Chapter 31 - Japan , Tomorrow

The next morning, Naruto headed to the old apartment they'd lived in before moving to his current home. After the move, they'd planned to clear everything out, but Hiruzen died before it could happen. Though told to sell the place, Naruto refused. He'd left Hiruzen's belongings untouched—dusty photo frames, faded clothes, forgotten trinkets—exactly where they'd been that final day. He'd even paid the upkeep all these years, clinging to the ghost of what once was.

The building stood close, and he reached it quickly, weaving through the noisy streets without slowing. He stabbed the elevator button, rode up in silence, then strode down the dim hallway. The key turned with a click he'd known since childhood.

Cold air hit him as he stepped inside. Memories hummed in the walls—laughter, arguments, the creak of floorboards under tiny feet. His throat tightened, but he shoved the feeling down. Lights flickered on, revealing the living room frozen in time. He shut the door hard, like sealing a tomb, and marched straight to Hiruzen's bedroom.

The overhead bulb buzzed awake, painting the room in harsh yellow. Naruto scanned the space. He'd cleaned it days before leaving for his Hunter evaluation, scrubbing stains off windowsills, boxing loose papers. Now it sat unnervingly tidy—a museum of absence. Dust motes floated where a man's voice once filled the air.

Naruto stood in the middle of Hiruzen's room, hands on his hips, eyes sharp. The room hadn't changed. Same old desk with its chipped edges, same faded curtains, same closet that always stuck when you tried to open it. But his gut told him there was something here. Something Hiruzen didn't want found easily.

He started at the desk. Methodical.

First drawer: pens, paper clips, a half-empty pack of gum. Nothing.

Second drawer: files. Reports from old dungeon raids, handwritten notes in Hiruzen's cramped script. Naruto flipped through them. A grocery list from six years ago fell out.

"C'mon, old man. Where's the juice?"

Third drawer: empty. Just dust bunnies and a dead moth.

He crouched, running his fingers along the desk's underside. No tape, no hidden compartments. He knocked the wood—solid. No hollow spots.

The bed was next. He yanked off the thin mattress, checked the frame. Nothing but cobwebs. He slid his hand between the headboard and the wall—just grime.

Now the closet. The door creaked like always. Inside, Hiruzen's old coats hung stiffly, smelling of mothballs. Naruto pushed them aside, revealing a stack of shoeboxes. He pulled each one down, popped the lids.

First box: receipts. Electricity bills from 2015.

Second box: broken watches, tangled necklaces, a keychain with a faded charm.

Third box: photos. Naruto as a kid, grinning with ice cream smeared on his face. Hiruzen, younger, less gray, standing stiffly in the background.

He almost missed it.

Under the last shoebox, the closet's floorboard was slightly warped. Naruto pressed it—it wobbled. He pried it up with his fingernails. A small metal locker, no bigger than a textbook, sat in the hollow space. Dusty. No keyhole. Just a combination lock with three dials.

"Numbers…" Hiruzen hated birthdays. Never celebrated them. But there was that one thing he always said—"Remember the day you first summoned a clone, kid, that's one of the powerful techniques you learned."

Naruto's stomach dropped. He'd been nine. March 3rd. "03-03"

He spun the dials: "0-3-3"

The lock clicked.

Inside was a single envelope, yellowed at the edges. Hiruzen's handwriting stared back: "Naruto. If you're reading this, I'm dead. And you're ready."

Naruto sat back on his heels, pulse thudding in his ears. The apartment felt quieter suddenly, like the walls were leaning in. He didn't open the letter. Not yet. He just stared at it, the weight of it in his hands heavier than any dungeon boss.

"Ready for what?"

But he already knew. The answer was in the letter. And whatever it said, his life was about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

He didn't open the letter there, instead he fixed everything that he made mess of while searching and left the room and closed the door, and went back to the living room and sat down at the sofa and opened the letter, started reading it.

---

Naruto,

Let me start with an apology. I'm sorry for leaving you alone so early and for keeping truths from you while I lived. If you're reading this, it means I'm gone—and if I'm gone, it's because I wasn't strong enough to say these things to your face. Forgive an old man's cowardice.

You've always known your parents died protecting you. But what you don't know is why they needed to protect you in the first place. Let me start at the beginning.

Your mother and father, Kushina and Minato, were S-Rank Hunters. By the time you were born, they'd retired, hoping to leave the chaos of their old lives behind. But peace for people like them… well, it was never meant to last. The Namikaze bloodline carries a legacy of power—and peril.

When you were born, your raw magical energy was unlike anything seen in generations. Even as an infant, your potential radiated like a beacon. Minato's enemies were not petty rivals, but... relentless forces.

Your parents made a choice. A cruel one, but necessary. They sent you to South Korea with me, far from the shadows of their past. To the world, the Namikaze line ended with Minato's death. You became "Uzumaki" to sever ties to your father's name—and to keep you hidden.

I wish I could tell you this was a noble sacrifice. The truth is, it was fear. Fear that your power would draw attention. Fear that the ghosts of their battles would destroy you before you could rise. So we buried the truth. Even from you.

You'll hate me for this. You should. But know this: every day, I wondered if I'd made the right choice. When I taught you to control your magic, when I watched you master techniques that should've taken decades… I saw your father in you. His brilliance. His stubbornness. His rage. And I knew, one day, you'd surpass even him.

That day is now.

The scrolls I gave you—the ones with your "basic" training—were never the full story. They were fragments. Crumbs meant to keep you hungry. The truth is your power is tied to a lineage far older and more destructive than you can imagine.

Attached is an address in Japan. Go there. It's a safehouse your father built, filled with records of the Namikaze bloodline. Everything you are, everything you're meant to become—it's there.

Protect the world, Naruto. It's what your parents gave their lives for.

Even with this letter, I kept secrets. I am sorry. But I have no doubt you'll become someone worthy of their pride.

—Hiruzen

---

P.S. Don't bother visiting my grave. I'd rather you save your flowers for the living.

Naruto clutched the letter, his grip tightening as resolve hardened in his eyes. Slowly, his lips curled into a faint, determined smile. "I'll…finish what they started."

His phone buzzed violently on the coffee table. He stared at the screen—the same unknown number, flashing again like a warning. Jaw set, he answered.

"So," hissed the woman's voice, cold and clinical, "you finally read it."

"You're watching me?" he snapped, the title laced with disdain.

She chuckled, a sound like ice cracking. "Spying on the S-Rank Hunter who leveled the Seoul Dungeon? Please. I value my life." A pause, then her tone sharpened. "What now?"

"Japan. Tomorrow."

"Good. That way I will get the opportunity to meet my nephew for the first time after almost 18 years." She replied.

"You said Nephew, does that mean...?"

"... I see , so he didn't mention me in his letter!?" She sighed and then a small chuckle ,"Yes, I am your Aunt. But, let's talk further when we meet here in Japan."

The line went dead.