Naruto: The Prophetic Shinobi

The forest beyond Konoha's southern border was quiet in the pale hour before dawn—too quiet.

Naruto Uzumaki crouched low beneath the cover of trees, eyes narrowed at the faint structure partially buried beneath vines and time. A supply checkpoint, long since scrubbed from active use. A place only someone like Shikako Nara could have traced on a paper trail. Half-buried behind forgotten routing codes, temple provisions, and falsified ink orders.

The door didn't creak as he entered. It groaned—soft and dry, like something long dead.

The interior was cold. Dusty. It smelled faintly of old chakra ink and mildew, a place sealed from light and air for years. But the deeper he went, the more he knew.

This place had been used recently.

The underground hallways were narrow, windowless. The stone walls bore faded sealing tags designed to silence footfalls and chakra flares. He disabled them carefully with a touch of his own chakra, not enough to alert but enough to walk freely.

Room after room sat empty. Storage units stripped. Cabinets cleared. But then—

In the third chamber, he stopped.

The room was square and still. Blank porcelain masks lined the wall—dozens of them, untouched, unreadable. No facial features, no clan insignia. Just smooth, pale ovals that stared back at him like ghosts.

ROOT masks.

His breath caught for a moment.

They looked like they'd been hung recently. No dust had settled. Someone had returned.

Beneath the masks were two wooden chests.

He knelt. The first opened without resistance—dozens of scrolls, bundled and tied, their tags written in neat but bland script. No names. No missions. Only numbers and dates.

He flipped through several.

Inventory logs. Movement reports. Internal notes on armament restocking. Nothing on the surface. But tucked inside one scroll, folded like an afterthought, was a different paper.

Mission Order N-079.

His heart jumped.

Escort: Fire Daimyō. Commander: Hayate Gekkō.

He read every line.

Position details. Redirection notices. Alternate routes. Dummy reinforcement tags. A contingency list of observers—nonintervention protocol noted.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a kill box.

The escort had been rerouted into a trap. Not by accident. Not by bad intel.

By design.

Naruto's hands curled around the parchment.

Hayate had been sent to die.

And ROOT had signed off on it.

He took a long breath, steadying the fire rising in his chest.

The second chest was locked, iron clasp rusted but functional. A low pulse of chakra cracked it open.

Inside was something worse.

A sealed mission ledger, bound in black lacquered wood.

Stamped in dark red ink on the front:

"OPERATION: DUSK — UCHIHA."

His fingers hovered over it. For a second, he hesitated.

Then he opened it.

There were no dramatic words. No villainous confessions. Just cold, methodical data.

Chakra monitoring records.

Surveillance rosters of Uchiha shinobi movements.

Patrol gaps on the night of the massacre.

Mission timing. Names of operatives assigned to containment—not attack. Not engagement. Just containment. To keep everyone else out.

Including medical teams.

Including civilians.

Including help.

ROOT agents had circled the compound's perimeter like a noose.

Inside, the file noted, "Solo execution assigned to ANBU Itachi Uchiha, sanctioned by the Third Hokage, his Advisors and elder Danzo Shimura. No witnesses permitted."

Naruto's stomach twisted.

Itachi hadn't acted alone. He had followed orders. Brutal, deliberate orders. And ROOT had watched, ready to eliminate any deviation.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he sealed both reports—Hayate's and the Uchiha operation—into a scroll he kept hidden in his flak vest. He added two more: one containing blank mask requisitions, and another with odd stockpile orders matching Shikako's suspicion.

He left without a word.

No confrontation. No anger.

Just silence.

By midday, he stood again in Tsunade's office, the scroll warm in his hand.

She looked up immediately. Her eyes met his, and whatever she saw there made her rise.

Naruto didn't speak. He placed the scroll gently on her desk and unsealed it.

Only one report emerged.

She opened it.

Her face didn't change at first. But as she read, her fingers began to tighten, the paper crinkling beneath her grip.

Shizune stood behind her, lips pressed together.

"They planned it…" Tsunade murmured. "They planned Hayate's death."

She didn't ask how Naruto got the report.

Didn't ask who else knew.

Just sat there, shoulders rising slowly with every breath.

"Escort schedule was manipulated," Tsunade said quietly. "Routes changed three days before departure. ROOT was nearby—watching. They never intervened. No backup was ever coming."

Naruto didn't say anything.

Then she hit her desk—hard.

The wood cracked down the center, ink spilling from a shattered inkwell.

Shizune flinched.

Naruto stood still.

"I'm going to make sure the council sees this," Tsunade said, voice trembling. "He died not as shinobi of the Leaf. But a pawn."

Naruto gave a small nod. "That's why I gave it to you."

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "That's not everything, is it?"

He hesitated.

"I gave you what was necessary."

They stared at each other.

She didn't push.

"Go," she said eventually. "Get some rest."

He turned and walked out.

That night, Naruto sat on the floor of the Senju compound's side chamber. A small flame flickered in a lamp beside him, casting shadows on the scrolls spread before him.

He pulled the Uchiha report from the false compartment he'd made in the floorboards.

He read it again. Every line. Every word.

It wasn't just about the clan that was destroyed.

It was also about the child who was betrayed by his clansman, by his own brother.

And then, there were Konoha's Hokage and elders.

He resealed the report carefully, not with a jutsu—but with a single twist of cloth and string.

For now, this would remain hidden.

Because the moment he showed it… the village would never be the same again.

But the time would come.

He stared up at the wooden ceiling, the weight of the truth like stone on his chest.

He whispered softly into the night:

"I'll make sure you're not forgotten, Hayate-sensei."

"And Itachi… I'll make sure your brother learns the truth. On my terms."

Outside, the wind shifted.

Not gentle.

Not cruel.

Just changed.