading me inside.

The moment I stepped in, my eyes swept across the tiny living space—just one room, compact but functional. A single bed, just big enough for a twelve-year-old. A small wooden table with a chair beside it. An almirah pushed against the corner, its paint slightly chipped.

The kitchen was no bigger than a closet, but it had everything—an old gas stove, a fridge humming softly, a rice cooker sitting atop the counter. A few basic utensils lined the shelves, along with neatly stacked plates and cups.

I noticed a small basket near the sink filled with toiletries—soap, toothbrush, toothpaste. A folded towel rested on the countertop, and a fresh set of clothes was placed on the bed. Someone had prepared all this beforehand.

It wasn't luxurious, but it was… home. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

The proctor cleared his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You can start living here from tomorrow. Spend tonight at the orphanage—say your goodbyes." His voice was firm but not unkind. "Your class teacher will come by in the morning with your stipend and food supply for the month."

I nodded slowly, my fingers trailing over the rough wooden surface of the table. "Thank you," I muttered, my voice quieter than usual.

The proctor gave a small nod before stepping back, the door creaking shut behind him.

Silence.

I stood in the middle of the room, staring at the empty walls, the vacant space around me. A home meant to be filled with warmth and memories. Yet right now, it felt nothing more than a shelter—a place to exist, not to belong.

I exhaled, shaking off the creeping emptiness before heading back to the orphanage.

Tonight, I wasn't alone yet. But tomorrow… tomorrow, everything would be different.

A part of me felt… uneasy. Not because the room was bad—it was more than enough for a single person—but because it was the first real sign that I was stepping away from the orphanage.

Away from them.

//////////

Inside the Orphanage -

The orphanage buzzed with life, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow filling the air. Ten of us had passed, and that was cause for celebration. Laughter rang out, but so did sniffles—some kids rejoiced, grinning ear to ear, while others sulked in the corners, fists clenched as they swore they'd pass next time.

My two roommates, Haruto and Shizuka, were among the ones who passed. They had trained harder than most, their minds unconsciously influenced by watching me push myself every day. I had never directly taught them anything, but sometimes, just witnessing someone struggle toward a goal was enough to ignite a fire in others.

"Oi, Kazeo!" Haruto called out, grinning as he held up a wooden toy kunai. "Bet I'll surpass you by the time we graduate!"

Shizuka scoffed, elbowing him. "You? Surpass Kazeo? Dream on. He'll probably be a Chunin before you can even throw a proper kunai."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Keep training, both of you. Maybe one day, I'll actually have to try against you."

Their laughter rang out, but there was an underlying nervousness. A realization that everything was about to change.

Grandma—the elderly caretaker who had looked after us for years—stood nearby, watching over the children like a mother hen. Her warm smile held a tinge of sadness, as if she was proud yet reluctant to let us go.

"You've all grown so much," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "But you must remember, this is just the beginning. A shinobi's life is not easy. You'll live alone, you'll fight, and one day… you may not return."

Silence.

Even the most excited among us stilled. The weight of her words settled over the room like a heavy blanket.

"But—" her voice softened, eyes brimming with warmth, "—no matter what happens, this will always be your home. If the world becomes too cruel, if the loneliness becomes unbearable… come back. You'll always have a place here."

Some of the younger kids sniffled, clutching at her robe. The ones who passed looked down, some wiping their eyes, others nodding with newfound determination.

One of the smaller kids, a boy no older than five, tugged at my sleeve. "K-Kazeo-nii, will you still play with us sometimes?"

I felt something in my chest tighten. I crouched down, ruffling his hair. "Of course. I'll come visit when I have time. Just don't slack off, alright?"

He nodded furiously, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

That night, we packed whatever little belongings we had. I didn't own much—just a few old clothes, a worn-out blanket, and some wooden kunai . The room, which had once felt cramped with three people, suddenly felt too empty.

For the first time in years, I let myself truly rest. No training, no overthinking—just the quiet hum of the orphanage lulling me to sleep.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tomorrow, I would truly be alone.

[ Author here!

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