Enso's mastery over Sealing Techniques was not born from trial and error, nor from hours of repetition. It stemmed from something far deeper—Migeiko, the ability to absorb and internalise knowledge purely through observation. While others grappled with the maddening intricacies of sealing—the layered patterns, the exact chakra threads woven into each stroke—Enso simply watched. Once. Twice. That was all he needed.
His eyes recorded every motion with photographic precision, every brushstroke etched into his mind like ink on parchment. He didn't just see—he understood. The way a master craftsman might reverse-engineer an ornate lock, Enso pulled apart the seal's structure in his head and reconstructed it better.
Kushina Uzumaki, one of the finest seal users in the Shinobi world, became both his mentor and mirror. Their training sessions followed an unspoken rhythm: she would perform a seal three times, never once explaining aloud. Without fail, he would replicate it with surgical precision—down to the tilt of his wrist, the exact pressure of chakra through his fingers. He never hesitated. And though Kushina never voiced it, something stirred behind her eyes each time: awe. Not because he succeeded, but because he made the impossible feel routine.
Naruto's world was layered with complexity leagues beyond that of Katanagatari, the land sealed deep within Enso's inherited memories. In that world, battle was poetic—swords clashing, styles unfolding like pages in a story. But in this world, chakra redefined reality. Jutsu could rewrite nature. Seals could lock away the gods. Knowledge was no longer skill—it was power made manifest.
Enso's Taijutsu and Kenjutsu, drawn from the vast collection of the conscious soul memories, transitioned fluidly into this world. His movements were honed, his instincts sharp. But sealing techniques… they were something else entirely. They didn't just aid combat; they commanded it. They imposed laws upon the battlefield, carved permanence into fleeting moments. Even with the advantage of Migeiko, using seals in combat was still a frontier largely unexplored—even for him.
Still, he pushed that frontier. What began as a basic concept—Explosive Touch—evolved. With deeper understanding, he compressed a thousand characters into a single mark: a skull-like seal, hidden yet deadly. Unlike his early, experimental use during a sparring match with Minato, Enso could now place the mark near-instantaneously, in the same breath as the Flying Raijin. Not only could he set the seal remotely—he could detonate it at will, with a thought.
Yet the greatest change within him had nothing to do with mastery—it had to do with burden.
During the Nine-Tails incident, Enso had come into contact with the forbidden Reaper Death Seal, and in doing so, devoured the soul fragment of the Shinigami. But the soul he took in was hollow—an echo, not a will. Only fragments of memory remained, scattered like dust. Among them, one vision stood clear: the Shinigami had not been a god in the traditional sense. He was an Ōtsutsuki, a being who had long since ascended. His jutsu formulas were not learned but comprehended, born of instinct and shaped by universal truths. He was so far beyond mortal understanding that even his soul was protected by self-preserving, autonomous techniques.
Now, Enso bore the consequence of that power.
When others invoked the Reaper Death Seal, they no longer summoned a ghostly deity. They summoned him. Enso. A living vessel, bound to a jutsu formula older than the nations that used it. Though the world saw it as a gift—power incarnate—Enso knew better. It was a chain. He couldn't refuse a summoning, couldn't deny the call. If anyone invoked the seal, he would appear. And if he used the Shinigami's original ability—to rip a soul from its body—he would pay the cost with his own life force.
To Enso, it wasn't a trump card. It was a burden.
But recent advancements in his sealing knowledge granted him a narrow escape. By unraveling the knot between his soul and the Shinigami fragment, he created an opening: one use, no cost. A single invocation, free of sacrifice. The price? He would have to release the soul fragment entirely—sever his connection to the Shinigami forever.
One time. One reaping. And then freedom.
Three months of pain, silence, and sweat had reshaped Enso into something new.
Thanks to his innate traits—Superior Adaptation—his body had developed an impact absorption ability. The result was a powerful, budding endurance that allowed him to withstand greater levels of physical strain without faltering. He increased the intensity of his physical training, but there remained a clear limitation.
Using more than 15% of his strength caused micro-tears in his muscles. The damage built silently, wearing him down from the inside. For now, he had reached the physical ceiling of what a boy his age could endure.
Today marked a new beginning: Enso's first day at the Ninja Academy.
Kushina and Minato accompanied him, carrying little Naruto in Kushina's arms. Despite everything they were responsible for—leading a village, raising a newborn, and shouldering the weight of past tragedies—they made time to walk Enso to school.
To outsiders, it might've seemed like a simple gesture. But to them, it was more than that. It was a promise. A quiet vow to be there for him, to give him the kind of support Enya Uzumaki—his late mother—no longer could.
In the silent spaces between words and footsteps, both of them understood the unspoken truth: Enso's presence in their lives wasn't just an act of kindness. It was a responsibility born from loss, but carried with love.
Minato, ever composed, rarely spoke of it. But he felt it deeply. Enso was not his son, yet he treated him as though he were. There was something about the boy—his quiet resilience, the way he endured pain without complaint—that reminded Minato of himself as a child, isolated by brilliance, weighed down by duty. Kushina, on the other hand, wore her emotions like fire—fierce, vibrant, and impossible to miss. She had embraced Enso from the very beginning, protective and affectionate, treating him as one of her own. To her, he wasn't just the son of a friend long gone—he was family. Every glance, every gesture, carried that fierce, maternal warmth she was known for.
Enso felt a quiet gratitude toward them. They had given him a home and a place to belong. But as he approached the Academy gates, he didn't feel the same excitement that filled the faces of the other children. He didn't expect much from the Academy.
That was, until he spotted a familiar face.
To his surprise, one of his future classmates turned out to be someone he recognised—Itachi Uchiha, the infamous prodigy. So he would be part of this year's class?
Suddenly, things didn't seem so boring anymore.
Itachi's family was present as well. Fugaku, composed and dignified, held his son's hand while Mikoto followed close behind, carrying baby Sasuke. When they noticed Minato and Kushina, Fugaku approached without hesitation.
"Greetings, Lord Fourth. Lady Kushina," Fugaku said with a slight bow.
Mikoto smiled warmly, and Itachi mimicked his father's gesture—polite, though slightly awkward in his execution. He seemed shy but composed, like a child already aware of the weight he carried.
Minato returned the bow graciously. "Good to see you too, Senior."
He then turned to Enso, motioning gently. "Go ahead and introduce yourself."
Enso stepped forward, offering a respectful bow. "Lord Fugaku. Lady Mikoto. My name is Enso Uzumaki. It's a pleasure to meet you."
It was clear Itachi had met Minato and Kushina before. He didn't seem particularly interested in introductions, but Enso extended his hand anyway.
"What's your name?" he asked casually.
Itachi looked slightly caught off guard but shook his hand. "Itachi Uchiha."
Mikoto chuckled softly. "Looks like he made his first friend at school today," she said. "You can call us Uncle and Auntie, if you'd like."
Fugaku gave a small nod, his eyes resting on Enso a second longer than necessary. Then he turned to Minato. "You've raised him well. He carries himself with discipline."
Minato's smile was calm. "He's strong in ways even we haven't figured out."
They exchanged a look—quiet, mutual understanding between two men used to shouldering impossible burdens.
Fugaku and Mikoto already knew Enso's origins. His mother had died during the Nine Tails' rampage. And while much of the village still whispered their resentment toward the Uchiha Clan, this boy carried no hatred. This was a pleasant surprise. Fugaku knew—perhaps better than most—that the boy had suffered just as deeply as anyone else.
Enso greeted them with respect. Treated their son with openness. That alone made him... different.
But Fugaku's mind was always calculating.
Fugaku would not assign rivalry where it didn't belong. Unlike the connection between Naruto and Sasuke—both boys bound by legacy and expectation—Enso was... off the board. A wildcard. Not a tool for clan ambition. Not a pawn in village politics.
But powerful, no doubt.
Perhaps that's why Fugaku didn't feel the need to steer Itachi toward viewing Enso as a competitor. At least not yet. The boy's path was different. And Fugaku, though stern, respected that.
The first day at the Academy began with a formal introduction to the world of Shinobi. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, now retired, delivered a welcoming speech from the Academy platform. His voice was calm, measured, and filled with nostalgic warmth—one that reassured parents and filled children with a sense of something greater than themselves.
Afterwards came the first practical exercise: Shuriken throwing at the training grounds.
Some children showed immediate promise, their weapons flying with confidence and striking the dummies with sharp thunks. Others couldn't even release the weapon properly. Their throws wobbled, clattered to the dirt, or landed sideways against the targets.
Enso stood quietly, observing it all with a detached gaze.
When it came his turn, he moved into position with a quiet focus. His grip on the Shuriken was firm but relaxed. His throw wasn't flashy—no extra motion, no unnecessary power. Just pure technique. It landed right on the bullseye, impressing everyone who paid attention to his performance.
It was enough to earn a glance from the instructor, who raised an eyebrow slightly. Not because of Enso's precision, but because of the lack of hesitation in his form. He didn't throw like a child guessing at what might work—he threw like someone who understood the body.
Later, as the bell rang and school ended around 3 p.m., the students broke off into groups, laughing and sharing stories. Friendships began forming like soft threads of chakra weaving into something tangible.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, bathing the village in a warm, amber glow. It was a rare moment of peace in the Hidden Leaf. A quiet pause before the long march of history resumed.
And for Enso Uzumaki, this was the beginning of something much greater.
After leaving the academy, Enso Uzumaki decided to stop by his favourite dango shop. It had become a habit of his—a lighthearted tradition before diving into the intense physical training he set for himself every afternoon. Dango, to him, wasn't just a sweet treat. It was fuel. A pre-workout snack that gave him both energy and comfort.
With a bright grin, he stepped into the quaint shop and placed his usual order without hesitation. "Ten dango sticks and a matcha tea," he said confidently. His appetite was famously large among those who knew him, and today was no exception. The lady at the counter raised an eyebrow at the volume but smiled warmly. She had grown used to his presence and his boundless energy.
Enso stepped out of the shop with the matcha tea in one hand and a paper bag filled with steaming hot dango in the other. The sun was still high, casting long shadows across the village. He was about to take his first bite when something unusual caught his eye.
Across the street, just outside the academy grounds, a small group of kids were hurling stones at another boy. Enso squinted, his gaze sharpening. The target of their bully was none other than Itachi Uchiha.