Perhaps she had already foreseen this situation. The woman showed no hint of surprise. Watching those short legs bouncing off into the distance, she let out a bitter smile before her expression quickly turned serious.
She raised her hand sharply and commanded, "Protect Young Master Jaxon!"
As soon as her voice fell, over a dozen figures with stern expressions rushed forward like shadows merging into the crowd.
Even at just two months old, Jaxon had begun to understand the world he had been reborn into.
Hokage. Land of Fire.
The names, the settings, the people—all of it pieced together into a timeline that confirmed his greatest suspicion: He had transmigrated into the Naruto universe.
Despite the initial shock, he wasn't too surprised. If reincarnation was possible, then transmigration shouldn't be beyond belief either. What mattered now was how to survive and thrive in this world teeming with danger and chaos.
He hadn't yet left his home's grounds until recently. The year, according to the Land of Fire's calendar, was 576. But he had no idea what that meant in terms of the Konoha timeline. Outside of the Hidden Villages, it seemed, the Land of Fire maintained its own dating system.
Ever since realizing he had landed in the Naruto world, Jaxon was filled with curiosity. He dreamed of one day visiting Konoha, birthplace of the original protagonist, Naruto Uzumaki. But his status, his age, and especially his overbearing security team made such a trip impossible.
Every time he stepped outside, a dozen black-suited men trailed him like shadows.
He had slowly come to terms with this reality. With great power came suffocating restriction.
A Walk in the Capital
The capital of the Land of Fire was lively and chaotic, bustling with merchants, children, and shinobi.
Jaxon wandered the busy streets without a set destination. He wasn't here to shop—he lacked for nothing. He merely wanted to immerse himself in the world, to experience life outside the walls of his estate.
Despite his tiny stature, no one dared to approach him. In fact, people made room the moment they saw him. It wasn't because they recognized him personally, but because of the intimidating entourage following behind—a group of burly bodyguards in sharp black suits and dark sunglasses, exuding an oppressive aura that screamed: untouchable.
He strolled casually, pausing only when something caught his interest. Today, it was a dessert stall. The yellow-colored treats glistened under the sunlight, and the sweet fragrance wafted through the air.
He looked at the display for just five seconds. That was all it took.
Two bodyguards immediately sprang into action.
One scooped up everything from the stall with robotic efficiency, while the other slammed a thick stack of cash into the vendor's hands. No words were exchanged. They didn't even glance at the vendor's reaction, nor cared if the action was welcome.
"I said that's enough!"
Jaxon sighed, rubbing his temples.
He couldn't understand what went through their heads.
They were from a family so powerful that money was meaningless, and yet every time he glanced at something, they treated it like a royal command.
This scene had repeated itself too many times.
"I'm sorry," Jaxon said sincerely, stepping forward and bowing slightly to the old man and the child at the stall. "My servants were thoughtless and disturbed you."
"No, no, Young Master!" the old man stammered, clearly panicked. He reached out as if to stop Jaxon from bowing, but seemed to remember something and dropped to his knees instead.
"Help him up," Jaxon ordered, voice calm.
But he didn't extend a hand himself. That was one of the many burdens of his position—certain formalities couldn't be broken.
Status came with comforts, yes, but also with chains.
"Thank you, Young Master Jaxon," the old man and the child said in unison, bodies still bent low and heads bowed.
"You know me?" Jaxon asked, tilting his head in mild surprise.
He didn't come to this market often, and it was unusual for commoners like them to recognize someone of his status—especially by name.
The old man smiled warmly. "Yes. I've heard much about you."
Then, in the same breath, he added:
"I heard Young Master Jaxon is fond of novelties. For us, this is an opportunity. We've waited several days for this moment. So… please die."
The man's gentle expression twisted into one of murderous intent, a chilling gleam in his eyes.
Assassination Begins
Before Jaxon could react, chaos erupted.
The guards sensed the shift instantly and surged forward.
But the "old man" moved like a blur.
In a flash, two kunai glinted in the sunlight—and two guards dropped to the ground, blood spraying from their slashed throats.
The elderly assassin was far more agile than her appearance suggested. Her movements were precise and practiced. She wasn't just an assassin—she was an elite.
The young girl beside her, who had seemed so harmless, didn't flinch. She stood completely still, eyes void of emotion, watching everything unfold with eerie calm.
Jaxon froze.
His legs refused to move.
He had never seen blood like this—never seen death up close.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a game.
This was real.
As more guards rushed in, the assassin danced through them like wind through grass. One by one, they fell—each strike fatal, each movement clean and deliberate.
The street emptied in seconds. Commoners screamed and scattered, leaving behind only corpses and silence.
Jaxon finally snapped out of his daze and began stumbling backward.
But it was already too late.
Everyone who had followed him today was dead.
Only he remained.
Face to Face with Death
"Hahaha! It seems no one can protect you now, little prince!" the assassin cackled, her wrinkled face contorting with glee.
The girl beside her still hadn't moved. Her expression remained as cold as a winter moon.
Jaxon fell to the ground, hands trembling.
His lips quivered as he managed to stammer, "W-who are you people?!"
That was all he could muster.
There was no plan. No escape route. No technique. He was just a three-year-old with an adult's mind—and that adult mind was collapsing under the weight of terror.
"Knowing won't change your fate," the assassin said coldly. "Just die."
She hurled her kunai.
It cut through the air like a bullet, spinning with deadly precision.
Jaxon's eyes widened.
He couldn't move.
Everything slowed down—his heartbeat, the wind, the world.
Just as the blade was about to reach him—
BOOM!
A massive shockwave burst through the air.
The kunai was knocked aside mid-flight, deflecting into a wooden post with a loud thunk.
Dust exploded around them as a figure landed between Jaxon and the attackers—his cloak fluttering like wings, eyes burning with rage.
"You dare attack the young master in broad daylight? You court death!"
Jaxon blinked, disoriented, but grateful.
The reinforcement had arrived.
The assassin's face twisted again—this time into a scowl. She clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Time's up," she muttered.
Without another word, she and the girl vanished in a puff of smoke.
Jaxon collapsed completely, trembling, breathing hard.
He had nearly died.
If that man hadn't arrived in time—
"Are you injured, Young Master?" the rescuer asked, kneeling beside him.
Jaxon didn't answer right away. He was still trying to process it all. The blood. The screams. The killing intent. The utter helplessness.
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
He had been weak.
He had nearly died.
And worse—he had done nothing to stop it.
Resolution in Blood
That night, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of his lavish room, Jaxon's mind replayed the scene over and over again.
He now truly understood the dangers of this world. This wasn't just the world of Hokage. It was a world of war, power, and hidden blades.
He couldn't rely on guards forever.
He couldn't afford to be a burden.
He needed strength.
Real strength.
And as he stared at the flickering shadows on the wall, a quiet resolve formed in his young heart.
This world wouldn't devour him.
No—he would devour it.
Øóffer going on for diamond tier
pàtreøn (Gk31)