Konoha, Year 52
The streets of the Hidden Leaf Village were bustling with people coming and going.
Four years ago, the Nine-Tails incident had dealt Konoha a devastating blow.
Countless ninja lost their lives, and many families were torn apart—parents gone, children orphaned.
Even the village's greatest hero, the Fourth Hokage, who had achieved unparalleled feats on the battlefield, had perished while sealing the Nine-Tails.
For the people of Konoha, that night had been nothing short of a nightmare.
Four years had passed since then. The village had gradually recovered its vitality, once again filled with life and noise.
Yet the pain of the past had never truly faded. Instead, it lay buried deep within everyone's hearts, like a time bomb that could explode at any moment.
They hated the Nine-Tails—hated it so deeply that they wished they could tear it apart with their own hands.
And at that very moment, the "Nine-Tails Demon Fox" in their eyes walked onto the street.
Uzumaki Naruto.
He wore a clean, white robe. His posture was upright, his bearing calm and confident, and a gentle smile rested on his face. He looked less like a child and more like a refined young gentleman.
Such appearance and temperament would earn praise anywhere else.
But here, in Konoha, it only made him more unwelcome.
Most villagers stiffened the moment they saw him. Disgust flickered across their faces as they quickly turned away, refusing to even look in his direction.
A few couldn't restrain themselves and muttered curses under their breath.
"Damn Nine-Tails Demon Fox."
"Why hasn't that monster died yet?"
"It's him. My son died because of that thing. I really don't understand why the Hokage won't execute him."
"This kind of pointless mercy makes me sick."
"Shh! Watch your mouth. You dare question the Hokage's decision? He must have his reasons."
Aside from them, there were only a handful of people who gave the small figure a slight nod. There was no warmth in their expressions—but at least, there was no malice.
Naruto stopped at a familiar vegetable stall and spoke softly.
"Sorry to bother you, Aunt Tanaka. I'd like to buy some vegetables."
Unlike most of the villagers whose families had been devastated by the Nine-Tails incident, Aunt Tanaka had moved to Konoha only a year earlier. She couldn't fully share in their grief or hatred.
She remembered Naruto clearly—a polite, well-mannered child.
Though only four years old, he carried himself with a maturity far beyond his age.
She still vaguely remembered the first time she had seen him.
Back then, villagers had hurled rotten eggs and discarded vegetables at Naruto. The thin, fragile boy hadn't dodged or tried to escape. Egg yolk splattered across his body, yet he kept a gentle smile on his face, bowing again and again as he apologized to those around him.
"I'm sorry… the Nine-Tails caused you so much pain in the past. I'm sorry. But I'm Uzumaki Naruto now. I'm not the Nine-Tails Demon Fox."
He repeated those words endlessly.
Surrounded by boundless hatred, the child looked utterly helpless—yet he never lost his courtesy.
Life's cruelty had dragged a child who should have had a carefree childhood into a merciless reality.
Harsh words tempered his will.
Forcing him to grow into a "little adult."
Aunt Tanaka had heard people say that Konoha was the most prosperous and humane of all ninja villages.
But what she witnessed was nothing like that.
A three-year-old child, bowing and apologizing again and again.
So humble it made her heart ache.
The villagers around him wore twisted expressions, flinging vicious words they would never have imagined saying under normal circumstances.
That scene burned itself into Aunt Tanaka's memory, impossible to forget.
From that day on, she quietly looked after Naruto whenever she could.
"Take these and go home quickly," she said, stuffing a bag of vegetables into his arms.
"Thank you. Sorry for the trouble," Naruto replied politely as he accepted the bag. After bowing to her, he walked calmly down the street and soon disappeared from sight.
Only after he was gone did the street return to its usual laughter and chatter.
Naruto crossed several streets and returned to his modest home.
When he was three, he could no longer endure the nanny's constant neglect and mistreatment. After discussing the matter with the Third Hokage, he moved out and began living alone.
The room wasn't large—just a bed, a table, and a simple stove.
But it was more than enough for his daily needs.
Opening the bag, Naruto found not only fresh vegetables but also a few eggs.
He knew Aunt Tanaka must have prepared it in advance, waiting for him to come by.
In a village filled with indifference, such kindness felt exceptionally precious.
A gentle curve appeared on Naruto's lips. He stood up, walked to the stove, picked up the kitchen knife, and casually flicked his wrist, performing a clean, elegant flourish.
Chopping vegetables, heating the oil, stir-frying—every movement flowed seamlessly into the next, smooth and unhurried.
The greatest difference between a civilized man and a brute was elegance and composure, not loud barking or raw aggression.
Simple stir-fried vegetables and fried eggs were soon ready.
Naruto sat at the table and quietly enjoyed his meal.
The villagers' disgust and exclusion no longer affected his mood.
He would continue to maintain his polite demeanor—until the day they finally accepted him.
As he ate, his thoughts drifted far away.
He remembered the past.
Whenever he stepped outside, villagers would attack him with the cruelest words imaginable.
Back then, he could only avoid them helplessly, living in constant fear.
His heart had been filled with confusion.
He hadn't done anything wrong—so why did everyone hate him?
In his desperation, he began pulling childish pranks, trying to attract attention in any way he could.
But instead of improving things, it only made the villagers despise him even more.
Even those who had once merely ignored him began hurling abuse his way.
Those days were suffocating—each one felt like an eternity.
Until—
He met Aizen.
That gentle, refined man who always carried himself with calm composure.
It was Aizen who told him that a true wise man controls the overall situation—and his own destiny.
The strong never beg for attention.
From that moment on, Naruto began to imitate him, striving to become gentle and elegant.
He spent all his living expenses having a white robe made in the same style, surviving on instant noodles for months because of it.
No matter who he faced, he greeted them politely. Even when met with curses, he maintained his smile.
He learned how to hide his emotions.
Up to now, although the villagers were still far from friendly, some had at least begun to change their view of him.
Life forced him to mature, and malice taught him to see reality clearly.
Konoha… and the so-called Will of Fire were never meant for him.
To them, he was nothing more than the Nine-Tails Demon Fox.
At that thought, a mocking smile tugged at Naruto's lips.
Konoha was too small.
He should be like Mr. Aizen—standing at a higher level.
After finishing the last bite of vegetables, Naruto stood up. For an instant, his eyes turned sharp and cold.
But that look vanished just as quickly.
In the next moment, he was gentle once more.
Facing the mirror, he wore a flawless smile and murmured softly to himself,
"My smile is perfect now. I must keep it that way."