The route for Akira's return to Konoha would take him through the borders of the Rain Country or the River Country before finally reaching the Land of Fire. But since this region was securely under Konoha's defense perimeter, there was little risk of encountering enemy forces.
Nara Takuma, ever cautious, offered to assign an escort squad to ensure Akira's safe return. But Akira, true to his nature, declined the offer with quiet confidence. After all, compared to the storm of life-and-death choices on the battlefield, the journey back to the village seemed almost like a leisurely stroll.
For several days, he traveled alone.
Returning to Konoha after months away didn't stir the sense of nostalgia or the "as if a lifetime had passed" feeling that others often spoke of. To Akira, the lines between battlefield and village had always been blurred. Whether in Konoha or the rear lines of the war front, his days were spent the same: treating wounded comrades, saving lives, and enduring the endless cycle of injuries and recovery.
This return wasn't one of sentiment — it was for duty.
The moment his feet touched Konoha's familiar streets, Akira didn't waste time. Without stopping to rest, he made his way straight to the Hokage Building. The last time he'd stood in front of that iconic tower, it had been as a wide-eyed academy graduate, surrounded by classmates, registering his name as a newly minted Genin.
Now he returned alone, the weight of battlefield merit on his young shoulders, his name whispered with respect in every camp. The poison that had once claimed Konoha lives was now neutralized, thanks to his methods.
As he stepped into the Hokage's office, the sight of the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, felt strangely ordinary. The old man's warm and slightly amused eyes studied the boy before him. Despite all the reports, despite the miracles whispered about on the front lines, the figure before him was still just a six-year-old child — small, unassuming, and impossibly young for the feats he had accomplished.
"Akira," the Hokage began with the gentle, paternal tone that masked decades of experience, "your contributions on the battlefield were extraordinary. The treatment method you developed gave our forces hope where there was none. You bought precious time for Konoha."
Hiruzen leaned forward, fingers steepled. "For such deeds, the village will reward you accordingly. Consider it equivalent to an S-rank mission. You may choose the reward: a monetary sum, or if you prefer, I can personally pass down some high-level ninjutsu."
Hearing the offer, Akira's mind flickered with instinctive greed. This was the moment he'd anticipated. S-rank missions came with rewards that could make even seasoned Jonin green with envy.
But he knew better than to pounce. Greed, when visible, bred suspicion and reduced favor. So, with the air of a humble and selfless child, Akira lowered his head slightly and replied in a soft, earnest voice:
"Lord Hokage, as a Konoha ninja, everything I've done was simply my duty. The village is my home, and the people here are like family. I could never accept a reward for helping my own family."
It was an answer wrapped in sincerity and innocence — the perfect performance. If this were his past life, surrounded by the cutthroat sharpness of adult pragmatism, his act would have been unmasked immediately. But in this world, in this moment, all the Hokage saw was a kind-hearted child, a selfless prodigy, wise beyond his years and loyal to the core.
The Third Hokage felt a rare surge of warmth. He had long struggled with the Uchiha clan's strained relationship with the village. Distrust festered in both directions, and it often seemed like the gap was unbridgeable. But now, here stood a child from that very clan, speaking of unity, family, and selflessness. It was as if fate had placed before him a living, breathing symbol of hope.
Perhaps Akira could be the bridge the village so desperately needed.
"You are truly different from your clan," Hiruzen said softly, his eyes glinting with approval. "And your perspective... it's rare, even among the village's most seasoned shinobi."
Sensing the shift in the Hokage's attitude, Akira doubled down, subtly weaving phrases he'd memorized from a lifetime ago — principles about unity, governance, and the greater good. Ideas that didn't quite exist in this world but sounded both profound and noble in the Hokage's ears.
The old man sat quietly for a long moment, listening. The words, some of which he didn't entirely understand, stirred thoughts of a future beyond the clan politics and war-driven society that had shaped his reign. Akira's vision painted a world where the village was more than an alliance of clans — it was a true home, a place of harmony.
When the conversation finally drifted back to the reward, Hiruzen no longer saw a mere talented child, but the potential future leader of Konoha itself. The reward he had intended now felt inadequate.
"Akira," he said, "the village owes you more than I had planned. Not only will you receive the reward of an S-rank mission, but I will also grant you access to a high-level jutsu from the sealed scrolls."
He paused, studying the boy again. "And due to your demonstrated skill and leadership on the battlefield, I will promote you directly to Special Jonin."
It was a declaration that would shake the village — a six-year-old child rising to the rank of Special Jonin faster than even Kakashi, who had been considered a prodigy of his generation.
Akira bowed politely, maintaining the charade of humility, but his heart was practically glowing with satisfaction. Everything had played out perfectly.
Of course, outwardly he continued to resist, offering polite rejections, claiming the rewards were too generous, too undeserved. But the Third Hokage remained firm. The rewards were now a symbol of Konoha's gratitude — and the future he envisioned for Akira.
Finally, after a theatrical back-and-forth, Akira "reluctantly" accepted the Hokage's kindness.
And as he walked out of the Hokage's office, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Everything had gone exactly as he planned.
After "reluctantly" accepting the Third Hokage's goodwill, Akira took the mission with a polite bow and turned to leave, concealing the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Though he'd declined the initial rewards offered, he had always been playing the long game. And now, that patience had borne fruit. Not only did the Hokage hand over a valuable scroll from the forbidden archives, but Akira had earned something far more important: trust.
Shizune, his future teammate for the mission to find Tsunade, would not return to the village for another two days. Akira treated this brief interlude as a well-earned respite—a short vacation before diving into a task of great consequence. It was also the perfect window to study the new technique bestowed upon him: a jutsu from the infamous sealing scroll.
The scroll itself was tightly sealed, its parchment old but sturdy, the kanji etched with chakra ink that pulsed faintly in the dim light of Akira's home. Sitting cross-legged in the quiet of his room, Akira unfolded the scroll and carefully examined its contents. He had chosen this technique after much deliberation.
Many powerful jutsu rested within the sealing scroll, but few suited his unique combat style. As an all-rounder, Akira had already mastered a diverse set of abilities. With the Mangekyō Sharingan now awakened, his arsenal was frighteningly vast. Four distinct abilities, each of them devastating in their own right, and strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with even the Rinnegan-wielding Nagato.
He did not need taijutsu—Might Guy's tutelage had covered that base long ago.
He needed genjutsu even less. The only noteworthy genjutsu in the scroll was the Darkness Illusion, a jutsu that temporarily blinded opponents by shutting down their sense of sight. Though slightly superior to the genjutsu from his three-tomoe Sharingan, it paled in comparison to the illusions woven by his Mangekyō. With it, he could bind even tailed beasts into hallucinations.
No, what Akira sought was an edge that aligned with his cautious, methodical nature. He considered the Impure World Reincarnation, but unsurprisingly, it was not included in the catalog presented by the Third Hokage. Techniques that dark and morally ambiguous were intentionally kept off the record. Another glaring absence was the Reaper Death Seal, a technique too final, too grim.
Only two stood out: the Darkness Illusion, which he promptly dismissed, and the Flying Thunder God Technique.
That was the one. The ultimate escape tool, the ultimate ambush technique. A method that allowed one to dance through time-space, striking like lightning and vanishing without a trace. And best of all, it aligned perfectly with Akira's cautious nature: if the battle turned against him, he could retreat in an instant.
The Third Hokage had subtly hoped Akira would choose the Darkness Illusion, thinking it complemented his prowess in genjutsu. He hadn't anticipated that Akira would set his sights on the jutsu once mastered by Tobirama Senju and perfected by Minato Namikaze. But now, with Akira soon to team up with Minato himself, it became an ideal opportunity for the student to observe the master.
Taking the scroll home, Akira committed every word to memory with his Sharingan. The Hokage had warned him to destroy the scroll immediately after reading it. He obeyed without question. Flames erupted from his fingers, reducing the ancient parchment to ash. The room was filled with the scent of smoke and ink.
Then he closed his eyes and replayed the scroll's content in his mind.
As expected, the Flying Thunder God Technique was an intricate masterpiece, far beyond standard ninjutsu. It didn't rely on simple chakra manipulation or hand seals. It demanded spatial awareness, the ability to perceive and manipulate the very fabric of reality. It wasn't just a jutsu—it was a scientific marvel.
Even in his past life, a world that prided itself on science and rationality, spatial manipulation remained a theoretical endeavor. Quantum physics merely scratched the surface of what this jutsu demanded. But in this world, chakra served as a sixth sense, bridging the gap between theory and reality. The Second Hokage had stumbled upon a miracle and shaped it into a weapon.
Akira believed he could not only replicate this feat—but surpass it.
He had the qualifications. His chakra reserves had grown to rival those of seasoned Jonin. His control over chakra was nearly unparalleled, honed by performing countless delicate surgeries and chakra-infused procedures. And then there was his Phantom Body technique—a spatial ability that allowed him to summon an astral form to his side, further proving his affinity with space-time ninjutsu.
Most important of all was his knowledge. Unlike the average shinobi, Akira carried the wisdom of a former life, steeped in scientific reasoning. Where others saw jutsu as art, he saw equations, systems, and energy patterns.
He was the ideal successor to the Flying Thunder God.
Brimming with anticipation, Akira headed to the training grounds, the same clearing he had visited countless times. The wind rustled through the trees as the sun dipped below the horizon. With a breath of focus, he summoned ten Shadow Clones. It had been a while since he used this training method, but his mastery over Shadow Clones had only deepened. Each clone carried a sliver of his mind, a fragment of his ambition.
Each one began its task—analyzing, meditating, and attempting to connect with the unseen strings of space.
By late afternoon, they succeeded.
Akira could feel it: a subtle vibration in the air, a dissonance in space that wasn't there before. A shift, like the surface of water trembling beneath invisible ripples. He could sense it now.
The power of time-space.
He instructed one clone to mark a distant point with a spatial seal. Another clone would attempt the jump. The risk was real—if the technique failed, the consequences could be disastrous. Displacement. Injury. Death.
He wouldn't gamble with his real body.
With calculated resolve, a clone activated the Flying Thunder God Technique.
Poof.
In an instant, the clone disappeared, reappearing a dozen meters away at the designated mark.
Akira's heart leapt.
Success?
But before he could revel in triumph, the clone collapsed, clutching its stomach. It groaned, then dissolved into smoke, returning its memories to the original.
A wave of nausea crashed into Akira. The world spun. His breath caught.
"So that's the cost of incomplete synchronization..." he muttered, swaying.
His first successful teleport had worked—technically. But his body wasn't fully attuned. His mind hadn't yet adjusted to the disorienting fold of space. It was like being turned inside out and flung across reality.
Akira staggered, planting a hand on a nearby tree, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips.
He had touched the realm of gods.
The Flying Thunder God was within his grasp. Now it was only a matter of mastery.
And very soon, the world would learn to fear the name Uchiha Akira.