The first threads of dawn wove golden lines across the rooftops of the Hidden Leaf. In the Hokage's office, Hiruzen Sarutobi sat with his old pipe, tendrils of smoke curling through the air like drifting spirits.
Before him lay a single open report:
"Izuna Uchiha — Chuunin — Age: 8."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed over the crisp lines. Exceptional solo ops, independent mastery of advanced sealing, unique grasp of space-time techniques…
He tapped the pipe's stem against his desk. "If he were older, I'd have made him ANBU Commander already. Maybe… more. But for now…"
A knock. "Come in."
Izuna entered — composed, calm, eyes sharp beneath his dark fringe. He bowed just enough.
"You sent for me, Hokage-sama."
Hiruzen studied him. So young. But that presence… steel wrapped in shadows.
"There's been movement near the Land of Rivers," Hiruzen began. "A cell of trained rogues, suspected leaks, possible ex-Root. They're testing our border. I want them stopped."
Izuna's Sharingan flickered for just a heartbeat. "Intercept and silence?"
"Alive if possible," Hiruzen said flatly. "If not — leave nothing behind."
Izuna reached for the scroll, slipping it into his pouch. He turned to leave.
Hiruzen's voice cut through the air. "Your strength belongs to Konoha, Izuna. Never forget."
Izuna paused at the door. His eyes didn't waver. "I won't."
Hiruzen watched the door close. His thoughts drifted with the smoke. "If only you were older…"
⸻
Hours later, the dense woods swallowed the trade road like a coiled snake. Morning mist curled low around Izuna's boots as he knelt by an old cedar, pressing his palm to the root.
A swirl of red ink bloomed under his skin — an Uzumaki sensory seal thrumming out in pulses. Somewhere in the hush of leaves, faint chakra threads stirred.
Four, maybe five. Moving in a tight formation.
He moved with the breeze — each branch he touched marked with a subtle Hiraishin seal. A kunai slipped from his pouch, its blade etched with the same mark.
Minutes bled into an hour — fog thickened. A branch creaked. Voices whispered.
He perched high, hidden by shadows.
Below, two scouts paused to check the trail — masks half-drawn, blades tucked close to their wrists.
Izuna formed a single seal — Shadow Clone. In a puff of smoke, a silent double slipped behind the closest rogue.
In perfect sync, they struck.
The clone jammed a kunai hilt into the first man's throat — Izuna himself dropped behind the second, a palm driving a surge of chakra into the man's spine.
Both crumpled without a sound.
But the forest answered — three more shapes broke through the fog, seals flashing.
"Fire Style: Dragon Flame Jutsu!"
A coiling serpent of fire roared through the trees. Izuna flipped backward, hands weaving fast.
"Wind Style: Great Breakthrough!"
A gust tore the flames apart, scattering embers into the mist.
The lead rogue hurled a rain of kunai — paper bombs attached. Izuna flicked his wrist — the marked kunai flew, embedding in a tree. He vanished in a flicker — Hiraishin no Jutsu — reappearing behind the second rogue mid-seal.
A sharp knee slammed into the man's ribs. Izuna spun low, sweeping his feet out from under him. As the rogue hit the ground, Izuna slammed his palm down:
"Binding Seal!"
Red chains coiled tightly, pinning him to the earth.
Another rogue attacked — blade humming with lightning chakra.
"Lightning Blade — False Strike!"
The blade hissed close — Izuna parried with his kunai, sparks flying. He ducked under the next slash, slammed his elbow into the man's chin, then spun behind him.
A quick seal, palm pressed to the rogue's back — "Chakra Seal — Disrupt!"
A faint pulse, then the rogue's chakra flickered out like a snuffed candle.
⸻
One enemy remained — a taller, heavier chakra. He stepped from the trees calmly, hands folded in a prayer seal.
"Earth Style: Stone Fist Jutsu!"
His arm encased in rock, he lunged. Izuna blurred aside, but the man pivoted — stone arm crashing through a tree trunk like paper.
Izuna's Sharingan spun, predicting the next swing. He slipped under the blow, slammed his palm into the man's ribs.
"Wind Style: Pressure Damage!"
The burst of compressed air knocked the man back, stone armor shattering.
But he surged forward again, grabbing Izuna's cloak — they tumbled, grappling in the mud. Fists slammed, elbows cracked bone — Izuna twisted his hip, flipped the rogue into the creek.
Before the man could rise, Izuna's hands blurred:
"Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!"
Tiny orbs of flame peppered the water, exploding in white steam.
The rogue staggered out, gasping — but Izuna was already there, Sharingan spinning.
A single swipe — his kunai pressed to the man's throat.
"Sleep."
⸻
The clearing went still, mist lifting under the late sun. Izuna checked each body, binding them with layered seals — Fuinjutsu chains wrapping wrists and ankles like iron vines.
He dragged the captives together, glancing at the broken branches overhead.
"Not bad, but too slow. I'm still sloppy with Hiraishin — Minato-sensei would finish this in half the time."
He flexed his fingers, feeling the chakra burn under his skin.
He looked at the last rogue, still breathing. Good enough.
⸻
When he appeared at the Hokage's office hours later, two ANBU flanked the unconscious prisoners. Hiruzen sat behind his desk, pipe resting in his hand.
"Flawless," Hiruzen murmured, eyes flicking to the rogues, then back to Izuna. "No Konoha casualties. No noise. Clean intel."
Izuna stood straight. "They had maps, contacts, and caches. I marked them."
Hiruzen let a faint smile flicker — gone in a breath.
"You keep proving me right," he said quietly. "If you were older, I'd make you an ANBU Commander tomorrow. Maybe… more."
Izuna didn't blink.
"But you're still just a boy — and this power of yours… power must bend to the Will of Fire, Izuna. Never just your clan — or your name."
Izuna's eyes stayed steady. "I know where my power belongs."
Hiruzen studied him a moment longer, pipe smoke drifting between them.
"Good. Go home. Rest. And stay ready — the village sees you, even when you think it doesn't."
⸻
Outside the Hokage's tower, dusk painted the village in warm gold. Kids laughed somewhere down the lane — merchants packed up their stalls for the night.
Izuna walked alone, boots whispering on the stones. His fingers brushed the hidden ink marks beneath his sleeve — seals only he and Kushina understood.
"They'd never accept it if they knew everything I carry. Maybe that's for the best."
He stopped by an old oak near the training fields. Leaned against the trunk. Closed his eyes.
"I'll protect this village — even if they never trust me. I'll carry their shadows so they can stay in the light."
A breeze rustled the leaves above. He listened to it for a moment — the promise of storms and sunlight both.
Then he turned, vanishing into the gathering night — a silent shadow walking where the light wouldn't reach.