Cold.
After a bone-deep, piercing cold came a warmth that stung the back of his neck under the sun. The sharp smell of acrylic paint lingered at the tip of his nose, mixed with Konoha's summer breeze—camphor wood and oden broth carried on the wind.
Naruto choked suddenly and began coughing violently. The surface beneath him was rough and uneven, like he was sprawled across jagged stone.
Was this the afterlife?
Or had the Ōtsutsuki's attack blasted him into some other dimension?
He forced his heavy eyelids open. His vision was still blurry when a roar exploded beside his ear—so familiar it was etched into his bones, tinged with exasperated fury.
"Uzumaki Naruto! You little brat, get down here!
I turn my back for one bathroom break and you paint the Hokage Rock like a giant tabby cat! If the Third sees this, he'll skin me alive!"
Naruto's entire body stiffened.
That voice…
He jerked his head up.
On the stone steps not far away stood a young man in a ninja uniform, hair neatly tied back, his forehead protector smudged with a bit of dust. In one hand he held a polished wooden ruler; in the other, half a roll of ninja academy lesson plans. His cheeks were flushed red with anger as he jumped in place and shouted.
Iruka?
That couldn't be right. Iruka-sensei had passed away when Naruto was sixty-two. Before he died, he had gripped Naruto's hand and said, "Naruto, you've done well as Hokage. Your parents would be proud."
So why did he look this young?
Why was he waving a ruler and yelling at him?
Naruto instinctively raised a hand to rub his eyes—
Only to see a small, skinny hand, fingertips stained sky-blue with paint. Nothing like the weathered hand he'd had at seventy, calloused from fifty years of stamping Hokage documents.
He froze.
He lifted his other hand to his face. Sticky paint smeared across his fingers. Just now, he seemed to have drawn two upturned whiskers on the Fourth Hokage's stone face.
"I…"
When he opened his mouth, what came out was a teenage boy's voice—slightly hoarse, awkward—not the deep, steady tone of a seventy-year-old Hokage.
He pushed himself upright and looked down at his clothes.
An orange tracksuit, faded from too many washes. The elbow was torn and patched crookedly. The exact outfit he'd worn every day at twelve.
The wind swept across the edge of Hokage Rock, carrying the sounds of the village below—vendors hawking dango, children laughing as they chased one another, the rustle of notices pinned to the public bulletin board.
Naruto narrowed his eyes and looked down.
This wasn't the modern Konoha of high-rises, trains, and glowing screens.
It was low wooden houses with smoke curling from their roofs. In the distance, a faded notice on the board read: Compensation Announcement for the Fallen of the Third Great Ninja War.
The giant camphor tree at the village entrance was only as thick as a bowl. The one later destroyed by Pain and replanted—right now, it stood untouched.
Konoha, Year 60.
The year he was twelve.
A wild, heart-pounding thought surged through him. Afraid to examine it too closely, Naruto immediately sank his consciousness inward into the seal.
Inside the familiar dark cage, the orange-red Nine-Tails lay curled up, its fur glossy and vibrant—nothing like the withered, fading form from moments before death. Sensing his presence, it flicked its tail irritably.
"Idiot! What are you spacing out for now? You reek of paint—are you trying to suffocate me? If you barge into my space again, I'll swat you flying!"
Kurama.
Young, brimming with vitality, still snapping at Kurama.
Naruto's eyes instantly reddened, tears nearly spilling over.
Just moments ago—at the edge of death—Kurama's fading voice had echoed in his ears. He had thought he would never hear that fox curse him again.
He suppressed the surge of emotion and tried to circulate his chakra.
Sixty years of memories flooded his soul at once: full elemental affinity, the Rasengan, Rasenshuriken, Flying Thunder God, sealing techniques and their hand signs.
Even the pathways of Six Paths Sage Mode were etched clearly into his spirit. Every battle against the Ōtsutsuki—hundreds of them as Hokage—remained intact.
He had truly returned.
Back to twelve years old. One week before graduating from the Academy.
He hadn't stolen the Scroll of Seals yet.
Hadn't been assigned to Team Seven.
Hadn't gone to the Land of Waves.
He hadn't watched Jiraiya sink into the sea of the Hidden Rain.
Hadn't seen Neji pierced through the chest by wooden spikes while shielding him.
Hadn't stood helplessly at the mouth of an alley while Hinata was bullied.
Hadn't missed Boruto and Himawari's birthdays.
Hadn't made Hinata wait alone deep into the night.
Every tragedy—
Had yet to happen.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Did you hear me?!"
Iruka had climbed halfway up Hokage Rock, ruler raised, face flushed with anger. He had fully intended to scold the boy senseless—only to look up and see Naruto sitting there, eyes red, tears trembling at the corners.
Iruka froze.
The ruler stiffened midair. His voice softened instinctively.
"H-Hey, why are you crying?
I haven't even hit you, okay?
It's just Hokage Rock.
Fine—I won't tell the Third! Alright? Just get down. I'll treat you to Ichiraku Ramen. Double chashu!"
Flustered, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled Ichiraku discount coupon. Afraid it wasn't enough, he hurriedly added:
"A-And a hot spring egg! Okay? Just don't sit on the edge—it's dangerous!"
Naruto looked at him—standing there halfway up the rock, flustered and shouting, yet scrambling to bribe him with ramen.
At his young, unlined face.
At the familiar forehead protector.
And suddenly, Naruto smiled.
Sharp little canines flashed—so distinctly boyish. Tears still clung to his lashes, but his eyes shone with startling brightness.
He leapt down from Hokage Rock. His twelve-year-old body was light and nimble, landing steadily in front of Iruka. He wiped the paint from his face, voice still slightly nasal from almost crying, but bright and clear.
"You promise, Iruka-sensei? Double chashu and a hot spring egg!"
Iruka blinked.
Something felt… off.
Usually, when this brat got into trouble, he either grinned shamelessly or argued stubbornly. Since when did he behave this well? And those red eyes—did he hit his head climbing up here?
Iruka reached out instinctively to pat Naruto's head, hesitated halfway, then settled for clapping his shoulder instead, forcing a stern tone.
"You little glutton! If you deface Hokage Rock again, I'm docking half a month of your ramen money! Now come wash your face—there's a graduation mock exam this afternoon!"
"Got it!"
Naruto followed behind Iruka down the rock. Sunlight filtered through camphor leaves, scattering dappled shadows across the ground.
Beside him was Iruka's nagging.
Within the seal was Kurama's grumbling: "Tch. Can't believe I'm stuck with you again."
Within his soul were sixty years of memories and every jutsu he had ever mastered.
He slipped a hand into his pocket.
Half a slice of chashu from this morning's stolen ramen sat there, greasy and still faintly warm.
A gust of wind carried the faint sound of a little girl's quiet sobbing from a distant alley.
Naruto's steps paused for just a fraction of a second. He lifted his gaze toward the alley, light blazing in his eyes.
He remembered.
It was today.
The twelve-year-old had hidden at the corner of that alley, watching three older genin corner Hinata, snatch her forehead protector, and call her a "Byakugan freak."
And that version of him had been too cowardly to step forward.
This time—
He wouldn't be.
Naruto clenched his fists, continuing to walk beside Iruka toward the village, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
No rush.
He was back.
Every single regret—
He would make up for them, one by one.