Naruto: Thrown Into the Leaf

Otis walked out of the shop, deciding to shop for groceries before heading back.

Back through the alleys. Past a ramen stall. Past a pack of Academy students laughing near a dumpling shop.

One of them pointed.

"Hey, it's the wall!"

Otis ignored it.

He had what he came for.

He returned to the river before the sun began to fall.

Sat by the water again. Unwrapped the packet.

He held the thin slip between his fingers.

It was so light and delicate.

He'd seen other students crumble it accidentally just by gripping too hard.

Otis placed it flat on his palm.

Closed his eyes.

Breathed slow.

And let the warmth in his chest flow downward — into his arm, his wrist, and his fingers.

Then—

Crunch.

It wasn't loud or flashy like lighting nature 

The chakra paper creased inward, folding like it had been gripped by gravity itself. Then it crumpled… and turned to dust.

Otis opened his eyes.

"Earth…"

His voice was low. Earth-nature wasn't explosive. It wasn't fast. Nor was it elegant.

But it fit Otis. Perfectly.

Unlike those rip-off fiction stories, Otis didn't have more than one chakra nature — and he didn't need it. The system had given Otis enough before it shut down

In the trees above, something shifted slightly, black cloth rustling in the leaves.

A figure is present hiding his face in the mask.

He wrote in his scroll :

"Chakra nature confirmed: Earth.

Integration with physical skill: progressing faster than expected.

Psychological response: stable. Controlled. Curious.

Recommendation: continue observation.

Potential… increasing."

***

Hinata didn't know when it started.

She wasn't trying to follow him every day.

It just… happened.

She'd leave the compound early and Take the longer way home from class. Pretend she dropped something near the edge of the training field again…

And somehow, she'd end up back at the river.

She had been doing it for about a year.

Watching him.

Otis.

The quiet boy who never bragged.

The one who trained alone.

The one who never looked nervous or loud or tired.

He didn't act like a child.

He was big — taller than most grown-ups now — and strong in a way that didn't look showy

 He moves Like the ground itself listened to him.

Hinata sat behind the usual tree.

She watched him as he threw rocks across the river, each one cracking through bark or skimming the surface like a skipping boulder.

Her eyes sparkled a little.

And that made something stir inside her chest.

It wasn't like the way other girls whispered about handsome genin or academy crushes.

It was quieter than that.

"If someone like him exists," she whispered once, "then… maybe I can be strong too."

From that day on, she started training harder.

She stayed longer in the courtyard after class. Practiced her stance twice as long. Took extra breathing lessons from her tutor and she tried to leave behind her unconfident nature.

But no matter how much she improved, she never let herself beat her sister in spars. Because she knew.

If she did… they'd put the Caged Bird Seal on Hanabi.

And Hinata knew enough about Hyūga politics to understand what that meant.

And one night, she did something completely new:

She asked her caretaker, Hitomi-san, for help in the kitchen.

"Cooking?" Hitomi blinked, folding laundry. "You hate cutting vegetables."

"I want to try…" Hinata mumbled. "It's important."

Hitomi leaned forward slowly, a teasing smirk spreading on her lips.

"Oh ho~. I see. A boy?"

Hinata flushed.

"N-No! I mean—just health and training and stuff!"

Hitomi raised an eyebrow.

"Sure. And let me guess—he's tall, stoic, eats like an ox, and smells like river mud?"

Hinata's face turned red.

"...How did you—?"

Hitomi burst into laughter.

She tousled Hinata's hair.

"Sweetheart, if you're going to stalk a mountain of a boy, at least learn how to season properly. Big boys burn calories faster."

Hinata buried her face in a towel.

"I don't stalk—!"

"No worries," Hitomi chuckled. "When I was your age, I followed a jōnin all the way to the bathhouse just to hear what soap he used."

She put her palms on her cheeks like a fangirl.

"W-What?!"

"Lavender mint," Hitomi said, winking. "I still use it. Good memories."

Hinata groaned and covered her face.

But… she did learn.

She learned how to steam rice. How to grill fish with minimal oil. How to cut roots into perfect slices. Even tried making strong broth once — though it ended up more like chunky hot water.

She never said why she was doing it But every time she looked at the plate…

She imagined Otis.

No—she imagined herself.

Yes. She was doing it so she could eat her fill.

Because how else could she become stronger?

***

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The smell of smoke drifted in thin ribbons from the end of Hiruzen Sarutobi's pipe.

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat at his desk, staring not at the papers in front of him — but through them. Past them. They were somewhere else.

Blood.

Mud.

Screams.

The battlefield wasn't even cold yet.

Bodies in the rain.

An enemy shinobi is still twitching.

A Konoha genin — too young, too small — staring at their own trembling hands.

Blood.

Dark. Cold.

And in the middle of the forest — a woman.

Young. Maybe twenty.

Eyes open but empty. Skin pale, her Blood was pooling beneath her like ink poured on paper.

From her belly trailed something wet and long — a cord of life.

Her umbilical cord.

Dragging across the forest like a loose root.

And beside her—

A baby's black handprint.

Pressed against the wall.

Too small.

Moving.

Moving.

(Pic)

Hiruzen stared.

The handprint was now on his desk.

No.

On his hand.

It twitched once.

Like something inside it was still alive.

He raised his palm slowly.

The print didn't wipe away.

It just sank in.

Then—

Knock.

A sharp knock came from the door

Reality snapped back.

The handprint was gone.

No blood.

No corpse.

Only silence. And smoke. In his office

"Enter," he said, voice calm but tight.

The door opened.

Danzō Shimura stepped inside.

Robes stiff. Face pale. Bandaged eye. A Crippled arm

He stepped in without bowing — like he owned the place. 

"Otis," he said flatly.

Hiruzen sighed. "No greeting?"

"This isn't a social call."

...

(A/N)

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