In Konoha Village…
The Ninja Academy under Hokage Rock had hit peak time—parents waving forms like job applications, kids screaming about becoming becoming powerful shinobi, and teachers wearing that thousand-yard stare that said,
"I've seen things."
And somehow… the adults looked the happiest.
Like they weren't enrolling their five-year-old into the Leaf's official "Future Shinobi™" pipeline—where the first lesson is chakra control, and the unspoken second lesson is "try not to die before you're tall enough to reach the mission board."
"Study hard, okay?"
"Make lots of friends!"
"And if anyone bullies you learn a jutsu and bully them back!"
Konoha was a peaceful village, alright.
Peaceful enough to start training its next generation of tiny war machines… before they even stopped mispronouncing 'kunai.'
Above it all, the Hokage faces just stared down like:
…here we go again.
Of course as the "Darkness of Konoha," Shimura Danzō never liked scenes this lively...and in all the years before, he had never once bothered to attend.
To him, laughter was a luxury. Applause was noise. Celebrations were for people who could afford to stand in the light and pretend the world wasn't stained with blood.
Konoha's brightness existed because someone swallowed its filth.
And that someone was him.
A man who didn't seek praise.
A man who didn't need understanding.
A man who had buried more "necessary sins" than any hero in the village could stomach hearing about.
While the Hokage smiled for the crowd, Danzō stayed where he belonged—behind the curtain, beneath the roots, inside the silence.
He was the hero no one cheered for.
The order no one thanked.
The shadow that moved first… so the village could move forward.
A man who shouldered Konoha's darkness—
and lived in it willingly...
so the Leaf could keep calling itself peaceful.
--
But this year was different.
Because this year, someone related to him—a boy who could only be described as a genius, or perhaps a monster was entering the Academy.
A child who had already surpassed every Shimura clansman in the clan's history.
He was going to enroll today.
As clan head, Shimura Danzō naturally had to appear in person to see him off.
In fact, according to what Danzō believed was the correct way of doing things, a genius like that shouldn't be wasting time "playing house" in the Ninja Academy at all. He should be taken straight into Root, given the strictest, most refined training Konoha's darkness could offer, and shaped into the sharpest blade.
A weapon that could help Danzō climb to the Hokage's seat in the future or at the very least, a weapon that he would personally support and aim at that position.
Unlike so many so-called "geniuses" with nothing but "potential," who shone briefly and then fizzled out, forever labeled as "the guy who could have been great."
If it weren't for that kid's usual laziness and stubborn refusal to listen, Danzō would never have agreed to let such a talent "waste time" in the Academy.
"Shimura Kizaru!"
"Uchiha Inari!"
As the Academy instructor called out on the training field, Danzō stopped his train of thought and focused on the grounds below.
From the crowd of children stepped a "kid" who stood a full one meter seventy, dressed in a light yellow suit and wearing a pair of brown sunglasses.
The teachers, the parents who'd come to watch the entrance exam, and the village's higher-ups had already seen this six-year-old with the adult height and absurdly good proportions during the physical test earlier.
Even so, seeing him walk out again now still drew a quiet wave of murmurs and comments.
He's supposed to be six years old?
It wasn't just one person thinking that. It was what almost everyone present had in mind.
Standing beside Danzō, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, took a drag on his cigarette and glanced sideways at his old friend.
Already guessing what Hiruzen wanted to say, Danzō answered first in a cold voice, eyes never leaving the field:
"Six years old. Blood test confirmed. Shimura clan. My brother's child."
"Ahem!"
Hiruzen choked mid-puff. Smoke burst out of his nose and mouth at once, drifting straight toward Danzō.
Danzō frowned slightly and silently shifted a few steps away, widening the distance between himself and this hopeless chain-smoker who still hadn't learned when to quit.
His cautious little movement didn't escape Hiruzen's eyes. Embarrassed, the Third Hokage turned his head back toward the grounds, pretending nothing had happened, and focused on the exam.
On the practice field, the Chūnin instructor overseeing the test stood at the edge of the ring. On his left and right were Shimura Kizaru and Uchiha Inari—both hailed as geniuses of their respective clans.
"Shimura Kizaru, I've heard your name and your so-called feats," Inari said. "Impressive, sure… but here and now, I'll prove that in front of the Uchiha, any so-called genius is pale in comparison. So don't worry... your loss today will be perfectly justified."
As a textbook Uchiha, Uchiha Inari wore a stern expression, forcing a cold, aloof look as he stared Kizaru down, like he was stating some obvious fact.
Kizaru took his right hand out of his trouser pocket, lazily clasped the back of his head, and looked at the arrogant Uchiha brat in front of him with an easygoing smile.
On the surface, he looked polite and harmless.
No one would have guessed what he was actually thinking.
As a Reincarnator… a Reincarnator with a cheat-type System… facing a mere six-year-old Uchiha brat like this…
Shimura Kizaru could say with complete confidence:
There's absolutely zero pressure. This kid is nothing but a loud, walking liability.
Shimura Kizaru—whose name in his previous life had been Borsalino—had already been in the Naruto world for six years. From the very day he was born, he had awakened his System: the Character Template, Admiral Kizaru from One Piece.
However, just like in the fanfics he'd binged in his past life, this character template didn't simply hand him Admiral Kizaru's peak power. Instead, it existed as a "fusion percentage."
The higher the fusion rate, the more of Admiral Kizaru's power he could access.
There were two ways to raise that fusion rate. One was to train continuously. The other was to imitate Admiral Kizaru's behavior and style and gain a corresponding reputation.
Speaking of which, Borsalino's personality in his previous life had already been somewhat similar to Admiral Kizaru's.
His greatest ideal, his lifelong dream, had been to find a stable, well-paid job with great benefits. Clock in at nine, clock out at five, a two-hour lunch break, weekends off.
That had been his plan since elementary school and he had worked toward it, step by step, without fail.
After twenty years of effort, countless exams, and endless grind, Borsalino had finally secured the perfect position—enough pay to live comfortably, save up, and one day retire early to a quiet life in the countryside.
But it seemed not everyone was interested in letting him enjoy that life…
On the day his dream finally came true, he'd been so happy he couldn't sit still at home. In the middle of the night, he'd gone out just to wander the streets, basking in that sense of achievement.
As he walked down the quiet road, a motorcycle with two people riding it came tearing around the corner and...
He wasn't comfortable remembering the details… let alone sharing them.
All that mattered was that, after that, he'd opened his eyes in the "peaceful" world of Naruto—where kids could graduate the Academy, become shinobi, and head to the battlefield as early as twelve.
You could start working at twelve, and missions were guaranteed.
What a "great" place to live.
Thinking of all this, the smile on Shimura Kizaru's face grew a little more melancholy.
What complete bullshit.
All the hard work of his previous life had gone up in smoke. So in this life, he'd decided he would be a lazy man through and through.
…Of course, if the pay was good enough, and the bonuses were generous, he wouldn't mind even picking a fight with the Sage of Six Paths.
"Uchiha~… how terrifying~."
After finishing his rather ordinary internal backstory recap, Kizaru stopped his mental monologue, kept the same gentle smile on his face, and spoke sincerely.
"Y-You bastard!"
Hearing Kizaru's reply and that insufferably mocking tone, the six-year-old Uchiha Inari turned beet red.
Not just Inari—everyone present could feel the heavy, irrepressible sense of ridicule in Kizaru's words.
"You jerk! I'll show you the power of the Uchiha!"
Shouting at the top of his lungs, Uchiha Inari charged straight at Kizaru.
With only the basic training he'd received at home, his attack patterns weren't exactly complicated. He rushed forward, drew back his right fist, gathered all his strength, and swung for Kizaru's upper body.
Kizaru let out a small sigh. The right hand that had been casually cradling the back of his head dropped, and he slid it back into his trouser pocket. Without taking a single step, he simply turned his upper body, letting Inari's punch skim harmlessly past.
"Phew… that was close~. You're dangerous."
Another sincerely delivered line from Kizaru only made Uchiha Inari even angrier.
Staggering as he recovered from the missed punch, Inari stabilized his stance, adjusted his footing, and snapped out a side kick aimed at Kizaru's waist, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.
Kizaru still didn't move his feet. He only twisted his waist slightly to the left, and the kick passed by him just as cleanly.
"Wow… what a powerful blow. You really are quite strong~."
Kizaru sighed again, as if genuinely impressed.
"You bastard!"
Uchiha Inari roared. This time he completely abandoned the idea of holding back. Planting his legs firmly, bending his knees, he channeled all his strength into them and launched himself into the air, turning his attack into a full-on diving tackle toward Kizaru.
This time, Kizaru finally moved his foot.
He shifted his right leg half a step and pivoted to the side, brushing past Inari's aerial charge with effortless ease.
"Why are you moving like some manhua character, Inari-kun~?"
Kizaru didn't bother to adjust his stance to counterattack while Uchiha Inari was still in midair. Instead, he just tilted his head and made the comment with a light, amused smile.
Uchiha Inari, plummeting down, froze for a heartbeat when he heard the strange word "manhua."
He had no idea what that meant—but the playful smile on Kizaru's face told him it was definitely not a compliment.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Inari pushed off hard and sprang backward, trying to open up some distance.
Kizaru kept one hand in his pocket the entire time. He waited until Uchiha Inari had retreated several meters before finally making his move.
He kicked off the ground with his long, powerful legs, leaving a blurred afterimage where he'd been standing. In the blink of an eye, Kizaru appeared right in front of Uchiha Inari, as if he'd simply teleported.
"Did you know…? Speed is power."
Kizaru's movement was so fast that Uchiha Inari's body simply couldn't keep up. The boy's eyes went wide with shock and fear. His brain understood what was happening but his muscles refused to respond in time.
Before the command from his mind could even reach his limbs, a tremendous force crashed into him. Uchiha Inari felt himself being kicked off his feet, soaring several meters through the air before slamming into the ground.
Boom!
A cloud of dust exploded across the practice field, and for a moment, everything went silent.
Everyone present had been stunned by Kizaru's speed and power—strength that already rivaled that of a full-fledged Jōnin.
On the high platform, Danzō, who had been wearing his usual icy expression, couldn't help the slight upward curl of his lips, which made his face look almost… kind.
Standing beside him, the Third Hokage turned his head to look at him again.
"Shimura Kizaru… he's just my useless nephew," Danzō said flatly, sounding thoroughly dissatisfied, as if the display just now hadn't been worth mentioning.
Silently turning his gaze back to the field, Hiruzen couldn't help thinking back to the good old days when he and his three students had been the ones performing in front of Danzō and that dour, stubborn man had been the one sitting there, stewing in envy.
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