The mornings began with bruises.
Naruto woke before dawn now, long before the other academy students even stirred. The streets of Konoha were still quiet, dew clinging to the cobblestones as he jogged through the village, a blur of blond hair and determination. His real training started before the academy even opened its doors.
Kakashi was waiting on the first morning. He leaned casually against a tree, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his eternal orange book. His single eye tracked Naruto with a disinterested glance.
"You're late," Naruto said, even though the sun had barely touched the horizon.
Kakashi's eye curved. "And you're far too energetic for someone who doesn't even know how to walk on water yet."
Naruto smirked. "Bet I can learn it faster than you expect."
That was the beginning of their private war. Kakashi pushed him hard — chakra control drills, endurance runs with weighted gear, endless sparring sessions where Naruto's Haki and reflexes clashed against Kakashi's experience and Sharingan.
At first, Kakashi dominated him easily. Naruto's strikes landed with raw power but no polish, his Observation too instinctual to outmaneuver a true jōnin. But day by day, he adapted. Haki read the subtle shifts of Kakashi's muscles, his intent, even the flicker of chakra before a jutsu. Armament hardened his defense against bone-cracking blows.
By the end of the month, Kakashi's book was no longer in his hand during spars. By the end of three, sweat dripped from under his hitai-ate, and his eye burned with something he hadn't felt in years — challenge.
This brat, Kakashi thought, panting after a spar that had ended with Naruto's fist centimeters from his chest, Armament glowing faintly. He's dragging me forward.
Afternoons belonged to Gai.
If Kakashi honed Naruto's precision, Gai forged his body into a weapon. Weighted training, endless laps around the village walls, push-ups until his arms quaked — Naruto endured them all, teeth gritted, Haki pushing him past limits.
But it wasn't just physical. Gai's philosophy burned into him. "The spirit of youth is not about strength alone, Naruto-kun!" he bellowed during one brutal session. "It is about the fire to protect, to rise again even when crushed! Do you feel it?"
Naruto, trembling on his hundredth handstand push-up, growled, "Yeah! Believe it!"
Gai's grin widened. "Then you are truly my eternal rival's eternal student!"
Naruto didn't quite understand, but he felt it — that same reckless flame, the refusal to bend. And in sparring, when Gai unleashed blinding taijutsu combos, Naruto's Observation let him adapt, slipping just out of reach, countering with strikes harder than any academy child should manage.
For the first time, even Gai had to open the first gate to keep him on the defensive.
Evenings were Anko's domain, and she was the harshest of them all.
She didn't coddle him with philosophy. She didn't hold back. Her kunai came fast and sharp, her traps brutal, her words dripping with mockery.
"Too slow, gaki!" she snapped, a whip of snakes lashing from her sleeve. Naruto barely ducked, Haki screaming danger in his ears. He rolled, countered with shuriken, only to find she'd already vanished.
"Lesson one: don't trust your eyes. Lesson two: don't trust me."
He bled under her tutelage, small cuts and bruises marking every session. But he learned. His Observation became sharper, able to sense killing intent in the air before her ambushes. Armament wrapped his forearms when her snakes struck, forcing her to escalate.
Anko didn't say it aloud, but deep inside, she was impressed. The boy didn't break. Didn't quit. Every night, no matter how badly she beat him down, he stood again with that same cocky grin.
He's tougher than half the genin I've seen, she thought, though she scowled and hurled another kunai.
While the mentors forged him in private, Naruto's days in the academy wove him deeper into Konoha's heart.
Shikamaru grew sharper through constant shōgi matches, his laziness giving way to reluctant competitiveness. Kiba sparred louder, fueled by Naruto's challenges. Hinata, encouraged by Naruto's blunt kindness, pushed her Byakugan further. Even Ino and Sakura started training harder, unwilling to be left behind.
And Sasuke — Sasuke's fire burned brighter than ever. Every clash with Naruto pushed him harder, further, his pride refusing to let the blond pull ahead. Their rivalry was no longer one-sided; it was a true forge.
The Konoha 11 were growing stronger than they ever had in canon — because Naruto demanded it, and they answered.
Late one night, as reports filtered to his desk, Hiruzen Sarutobi set his pipe aside and allowed himself a rare, quiet smile.
Kakashi, Gai, Anko… all three had submitted notes that read less like mission logs and more like confessions. The boy is relentless. His instincts are unnatural. He's forcing me to adapt.
Not only Naruto was growing. His mentors, hardened veterans, were sharpening themselves under his pressure. Konoha's future wasn't just changing — it was accelerating.
And deep inside, the Hokage felt a flicker of hope he hadn't known in years.
Perhaps this time… things will be different.