Disclaimer:
This is a work of fan-fiction using characters from the Naruto world, created by Masashi Kishimoto, and the My Hero Academia world, created by Kōhei Horikoshi. This work is created purely for entertainment and is not intended for profit. All rights to the original characters, settings, and intellectual properties belong to their respective creators and owners. I make no claim to ownership.
Chapter 1: The Weight of a Moment
The afternoon sun cast long, lazy shadows across the streets of Musutafu. For Itachi Uchiha, it was just another Tuesday. The final bell at his middle school had rung, releasing a torrent of chatter and youthful energy onto the pavement. Itachi, as usual, walked slightly apart from the main throng, his posture relaxed but his presence quiet.
His friends, Kenta and Haru, were already deep in an argument about the latest All Might collectible.
"I'm telling you, the Bronze Age figurine is rarer," Kenta insisted, gesturing wildly.
"But the Silver Age one has better detailing!" Haru retorted.
Itachi offered a small, noncommittal "hm," his dark eyes sweeping over the familiar scene: the corner store with its vibrant advertisements, the old woman watering her plants, the rhythmic hum of city life. He lived in a simple, normal home. His father, Fugaku, was a security consultant—a job that seemed boring on paper but, as Itachi knew, utilized his father's unique Quirk. His mother, Mikoto, was a kind woman, a homemaker whose warmth was the heart of their family.
Life was routine. School, homework, dinner, sleep. Itachi was a good student, polite and reserved. He observed everything, spoke little, and moved through life with an unsettling calm that teachers found remarkable and peers found slightly intimidating.
They were approaching the busy intersection near the train station. The crosswalk light was red, and a crowd had gathered on the curb.
"Seriously, Itachi, what do you think?" Kenta asked, turning to him.
"About what?"
"The figurines! Which one is better?"
Itachi was about to answer when a discordant sound cut through the air—not a crash, but the sickening thump of a body slumping against a steering wheel, followed by the blare of a horn.
A large delivery truck, just entering the intersection, suddenly accelerated. It swerved, tires screeching, and jumped the curb, its horn now a solid, terrifying wail. It was heading directly for the pavement where they stood.
People screamed. Chaos erupted as the crowd scrambled backward. Kenta and Haru froze, their faces pale with terror.
"It's not stopping!" Haru yelled.
Itachi's gaze was already locked on. The truck was perhaps fifty meters away, closing fast. His friends were safe on the far side of the curb, but just ahead, where the truck was aimed, a little girl had knelt to pet a stray cat. She looked up, her eyes wide with confusion, not yet understanding the wall of metal rushing toward her.
There were no heroes. No one was fast enough. Everyone was just watching, paralyzed.
Itachi's friends were screaming his name, but the sound was distant. The world, which had been moving at a deafening speed, suddenly compressed.
He saw the panicked, unseeing eyes of the driver slumped over the wheel. He saw the individual fibers on the little girl's pink sweater. He saw the cat, hissing, its fur on end.
He was too far. He couldn't make it. It was a simple, cold calculation.
And yet, his body rejected the conclusion. A strange, burning heat flooded his eyes. It was a feeling he recognized, a familiar pressure he usually kept dormant. It was his father's Quirk.
Sharingan! The thought screamed in his mind, though he made no sound.
The world didn't just slow; it fractured. The roar of the truck's engine dropped to a low growl. The screams of the crowd became a drawn-out vowel. He could see the individual rotations of the truck's tires, the way the asphalt buckled under its weight.
He was moving.
(The Sharingan. A visual Quirk inherited from my father. It doesn't make me faster, it doesn't make me stronger. It just... lets me see. It processes visual information at an impossible rate, allowing my brain to perceive the world in slow motion. It lets me predict, to see the gaps between moments. But seeing and acting are two different things.)
His legs burned as he pushed off the pavement, a desperate, lunging sprint. He was running on pure adrenaline, his Quirk showing him exactly how little time he had.
(The Quirk only shows me the path. It's my body that has to keep up.)
Ten meters. The truck was a monster, blotting out the sun. The girl was still frozen.
He didn't slow down. He didn't have time to be gentle.
With a desperate cry that was ripped from his lungs, Itachi launched himself forward, a dark blur of motion. He dove, not for the girl, but through her.
He slammed into the child and the cat with the force of a linebacker, his arms wrapping around her small body, his own back taking the brunt of the impact as they hit the pavement. He tucked and rolled, scraping violently against the concrete, propelled by the sheer momentum of his dive.
Then came the sound.
BOOOOM!
A deafening explosion of metal, brick, and glass erupted where they had been standing. The truck, having missed the girl, had plowed directly through the storefront of a bakery, sending debris and shrapnel flying.
The world rushed back to normal speed. The horn finally died, leaving a ringing silence, which was immediately filled by the girl's terrified, high-pitched wail.
Itachi lay on the ground, his chest heaving. He was covered in dust and grit. The girl was crying into his school jacket. The cat had vanished.
For a moment, there was just the sound of her crying and the settling of dust.
Then, the applause started.
It began as a few hesitant claps, then grew into a roar from the stunned crowd. People were emerging from their frozen shock, their faces a mixture of awe and relief.
"He saved her! That kid, he saved her!"
"Are you okay, little one?" Itachi asked, his voice rough. He pushed himself up, helping the girl to her feet. She just clung to him, sobbing.
Her mother burst from the crowd, screaming her daughter's name, and snatched her up in a tearful embrace, bowing repeatedly to Itachi, a frantic torrent of "Thank you, thank you, you saved her!"
Kenta and Haru were suddenly there, grabbing his shoulders.
"Itachi! That was insane! Are you hurt?" Kenta yelled, his eyes wide as saucers.
"Your eyes!" Haru whispered, pointing.
Itachi blinked, the burning sensation fading. He felt the familiar strain, the slight headache that came with using the Quirk so intensely. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, the world was back to its normal, blurry speed.
"That... that was crazy, man," Haru breathed, "I've never seen anyone move that fast."
"I didn't," Itachi said, his voice quiet as he brushed dust from his trousers. "I just ran."
He looked at the wreckage. Paramedics were already rushing toward the truck. Heroes would be here soon. But for one moment, in the absence of a professional, he had been enough.