The Cycle of Hatred: A Naruto Insert

Hey, I have 50 chapters worth of words on Patreon and am mass-releasing, so read these instructions carefully if you're interested in reading ahead: go to patréon.com/eternalyujin and go to Collections —> The Cycle of Hatred.

After that, enjoy your reading!

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Countless rows of tiered seating flowed back and forth across the large auditorium. It was dimly lit; the only light sources were the two massive stage lights pointed at the stage on either side of the hall. They illuminated a little more than it, though; the first few rows closest to the stage, the theatre's fancy architecture, and the edges of the VIP boxes were all bathed in yellow light.

I squinted for any familiar faces but it was too far and too dark for me to make anything out besides vaguely human silhouettes and flowing clothes. I looked at the double doors behind me; Choji was still extracting snacks from the bar separating the hall and the reception. Impatience stirred and itched across the back of my hands.

The longer I held the door open, the more annoyed the people in front of me would get, and if they turned and recognised me…

Let's just say I'd rather avoid the hassle and leave it at that. Given my ticket had been paid for by the Hyuuga clan, I didn't see much need to attend under the guise of a transformation. I didn't want to do it either. Spoiling an evening of fun with my friends by having to explain how cruel people could be wasn't something I wanted to do—or feel responsible for.

It would happen one day, but not today, and hopefully not by my own hands. Funnily, it was also part of why I was so hesitant to meet them in the public places they often suggested. Whenever we'd hang out, it would always be something we could do without outside help. Almost always, they came to my apartment and, failing that, a public park far away from the usually popular places.

I shifted my weight between my feet, clenching and unclenching my jaw as Choji bagged each item and offered Hinata some. I relaxed a little when he finished—but then he pulled out another bag, grinning happily, and my stomach. I accidentally pushed the door open even wider, spilling more light onto the row a few feet ahead of me.

The people turned back to look at me and I grimaced, pushing my head into my chin to hide my whiskers.

"...Naruto?"

I looked up a little at the familiar voice. A head of brown hair and grey eyes peeked over the seat. "Haruto?"

"It is you!"

His voice spiked and his friends immediately shot up, wild-eyed with shock and more than a healthy dose of fear. One managed to slam a hand over his mouth. "Shush, Haruto! They'll kick us out if you don't—wait, is that Naruto?"

I cringed at the volume and then snorted when the third kid clamped a hand over his mouth. She looked at me with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I said, letting the doors click shut behind me. "How was Results Day for you guys?"

They looked at each other hesitantly so I tried for something encouraging.

"Don't worry if you failed. Repeating a year might sound bad, but it means the teachers think you have potential. If you didn't, they'd just chuck you out of the Academy, right?"

My words had the opposite effect. Haruto's eyes widened in disbelief and his two friends were similarly horror-stricken.

"You can be expelled if you fail?" the boy in the middle gasped. He shook his head dizzyingly fast. "No way that's true."

"Don't be stupid, Nori," said the girl. "Didn't Mizuki-sensei say the same thing on our first day?"

"Well, yeah," Haruto dangled over the back of his seat and tilted his head, causing his hair to flop to the right, "but he told us it was to make us give it our all. Otherwise, you definitely would've been expelled, Ko."

The red-haired girl—Ko—grimaced. "...Maybe Nori's right."

I laughed, and they all looked at me. "I wouldn't worry too much. It's almost impossible to get thrown out. The fact that you made it past the entrance exams means the school thinks you're worth teaching." They sighed in relief. "So, how did your exams go?"

Nori poked his head up with renewed energy. "A-rank in shinobi studies and C-rank academics!"

"Don't say that so happily," Ko snorted. "You know you almost failed academics, right?"

"I aced shinobi studies, though." He shrugged. "Tell Naruto what you got."

It was too dark to see if she was blushing, but she sounded embarrassed enough. "...A-rank academics and C-rank shinobi studies."

Nori's snort only made her sink lower until I could barely see the top of her head over the seat.

"Don't look so down," I said, stifling my amusement. "Think of it this way: Nori will have to study multiple subjects for months to improve his grades. You'll have to train your body, but if you train hard and eat right, you'll be okay." Ko had stopped hiding and shot Nori a grin; he looked at me in betrayal. "Hey, I'm just saying, I know which one I'd prefer."

Haruto waved at me. "Do you wanna know what I got?"

"Sure. What did you get?"

"S-rank in shinobi studies and B-rank in academics."

I whistled. "They don't give many S-ranks out in the first year. What was your overall spot in the rankings? Rookie of the Year?"

"No," he grunted. "...Runner-up."

"2nd place is still amazing." He scowled at me and I decided to skip over the useless commiserations. "Alright, who got Rookie of the Year, then?"

"Asami—" His scowl deepened when the door opened and light broke across his irritated face. "—Hyuuga."

Hinata peered curiously at him before he slumped forward and groaned feebly, his face burning cherry-red with embarrassment. She turned to me in silent question but I shook my head. Beyond the auditorium, Choji approached the doors with two bagfuls of snacks and Shikamaru followed close behind, carrying eight drinks.

"What took you so long?" I asked when the doors clicked shut behind him.

"This dumbass wanted more snacks." Shikamaru passed me one of the drink carriers with a sigh. He stopped and stared at the three kids dangling over the theatre's plush seats. "Huh. Look what we have here, it's the little brats again."

Choji opened the bag up and offered them theatre-appropriate snacks: marshmallows and jelly beans.

"Lookie here, you two," said Ko through a mouthful of jelly beans. "It's pineapple head again."

Hinata snorted and then clamped both hands over her mouth in disbelief that she'd done so. She turned to me—looking at Shikamaru for a split second. Her lips twitched up before she wrestled them under control and asked, "Who are they?"

"Who, these lot?" I gestured to the three soon-to-be second-years. "They're three annoying little brats."

"Hey!" "Hey!" "Hey!"

Shikamaru snickered at their collective outrage but Choji shook his head and offered them more sweets.

"In all seriousness, I met them at the Academy's open day almost two years ago. They're my cute little juniors."

Haruto grinned at me, and I stuck him a thumbs up.

"And how do Shikamaru and Choji know them?" Hinata asked.

"Morning runs for Choji. They work with their parents and get up pretty early so I got to introduce him. As for Shikamaru," I looked at him, "do you want to tell her, or should I?"

"Nah, let me." He grinned. "So, it all started when—"

He was cut off by someone clearing their throat too loudly to be genuine from somewhere further down. The three kids froze like deer in headlights. Choji stopped chewing and squinted into the darkness and Shikamaru began to frown—shaking his head.

"So anyway, it all started when—" The person cleared their throat again, and this time, Shikamaru retorted. "What the hell's wrong with you? The play hasn't started yet and we're not even the only ones—"

He was cut off by a chorus of fake coughs. The three second-year kids looked at each other and tried not to laugh. Choji looked around nervously and Hinata pursed her lips in distaste. Luckily, Shikamaru wasn't hot-headed enough to start something, shrugging instead.

"Yo, little brats. Come with us. We've got an empty VIP box where we can talk all we want." He spoke louder than he needed to, but I couldn't say that I wouldn't have done the same. "Is that fine with you, Hinata?"

"Hinata?" Haruto whispered. "Hold on… that's who Asami trains with, isn't it?"

"Asami?" Hinata peered curiously at him. "So you're the boy she keeps talking about."

"Don't tell me we've got a budding romance," Shikamaru laughed.

Nori and Ko jeered and playfully nudged their irate friend.

"What?" Haruto spluttered. "I don't like her! She's gross and weird and one time, I swear I saw her lick her sweat after sparring!"

I interjected before the irritating twats in the middle row could interrupt them, gesturing at the staircase leading to the eastern VIP boxes. "How about we continue this over there?"

I let them pass before I followed and watched them mingle.

To me, Haruto and his friends were practically children, and I treated them like little siblings of sorts. It was easier to see them as children because they were younger than me—physically speaking. Seeing my friends get along with them as equals was a little off-putting. We were all around the same age—mentally, I was just about in my thirties, counting this life, anyway—so a little disconcertment reared its head from time to time.

Like most things in my life, though, I couldn't do much except shake it off and get on with things.

We took out seats in our box and handed out snacks and drinks and I gawked at the sheer number of cups between Shikamaru and I. "Choji?" He grunted with a fistful of marshmallows in his right hand. "What were you planning to do with eight drinks? There were only four of us before we ran into this lot."

"Four for the first half of the play and four for the second. These things can get pretty long."

There wasn't much I could say in reply so I slid a mango nectar into my cup holder and offered Ko the carrier. She took a drink and passed it along. Leaning forward, I propped my elbows on the ledge and glanced over the stage. Cast members and special effects staff rushed past, readying props and moving things around.

Hinata and Haruto spoke in hushed tones while Choji and Nori whispered over a bag of marshmallows.

"I think it's starting," I said, noticing the noise below gradually tapering off.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Shikamaru replied, amused that he got the last word in before the play started.

An olive-skinned man in a red suit walked onto the stage. He tapped the spongey microphone in front of his mouth and nodded in satisfaction when the sound spread across the hall. "Welcome, esteemed guests, ladies, gentlemen—children too; I haven't forgotten you. My name's Sadao Sarutobi, the playwright behind this project. Sorry to disappoint you with my average looks and charm—I know many of you have come for our alluring male lead—but given how near and dear the focus of the play is to our hearts, I'd like to say a few words before we begin.

"The Fourth Hokage was the greatest shinobi the world has ever seen. From humble beginnings and with fierce effort, he turned the tide of the Great War and was a figure loved by all of us. With each stroke of his kunai, he carved his legacy into the very fabric of our village—and the world—leaving an indelible mark that transcends generations.

"As we gather here today, let us not merely recount the feats of this legendary shinobi but delve into the essence of his being—the essence of courage, of resilience, and of unwavering determination in the face of adversity. Let us honour not just the man, but the ideals he embodied, the values he upheld, and that which he entrusted to us.

"To those who beheld his rise to greatness, Minato Namikaze was more than a hero—he was a beacon of hope, a symbol of unity, and a guiding light in our darkest hour. To those who inherit his legacy, may you carry forth his spirit with pride. He may have departed this world, but that legacy endures, immortalised in the hearts of all who call the Leaf Village home and the shinobi who stake their lives to defend it.

"Before I go, I'd like to thank Lord Hokage for allowing me into his home and providing me with the bulk of the material for this play. I'll always be grateful for that—and everything you do for our sake." He raised a hand to the VIP box opposite ours. A spotlight cast a hazy beam onto Lord Third and his family—though the only people I recognised were Asuma Sarutobi and Konohamaru.

Right then—looking at them smiling and waving from the VIP box opposite ours—I felt an uncontrollable surge of… of envy, as intense as it was short. They sat there, almost the same as me—grandson and son of the Hokage—with all the pedigree the station afforded them, cast in light with praises heaped on them left, right, and centre.

And there I was—the son of the Hokage whose very life the play wished to examine—ignored and reviled by everyone who'd lined up in droves to come and watch a play about my father.

I looked down at the villagers applauding them fervently as the hot surge fizzled out, leaving me dispassionate, and returned my attention to the playwright.

"So, as the curtains rise and the stage comes to life, let us embark upon a journey—a journey that transcends time and space—a journey into the heart and soul of a true shinobi—Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage of the Leaf."

Eager applause and appreciative cheers surged around the stage. Haruto stuck two fingers in his mouth and released a screeching whistle. I stopped clapping and gave him an amused glare.

"What?" he asked, looking away after a few seconds. "It was a good speech."

"Yeah…" I smiled and forced my focus onto the present—a fun evening with my friends. "It was."

The stage light cut off and flickered to life and after a few minutes of abrupt darkness, the curtains parted to reveal a little over half a dozen people rushing this way and that, leaving whispered conversation and nervous mutters in their wake. A hooded man stood out amidst the grim atmosphere, navigating through the crowd with purpose, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

The crowd rushed him by and vanished off-stage, leaving him alone. He pulled the hood down, revealing a face that I'd almost forgotten. Sunny-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes… but his face… it identical to mine.

I gasped deeply and the influx of cold air pierced its way down my throat.

"H-He looks just like him!" Haruto gawked. "Naruto, look!"

"Yeah… I see him."

"...I didn't expect him to look exactly like him," said Shikamaru. He turned to Hinata. "Is he wearing a mask?"

After a moment, she replied, "No. That's his face. He dyed his hair and he's wearing contact lenses, but it's his face."

"...That's kind of scary."

Choji and Nori nodded in agreement.

"He's also wearing make-up," said Hinata, "but I get your point. It's uncanny."

"For sure," said Ko, shivering a little. She sat up and leaned forward. "Actually, he kind of looks like Naruto."

"W-What?" I turned to the redhead beside me.

She pointed towards the actor. "Him. You look a lot like him. Is he your dad?"

"The Fourth Hokage?" Shikamaru snorted, peering over the ledge. He smirked at me. "...You know, I kind of see it. Imagine that, our Rookie of the Year being the Fourth's secret son."

"No, not the Fourth Hokage, dumbass," Ko snapped. "He's dead and there's no way we wouldn't know if he was his dad. I meant the actor. Naruto, is he your dad?"

Shikamaru winced, and so did Choji and Hinata. They looked at her almost pitifully and she stopped talking and furrowed her brow. "What, did I say something wrong?"

"Ko, he can't be my dad because I'm an orphan," I said, suppressing the pang in my heart. "My parents are dead."

The loneliness took its toll, even if I tried not to show it. Seeing my classmates with their parents or brothers and sisters every day made my small apartment feel like a mockery of a childhood home. Friends could do so much. At the end of the day, they would go home to their families and the involuntary solitude would settle in every shadow and corner, slowly closing in on me.

"O-Oh." Ko dug her chin into her chest in what looked like an attempt to fold into herself. "I-I'll shut up now."

I smiled wryly when my father—the actor started talking. It moved their attention from me onto the play again, despite the awkwardness hanging over our box. Hearing his voice made me feel relieved; it broke the spell his appearance cast on me a little bit. It was a little nasally, giving his words a weightlessness that made them easier to swallow.

But his face… man, it was a dead-ringer. I'd probably be able to find imperfections between him and the pictures of my father I had stashed away in old newspapers—but from as far away as we were, he looked exactly like him.

As the play unfolded before me, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away from the actor. Each movement and gesture seemed to echo memories I never had the chance to create. Despite the slight disconnect caused by his voice, his portrayal was eerily accurate. The way he carried himself, the subtle nuances in his expressions—I almost believed that it was him.

The play delved deeper into the story of my father's life and I found myself drawn into the narrative, a silent observer.

It riled up my friends; they cheered and gasped but I remained completely silent throughout, unsure how to react. Each scene unfolded like pages from a long-forgotten diary, revealing parts of my father's life that I had never known, stories that had been whispered in hushed tones or preserved in the fading ink of history Lord Third had revealed to the playwright.

Revealed to the playwright, and not me.

"Minato-sensei!"

I almost fell out of the box at how far I leaned out. I knew who those three were instantly. Being played by adults was one thing, but by their clothes and mannerisms, it wasn't even difficult… after all, there was one of them that I wouldn't ever forget.

"Kakashi, Rin…" He smiled at the third child, "...Obito."

"What's the mission this time, sensei?" Obito asked.

I gritted my teeth at the sight of him. He wasn't real, but I didn't care. The play being a re-enactment or the real thing wasn't the point. The very idea that Obito put his loss above everyone else's, devalued the lives of others because of his own and even went as far as to turn his blade on a man he saw as a father…

And my mother said she wanted me to turn out like him. I curled my lip at the thought.

"It's a C-rank mission to guard a convoy from the Hidden Grass as they return to their village. They're carrying a secret missive so expect enemy interaction."

Obito grinned and pumped his fist. "Hell yeah! Keep your eyes peeled, Kakashi. This is where I show what a real Hokage candidate looks like."

The lights flickered and the scene changed.

Obito stood surrounded by enemy shinobi, his clothes smudged and dirty. He was littered with cuts and gashes and his shoulders heaved with effort. Six enemy shinobi surrounded him with their weapons drawn. The one in front of Obito held his ninjato high, ready to cleave it down—and he did. Obito squeezed his eyes shut. The weapon caught the rays of stagelight, its blade flashing before whistling downward.

Distant thunder rumbled and plunged the hall into darkness. "Flying Thunder God Dance."

When the lights came back on, all six shinobi lay dead around Obito, who looked up gratefully at his sensei. I smothered the swell of outrage at the sight—none of this was real, no matter how it made me feel. And yet, within the turmoil of emotions that swirled within me, there was a sense of catharsis—a bittersweet release that came from witnessing my father's legend brought to life on stage.

In just an hour, he'd become more than just a distant memory or a figure etched in stone—he was a living, breathing presence. He'd become flesh and blood, though nothing compared to the last scene—when the Fourth Hokage came under the light.

He stalked the stage, clad in the vibrant, flowing Hokage cloak. War drums blared around him and the ornate props and architecture were reduced to rubble and dust. Unmoving bodies scattered the stage, and an eerie kokyu ensemble set the final act's tone. 

A dozen ANBU rushed onto the stage and kneeled before him as one. Their shoulders tremored and their clenched fists were uncertain.

"Go, evacuate any civilians left in this sector," said the Fourth Hokage. "I will deal with the Nine-Tails. Go!" The ANBU bolted off stage and vanished from view, leaving him alone and surrounded by endless corpses.

The air around me grew thick with tension as the deafening roar of the Nine-Tails reverberated through the atrium. It was a sound that invoked a primal fear, a reminder of the terror that had once gripped the village during its rampage through Konoha. A blast of cold air followed the bestial roar. I could see the fear of the audience in the seats below us.

Some recoiled in horror, their eyes wide with terror as they were transported back to that fateful night. As ridiculous as it sounded, it took me a few tense moments to remind myself that it wasn't real—that the Nine-Tails was still locked inside me.

The Fourth Hokage drew a three-pronged kunai and the roaring stopped—only then did I unclench my fists. He looked around sadly at the audience, and then above at each VIP box.

His gaze stopped on ours. "In this moment of uncertainty, I stand before you, ready to do what must be done. The village I hold dear is threatened, and as the Fourth Hokage, it falls upon me to protect it, no matter the cost."

He spoke with a calm resolve and a hint of sadness and, for a fleeting moment, it was as if my father's spirit had been summoned, everything about him tangible in the air around me.

"As I prepare to face this challenge, I do so with the knowledge that sacrifices must be made for the greater good," the actor continued, his voice steady as he addressed the crowd before him. "And if it means laying down my life to ensure the safety of our village, then I will do so without hesitation."

I watched the actor deliver his lines with a sincerity that completely destroyed the illusion I'd grudgingly accepted over the last hour and a half.

I saw his last moments—they'd haunted my dreams for years, and they still did. I knew more than anyone else how much he wanted to live. The duty he carried was one he did willingly, but it was never that easy.

The actor took his final bow and exited to thunderous applause, leaving me seething. Each clap dialled up the sheer incredulity pounding away in my head. The villagers applauded his sacrifice while they'd been treating me like a pariah for close to a decade now, forcing me to accept and ignore their treatment because there wasn't anything else I could do.

I'd prided myself on my level-headedness and comparative mental maturity but the one, raging thought I had was that none of this was fair.

A strange heaviness settled within me as my friends and I left the theatre, weighing down my steps as I processed what I had witnessed on stage. I walked through the dimly lit corridors while echoes of the performance still lingered in my mind, intertwining with the bitter realisation of my father's fate.

He'd played the hero for the village, sacrificed my future, and made me a Jinchuriki for the village and for what?