Chapter 32: The Kingdom (Patreon)

The Kingdom

The cave was cold. Damp. Echoes of dripping water ticked along the walls like a cruel clock counting down seconds that none of them wanted to hear. The torches burned low, shadows flickering over the uneven rock as if the cave itself was trembling. The king lay on a bed of cloth and leaves, propped against the wall with a shallow breath barely escaping his lips. His skin, once lively and rich with golden tones, was now paling… worse yet, it was graying. Petrifying. Like stone creeping up his hand, inch by inch. Sakura’s hands glowed soft green as she pushed chakra into him, sweat trailing down her brow, her teeth clenched.

“Come on, come on…” she whispered, trying to stabilize what couldn’t be stabilized.

But the process was slow and cruel.

“His chakra’s turning against itself…” she muttered. “Some kind of poison… or jutsu… I can’t stop it.”

Kakashi stood nearby, arms folded, but the tight line on his lips gave it away. He already knew the truth. This wasn’t going to be one of their victories.

Michiru knelt beside his father, his shoulders trembling as he held onto the old man’s free hand, the one that wasn’t turning to stone.

Hikaru stayed a step back, fists clenched, breathing shallow and panicked.

The king slowly opened his eyes, cracked with age and pain, but still clear. Still strong. He looked at his son and grandson and smiled—one of those smiles that held years inside it, both regret and peace.

“Michiru… Hikaru…”

“I’m here, Dad,” Michiru whispered, brushing tears away with the back of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know…”

The king shook his head slowly. “You did… what you thought was right. That is what it means… to live. To try. Even if you stumble.”

His hand twitched, and Sakura grabbed it again, trying to slow the petrification. But it was spreading faster now. Shoulder. Neck.

“Your heart… is not weak, Michiru. But power means… nothing without love. Without understanding. Don’t forget that.”

Michiru nodded, tears pouring now, falling onto the stone hand he held.

“And you…” the king’s gaze drifted to Hikaru, who stepped forward on instinct, even though he looked like he wanted to run. “You are… strong. And brave. You will be a… good man. Better than both of us.”

“Grandpa…” Hikaru choked.

The king reached out, touched the boy’s cheek with his last warm fingers. “Protect… those you love. That is… the duty of the Moon Kingdom.”

His eyes began to glaze.

“Be kind…”

The glow in his irises faded, and the last breath left his lips. A small sigh. Like wind leaving a forest.

His body went still. His hand, Hikaru realized, had stopped moving. The color dulled to stone.

The old king was gone.

Sakura bowed her head.

Michiru sobbed silently.

And Hikaru stood frozen. Silent. Empty.

Naruto watched from the corner. For once, he wasn’t sitting like usual, arms behind his head, snoring. No, this time… his sapphire eyes were glowing faintly, unnaturally so, like twin lanterns under moonlight. He stared at the lifeless body, unblinking.

He turned away before anyone noticed the emotion flicker across his usually empty face.

He stepped out of the cave, letting the cool forest air hit him. The breeze brushed through his light-blue hair, carrying the scent of moss and distant rain. He looked up at the trees.

That moment, that last farewell, reminded him.

Of them.

He didn’t remember much. Just voices. Screams. A bright night sky full of terror. A beast’s roar. And then—his mother’s voice, cracked but still fierce: “We love you, Naruto!”

And his father’s, right behind it: “Protect our son.”

Then silence.

Naruto closed his eyes for a second.

“Stupid memories,” he whispered to himself, shoving his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “Why now?”

Behind him, the cave stayed quiet.

Then—rustling. A shout.

“Hikaru!” Sakura yelled from inside. “Where did he go?!”

Kakashi stepped out, spotted Naruto by the tree line. “He ran into the forest. Go after him.”

Naruto didn’t respond.

“Please,” Kakashi said, softer now.

Naruto started walking.

It didn’t take long. Finding people was easy when you didn’t walk fast. Just followed the pain like breadcrumbs. That’s what sadness did—it left a trail even in the wind.

He found the kid deep in the trees, near a small stream where the moonlight barely reached. Hikaru was standing in the mud, breathing hard, fists red from punching the bark of a tree over and over. He was a mess. Face wet, eyes wild.

“You followed me!” the kid snapped when he saw Naruto. “Why? You don’t care. None of you do! You just kill and smile and sleep and act like nothing matters!”

Naruto didn’t answer. Just stepped closer.

Hikaru grabbed a stone and threw it at him. It missed by a mile, but the anger was real. “It’s not fair! He didn’t even get to say goodbye properly! And you just stand there like nothing! What’s wrong with you?!”

More tears. More yelling. He pounded his fists into the ground.

“He was the only one who believed in me! And now he’s gone! Gone!”

Naruto waited.

“Say something!” Hikaru yelled.

So Naruto sat on a rock.

“Done?”

Hikaru blinked, hiccuped, wiped his face. “What…?”

“You’re done screaming?” Naruto asked again. “I can wait. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Hikaru didn’t know how to respond to that.

Eventually, after a long pause, Naruto tilted his head slightly.

“What did he say to you? Before he died?”

The boy looked down. His voice was small, broken. “He told me… to be strong. That I’d be a better man. That I should protect the people I love.”

Naruto’s eyes softened slightly.

“My parents died the night I was born,” he said. “They were powerful. The Fourth Hokage and his wife. You’ve probably heard of them.”

Hikaru sniffed.

“They fought a demon. Nine-tailed fox. Big one. My dad sealed it in me. My mom… she smiled and said one thing before they both died.”

Naruto paused, letting the forest go quiet.

“They said, ‘We love you, Naruto.’ That’s it. That’s all I got.”

He looked up at the moon through the leaves.

“I never got to ask what they meant. Never saw them again. But they died to protect me. That’s enough.”

Hikaru sat down slowly.

“I was raised by an old man. Third Hokage. He gave me food. A place to sleep. Never really talked much. One day, someone killed him. Burned half the village trying to do it.”

Naruto’s voice grew quieter.

“And now that guy’s still alive. So I’m going to kill him.”

The air felt colder suddenly.

Naruto looked at the boy now.

“Your grandfather died because someone wanted power. You lost someone who mattered. It hurts. A lot.”

Hikaru nodded, slowly, eyes brimming again.

Naruto leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You can cry. That’s fine. Cry all you want tonight.”

He tapped his chest gently.

“But after that? You decide. Do you want to stay like this? Or do you want to survive?”

The words hung heavy.

“That’s how humans work, kid. That’s how humanity has lived. We lose, we grieve, then we decide. Are you gonna keep crying… or are you gonna stand up and fight?”

Hikaru stared at the stream.

His voice came out tiny, but steady.

“…Survive.”

Naruto nodded, stood up, and dusted his robes off. “Good.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s time to make a plan.”

Hikaru stood beside him.

There was a fire starting to flicker behind the boy’s teary eyes.

And Naruto saw it.

—ToT—

Shabadaba felt it in his spine the moment he saw him. That lazy mop of wild red-tinged hair, the way the kid didn’t even stand straight, like he’d just woken up from a century-long nap, and those eyes. Bright, cold, glowing sapphires that looked like they could split the sky if they got bored enough.

Naruto Uzumaki.

The name alone had become a whispered problem for half the shinobi world.

Shabadaba clenched his jaw, standing there in his fancy robes, sweat prickling beneath the silks. This wasn’t what he signed up for. Sure, he planned a coup. Sure, he betrayed the royal family, exiled the prince, and planned to execute the old king on the balcony like a damn stage play—but nowhere in that script was Naruto freaking Uzumaki showing up like a divine punishment wrapped in an orange bathrobe and sleepy attitude.

A few weeks ago, the boy had reportedly flattened a chunk of Orochimaru’s summoned army like it was a pile of autumn leaves. And that wasn’t even the scary part. No, the scary part was that he looked bored while doing it. The rumors said he almost crushed Orochimaru himself before the snake escaped like a squealing coward through some half-baked teleportation jutsu.

And then there was the incident. The one that shook half the Hidden Villages.

Itachi Uchiha—the Itachi Uchiha—and Kisame Hoshigaki, the Monster of the Hidden Mist, had encountered him.

They came looking for a target. They left running like rats from a wildfire.

Eyewitnesses talked about lightning that sounded like screaming beasts, trees that bent and snapped like they were made of glass, water turning to spikes, and that boy—just standing in the middle of it all like he was the storm. Like Nature itself had gotten tired and decided to wear a face for a day. And it wore his.

It was no longer just a tale. The council of the Five Great Nations had stopped referring to Naruto Uzumaki as a "Jinchuuriki."

Now they called him a variable.

Some whispered about a contract between him and the Spirit of Nature itself. Others said he was cursed. Or blessed. Depends who you asked.

Either way, Shabadaba knew what he was up against. He needed someone who could do the impossible.

Someone heartless. Ruthless. Unkillable.

He turned from the balcony as the chill of fear started to settle deep into his spine, fingers shaking despite the heat of the afternoon.

He knew exactly who to call. And, as fate would have it, the man was already standing in the palace’s shadowy inner chambers, hooded, silent, like a death god waiting for someone to pay a toll.

Shabadaba made his way down quickly, deeper into the palace, through a side door guarded by a single man who stepped aside instantly, pale with fear. The door creaked open into a room that smelled like iron and something darker—like rot. Like grave dirt.

The man was already there.

Tall. Cloaked. Wrapped in dark threads like mummified sin. His face partially covered, but what little showed made Shabadaba want to not look longer than he had to.

Green eyes stared at him, glowing faintly.

Kakuzu.

Mercenary. Assassin. Former Takigakure ninja turned bounty-hunting monster.

A man who had five hearts, each beating with stolen life.

Shabadaba swallowed hard and cleared his throat, trying to sound composed but failing like a toddler lying about broken pottery.

“I assume your price has been received?” he asked.

Kakuzu didn’t blink. “Triple.”

“What?” Shabadaba coughed. “You already said—!”

“Triple,” Kakuzu repeated. “You didn’t mention him.”

He didn’t have to say the name. Shabadaba knew exactly who he meant.

“Uzumaki,” the old noble muttered bitterly.

Kakuzu slowly stepped forward, the sound of threads tightening faintly audible beneath his cloak. “I take no pleasure in dying. And he is death in human skin. So triple.”

Shabadaba clenched his jaw again, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford not to.

“Fine,” he said, barely able to speak.

Kakuzu leaned slightly closer, enough to make the shadows crawl.

“Then ask your question.”

Shabadaba hesitated, then exhaled and asked it the only way he could, low and terrified.

“Can you defeat Naruto Uzumaki?”

Kakuzu tilted his head. Something that might’ve been a smile pulled at the edge of his mouth.

“We’ll see.”

—ToT—

Kakashi sat in the dim light of the cave, rubbing the back of his head with a sigh so deep it sounded like it could've been pulled from the bottom of the ocean. His visible eye narrowed thoughtfully as he considered the options laid out before them. After a few beats of quiet thinking, he finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying that edge that meant he was dead serious. "Alright, listen up. The best shot we have is to overthrow Shabadaba. Straight up, no sneaky crap, no beating around the bush. We drag him down, expose everything he's done, and put Michiru on the throne where he belongs. Clean. Simple. Fast."

Sakura nodded immediately, fists clenched in determination. "Right! It's the only way!"

But Sasuke, leaning against the rough wall of the cave with his arms crossed and that permanent scowl etched onto his face, let out a low sound that was almost a growl. "Tch. Are you sure that's the smart play?" he muttered, his eyes glinting red briefly with the faintest flicker of his Sharingan.

Kakashi raised a brow lazily. "Got a better idea, Sasuke?"

Sasuke straightened up, his voice cold but sharp like a sword. "If we just hand Michiru the throne after we fight all his battles for him... won't the people think he's just weak? Incompetent? A spoiled royal who couldn't even lift a finger to save himself?"

His words hit the cave like a thunderclap. Harsh. Brutal. Honest.

Everyone went a little quiet, turning to glance at Michiru, who was crumpled in the corner, clutching his father’s body like he could will the old man back to life if he just held on tight enough. His shoulders were shaking, sobs wracking through his frame, the weight of guilt and grief crushing him harder than anything Shabadaba could've thrown.

Nobody said anything. The air was heavy.

Then, light footsteps approached from the mouth of the cave, and there stood Hikaru, breathing a little hard from running. At his side was Naruto, hands in his pockets, that same deadpan look on his face like he hadn't just hiked through half a cursed forest without a care in the world.

"We're back," Hikaru said quietly, looking exhausted and puffy-eyed from crying but standing tall anyway.

Naruto gave a little huff, his glowing sapphire eyes gleaming in the dim cave like tiny twin moons. "Leave that part to me. Dattebane."

Everyone blinked.

Naruto, not bothering to explain more because, well, he was Naruto and explanations weren't exactly his thing, turned on his heel and started walking out of the cave, his wooden sandals tapping lightly against the stone. Sakura shouted after him, waving her arms in panic. "Wait—Naruto! We haven't even made a plan yet!"

Kakashi let out another sigh, but this one was more resigned, almost amused. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "There's no need, Sakura," he said, voice a little lighter. "We all know what Naruto's capable of."

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong. If Nature itself decided to get up and stretch its legs, it’d look exactly like Naruto Uzumaki rolling into town.

The city was wrapped in an eerie silence, like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting for the storm they knew was coming.

And boy, it came.

Without even trying to hide, Naruto appeared casually on top of the palace, standing on the red-tiled roof like he owned the whole damn kingdom. His hair ruffled lazily in the breeze, robes flapping around his thin frame. His staff tapped lightly against the tiles as he took one slow step forward, then another, not rushing, not sneaking, just walking like he had all the time in the world.

Guards shouted in alarm, but before they could so much as lift their weapons, the ground trembled beneath them. Roots burst from between the cobblestones, twisting and coiling like angry snakes, wrapping around legs and arms, pinning the soldiers down without even harming them. Just tight enough to keep them from moving.

Inside the main courtroom, Shabadaba was leaning over a large table, deep in conversation with a terrifying figure. The man was tall, hunched slightly, his face stitched together like a patchwork doll. His body radiated danger, a slow-burning kind, like an old furnace that still had enough heat to burn you alive if you got too close.

Kakuzu.

The mercenary didn't like talking much, but Shabadaba was desperate enough to fill the silence with plans and promises. "With you here, there's nothing that boy can—"

The doors creaked open, slow and easy, and the two turned to see the small figure standing there, bathed in the dusty sunlight pouring from the broken windows.

Naruto.

He stepped inside like he was just walking into a tea shop. His staff clicked gently against the polished floors, the roots outside thrumming beneath the building, waiting for his command.

"Shabadaba," Naruto said in his lazy, no-rush tone, as if he wasn’t talking to a guy who literally tried to commit treason. "Give the Kingdom back to the royal family. Dattebane."

Shabadaba's face twisted into rage and panic. "Seize him!" he barked.

Kakuzu didn’t wait for orders. With a snarl, he lunged at Naruto, dark threads snapping from his sleeves like vipers, aiming to tear him apart limb from limb.

Naruto didn't even blink.

He touched his palm to the ground, whispering something so low it could’ve been mistaken for a sigh. The marble floor cracked like an egg and a stone prison rose up from the ground, surrounding Kakuzu in a split second. The stitched man tried to break through, but the stone wasn't just stone—it was infused with Naruto’s will, his chakra, the breath of Nature itself. Stronger than steel, heavier than mountains.

Kakuzu slammed his fists against it, roaring, but it was useless. For now, he was trapped.

Naruto turned back toward Shabadaba, his expression still that same unimpressed stare. Like he was tired of this whole situation already and just wanted to go home and take a nap.

"You better return the Kingdom," Naruto said, his voice low and cold now, that unnatural power humming beneath every word. "Because I don't like killing. Dattebane.”

Shabadaba's face twisted into something ugly, all desperation and venom, as he suddenly spun toward the throne. And there—there she was—he yanked out a woman from behind the massive, draped seat like a sick magic trick. She was limp, unconscious, her long dark hair falling over her face in messy tangles. Amaya. Hikaru’s mom. The Queen Consort, who everyone thought had either fled or been locked away. Her hands were bound, her royal robes torn and dirty, and there was a cruel, jagged knife pressed right up against her throat.

"One more step, boy, and she dies!" Shabadaba barked, eyes wide, spit flying from his mouth as he pressed the blade harder against her pale skin.

The tension in the air turned thick enough to cut. Soldiers strained against the roots that bound them. Even Kakuzu, trapped inside his stone coffin, paused his raging to listen.

But Naruto?

Naruto just stood there.

Hands still tucked casually into the wide sleeves of his robes. That same sleepy look on his face. Not a single flicker of fear. Not even a raised eyebrow.

"You don't care?" Shabadaba snarled, voice cracking under the weight of his own fear. "You gonna just stand there and let her die? Huh?!"

Naruto shifted his weight lazily from one foot to the other, the soft tap of his sandals echoing across the marble. He lifted his head slightly, sapphire eyes gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the cracked ceiling. "I'm not sure," he said, voice so calm it could’ve been mistaken for boredom. "Humans aren’t innocent."

Shabadaba’s hand trembled on the knife.

Naruto kept going, like he was just chatting about the weather. "Even kids squash little insects just because they're there. For fun. At the end of the day..." He shrugged lazily. "A life is a life. No one's pure."

A sudden gust of wind tore through the broken balcony behind Naruto, scattering leaves and dust through the throne room like golden sparks. The heavy curtains ripped apart with a sharp crack and sunlight flooded the hall, illuminating Naruto like he was something ancient and holy and terrifying all at once.

"But..." Naruto rolled his shoulders a little, like a cat stretching after a nap, and the stones of the floor under his feet cracked slightly from the pressure that built up around him. His staff shifted in his hand without him even really touching it. "If you wanna hold someone hostage..."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I can kill you."

Shabadaba flinched instinctively but then barked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "You? How? You think you can kill me just standing there?"

Naruto blinked, slow and deliberate, like Shabadaba was the one being stupid here. "Human body has twenty-six elements," Naruto said. His voice was almost a whisper now, and yet it filled every corner of the room. "Like Iron."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Shabadaba’s body jerked violently.

The knife clattered from his hand as he staggered backwards, coughing, hacking, blood bubbling up from his mouth and splattering across his trembling fingers. His face went chalk white as he tried to speak, but all that came out was more blood.

"You either return the Kingdom," Naruto said, still standing perfectly still in that pool of sunlight, his voice dropping low, each word like the toll of a funeral bell, "or I kill you."

Shabadaba gasped and wheezed, glaring at Naruto like he was looking at a demon wearing a boy’s skin. "You monster!" he rasped, rage and terror twisted together in his broken voice. "I'll kill her! I'll—"

Naruto tilted his head slightly, almost curious, like he was watching a bug crawl around on the floor. "You aren't holding anyone hostage here."

The roots under Shabadaba's feet slithered up and snapped around his legs like hungry snakes, yanking him backward and away from Amaya before he could even think about hurting her. He hit the ground hard, the air wheezing out of his lungs in a pitiful squeak.

Naruto’s voice remained steady, detached, almost gentle.

"I’m holding you hostage."

The room seemed to freeze in time. Even the trapped soldiers stopped struggling.

Naruto took one slow step forward, the ground rumbling faintly beneath him like the palace itself was afraid to offend him. He looked down at Shabadaba, blood staining the marble between them, the knife now lying useless and forgotten.

Naruto's lips barely moved.

"What is your verdict," he asked, the ancient weight of Nature itself behind his words, "dattebane?”

—ToT—

The next few days blurred by like a whirlwind caught in a lazy afternoon. Everything, somehow, fell into place faster than anyone could’ve guessed. Shabadaba, still coughing up blood and thoroughly broken in every way that mattered, dropped to his knees in front of the court and surrendered with all the dignity of a kicked dog. No grand speech. No final act of villainy. Just a pathetic wheeze and a whimper before the soldiers, once bound by Naruto’s roots, seized him and dragged him away into whatever dusty cell was waiting for him deep in the castle dungeons.

The very next morning, before the dew had even dried off the palace gardens, Michiru was crowned King. They didn’t waste time with endless ceremonies or flowery speeches either—the people were starving for leadership, desperate for a name to rally behind, and Michiru, well, he was good enough. Even better, the whole thing had gone down without a single drop of civil bloodshed, which in the world of kings and kingdoms, basically made him look like the second coming of some legendary ruler. The city threw a parade. People cheered. Confetti rained from the sky like colorful snow. It was the kind of celebration you’d expect if they had actually known what really happened.

Team 7, of course, just stood back and let Michiru take every last ounce of credit he absolutely, one hundred percent, did not deserve. Naruto leaned against a balcony post during the coronation, arms crossed, staring off at the horizon like he was watching paint dry. Kakashi clapped politely, looking bored as ever under his mask. Sakura managed a small, strained smile. Sasuke just gave the new king a dead-eyed stare that practically screamed, "You owe us, you dumbass."

But Michiru… Michiru was different now. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the memory of his dying father’s last words still echoing in his ears, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A weight. A promise. He wasn’t just playing king anymore. He wanted to be better. Needed to be the kind of man who deserved Amaya’s respect, the kind of man who could stand tall and not hide behind his wealth or his servants or his title.

It was kinda touching, in a please-don’t-screw-this-up-again way.

Meanwhile, Kakuzu, the stitched-up freak who’d shown up to try and wreck everything, proved he wasn’t just muscles and creepy chakra—he was smart enough to slip away during the chaos. Nobody even realized he was gone until Naruto glanced around one afternoon and said, "Huh. Guess he left," with the emotional weight of someone noticing a fly buzzing out the window. Kakashi just shrugged and muttered something about filing a report later.

As for Hikaru, the kid turned into Naruto’s number one fan almost overnight. Everywhere Naruto went, there was the tiny sound of Hikaru’s sandals slapping against the stone floors, the boy bouncing along behind him like an overeager puppy. Naruto, being Naruto, didn’t really react much. He didn’t beam with pride or shove the kid away either. He just ruffled Hikaru’s hair once in a while, the tiniest ghost of a smile flickering on his lips when no one was looking, and let the kid tag along.

Hikaru would ramble about how cool Naruto was, how he wanted to be strong like him, how he was gonna train every day until he could protect his mom and his people just like Naruto had. Naruto listened in that half-distracted way of his, nodding occasionally, offering a low "Mmm," here and there, but mostly just letting the boy vent all that big, loud, hopeful energy that Naruto himself had learned to bury years ago.

Eventually, when the dust truly settled, when the city streets hummed back to life with music and laughter and the scent of fresh-baked bread again, it was time for Team 7 to head home.

They stood outside the palace gates one morning, the sun warm on their backs, the caravan packed light and ready for the road. Michiru and Amaya stood side by side on the palace steps, looking every bit the fairy tale king and queen, though Amaya still looked at Michiru like she wasn’t completely sold yet—which honestly, fair. Hikaru was there too, hugging Naruto’s waist with all the stubbornness his little arms could muster.

"You'll come back someday, right, Naruto-nii?" Hikaru asked, voice muffled against Naruto’s robes.

Naruto looked down at him, that same lazy, unreadable look in his bright blue eyes. He gently tapped Hikaru’s forehead with two fingers. "Maybe," he said, voice soft like the rustling of leaves. "If you survive long enough, dattebane."

The kid blinked up at him, confused for half a second—then grinned wide like Naruto had just handed him the secret to the universe.

Sakura rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. "You really have a way with kids, Naruto," she muttered.

Sasuke gave his usual grunt of agreement and started walking toward the caravan without waiting for anyone else. Kakashi clapped a hand onto Naruto’s shoulder, gave it a brief squeeze, and then followed.

Naruto stood there a second longer, letting the morning breeze tousle his hair, before finally turning around, tucking his hands back into his sleeves, and wandering after them like he had all the time in the world.

And just like that, Team 7 rolled out of the kingdom and back toward Konoha, leaving a brand-new king, a healing country, and a couple of very confused nobles in their dust.

Naruto didn’t look back even once.