Morning at the Orphanage
The sun had just begun to rise, casting faint golden rays through the cracked windows of the orphanage. Akuma slowly opened his eyes, his breathing calm and measured. Another day.
He slipped out of bed without a sound, moving with the same quiet intensity that defined his every motion. His daily routine was precise—stretching, meditation, breathing control, and a short burst of intense physical training. It was all part of his discipline, honed over years of solitude and inner war.
Once finished, he tied his worn gi, adjusted his topknot, and stepped out into the hallway.
The moment he did, a cold hush swept through the orphanage corridors.
Children playing froze. Conversations died mid-sentence. Every pair of eyes turned to him—wide, fearful, and filled with unspoken dread. When Akuma had first arrived at the orphanage, the other children had tried to mock him, picking on his fierce appearance and strange, quiet nature. But each attempt had ended the same way: a slap. Swift, precise, unforgettable. Some had taken more than one before learning the lesson.
Eventually, they stopped.
He was stronger than all of them combined—unnaturally so. But as the years passed, something else began to stir within him. A dark presence. An overwhelming aura. The Satsui no Hado.
He hadn't meant to scare them. But as his power grew, his grip on that primal energy weakened. The aura leaked out—dark, violent, suffocating. Children collapsed from fear. Some wet themselves. Others screamed in their sleep after brief eye contact.
It had taken years of focus and will to master the beast within. To suppress the aura. To walk among others without harming them.
But the damage had been done.
Even now, when he passed, the children shrank away, pressing against the walls as if a predator were stalking through their territory. None dared speak to him. None dared meet his eyes. And that was fine by him.
As he walked through the corridor, the hallway seemed to split before him, a silent path forming as every child backed away, eyes wide and breaths held.
He reached the caretaker's office door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three slow, deliberate knocks echoed through the wood.
"Come in!"
A gentle voice called from within.
Akuma opened the door slowly and stepped inside. Seated behind the desk was his caretaker, a woman in her early thirties dressed in a simple nun's outfit.
"Good morning, Miss Hana," Akuma greeted in his usual calm tone.
Her lips pressed into a line, frustration flashing in her eyes. "Akuma, how many times have I told you?" she said, sighing. "Call me Mother, not Miss. You're so smart—why do I have to keep reminding you of something so simple?"
Akuma said nothing. His red eyes just stared into hers, quiet and unreadable.
Silence settled over the room like a thick fog.
Hana broke it with a weary voice. "You've been like this ever since you came here. Always so quiet. So distant. Why don't you talk to the other kids? Make friends. Be a normal child, just for once. You're intelligent and mature… but if you keep shutting everyone out, you'll always be alone."
Akuma remained still. His expression didn't change.
"Please," she said softly. "Try. Try to open up to the others. Even a little."
He finally responded, his voice low and composed, "Yes, Miss Hana."
Her frustration deepened. "Not Miss. Just call me Mother, like the other children do. Can you do that, Akuma? Please?" Her eyes pleaded with him—eyes filled with a pain that had lingered for years.
Ever since Akuma first arrived, she had sensed the weight he carried. The quiet torment. The isolation. She remembered the bullying he endured in those early days. And when it stopped—when the bullies returned bruised and silent—she hadn't known what had truly happened until much later.
She had blamed herself for not seeing it sooner. For not protecting him. Since then, she'd made it her mission to reach him, to help him be free from whatever pain he held. But no matter how hard she tried, he always kept his distance—especially when he called her Miss. It reminded her that she had failed to become a true mother to him in his eyes.
Akuma's gaze didn't waver as he spoke again. "I'm sorry, Miss Hana. But… my mother on this earth is dead. I can't call another by that name. I don't mean to be rude. It's just something I cannot do."
Hana's heart clenched at his words, the sorrow in his voice far too deep for a child his age. But she managed a soft nod. "Okay, Akuma. I won't force you. But… just try to play with the other kids sometimes, okay?"
He nodded silently.
"Oh!" Hana suddenly remembered. "Why did you come here this morning?"
"I came to let you know I may be staying with Guy-sensei for a week," he said, reaching into his pocket and handing her a folded note.
She opened it, scanned the contents, and sighed. "Alright. You can go. Just don't get into trouble this time, okay? I don't want to see you in the hospital again like last time."
Akuma gave another small nod.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the office, the silence following him like a shadow.
Akuma headed toward the Ninja Academy, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. His thoughts drifted to the decision made by the Third Hokage.
The old man had agreed to let him skip the Chūnin Exams. That meant one thing—the Hokage wouldn't act any time soon.
Good.
That gave Akuma more time. Time to prepare. Time to move forward with his plan.
And for him, that was enough.
When he arrived at the academy, he followed the directions Guy-sensei had given him. He walked quietly through the halls until he reached the back training area.
Inside, he saw Guy-sensei chatting animatedly with Kakashi and a couple of other teachers. Guy's voice was loud as usual, filled with energy.
"—I'm telling you, Kakashi! Next time I will win with my burning fire of youth!"
Kakashi gave a lazy shrug. "Mm. Just don't burn the whole academy down in the process."
The other teachers chuckled.
Akuma stepped forward and knocked lightly on the doorframe.
Everyone turned.
"Ah! Akuma!" Guy beamed, giving him a thumbs-up. "You're early! That's the spirit!"
Akuma walked in and gave a small nod. He ignored the glances from the other teachers.
"I'm here," he said flatly.
Guy gave a wide grin. "Good! Let's begin."