Chapter 1: The Dream That Learned to Walk
The sun spilled across the Hidden World—not so hidden anymore, really—like golden tea from an overfilled pot. Eight years had passed since the Fourth Great Ninja War, and somehow, against all odds, peace had not only taken root but begun to bloom into something real, with petals of cooperation and the sturdy stem of shared purpose. Gone were the days of scattered ninja villages plotting from behind walls. Now there was simply one grand, sprawling Shinsei Union, a name they voted on unanimously—after Naruto vetoed "Super-Ninja-Squad-United" with an embarrassed cough.
People had laughed then. That was one of the greatest victories of all—people laughing again.
Naruto Uzumaki, the Hero of the Fourth War, now strode through the Konoha sector of the Union with the slight slump of someone who carried the world not on his shoulders, but inside his chest. His Hokage robes were optional now—he wore them only on holidays and official noodle-eating competitions. Today, it was a casual orange hoodie (some things never changed) and a notebook tucked under his arm, its edges frayed and ink-stained with thoughts more serious than his smile let on.
The city bustled with cheerful chaos. Hovering chakra trams zipped along wires in the sky, children ran across rooftops with scrolls in hand, and a group of older shinobi grumbled about how genin these days didn't even crawl through mud anymore—as if the past were made of gold and leeches.
But underneath this almost comedic harmony was a truth that Naruto had taken years to unearth, one painful realization at a time. Peace wasn't a magic spell or a single, shining jutsu. It was a decision—messy, flawed, and constantly renegotiated.
He had tried. Oh, how he had tried. First with speeches, then policies, then education reforms and chakra rehabilitation programs. But there were always people—those whose crimes ran so deep, their hearts so twisted—that no amount of talk-no-jutsu could mend them. Some cried in courtrooms, regretting only that they were caught. Others laughed. One even spat on his robe.
He never wore that one again.
Naruto stood by a re-education center now, where a group of ex-rogue ninja were being taught not only sealing techniques but basic moral philosophy and, oddly, baking. Apparently, sharing cinnamon buns did wonders for impulse control.
"Kakashi-sensei said you'd come by," murmured Konohamaru, who now ran the place with a terrifying blend of cheerfulness and sarcasm. "Care for a lemon tart? One of the prisoners tried to assassinate me and then baked it as an apology."
Naruto blinked. "Did you eat it?"
"Of course not. I gave it to Sai."
"...You gave a potentially poisoned tart to Sai?"
Konohamaru grinned. "He said the frosting was a little bitter, but overall he felt seen."
It would've been funny if it wasn't so normal now.
Naruto smiled but his mind wandered—as it often did these days—back to the question that had haunted him even before he became Hokage: Can everyone be saved?
The answer was now etched into his soul like the seals on his old flak jacket.
No.
Not everyone.
There were people too lost to reach, too shattered to piece together. But that didn't mean you stopped trying. Because for every one that slipped through the cracks, a dozen more could be lifted up if someone just offered a hand—and sometimes, a very good bowl of ramen.
And so he built a future—not perfect, but sturdier than a dream. It had walls and windows, laughter and locks. Forgiveness where it could be given, mercy where it mattered, and justice where it had to stand firm.
Back at home, a picture frame sat beside his bed. Team 7 smiled out of it—Kakashi's masked grin, Sakura's fierce glare, Sasuke's cool indifference, and Naruto himself, younger and wide-eyed.
He picked up the frame, fingers brushing the glass, and whispered the words he never stopped believing, even if he had to redefine them a hundred times:
"I will create a world where no one has to suffer like we did. Even if I can't save everyone… I can save enough to make it worth it."
Outside, a child screamed joyfully as a frog exploded (a prank, not an actual amphibian), and somewhere in the distance, Hinata called him for dinner.
The dream was still alive.
It had just learned how to walk with grown-up legs.
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If someone had told Naruto Uzumaki that one day he would intentionally free a world-devouring space immortal for the sake of peace, he might've laughed. Or sneezed from the absurdity of it. But here he was—Hokage, peacekeeper, and now, self-appointed intergalactic therapist.
The trouble, if one could call it that (and Sasuke did, often), began with a swirling ripple through the dimensions—a soft disturbance in the chakra lattice that only those with experience in traveling through time and space (or really nosy tendencies) would even notice.
Sasuke Uchiha had noticed.
He'd set off with his usual scowl and a sandwich in his cloak, hopping across realities like a broody rabbit. What he found was not a relaxing vacation in another dimension, but dusty temples, shattered starlight, and the lingering scent of someone else's doom.
Kaguya Ōtsutsuki.
Not the worst dinner guest Naruto had faced—though she had tried to turn everyone into mindless chakra fruits last time—but she wasn't the terrifying part this time.
No, the truly horrifying bit came from what Sasuke had uncovered: Kaguya was not the strongest. Not by far.
She wasn't even considered particularly important among her people. In fact, she was closer to…well, a mop bucket in the hierarchy of cosmic terror. And that mop bucket had betrayed her bath-taking partner, Ishiki, who presumably had just wanted a peaceful soak and maybe a bit of light universal annihilation after.
Naruto had taken the news with a very serious frown, then immediately insisted on a meeting that included Hinata (whose new celestial eyes now sparkled like starlight through crystal) and their newest house guest, Toneri—a strange but polite man who floated instead of walked and once tried to destroy the moon but now watered Naruto's plants.
Naruto's plan was—depending on who you asked—either brilliant or completely mental.
"We're going to wake her up," he said, matter-of-factly over breakfast.
Sasuke, who had dramatically appeared on the windowsill instead of using the door like a normal person, nearly choked on his tea.
"You're going to what?"
"Free her."
Toneri sipped from his floating teacup. "Bold."
Hinata simply raised an eyebrow in the way she did when Naruto suggested ramen for the third meal in a row.
"But why?" Sasuke demanded.
"Because," Naruto said, with a grin that practically glowed, "we need answers. And if she's really not the villain we thought, then maybe she'll help us fight the real ones."
"She tried to murder us."
"I've tried to murder you too," Naruto replied cheerfully. "Water under the bridge, yeah?"
And so, the preparations began. Using chakra fragments from each of the Tailed Beasts—gathered with their consent, snacks, and a surprising amount of paperwork—Naruto unsealed the slumbering Kaguya. She rose like a dream from the deep, pale and furious, her hair billowing as though underwater, her presence bending the air around her.
The rage in her eyes could have cracked the moon.
But Naruto didn't fight back, not at first. He waited.
And then, when she absorbed half the planet's energy and hit optimal immortal mode, he fought her. For hours. The battle broke mountains, rerouted rivers, and caused Ino's flower shop to close early due to falling meteorites.
And then she lost.
Again.
Naruto didn't gloat (well, not too much). He simply offered his hand.
"You're not evil," he said, panting but grinning. "You're hurt. You've seen too much."
Kaguya stared at him, blood and stardust streaking her face, and—for the first time—she wept.
Through her tears, through her broken voice, the truth poured out like venom from an old wound: Ishiki. The betrayal. The clan that harvested planets like apples. The rankings, the rituals, the horror of being seen as nothing more than a seed-carrier for destruction.
"I was supposed to die," she whispered. "So the tree could grow. But I couldn't. I saw children. I saw mothers. I saw them laughing."
"And you chose to protect them," Naruto said softly.
"I chose you," she whispered. "All of you."
The room was silent. Even Toneri looked moved.
Then Naruto, ever the hopeful fool, said, "So...wanna help us punch your cousins in the face if they come here?"
Kaguya blinked. Then nodded.
They learned much from her afterward. Of the curse marks that could resurrect the dead, of parasitic immortality, of the celestial breeding issues (which made Naruto blush furiously), and of a tree that devoured souls like ramen noodles. The Otsutsuki clan weren't just coming—they were likely already watching, curious why their sacrificial lamb had failed to be slaughtered.
Most would have fallen into despair at that point.
But not Naruto.
He simply stood taller, hands on hips, and said with a grin, "Then we'll just have to make this world a little harder to chew."
Sasuke sighed. Hinata smiled. Kaguya blinked at him like he was a particularly bright comet she wasn't sure how to name. And in the distance, the leaves of the Shinju tree rustled, not with menace, but perhaps—just perhaps—with hope.
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There was something wonderfully odd about a world that had once trembled beneath the weight of war now humming with the lively chatter of breakfast meetings, chakra-synchronization drills, and… voluntary bloodline surgery.
No one could have guessed it years ago—least of all Naruto Uzumaki, who had once barely managed to sign his academy registration form without smudging the ink—that he of all people would someday sit in a polished council chamber, rubbing his temples as Shikamaru detailed tactical protocols over a steaming pot of tea.
"…and if we position the combat-ready cells at the dimensional entry points while sealing squads rotate on a five-hour basis, we'll cover 92% of known incursion vectors."
"…Right," Naruto replied brightly, though his brain had exited the conversation somewhere around 'sealing squad' and wandered off to a ramen shop in his imagination.
Shikamaru sighed.
"Try to focus, Naruto. The Otsutsuki aren't going to be impressed by your ability to not read reports."
"But they might be impressed by my Rasenshuriken that explodes into a thousand tiny shadow clones mid-air," Naruto offered hopefully.
"Unless one of those clones is holding a meeting agenda, no."
And so, with an enthusiasm bordering on chaotic genius, Naruto had put the world into overdrive.
From the jagged peaks of the Lightning Domain to the silent depths of the Sandstone Ruins, every shinobi, samurai, monk, and mystic was invited—okay, sometimes dragged—into the most ambitious training program ever conceived.
Kaguya, still wary-eyed but healing, allowed them full use of her pocket dimensions. It was a training ground without limits. Deserts that howled with sentient wind. Forests that grew chakra-eating vines. Mountains where gravity was a polite suggestion rather than a law.
Everyone grew. Everyone.
Sakura mastered a form of healing that could regrow entire limbs in minutes.
Rock Lee broke the light barrier. Twice. By accident.
Even Tenten accidentally opened a dimensional rift while throwing a newly modified weapon she dubbed the Infinity Kunai.
(They still hadn't found where it landed. Possibly Pluto.)
And Naruto—well, Naruto became Naruto. The Six Paths Sage Mode granted him more than just golden glow and immortally chakra; it allowed him to absorb knowledge, adapt to jutsu faster than most could read their own names, and even, with some quiet help from Kaguya, create new jutsu altogether.
By the time six years had passed, Naruto had officially become the strongest being on the planet.
Unofficially, he was still banned from doing laundry unsupervised. Too many accidents with sentient soap bubbles.
But on his 25th birthday, he did something no one expected.
He gave up the Hokage hat.
It was a clear, blue-skied morning in Konoha when Naruto handed over the hat to Konohamaru—who promptly tried to look serious and failed miserably as the wind caught the oversized cloak and nearly knocked him off the Hokage Monument.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
Naruto grinned. "You'll do great. Just don't let the paperwork multiply. It feeds on fear."
Behind them, Hinata laughed softly. Sasuke said nothing, but his rare approving nod was as loud as any speech.
Naruto didn't cry—well, not openly. He just ate a lot of celebratory miso ramen and claimed the tears were from the spice.
Then he left.
Because they weren't going to wait for doom to come knocking anymore.
They would hunt it down and kick it in the teeth.
Ishiki, despite all his power, had made one fatal mistake: underestimating Kaguya's change of heart.
The Otsutsuki sanctuary had once been a place of horror, carved into reality itself like a scar. Now, it was the site of vengeance, healing, and reckoning.
The battle was not short, and it was not elegant.
Kaguya struck first, her attacks laced with betrayal and purpose. Naruto and Sasuke followed in tandem, their chakra coalescing into burning shapes of light and fury. Even the so-called elite followers of Ishiki barely lasted minutes—Sakura, Rock Lee, and the others tore through them like wind through paper.
Ishiki fought back. Oh, how he fought. The vessel he used groaned with power too vast to contain, and when it began to crack like an old porcelain doll, desperation filled his strikes.
"You think you've won," he hissed as he towered above Naruto, glowing like a dying star. "You think this is enough?"
"No," Naruto replied. "But it's a start."
And with one final, synchronized blow from Kaguya and Naruto—half fury, half forgiveness—Ishiki fell. A fruit bloomed where he died, a chakra pearl of his compressed power, glimmering with knowledge and pain.
Kaguya handed it to Naruto.
"This is my hope," she said. "That you'll make better use of it than we ever did."
And he did.
The power merged with his own, and something within him changed—not just strength, but clarity. He saw the Otsutsuki web. The way they moved, fed, manipulated the stars like a spider nest spun across galaxies.
He shared what he could with the others, and those worthy were gifted a diluted bloodline infusion—not enough to corrupt, but enough to strengthen.
Now, at the brink of the next phase of the war, they stood ready. Older. Wiser. Stronger. More united than any world had ever been before.
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The air was thick with that peculiar kind of silence—the kind that didn't come from a lack of sound, but from the weight of hearts holding their breath.
The Gate shimmered like liquid moonlight in the heart of the Hidden Leaf's sacred ground, its surface rippling as if the sky itself had been folded into a mirror. And standing before it, cloaked not just in power but in quiet determination, was Naruto Uzumaki.
Behind him, an army of faces stood under the morning sun—some young, some old, some reborn from the pages of history. All of them his. Friends. Mentors. Family.
And this might be the last time they would ever see him.
"Oi, Naruto," Kakashi called out lazily, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding Make-Out Tactics Vol. 22. "Don't do anything reckless out there."
Naruto grinned. "That's like asking Bee not to rap."
"Yo! I resent that," Killer Bee chimed in, flashing a thumbs-up. "But true dat."
Laughter fluttered through the crowd—thin, delicate, the kind you clutch like a blanket on a cold morning.
Iruka's eyes were misty, though he was trying very hard to look severe. Tsunade stood beside him, arms crossed, hiding trembling hands beneath imperious glares. Even the usually unshakeable Shikamaru had paused mid-mutter, his usually perfect plan now frayed at the edges.
But none looked as heavy-hearted as Hinata.
She held Naruto's hand like it was a lifeline, her other arm wrapped around Himawari, who sniffled quietly against her mother's coat. Boruto stood beside them, taller now, stronger—and trying very hard to act older than he was.
"You don't have to go alone," Boruto muttered.
"I'm not," Naruto replied, ruffling his son's hair. "I'm going with some very weird and very powerful people."
Daemon twirled his scarf with all the seriousness of a child about to punch the moon. Eida blinked slowly, her eyes calculating and cosmic all at once. And Delta—well, Delta looked ready to punch a immortal straight in the face, which, incidentally, was the plan.
Naruto turned to his team and gave them a nod.
Then he turned to the crowd.
The sight was breathtaking. New Kages in freshly forged robes. Sakura and Tsunade standing side by side, a legacy of strength. Kakashi, still cool and unreadable behind his mask. Minato and Kushina—alive again, whole again, standing proudly with arms around Hinata and the children. Even Madara, somewhere in the back, grunted in quiet disapproval, which was his version of good luck.
This wasn't just a farewell. It was the end of a chapter—a page so stained with sweat, blood, and ramen broth that it was hard to let go.
"I have nothing left to say," Naruto said at last, his voice soft but carrying across the courtyard like a leaf on wind, "except… take care of each other. Don't worry about us."
His throat tightened, but he pushed forward.
"We will definitely return with great news. So—keep on fighting."
He hugged Boruto first, then Himawari, kissing her forehead as she clung to him. Then he turned to Hinata.
Their hug lasted longer.
"I'll come back," he whispered into her ear. "Even if I have to punch through a thousand stars to do it."
Then, breaking the moment like a hammer to glass, Kaguya's voice rang out.
"Naruto. It's time."
She stood at the edge of the Gate, her hair swirling like ghostly ribbons, her eyes—usually so cold—tinged with something fragile.
She knew how hard this was for him. He'd delayed. Of course he had. He'd saved the world a dozen times—but this time, it was personal. This time, he might never see his children grow. Never watch his daughter fall in love. Never embarrass Boruto in public.
But still.
He stood tall.
Naruto turned back one last time, his smile cracking into something raw and bright and impossibly brave.
"I LOVE YOU GUYS!" he shouted. "Never forget that!"
And without hesitation, without looking back—because if he did, he might not be able to leave—he caught Delta's hand.
And stepped through.
The portal flared bright.
And then it was gone.
The Gate shimmered once more and stilled, like a pond left undisturbed after a skipped stone had vanished beneath.
No one moved. Not even the breeze dared stir.
Then Himawari broke the silence. "Dad's going to come back. Right?"
Boruto nodded, wiping his eyes before anyone could see.
"He's the hero," he said softly. "Of course he will."
But even so… they stayed.
Minutes passed. The sun rose higher. The crowd thinned.
But the world was different now—quieter, heavier. And somewhere beyond stars, in a realm where immortals and monsters played, the leaf of hope had taken flight.
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There are many ways to enter a new world: quietly, with a whisper and a flicker of light, or noisily, with thunder and crashing stars. Naruto, predictably, managed both.
As the shimmering portal spat them out like a sneeze from the universe itself, Naruto landed on his feet inside a dim, cool stone building that smelled faintly of old scrolls and panic. Daemon, Eida, and Delta followed with varying degrees of grace — Daemon landed on one knee like he'd rehearsed a dramatic entrance, Eida glided in effortlessly as if she were walking into a fashion show, and Delta… slammed into a column with a loud clunk.
"Ow," she muttered, brushing off rubble and pride.
Naruto barely noticed.
Because lying just a few feet ahead, in the glow of flickering lanterns and surrounded by shattered pottery and discarded herbs, was a boy.
Not just any boy — a beautiful boy, in that delicate, storybook-prince kind of way. He had the kind of long hair that made you think he either never did chores or had an enchantment on his comb. His face was pale, too pale, and his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps.
Naruto stepped forward, instantly alert. "He's dying."
Daemon peeked over his shoulder. "From what? Bad skincare?"
Eida rolled her eyes. "Poison," she said flatly, crouching beside the boy. "See that green tinge on the lips? Classic jealousy poisoning. Someone didn't want him marrying the prettiest girl in town."
Naruto's eyes softened. "Poor guy. Looks like Neji's long-lost cousin."
The boy—Xiao Che, a name Naruto gleaned by skimming the remnants of the paper charms around the room—was cold to the touch and drifting in and out of consciousness. A beautiful tragedy, wrapped in silk and sorrow.
But Naruto was having none of that.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and pressed both hands gently on the boy's chest. A soft golden light unfurled from his palms, like warm sunlight breaking through a rainy morning. It wasn't a flashy, dramatic explosion — Naruto didn't need fireworks to save lives.
The aura swept through Xiao Che's body, pushing out the poison like a broom clearing cobwebs. The green tinge vanished. The tremors stopped. The boy's breathing evened out, and colour returned to his cheeks. His eyelashes fluttered like moth wings.
"There," Naruto said, exhaling. "Good as new."
Xiao Che blinked up at him, utterly dazed, then promptly fainted.
Delta whistled. "Not bad, boss. We've been here five minutes and you're already saving the local heartthrobs."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Does this happen every time we go somewhere?"
Naruto grinned. "Only on Tuesdays."
For a moment, the four of them stood quietly, the echoes of the portal fading behind them, and the soft hum of a world entirely new rising around them.
It wasn't just a building anymore — it was the beginning of something far larger. A mission, a promise, and perhaps… a few unexpected friendships.
Outside, Floating Cloud City shimmered under the early evening stars, unaware that its fate had just been rewritten by the man who had once saved the world… and now had a new one to save.
And somewhere, a wedding invitation fluttered in the breeze — one that would no longer need a cancellation notice.