Naruto - The God of Shinobi

Two Weeks Later -

A young boy sat alone in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of the evening sun filtering through the window. The desk before him was covered in stacks of paper, some neatly arranged, others scattered haphazardly. His pencil moved furiously across the pages, the only sound in the quiet room being the faint scratching of lead against paper.

Then—finally—the boy stopped. He set the pencil down, flexing his stiff fingers before exhaling a deep sigh. His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

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(Kazeo's POV)

Finally…

Three weeks. Three weeks of relentless writing, squeezing out every ounce of memory I had from my past life. And now, I was halfway through Demon Slayer.

I didn't even sacrifice much of my daily routine—just an hour or two in the evenings, which was usually reserved for Taijutsu. Because of that, my training had suffered. In the last three weeks, I had only trained taijutsu properly three or four times. I could feel the slight stiffness in my movements, but right now, that didn't matter.

When I had first asked the Hokage for permission to publish a novel, I had debated how much of the story to reveal. The original had 23 volumes, but I knew that the attention span of shinobi and civilians differed from people in my past life. A series too long in a single volume might lose its impact.

So, after careful thought, I decided to restructure the format—30 volumes, shorter but more action-packed. It would keep readers engaged while maximizing profits.

I planned to release the first three volumes initially, letting them hook the audience. Then, some months later, I would drop the next two to build anticipation. Originally, I had considered publishing up to the Mugen Train Arc right away, but that felt like too much at once.

Now, the real question was—how well would it be received? And more importantly… how much would I earn?

As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I reached into my backpack, pulled out a ration bar, and took a bite. My body and mind were both exhausted—not just from training, but from the mental strain of recalling everything, improvising where needed, and translating it into this world's language.

I sighed.

There's nothing more I can do now. All that's left is to see if the Hokage approves it.

With that, I crawled onto my bed and let exhaustion take over.

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One Week Later -

It had been a full month since my initial conversation with the Hokage about publishing a novel.

And now, once again—I stood in his office, watching as he read my work.

The Third Hokage's Office was spacious but cluttered, filled with bookshelves overflowing with scrolls and documents. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, mixing with the faint smell of tobacco from his pipe. Despite its grand appearance, there was a weight to the room—a heaviness that came not from the objects within it, but from the very presence of the man who sat behind the desk.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, looked older and more exhausted than he had a month ago. The lines on his face seemed deeper, his shoulders slightly more burdened—a result of Orochimaru's recent defection.

Yet, despite everything, he remained focused on my novel.

Occasionally, his expression would shift—his brows furrowing at one moment, his eyes widening in another. Sometimes, he would glance up at me briefly before returning to the pages.

I stayed silent, watching him read. My heartbeat felt unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

The first three volumes contained:

Volume 1: Tanjiro's family tragedy, his encounter with Giyu, and his training under Urokodaki.

Volume 2: The Final Selection exam and Tanjiro's first official mission.

Volume 3: The introduction of Tamayo and Yushiro, and the battle against Yahaba and Susamaru.

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(Hiruzen's POV)

I took a slow sip of tea as I turned another page.

At first, I had expected a simple story—perhaps something childish, a collection of words strung together in an attempt to mimic what adults write.

But what I found… was something else entirely.

This was not just a tale.

This was a world.

A world filled with sorrow, perseverance, and battle-hardened warriors. A world where a young boy loses everything but still holds onto hope.

The writing pulled me in effortlessly, immersing me in its struggles, emotions, and conflicts. And more than anything—the core values of this story resonated deeply with the Will of Fire.

The strong protecting the weak.

A hero rising from tragedy.

The unbreakable resolve to keep moving forward.

As I turned the last page, I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

How?

This was not something a normal six-year-old could write. This was the work of someone who understood pain, loss, and perseverance on a level that felt… unnatural.

For a brief moment, a thought crept into my mind—

Is this child simply gifted beyond imagination? Or… does every strong soul carry the power to craft such vivid realities?

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(3rd POV)

Kazeo's voice broke the silence.

"So, Hokage-sama… what do you think? And, uh… please don't mind my writing, I'm still improving."

The Third Hokage slowly closed the manuscript and set it on the desk, his gaze lingering on the boy in front of him.

"Your writing is impressive for your age, Kazeo. It feels so...refined, almost as if written by someone with years of experience."

His voice was calm, but there was an underlying weight to it. "But tell me—Did you really come up with all of this yourself?

You didn't… borrow this story from anywhere, right ?"

Kazeo's body stiffened.

His heart skipped a beat, but he forced his expression into a deadpan look. His fingers twitched slightly, and his shoulders locked in place. A bead of sweat formed at his temple, but he resisted the urge to wipe it away.

' Shit, Did he figure it out? How? Does he have some kind of sixth sense for these things?! '

Hiruzen Sarutobi had seen countless liars in his time. He had spent decades dealing with shinobi who could lie with straight faces. He had interrogated countless spies, defectors, and criminals. And right now, he could see the subtle tension in Kazeo's posture—the slight rigidity in his jaw, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly, as if resisting an instinct to fidget.

The old man's gaze sharpened, his exhaustion momentarily replaced with amusement and curiosity.

"Ah… I see. So it is someone else's work, after all," Hiruzen said, stroking his beard. "For a moment, I was genuinely shocked that a six-year-old could craft such a tale without having seen real battle."

Kazeo exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain still, but his muscles were coiled tight. His small hands, already damp with sweat, grew clammy, and a fresh wave of nervous energy crashed over him. His throat felt dry, his pulse pounded in his ears, and for a brief second—he seriously considered running out of the room.

Shit… shit… shit!

With forced casualness, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, buying himself a few precious seconds. His mind was already racing at full speed, scrambling to find a believable excuse.

Then—he found it.

Taking a sharp breath, he stammered, "I-It was my parents who wrote it…"

He kept his voice low, injecting just enough hesitation and fear to make it believable.

"They used to tell me this story when they were alive… and they even wrote down some key points—fights, emotional moments, and important plot details in a notebook. I just took their notes and, um… added a few things of my own before presenting it to you."

Inwardly, Kazeo patted himself on the back for coming up with such a solid lie on the spot.

The hesitation, the sadness in his tone—it all worked in his favor. If anything, his nervousness made the story even more believable.

' Damn, I'm getting good at this! '

He almost smiled—almost—until he met the Hokage's gaze.

Hiruzen's eyes were sharp, calculating, scrutinizing every tiny movement.

Kazeo felt his heart hammer against his ribs.

' Did he see through it? Did he notice something? '

The old man studied him for a long moment.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Hiruzen's gaze softened.

A heavy sigh left the Hokage's lips, and for the first time since this conversation started, his expression wasn't one of suspicion—but of understanding.

Kazeo had been so focused on selling his lie that he didn't realize the real impression he had just made.

The hesitation in his voice.

The subtle fear in his expression.

The way his hands twitched slightly, as if grasping onto fading memories.

To Kazeo, it was just a well-acted bluff.

To Hiruzen, It was the pain of an orphan clinging to the last remnants of his parents.

And in that moment, Hiruzen completely misread the situation.

This wasn't a child trying to deceive him. This was a boy, barely six years old, struggling to hold onto the legacy of the parents he had lost.

A child who had treasured their words, their stories, their dreams—and now sought to share them with the world.

Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep, contemplative hum.

"So… it was your parents, huh? You… must have loved them very much," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of decades of loss.

Kazeo blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

' Wait, What? '

This wasn't the reaction he was expecting.

Kazeo visibly tensed.

A bittersweet smile crossed Hokage's lips. "I never knew they were such remarkable storytellers. To craft something so detailed, so emotionally powerful, and yet… it never feels forced or unnatural. It seems you've inherited their imagination."

At these words, Kazeo's shoulders relaxed—just a little.

But Hiruzen could tell—boy was still on edge.

So, he decided to ease his worries.

"Don't be nervous, Kazeo,"

Hiruzen said gently. "I'm not here to scold you. If this was your parents' work, then you have every right to share it. But… are you absolutely certain they wrote it themselves? They didn't… borrow it from another book?"

Kazeo nearly choked on air.

For a second, panic flared in his chest, but he quickly shoved it down. The old man believed him—but he was still suspicious.

He took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

"Y-Yes, Hokage-sama," he said, nodding quickly. "I'm 100% sure. They never copied it from anywhere. They told me that themselves."

'Well… if they were alive, they definitely would've denied it.'

The Hokage studied him for a long moment. Then—he smiled.

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(Hiruzen's POV)

I saw it.

That same hesitation, that same pride in his voice.

But there was also an unmistakable sincerity.

Whatever the truth was… Kazeo truly believed this story was his parents' legacy.

And so, I let it go.

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(3rd POV )

"Well then," the Hokage said, lifting the manuscript up. "It's good. More than good, actually. I have no doubt this story will be a massive success."

Kazeo's eyes widened slightly.

Seeing his reaction, the Hokage let out a light chuckle.

"Don't worry," he continued. "I'll personally promote it under Konoha's name. The Shinobi world will soon know about this story."

Hearing that, Kazeo finally allowed himself to fully relax.

"So," Hiruzen asked, "have you thought about how to release them?"

Kazeo nodded immediately.

"Yes, Hokage-sama. I was thinking of releasing the first two volumes together. Then, I'll release the third volume one or two weeks later to build excitement and keep the readers engaged."

A glimmer of approval flickered in the old man's eyes.

"Smart thinking," he said with a small smile. "I was considering a similar strategy. A slight time gap between releases will only make the readers more eager."

Kazeo felt a sense of relief in his chest.

Then, Hiruzen's smile turned slightly amused, and in an attempt to ease the lingering tension, he said,

"You know… after selling 5,000 copies, you'll be earning nearly a million ryo."

Kazeo froze.

"…What?"

The Hokage chuckled at the dumbfounded look on the boy's face.

"N-Nearly a million? H-How?" Kazeo stammered.

Hiruzen took another sip of tea before explaining, his tone casual.

"Well, each volume will sell for 300 ryo. The cost of printing and labor will take around 50 ryo per copy. That means, after selling 5,000 copies… the total profit will be 1.25 million ryo."

He smiled as Kazeo's jaw dropped.

"Of course, 30% of the profit will go to the village," he continued. "After deductions, you'll still take home around nine hundred thousand ryo."

Kazeo was stunned.

' I'm gonna be rich…

Just 5,000 copies, and I would already be earning close to a million?! '

For a moment, his mind spiraled into fantasies. He imagined buying new training gear, better kunai, maybe even a massive supply of meat —

But before he could get lost in his daydreams, the Hokage's voice snapped him back.

"Have you decided on your pen name?" Hiruzen asked.

Kazeo blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes," he answered, regaining focus. "After a lot of thinking, I decided on 'StoryTeller'. "

Hiruzen's eyebrows raised slightly.

"Oh? StoryTeller, huh? A fitting name." The old man smiled knowingly. "I assume you chose it because your parents told you this story?"

Kazeo nodded quickly.

But inwardly—

' Heck, I don't even know Kazeo's parents! '

The truth was—he had just picked the first name that popped into his head.

It wasn't anything deep or sentimental. Just… a name.

Still, he smiled and played along.

They discussed a few more details before Kazeo finally left the office.

The Hokage had asked him to return in a month to collect his first earnings and renegotiate the profit percentages for future volumes.

As the door closed behind him, Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.

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(Hiruzen's POV )

It's a good thing…

That this story truly came from his parents. That Kazeo had simply refined and expanded upon their ideas.

That was the logical conclusion.

And yet… something felt off.

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk as he considered the boy's reactions.

Kazeo had shown hesitation, fear, pride.

'But was it really pride for his parents?

Or something else? '

Hiruzen's eyes narrowed slightly.

'If his parents truly wrote this, then there's nothing to worry about... But if not... '

"Should I take a look into his memories?"

( To be continued… )