Chapter no.5 Naruto

Chapter no.5 Shadows of Fire

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Iruka’s apartment wasn’t much—modest, cramped, and barely enough for him to live in. Naruto had heard the other teachers talk about how this was all Iruka could afford on a teacher’s salary, but he’d never really paid attention. Iruka-sensei always seemed fine with it. But tonight, Naruto needed his help, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off.

When Naruto reached the block where the building was, he didn’t even think about using the front door.

Old habits die hard, he guessed.

His body moved automatically, like it had a mind of its own.

He leaped up to the nearest rooftop, his feet landing silently on the tiles. The cool night air whipped past his face, but it didn’t slow him down. One rooftop to the next, his movements were quick, fluid. It felt so natural—almost like running on flat ground. He’d been doing this for years, sneaking around the village, jumping from one roof to another. It was second nature, like breathing.

Naruto darted through the shadows, his body blending in with the darkness. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, making the night feel even darker than usual.

Perfect for sneaking in unnoticed.

His feet barely made a sound as he landed on the roof of Iruka-sensei’s building. His place was on the second floor, but that wasn’t an issue. Naruto had climbed into his window more times than he could count, usually for pranks or to raid his fridge.

Naruto crouched low, making sure he wouldn’t be seen from the street below. His eyes scanned the side of the building, locking onto the familiar window of Iruka’s apartment. The window was slightly open, just like he expected.

Sensei, you’ve gotta work on your home defense.

He made his move, leaping across the narrow gap between the roof and the windowsill. His hands gripped the edge, and he pulled himself up without a sound. Sliding the window open just enough to slip through, Naruto crawled inside, making sure not to disturb anything.

The second his feet touched the wooden floor, Naruto froze. Years of sneaking around Konoha taught him to always listen first. He held his breath, his ears straining for any sound. Nothing. It was quiet—too quiet. He glanced around the room—Iruka’s small, simple apartment was just as he remembered it.

Iruka-sensei’s bedroom like always… neat, way neater than mine.

The bed was tucked in perfectly, no wrinkles in sight, but Naruto’s eyes immediately zeroed in on something out of place—an orange Icha Icha novel lying on top of the bed. He shook his head, trying not to think about what that meant.

Iruka-sensei, really?

“Hey, Iruka-sensei, it’s me! I need help with something!” Naruto called out, closing the window behind him. He didn’t hear a response, so he moved deeper into the apartment, his feet making barely a sound on the wooden floor.

The blonde walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks. The room was filled with old, empty sake bottles scattered across the floor. And slouched on the couch, his head lolling to the side, was Iruka-sensei. His clothes were rumpled, and his usually neat ponytail was undone, his hair hanging messily around his face. His cheeks were flushed red, and he was muttering something incoherent under his breath.

“What the hell…?”

The academy teacher looked like a complete mess. His normally sharp, caring eyes were glazed over, his lips moving sluggishly as he tried to speak.

“N-Naruto? That you?” His voice was slurred, barely more than a drunken mumble.

“Sensei, you stink,” Naruto said, scrunching up his face in disgust as he pinched his nose to block out the strong smell of alcohol.

Iruka groaned from the couch, slurring his words. “Oh, is this… my time to die?”

“I need your help, not your funeral plans,” he said, doing his best to ignore how out of it Iruka was.

Iruka lazily waved his hand. “Sure… sure… I’m Iruka,” he hiccupped, “teacher after all…”

“Okay, so let’s say I’m going to fight this demon the size of my house,” Naruto said, leaning in a bit. “What kind of stuff do you think I should get?”

Iruka chuckled drunkenly, swaying a little in his seat. “Hahah… you know… how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

“Really?” Naruto raised an eyebrow, unsure if Iruka was serious or just drunk. But part of him still believed in him. Even in this state, Iruka-sensei was still awesome—just a little… off.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just… get my diary,” Iruka mumbled, his words barely making sense as he tried to stand. Only, instead of standing, he fell face-first onto the floor with a loud thud.

Naruto sweatdropped, shaking his head.

“Where’s your diary?” Naruto asked, poking if the man was dead or not.

“My… drawer…” Iruka slurred, still face down on the floor.

With a sigh, Naruto summoned a shadow clone to grab the diary while he bent down to help Iruka off the ground. As he lifted him, Iruka’s arm slung around his shoulders, and Naruto felt a mix of emotions—mostly exhaustion. The blonde boy settled brown haired man into the chair, taking a deep breath.

Okay, Naruto, focus. Get what you need, then get back to Oscar.

“Iruka-sensei, why are you drinking so much?” Naruto asked, his voice quieter than usual. He couldn’t help it; seeing Iruka like this, all messed up, slurring his words—it didn’t sit right with him. It was like watching someone who was always strong crumble right in front of him.

Iruka groaned, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Because… because my best friend died,” he muttered, his words heavy with emotion. Naruto blinked, trying to process what he meant. Best friend? Mizuki?

“Even though Mizuki was a traitor, we were friends for years,” Iruka continued, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “That kind of bond… it doesn’t just go away, even after betrayal.” His voice cracked, and suddenly he was crying.

Iruka-sensei was crying.

Naruto felt a tightness in his chest, but it wasn’t because of guilt.

The truth was, Naruto didn’t feel anything about Mizuki’s death. Not really. Mizuki was trying to kill him, so Naruto killed him first. That’s just how it is, right?

It wasn’t like Mizuki was some innocent person or a saint. If Naruto hadn’t killed him, Mizuki would’ve killed him. Why should Naruto feel bad about stopping someone who was ready to end his life? Naruto had faced hollows and killed them without hesitation. Mizuki wasn’t any different.

So why should I care?

But seeing Iruka cry like this—that hurt. Why?

Why did Iruka care about Mizuki after everything?

Naruto pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to get lost in them. One of his clones came back with Iruka’s diary, and Naruto let out a small sigh of relief. He handed it to Iruka, trying to focus on something else, something that didn’t involve death or guilt.

“Here you go, sensei.”

Iruka took the diary, flipping it open to the first page. There was a picture—a family photo. He just stared at it, even in his drunken state. There was something so… sad in the way he looked at them, like it hurt just to remember.

“These are my parents, Naruto,” he said softly.

Naruto didn’t know what to say. “Oh,” was all that came out.

“They were killed when the Kyuubi was released 12 years ago,” Iruka said, his voice changing—less slurred, more sober, like the alcohol had loosened its grip on him for a moment.

There was a long pause.

The silence stretched between them as Iruka stared at the picture. A few tears dripped down from his face and splashed onto the page.

“I miss you, Mom. I miss you, Dad,” Iruka whispered, his fingers brushing over the image as if he could reach into the past and touch them again.

Something twisted inside Naruto. He opened his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. “Do you… blame me for their deaths?”

Naruto didn’t know why he asked. Maybe it was because, deep down, he was scared. Scared that Iruka—someone he trusted, someone who believed in him—might be like everyone else. Maybe he secretly hated him too, just like the rest of the village. What would I do if Iruka was pretending all this time? If even he couldn’t stand me?

There was a long, awful silence, and then Iruka said the words Naruto had been dreading. “I did.”

Naruto felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His heart stopped. His throat tightened, and he couldn’t breathe. No. No, that can’t be true. He’s lying. He’s drunk, he doesn’t mean it—

His eyes burned with tears, and he felt them spill over. The words echoed in his head like a curse.

A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.

So it’s true? He really hated me?

But then, Iruka continued, his voice shaking. “But then I got to know you… and I realized I was wrong. You weren’t the Kyuubi. You weren’t the one I should blame. I’m sorry… for realizing that too late.”

Naruto didn’t think. He didn’t stop to process anything. He just hugged Iruka. He threw his arms around him, tears streaming down his face, soaking into Iruka’s shirt. Naruto hugged him as tightly as he could, like if he let go, everything would fall apart.

“Thank you,” Naruto managed to choke out between sobs, his voice cracking.

Naruto didn’t care that Iruka was drunk. He didn’t care that Mizuki was dead or that the village still saw him as the Kyuubi. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that Iruka-sensei—his Iruka-sensei—was still there, still on his side. And for the first time that night, Naruto didn’t feel so alone.

Naruto quickly snapped back to the task at hand, wiping his face and trying to focus. There was no time to waste.

“Okay, Iruka-sensei, how do I beat a demon?”

Iruka looked at Naruto through bleary, half-lidded eyes, slurring his words. “Why would I know that?”

“What about your diary?”

“Oh… that…” Iruka muttered, rubbing his face. “When I was younger, I imagined how I’d magically save Konoha from the Kyuubi.”

Naruto blinked. Really, sensei?

Even drunk, Iruka looked embarrassed by his own younger self. It was kind of funny in a way, but Naruto wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

He flipped through a few pages of the diary, scanning over Iruka’s childhood fantasies of heroic battles.

This isn’t what I need right now.

Naruto threw the book aside, muttering, “Oscar’s strategies are better anyway.”

Let’s ask him this, I thought, pacing back and forth. I turned to Iruka-sensei, still slumped in his chair. “What do I do if I face an enemy that isn’t affected by a swarm of clones coming at them all at once?”

“What?”

“Come on, sensei, I don’t have time for this!”

“Is this the same demon?” Iruka asked, glancing at the bottles around him like he was trying to figure out if this conversation was even real.

“Yes!” I practically yelled, my patience thinning. “Iruka-sensei!”

“Okay, okay, not so loud,” he groaned, rubbing his temples as if my voice was pounding in his head. He closed his eyes for a second, thinking, and I could tell he was trying to pull himself together, at least enough to give me a straight answer.

Finally, he spoke, his tone more serious. “Alright… if your enemy isn’t reacting to clones, you’re probably coming at them too predictably. Don’t just rush in all at once, especially if they can read your movements. Mix things up—send the clones in waves, scatter them, create a distraction before the real attack. And never rely on just clones. You need to use your environment, your jutsu, your speed, everything you’ve got to make them vulnerable.”

My clones scribbled everything down as Iruka finished talking. I was already digesting the advice, thinking of how I could put it into action.

“Okay, Iruka-sensei, if someone got smacked by something big, like the size of this room, how would you treat them?”

Iruka slurred, barely paying attention. “They’d be dead…”

“No!” Naruto shouted, his voice loud and frantic, startling Iruka. “He is not dead. Just—tell me what to do!”

Iruka blinked, looking at Naruto like he was crazy before rubbing his temples. “Okay, okay… let me think.” He groaned, mumbling to himself, still not fully sober. “Bring a medical ninja?”

Naruto clenched his fists. “There’s none. I’m all he’s got.”

That seemed to sober Iruka up a little. He frowned, his face growing serious. “What are the injuries?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Naruto admitted, feeling his stomach drop.

“Hit by something big?” Iruka repeated, thinking out loud.

“Please, Iruka-sensei, there has to be a way!” Naruto’s voice was desperate, like he was grasping for anything, for some piece of advice that could save Oscar.

I can’t lose him.

Not after everything.

Iruka scratched his head, his words starting to make more sense.

“Maybe try bringing some platelet-boost pills to stop the bleeding, endorphin pills for the pain… Wrap some clean cloth around the wounds to keep them stable. Feed them nutritional pills to keep them alive until medical help comes.”

Naruto’s clones scribbled down every word like their lives depended on it. Naruto nodded.

This was something. At least now he had a plan.

“That weird flask… it does the job of a medical ninja, right?” Naruto asked, thinking of the Estus flask Oscar had used to heal him earlier.

His clones nodded.

Good. That’ll help, at least.

“Great. Now, sensei, where can I buy these pills? And where can I get explosive and flashbang bombs?” Naruto asked, his voice filled with urgency. Time was ticking, and he needed to be ready.

Iruka, still somewhat drunk but more focused now, rattled off the location of a supply shop, the one most ninjas used.

Perfect.

Naruto made it to Shinobi’s Edge in no time. It was the only shop still open this late, and the dim light spilling from the windows told him they were about to close. The place was old, with wooden beams that creaked whenever someone moved. The walls were lined with all kinds of ninja tools—everything from kunai to specialized gear only jounin typically used. It smelled like metal and oil, mixed with the scent of old paper from the scrolls tucked behind the counter.

The shop was mostly empty at this hour. Perfect.

“Welc—“ the store clerk started to say, but the second Naruto walked in, he stopped mid-sentence. Naruto didn’t care. He didn’t have time for the clerk’s fake smile or whatever he had planned to say next. He went straight for the back, grabbing everything he needed.

He picked up some fuma shurikens.

Yeah, this was going right into the demon’s butt, Naruto thought with a smirk.

Naruto grabbed two stacks of ninja wire, a box of flash bombs, and some high-grade explosive tags.

All of this is going to cost a fortune, he thought, his heart sinking for a second. But then he had three years’ worth of savings. He threw the stacks of ryo onto the counter, not even bothering to count it.

“Here,” Naruto said, placing everything on top of the counter.

The store clerk eyed him, his face tight.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t buy this.”

Naruto didn’t have time for this crap. He grabbed all the gear, stuffing it into a storage scroll before the clerk could say anything else.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” the clerk shouted, his voice cracking.

Naruto kept moving, ignoring him.

I paid for everything. I’m not going to stand here and argue.

“Stop! That’s stealing!” the clerk yelled after him.

Naruto turned and glared, his eyes narrowing. “Shut up, I paid for it! Go count the money!” His voice came out harsher than he intended, and the guy flinched, taking a step back.

Naruto was about to leave, his chakra pooling in his legs, ready to leap out of there and get back to Oscar, when he heard the guy mutter under his breath.

“Of course, the demon brat wants that stuff for nothing,” the clerk whispered, thinking Naruto wouldn’t hear. “Can’t believe the Hokage let a monster like that be a ninja. I’m gonna lose my job ‘cause of this asshole who couldn’t just die.”

Naruto froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His hand clenched into a fist, and before he knew it, a fireball began forming in his palm.

One swing, and I could burn this whole place to the ground.

He could make the clerk regret every word, make him fear Naruto the way he always had. The heat in Naruto’s hand built up, ready to be unleashed.

But then, Naruto saw the clerk’s face—the fear in his eyes. Not just fear, though. That underlying smugness. Like he was right all along. Like this was proof that Naruto was the monster the villagers always thought he was.

He wants this, Naruto realized, his chest tightening. The guy wanted him to lash out, to prove him right. To give him an excuse to say, “See? I told you so.”

Naruto took a breath, forcing the fireball to fizzle out in his hand.

Ignore him. We have to save Oscar. That’s what matters, he told himself over and over, trying to drown out the anger bubbling inside him.

But Naruto wasn’t just going to walk away and let the clerk think he’d won.

“Hey, guys,” Naruto said, summoning a dozen clones. “Gather all the garbage around here and fill this bastard’s store with it.”

“Dattebayo!” they all shouted in unison.

The look of horror on the store clerk’s face as Naruto’s clones tore through the trash bins, piling garbage onto every available surface, was priceless. Naruto smirked, feeling a small, petty sense of satisfaction as he ran out of the store. He etched that expression into his memory—a last laugh before heading back to the other world.

If I have to deal with demons, I’m sure as hell not letting jerks like him get off easy.

Naruto checked everything again, making sure it was all set. His clones had already brought the pills from another store—thankfully, a place that didn’t treat him like garbage. He felt a small relief in that, but his mind was racing.

He double-checked the storage seal scroll. The Fuma Shuriken, ninja wire, flash bombs, and pills were all in place. Everything he needed was packed and ready in his inventory.

[ Do you want to use item “Darksign”? ]

[ Yes or No ]

As soon as he thought yes, Naruto’s knees buckled. One knee hit the floor as his body surged with a strange energy. Naruto raised his hands in front of him, and there it was—the ring of fire, the Darksign. It glowed bright, the light piercing through his eyes, filling his vision with nothing but a blinding white.

He gritted his teeth. The heat from the Darksign seared into him, but Naruto welcomed it.

“Just wait, sensei,” Naruto whispered, barely able to hear his own voice over the rushing sound of power coursing through him. “I’m coming to save you, dattebyo.”

[ Returning Naruto Uzumaki to the Bonfire ]

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Far away from Konoha, hidden deep within a rugged mountain range, lay a small, secluded temple. From the outside, it looked like any ordinary temple, ancient stone pillars standing stoic against the weathered landscape. But this place had a dark secret—it was no temple of worship. It was a glorified prison known as Fire Zen Temple, a remote location where all banished shinobi were sent to live out their days in isolation who were too dangerous to be left free, yet too valuable to be discarded entirely.

The air around the temple was still, as if even the wind feared to intrude upon the grounds. In the midst of this eerie calm, a small pumpkin garden grew, its vines crawling across the soil. The man tending to the garden seemed out of place, his frail, aging body moving slowly as he dug into the earth with his bare hands. His shaggy black hair hung limply, and his right eye was covered by a bandage. An x-shaped scar marred his chin, a reminder of his youth. He wore a simple white shirt, a black or dark grey robe draped over it, covering him from his feet to just over his right shoulder.

This man was Shimura Danzo—the War Hawk of Konoha, the boogeyman of the shinobi world. And he was calmly planting pumpkin seeds, as if he were just another old man living out his final days in peace.

But behind Danzo stood two silent Anbu guards, their presence a reminder of the reality of his captivity. Or at least, that was the illusion. To the outside world—especially to Hiruzen Sarutobi—Danzo had been stripped of his power and locked away in this temple, guarded around the clock. But the truth was far more dangerous. Danzo had long since taken control of the Fire Zen Temple, turning it into his hidden base of operations, without anyone outside its walls being the wiser.

As Danzo pressed the seeds into the earth, another Anbu appeared. Unlike the others, this one wore a black cloak and bowed respectfully before him. Danzo didn’t look up, his single visible eye focused on the garden before him.

“Speak,” he commanded, his voice cold, devoid of any emotion. He buried the last seed with a deliberate motion, his fingers pressing the soil over it gently, as if the task itself held some deep significance.

It didn’t.

The cloaked Anbu kept his voice low. “Danzo-sama, we have received reports from our spies in Konoha. Tensions have begun to rise between the Jinchuriki and Hiruzen Sarutobi.”

Danzo’s hand paused for a moment, his eye flickering with the faintest glimmer of interest. Slowly, he straightened, rising from his crouch, his gaze shifting to the Root agent.

“Return with a detailed report,” Danzo ordered, his tone as cold as the mountain air.

“Yes, sir,” the Anbu replied, disappearing into the shadows as swiftly as he had appeared.

For a moment, Danzo remained still, his gaze drifting upward to the moon hanging high above the temple, casting pale light over the stone courtyard. His thoughts swirled as he took in the many shifting pieces of the shinobi world.

Danzo’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, he felt the familiar pull of ambition. “The world is changing, my old friend,” he muttered softly, his thoughts drifting to Hiruzen. “Konoha needs its rightful ruler.”

He took a handful of pumpkin seeds from his pocket and brought one to his mouth, chewing slowly. The bitter taste spread across his tongue, and he frowned.

“Not poisonous enough.”