Limitless Uzumaki

The orphanage days felt as though they were one upon another. Time slipped by as though no human in the world had any notion that children were housed within walls. My own life, previously so lost, was slowly finding shape within my own ability to control it. Faces that moved about me were but fleeting apparitions, yet lessons they taught—either bad or good—were forever emblazoned in my brain. The older children continued to try and bully me, but I was long beyond that. I no longer needed to prove anything to them. I was something they could never possibly comprehend.

At this point, the orphanage was both my jail and my boot camp. Each moment was an opportunity to refine myself, to tap into the power that I was slowly beginning to comprehend. Chakra control wasn't innate, but with every day I practiced, with every failure, I was closer. Controlling chakra—real chakra, not the stilted forms taught at the Academy—was something that had to feel in my bones. I focused on comprehending the fundamentals of chakra flow, bending it to my will, as if herding it into obedience.

One evening, after the sun had set and all the rest had retired to bed, I was alone in the small courtyard of the orphanage. Nothing but the distant soft rustling of leaves on the trees surrounded me. I knelt down on the ground, outstretched arms, palms against the cold stone. My breathing weighed heavy with the weight of the world, but I tuned that out and remained focused on the flow of energy within me.

I could feel it—the chakra. It was different now, no longer an odd theory or an abstract fantasy. It responded to me, as I had commanded it to, but there was a flicker of uncertainty. Something was holding it back. It was so subtle, almost intangible, but it was there.

Frustration was starting to creep in, but I put it aside. This was nothing compared to the disappointments I would have coming ahead. No, I was being patient. Control wasn't made overnight.

I began gradually to force my chakra outward, a slow, controlled flow of energy. The stone beneath my palms creaked faintly as I funneled more chakra into the ground, fighting to feel the connection between me and the ground below. It was not perfect—not even close—but it was a start.

I yanked my hands back, looking down at the surface of the stone. And there, right in the middle, was a small crack. Small, barely noticeable, but enough.

A victory. A small one.

But one that was mine.

The subsequent weeks were a blur. Days were merely a succession of identical moments, each one spent training and honing my control. My previous life flickered in the periphery of my mind, fueling my drive. I had seen the frailties of this world already, and I did not wish to repeat those same mistakes which had held me back in my previous life.

There was one difference now.

It was never a matter of being good. It was a matter of them paying attention. Every day I worked on being better, every lesson I taught myself, provided me with another chance to make an impression. They would see me, they would notice me. I wasn't one of those forgotten children. I was supposed to be something.

And then one day, that glance, the first epiphany, that it could be more came.

It was the same one of the older boys, the same one who used to enjoy bullying me. He shoved me up against the back gate, his rough-cut grass-thatched patch bumping the edge of the village. His sneer was as wide as ever, his followers loitering in the background, watching to see what they would get to do next.

"You think you're special, don't you?" he mocked, his tone dripping with scorn. "Because you've got a little bit of chakra control, you think you're superior to us?"

I remained silent. There was no need. He was looking for me to beg, to be intimidated, but I was done with that. Done with being the idiot.

I gazed at him, my expression unmoving, and waited.

"You'll regret it," he growled, advancing, fists bunched.

I could feel the chakra inside me stir, responding to the subtle shift in the air. There was no longer any doubt, no flicker of uncertainty. I was prepared.

I extended my hand, palm against his chest, and let the chakra flow. This time, it was stronger, more intense. The air between us vibrated with power.

He hadn't the time to answer.

The burst of chakra slammed him backward against the gate. The force dazed the breath out of his lungs, and he stumbled onto the ground, gasping for breath. His friends stood transfixed, wide-eyed with fear.

I stood, my eyes landing on him, and permitted a soft smile to wrack my mouth corners.

Maybe you should know when to give up, I said, my voice calm, too calm.

Without a word, I spun around and departed, leaving them to process the fact that I had just reasserted control.

In the following days, the orphanage changed. It wasn't a radical shift, not the sort one would anticipate, but it was a change. The older kids no longer felt at ease intimidating me. The caretakers, still distant, started treating me with a bit more respect. I was no longer merely another abandoned child.

The gossip started.

"Did you hear what happened to Naruto?"

"Yeah, he's changed now."

I didn't appreciate their opinions, no. But I understood the power of perception. When others perceived you as more than a nuisance, they treated you differently. They respected you—fear, or admiration, or maybe both.

That wasn't sufficient. It wasn't even close to sufficient.

I felt the tug of something more drawing me to it, something beyond the orphanage, beyond Konoha's walls. The world was vast and wide, full of potential and danger, and I would need more than control of chakra to survive in it.

My head spun with potential. There were hundreds of methods, hundreds of skills to be grasped, each one sitting there waiting to be mastered. If I could learn them all, if I could study all the arts the world had to offer, then nothing could stop me.

I was no longer a child caught up in the wave of the world's fate. I was its master. And the journey had only just begun.

Every day was a step closer to something greater. The pieces were all falling into place, and soon, very soon, the world would know who I truly was.

But first, I needed to prepare. I needed to be better than they were accustomed to. Better than anyone was accustomed to. The authority that I now held was nothing compared to what lay ahead. I could sense it—the path that I was on was one of endless possibilities, and I would walk it until I had done all that I had come to do.

Nobody would stop me. Nobody would remember the abandoned child. They would remember the name I would forge for myself, a name which would ring in the world's ears for generations to come.

And when they realized what was done, they would be powerless to act upon it.