The Cold Between Wars ( Naruto OC )

"My father was your disciple?"

The question slipped out before Reiji could stop it, sharper than he intended. His eyes stayed locked on the man before him, scanning, measuring. Nothing matched what he had imagined—no pressure in the air, no suffocating presence, nothing to suggest the kind of figure his father would have trained under. Just a man standing there, relaxed—almost lazily so—as if this meeting carried no real weight.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.

"Of course." A faint scoff followed, casual and effortless. "Did you think he figured everything out on his own?" His shoulders shifted slightly, loose and unbothered. "Everyone has a teacher at some point. Otherwise, we'd all be hopeless."

His gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary, amusement still present.

"He never talked about me?"

Reiji didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward—slow, deliberate—closing some of the distance while keeping his balance centered, his weight evenly distributed. His eyes narrowed as he took in the details: stance, breathing, posture, the way the man held himself without trying to hold anything at all.

Then something clicked.

A memory—faint, half-forgotten.

His father's voice, years ago.

Reiji's eyes widened slightly.

"Shimura-sensei…?"

The man's grin spread easily, as if he had been expecting that exact moment.

"In the flesh." He tilted his head, studying Reiji more openly now, curiosity no longer hidden. "So he did mention me. That's almost touching."

Reiji didn't respond.

This was the first time he had seen him. His father had only spoken of him once—briefly, dismissively, as if the subject didn't matter. But Reiji remembered. He remembered everything his father rarely spoke about.

And because it was rare, it mattered.

So yes, he knew the name.

But that wasn't what mattered now.

Something else was already taking shape in his mind.

Why now?

They had lived in the same village for years. The same streets. The same walls. And yet, this man had never appeared—never approached, never made his presence known beyond a passing mention buried in memory.

And now—

He was here.

"There it is."

Reiji's focus snapped back instantly. Shimura was watching him closely, that faint grin still in place, as if he had been waiting for that exact shift.

"That look," he added, almost amused. "I was wondering when it would show up."

Reiji held his gaze, steady and unreadable, even as his thoughts moved beneath the surface.

"Is it because of my Hyōton?"

"Hyōton?" Shimura echoed, feigning confusion for half a second before letting out a quiet breath of amusement. "No idea what you're talking about."

The denial came easily.

And then, just as casually—

"I just felt like meeting my godson for once. Thought I'd see how he turned out."

Reiji stilled.

Godson.

It didn't fit—not with him, not with this man, not with anything Reiji understood.

Shimura waved a hand lightly, dismissing the weight of it.

"Don't look so tense. I didn't exactly volunteer for the role." His grin sharpened. "And I'm not here to play family. You're a bit old for that, don't you think?"

Reiji barely processed the words.

Something else had already seized his attention.

The silence.

It pressed in from all sides, wrong in a way that set every instinct on edge. No footsteps. No distant voices. No wind brushing against wood or stone.

Nothing.

Reiji's awareness spread outward automatically, searching for anchors—sound, movement, anything that confirmed the world around him still existed.

There was nothing.

His muscles tensed, subtle but ready, his stance adjusting without conscious thought, feet grounding against the floor.

"Why are you here…?" he asked, quieter now, his focus sharpening.

"I told you." Shimura shrugged lightly. "Curiosity."

Reiji didn't blink.

"Because of my Hyōton?"

This time, Shimura didn't dodge.

"Because it would be a waste not to."

The shift was immediate.

His gaze moved over Reiji slowly, deliberately now, no longer careless. It traced his posture, the alignment of his shoulders, the way his weight settled through his legs, the tension coiled just beneath the surface.

"It's not every day you see a kid with a kekkei genkai," he said, almost thoughtfully. "No clan. No guidance. No foundation…" His eyes flicked back up, something sharper settling in. "…and still managing to recreate a jutsu on his own."

A faint grin returned.

"That's not something you ignore."

Reiji's eyes narrowed.

"You were quick to hear about it."

"Of course I was." Shimura's tone remained light, but intent threaded through it now. "I keep track of my students."

The answer didn't sit right.

It sharpened something beneath Reiji's skin.

"If you care that much," he said, voice colder, more controlled, "why didn't you visit my father?"

Shimura didn't answer immediately. He exhaled softly instead, as though the question amused him more than it should have.

"Visit him?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly.

A small shrug followed.

"What would be the point?"

His gaze flicked aside briefly, then returned, steady.

"He wouldn't want to see me. And it wouldn't change anything."

A pause.

Then, more directly—

"He's done."

Reiji's jaw tightened, his teeth pressing together before he realized it. The words hit harder than he expected.

Shimura watched him closely, openly studying the reaction.

"You can see it, can't you?" he added lightly. "That kind of man doesn't come back from that."

Silence stretched between them, thick and unmoving.

Then—

"But you…" Shimura continued, his tone shifting—not softer, but more focused. "You're different."

Reiji didn't answer, but he didn't break eye contact.

"You're moving forward." A faint smirk formed. "Fast."

His gaze sharpened.

"That kind of talent shouldn't be wasted."

That was enough.

Reiji moved.

The motion was immediate, clean, without hesitation. His hand dipped into his pouch and came back up in the same instant, the kunai already in motion as he hurled it—not at the man in front of him—

—but behind.

Thunk.

The blade buried itself in the wooden wall with a solid, controlled impact, stopping just an inch from Shimura's face.

The man didn't even blink.

For a brief moment, nothing moved.

Then Reiji turned.

The figure he had been speaking to wavered—

and dissolved like a mirage.

His gaze locked onto the real Shimura standing behind him, exactly where the kunai had struck.

"Stop treating me like a joke," he said, his voice sharper now, stripped of its earlier hesitation. "Your tricks, your games—drop them. Say what you want."

Shimura didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he reached up, fingers closing around the kunai embedded in the wood. The blade slid free with a faint scrape, a brief vibration traveling through the wall before fading. He turned it lightly in his hand, testing its balance—the weight, the dulled edge brushing against his thumb.

"Good throw," he said at last, his tone casual, almost idle. His eyes flicked to the impact point, then back to Reiji. "Strong, too… especially with a blunted edge."

Reiji didn't respond. His stance held—weight evenly distributed, shoulders aligned, attention fixed entirely on him. His breathing had slowed without him noticing, steady now, controlled. Every sense remained stretched outward, ready for that unnatural silence to return.

Shimura met his gaze and gave a small shrug—almost approving, though without warmth.

"You've got talent."

He stepped forward.

Just one step.

Not aggressive. Not sudden. But deliberate enough that Reiji felt it immediately. His footing adjusted on instinct, heel pressing into the ground, his center lowering just enough to stay balanced if the movement continued.

"And you'll get stronger."

Shimura tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving him.

"But it won't be easy."

Reiji didn't move.

"What are you getting at?"

For the first time, Shimura's expression shifted. The amusement didn't disappear—but it sharpened, focused, as if set aside just enough to let something more precise take its place.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, turning the kunai once more between his fingers, "that I've been a pretty poor godfather."

A quiet breath left him, almost thoughtful.

"So I wondered what I could do about it."

A faint curve returned to his lips—subtle this time.

"And I came to a simple conclusion."

He paused—not long, but long enough for the silence to press in again, for the absence of sound to become noticeable once more.

"What if you didn't have to figure everything out alone?"

Reiji's focus sharpened instantly. The irritation didn't vanish—but it shifted, edged now with something more intent.

"What if," Shimura continued, watching him closely, "you had the chance to meet people like you?"

A brief pause.

"…members of the Yuki clan."

The reaction was immediate.

Reiji's eyes widened before he could stop it, a flicker of surprise breaking through his control. His chest tightened, his breath catching for half a second as the word settled.

Yuki.

That wasn't a name spoken lightly. Not here. Not ever.

For the first time since the conversation began, something shifted.

Interest.

"Interested now?"

The voice came from his left.

Too close.

Reiji's body reacted before the thought fully formed. His weight shifted, pivoting sharply on the ball of his foot—shoulders turning, arm beginning to rise—

—and stopping just as fast.

A kunai hovered inches from his eye.

The edge didn't touch him, but the angle was exact. Close enough that he could see the faint irregularities in the metal, the way light caught along its dulled surface, the absolute steadiness of the hand holding it.

Shimura stood within his space now, the distance closed so cleanly Reiji hadn't seen it happen.

No sound.

No warning.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air tightened, stretched thin, like a line pulled too far.

Reiji held still, muscles coiled but controlled—aware of his position, the angle of the blade, how little room he had to move without committing fully.

Then Shimura lowered the kunai.

Just like that, the tension broke.

The blade dropped away, the threat gone as quickly as it had appeared. Before Reiji could shift or step back, two fingers flicked forward, tapping sharply against his forehead.

"Hey—" Reiji snapped, irritation breaking through.

Shimura chuckled under his breath, already turning away as if the moment had lost interest for him.

"There'll be an occasion soon," he said, his tone returning to casual ease. "Something the Hokage will be watching closely."

Reiji didn't follow, but his gaze tracked him, unbroken.

Shimura glanced back over his shoulder, that faint smile still in place.

"Not everyone gets to stand there."

A short pause.

"But if you do—and if you exceed expectations, if you make yourself impossible to ignore—"

His gaze lingered a moment longer, measuring.

"—then you might earn the right to meet your relatives."

He straightened slightly as he continued walking, the distance opening again without effort.

"So don't waste it."

And then—

the world snapped back.

Sound rushed in all at once: distant chatter, footsteps echoing along the street, wind brushing against wood and stone, leaves rustling somewhere above. The return felt abrupt—almost jarring after the unnatural stillness.

The village.

Normal.

As if nothing had happened.

Reiji didn't move.

He stood where he was, feet planted, posture unchanged, eyes fixed on the empty space Shimura had occupied moments ago. The silence lingered in his mind longer than it should have, echoing faintly beneath the returning noise.

His fingers twitched once at his side before settling.

And he remained there—

for a long time.

***

"I'm home, Father."

Reiji stepped inside, easing the door shut behind him. The wood creaked faintly under his hand, the sound lingering longer than it should have—or perhaps he was simply more aware of it. His senses hadn't fully settled since earlier. The silence he had experienced still echoed faintly in the back of his mind, making every ordinary sound feel sharper by comparison.

His gaze found Soichiro immediately.

His father hadn't moved. He sat where he always did, posture straight but not rigid, one hand resting lightly on the handle of his cane, as if even stillness required balance and control. There was no wasted movement in him. There never was.

For a brief moment, he didn't acknowledge Reiji's presence.

Then his eyes lifted.

"Mmm. Good evening. How was your day?"

Reiji stepped further into the room, boots soft against the floor, his weight shifting automatically to keep his balance quiet and centered. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words stalled, catching briefly in his throat.

"It was good… it's just…"

A low hum came from Soichiro—not impatient, not encouraging. Just waiting.

It was enough.

Reiji exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself.

"I'll be graduating in six months."

The words landed heavier than he expected.

Soichiro stilled.

Completely.

The kind of stillness that erased any illusion of ease—like a body bracing without moving. His eyes sharpened immediately, the calm surface breaking.

"What?" A beat, sharper now. "Why?"

Reiji shrugged, but the motion felt off under that gaze—too deliberate, as though his body had suddenly become aware of itself.

"They didn't explain much. Just that the Hokage thinks keeping us past ten is a waste."

He continued, recounting what had been said—the changes in the curriculum, the shift in expectations. As he spoke, his attention remained fixed on his father, tracking every detail: the set of his shoulders, the subtle adjustment of his grip on the cane, the near-imperceptible shifts in his breathing.

Soichiro didn't interrupt.

But something in him changed.

"They're not even trying to hide it…" he murmured, more to himself than to Reiji. A quiet breath followed, controlled, measured. "…so it's already that bad."

Reiji frowned slightly, the words catching.

"What do you mean?"

Soichiro didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as if looking past the walls, past the village, toward something only he could see.

"That's how he chose to announce it… to the clans… to everyone…" His jaw tightened, just slightly. "There'll be backlash."

A pause stretched between them.

"So it's come to this."

Reiji felt the weight of that settle in his chest—slow and heavy.

"Reiji."

He straightened instinctively, his attention snapping back.

"Yes."

"You know what that means, right?"

Reiji hesitated—not because he didn't understand, but because saying it would make it real.

"…Yes."

A moment passed.

"…A new war is coming."

Soichiro held his gaze. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes—something distant, something that didn't belong to the present.

Then it was gone.

"Yes."

He pushed himself up. The cane met the ground with a soft, steady tap as he shifted his weight and moved toward the door. Reiji followed without thinking, his own steps quieter, more fluid.

The air outside felt different.

The faint scent of earth and wood lingered—grounding in a way the house hadn't.

Soichiro stopped near the edge of the garden, his back to him.

"I don't remember the First Shinobi War," he said after a moment. "I was a child when it ended. My father didn't speak of it much… even after my mother died in it."

Reiji didn't respond.

He knew better.

Soichiro didn't speak of them. Ever. The fact that he was now meant something. Reiji stayed where he was, posture steady, attention sharpened.

"The Shodai gathered an absurd number of clans," Soichiro continued, his voice lower now. "Allies. Enemies. It didn't matter. He wanted peace—a way to stop sending children to die for nothing. A better future."

A faint, bitter smile appeared.

"See what that got us."

Reiji's breathing slowed, his chest tightening slightly without him noticing.

"The deaths of two Kage. More casualties than even the Warring States. Entire clans erased… names that had lasted centuries, gone."

The words needed no emphasis.

They carried their own weight.

The garden felt smaller somehow, the quiet pressing in around him.

Soichiro turned then, shifting his weight as he faced him fully, his gaze settling on Reiji with quiet intensity.

"This is the kind of war you'll be fighting in."

Reiji didn't move.

"It will be worse than the last one. More violent. More brutal. More senseless."

A short pause.

"You will likely die in it if you're not lucky."

Reiji absorbed it in silence. He had expected something like that—but hearing it said so plainly, without hesitation, tightened something in his chest.

"So tell me."

A pause.

"Are you ready?"

Reiji blinked, caught off guard more by the directness than the question itself.

"I… no."

Soichiro nodded once.

"Good."

Reiji frowned.

"Good?"

"Even the Shodai and Nidaime weren't ready," Soichiro said calmly. "No one is."

The answer didn't comfort him.

It wasn't meant to.

Reiji hesitated before asking,

"Do we really have to participate?"

A faint smile touched Soichiro's lips.

"Of course. If no one goes, there won't be a village anymore."

Reiji looked away slightly, his thoughts shifting—something uneasy forming.

"…And would that be so bad?"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

His body tensed immediately after, shoulders tightening, breath catching.

"…Why would you say that?" Soichiro asked—not angry, but focused.

Reiji hesitated, then answered anyway, quieter now.

"…I don't really care about anyone here."

A brief pause.

"We could just leave."

The moment the words left him, regret followed. It hadn't been planned. It hadn't even been fully thought through.

It just came out.

Heat rose to his face. He lowered his gaze.

Soichiro didn't respond immediately.

The silence stretched—heavy, pressing.

Reiji glanced up—and for a brief second, something flickered in his father's eyes.

Something softer.

Then it was gone.

"Don't say that again, Reiji."

"I—"

"Stop."

The word cut cleanly.

Reiji's jaw tightened. He lowered his head fully, fists clenching at his sides, nails pressing lightly into his palms.

"The Homura are one of the founding clans of Konoha," Soichiro continued, voice steady, unyielding. "It is our duty to protect this village, regardless of doubt or disagreement."

A brief pause.

"The Hokage has been good to us."

His gaze hardened.

"And you will be good to him."

"…Yes."

"What happens to deserters?" Soichiro asked.

"Death."

"Exactly."

A short silence followed.

"So remove that thought. The future will be dangerous—but choosing certain death is worse."

"Yes, Father."

"Nothing changes," Soichiro added. "Your goal remains the same."

Reiji lifted his gaze slightly.

"Be better. Be stronger. Become someone no one can touch."

His eyes sharpened.

"The war won't wait. It never has."

Reiji nodded slowly, the words settling deeper than he expected.

Then, after a brief hesitation—

"About that… I met someone today."

Soichiro's attention shifted immediately.

"Yes? Who?"

Reiji hesitated only for a fraction of a second.

"Your teacher… Shimura-sensei."

Soichiro blinked.

"…Danzō?" The reaction was immediate. "Why—"

He stopped himself mid-thought.

Understanding settled in.

"…Of course he did."

Reiji nodded.

"He heard."

"So," Soichiro said, his focus sharpening, "what did he want?"

Reiji recounted everything—precise, controlled. The silence. The genjutsu. The Yuki. The event. The Hokage. He skipped nothing, his memory replaying the encounter with clarity, each detail falling into place as he spoke.

Soichiro listened without interruption.

Only when Reiji finished did he respond.

"…That is interesting," he said slowly. "And if it's true, it could be an opportunity."

A brief pause.

"But there are problems."

Reiji frowned.

"What kind?"

"First, I don't know what event he's referring to. There's never been anything like that—an occasion where children from different villages meet, let alone learn from each other."

Reiji hesitated.

"Is it really impossible? Some kind of exchange… to improve relations—"

"No."

The answer came immediately.

Firm.

Reiji blinked.

"I can't speak for every clan," Soichiro continued, "but the Yuki would never agree to that."

A brief pause.

"Let alone teach you anything."

Reiji felt his chest tighten again.

"I told you about them before. A good Yuki…"

A beat.

"…is a dead one."

Soichiro nodded once.

"When Danzō told you that you might meet your relatives, he wasn't talking about a peaceful meeting."

A brief pause.

"He meant the battlefield."

The words settled heavily.

"Maybe even in the middle of it."

Reiji didn't move.

"It could be your only chance to see how they fight. To understand their techniques."

Soichiro's gaze sharpened.

"But listen carefully."

Reiji met his eyes.

"Never trust a Yuki."

A pause.

"Don't talk to them."

Another.

"If you meet one—kill them before they kill you."

The words were absolute.

Cold.

Certain.

"This clan…" Soichiro added quietly, "is inhabited by the devil himself."



***

Hello everyone, I hope you're all having a good weekend.

Today's chapter goes pretty straight to the point. I'm not sure if everyone realizes it yet, but while the story has been relatively light so far—since they're still in the academy and still kids—it's going to get much darker later on. At its core, this fic takes place in a period where everything is about to go wrong, and we've already seen glimpses in canon of how brutal that era really was. Compared to that, Naruto's main timeline almost looks tame.

That doesn't mean the story will turn into an edge fest or be heavy all the time, but there will definitely be moments where I fully dive into that darker side of the Naruto world. I'm not saying this because there's an immediate tone shift coming, but more because I realized I never really talked about the direction I want to take with this fic, so I just wanted to make that clear. Ahem sorry for the yapping lmao

Also, on a side note—I have a huge temptation to go see the new Avatar movie, I'm trying to resist but damn the visuals I've seen look insanely good ( ahem Toph ). Has anyone here watched it?

As always, don't hesitate to share your thoughts—I read everything.

And if you want to read ahead, there are chapters available on my Patreon.

Take care !