Time, like a snail crawling over a dewy leaf, slowly but unstoppably dragged the swaddled infant towards the age of toddling.
He could crawl faster, stand more steadily, and even take a few wobbly steps while holding onto a wall or "Kite's" cold, iron-pillar-like leg.
The expansion of his range of activity brought more bizarre complaints, as well as the continuously Soul-soothing aroma of Ichiraku Ramen, and the small, strategic satisfaction he felt when he occasionally glimpsed Hinata's blushing face or Sakura's pouting pink head on the street.
However, the other side of the coin was an increasingly surging and undisguised malice.
The infant's "harmless" aura seemed to be weakening.
When that golden, wobbly little figure appeared in sight, what it brought was no longer just simple disgust and fear, but also more malicious probing and… blatant bullying.
Insults were still the most basic accompaniment.
"Demon Fox!" "Monster!" "Get lost!" These words, like background noise, could no longer stir any waves in his heart.
But new forms of attack appeared.
Small pebbles: When "Kite" pushed the stroller through a certain alley, one or two thumb-sized gravel would suddenly fly out of the shadows! They carried clear malice, targeting not "Kite," but the tiny figure in the stroller!
Although the force was not great and the aim was poor, they made a dull "thud" against the side of the stroller or rolled off, grazing the body, but the malice contained within and the provocative "let's see" attitude were like cold needles, piercing the relatively "safe" facade that had existed until now.
Once, a stone from a tricky angle even grazed my forehead, bringing a burning sting and instantly welling blood beads.
Deliberate tripping: When "Kite" rarely allowed me to practice "walking" (holding her hand) in that dusty open space, a passing woman who looked like an ordinary peasant woman "accidentally" extended her clogs-clad foot, precisely placing it in front of my clumsily moving short legs!
"Thump!" I fell hard and unprepared!
Dust instantly covered my freshly changed (relatively) clean clothes, and my elbows and knees throbbed with pain.
The woman didn't even stop, only looking back with a glance mixed with disdain and schadenfreude, as if she had just stepped on an annoying insect.
And "Kite" merely gave the woman a cold glance, without any further action, simply picking me up from the ground like trash and dusting me off.
Pushing the stroller: The most dangerous time was by a narrow arched bridge.
"Kite" was pushing the stroller and about to go onto the bridge when a burly man with his head down, reeking of alcohol (but with unusually clear eyes), charged over like an out-of-control wild bull, his shoulder "coincidentally" slamming hard into the side of the stroller!
"Clang!" The immense force almost broke the fragile wooden cart apart, and the body of the cart tilted sharply!
If "Kite" hadn't reacted extremely quickly, instantly bracing her feet firmly against the ground and using a clever force to stabilize the cart, I would have almost flipped into the murky river under the bridge, cart and all!
After the collision, the burly man disappeared into the crowd without looking back, leaving only a string of malicious snickers.
These physical attacks, though infuriating, were still within tolerable limits.
What truly tightened the "danger" string deep in his Soul was those few… gazes.
They were mixed in with ordinary disgust and curious stares, like ink dripping into clear water, cold, viscous, and with a chilling sense of tangibility.
In the shadows of the corner grocery store, a middle-aged man in faded work clothes and a haggard face.
He stared fixedly at me, his eyes as hollow as two dry wells, but in the depths of those dry wells burned a chilling, pure hatred.
That was not an abstract fear of the "Demon Fox," but a bone-deep killing intent towards the specific enemy who had taken his wife and child's lives!
His rough fingers unconsciously stroked the abnormally sharp iron awl handle protruding from his waist tool bag.
In the shadows of the tree canopy on the outskirts of the training ground, a gaze, like a cold snake's tongue, silently licked over.
The owner of that gaze was extremely well hidden, his aura almost blending with the environment; if my Soul's sensitivity hadn't far exceeded that of an infant, coupled with the almost instinctive repulsion reaction of the Nine-Tails Chakra within me to malice of the same Rank, I would not have been able to detect it at all.
There was no hatred of ordinary villagers in that gaze, only a cold, predatory assessment and calculation, as if confirming the state of the "container" and evaluating the loopholes in the defenses.
The clearest time was on the way to Ichiraku Ramen.
A person in an inconspicuous gray cloak, squatting by the street, fiddling with a small stall.
When I was carried by "Kite" past him, he raised his head.
Under the shadow of the hood, only half a face and a pair of eyes were visible.
Those eyes… had no hatred, no anger, only a dead silence of icy cold, like ten thousand years of ice!
The moment his gaze fell on me, it was as if even the surrounding air froze.
That was not the malice of a villager, that was… professional killing intent!
As precise and ruthless as a surgeon's scalpel!
He didn't even try to hide it, as if certain that I, this "infant," couldn't detect it.
And "Kite" didn't seem to pay special attention to this ordinary "peddler."
Cold sweat (and drool) soaked my back.
My body's instinct made me tremble, curl up, and even let out fearful whimpers uncontrollably when I encountered these gazes.
But deep in my consciousness, it was like a frozen lake, abnormally calm.
Work clothes man: A pure avenger.
His loved ones were taken by the Nine-Tailed, and his mind was on the verge of collapse.
Danger Rank: High!
His motive is direct, and his actions may be reckless.
Weapon: Crude but deadly (iron awl).
Tree shadow gaze: A monitor?
A spy?
Source unknown (Danzo's Root? External forces?).
Purpose unknown.
Danger Rank: Unknown!
But the threat is immense, like a sword hanging overhead.
Cloaked "peddler": A professional killer!
Extremely dangerous!
His target is clear—eliminate the "Nine-Tailed container"!
His very existence is a blatant provocation to Hiruzen Sarutobi's protection strategy!
Konoha's waters are much deeper than they appear.
These were no longer emotional outbursts of insults, no longer tentative small pebbles.
These were real, imminent death threats!
The shadows of the crib railings now seemed so fragile.
Slug Clone?
That could only scare drunkards.
Precise urine attack?
Against an iron awl and a professional killer's kunai, it was meaningless.
Playing dumb?
In the face of pure killing intent, it was like a paper shield.
Inner monologue: It seems… pranks and playing dumb are no longer enough.
The bottom line of survival has been touched.
Some people… just want my life because of my existence.
And they… must be dealt with.
This thought, like a poisoned ice pick, was savagely driven deep into his consciousness.
There was no angry roar, no wronged accusation, only a cold, almost cruel resolve.
The adult Soul from an era of peace, for the first time, so clearly, so nakedly confronted the Law of the jungle: "It's either you die, or I die."
The afterglow of the setting sun passed through the small window, stretching the shadow of the crib railings long, like the bars of a cage, once again coldly enveloping the tiny body.
Naruto curled up in the rough swaddling clothes, the childish innocence in the depths of his cerulean eyes completely frozen and crushed.
In its place was a cold and focused glow, like that of a beast, utterly unsuited to his age, silently scanning this malicious cage, assessing every potential fatal threat.
Survive.
At all costs.
Even if… it means dirtying these infant hands.