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October 10th, Year 67 After the Founding of Konoha.
The roar of the Nine-Tails ripped the heavens apart, louder than thunder, shaking the ground beneath the shinobi's feet.
Each swing of its monstrous tails smashed through buildings with an earth-shattering crash, sending walls crumbling and fires roaring into the night sky.
From every corner of the village, screams of panic erupted —
Shinobi shouting orders.
Civilians crying out in fear, fleeing blindly through the burning streets.
The heavy thud of giant paws shaking rooftops.
The piercing shriek of collapsing towers filled the smoky air.
The cold night breeze was thick with the stench of blood, ash, and terror, carrying the cries of the dying on its back.
Far from the chaos, atop a cracked rooftop wreathed in smoke, sat a boy no older than twelve.
His short, silky white hair shimmered under the ghostly moonlight, strands dancing with the gusts of hot wind.
But it was his eyes that truly inspired dread:
His right eye, a bottomless pit of black pierced by a glowing white pupil.
His left eye, a rinnegan cleanly split — black on one half, white on the other — swirling with ancient, terrifying power.
Away from the death and despair below, Saiko calmly plucked the strings of a radiant white guitar resting on his lap.
A sorrowful melody floated into the ruined skies, weaving between the screams, explosions, and the bellowing of the beast —
a song that mourned the village more than its people ever could.
Without warning, a soft ding echoed in his mind, cutting through the distant cries.
A glowing blue screen flickered into existence before his eyes — the system's interface.
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[ LEGENDS CHAT ROOM ]
Hashirama: Saiko! Help the shinobi! Why are you calmly playing guitar while our village burns?!
Madara: Hahaha! This is the real Saiko… detached, ruthless. I admire it.
Tobirama: Enough foolishness — move!
Hashirama: Madara! Convince him!
Madara: Now? No point. This is the rightful end for the weak.
Hashirama: Madara!!
Madara: Hashirama!!
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Saiko sighed, halting his song as he glanced at the heated debate on the glowing panel.
The world burned and screamed around him, yet he remained untouched, unmoved.
Saiko... was no mere boy.
A soul from another world, he had died a simple death — falling asleep while rewatching Naruto for the tenth time.
But fate had woven him a different end: rebirth into the body of the supreme Ōtsutsuki god.
Bound to a mischievous system, sealed within the fragile form of an eight-year-old, he had been forced to wait —
twelve long years — until the perfect moment:
The beginning of Naruto's story.
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Now, under the blood-red moon, with screams and destruction painting the night,
Saiko rested his fingers lightly on his guitar, his dual-colored eyes reflecting the chaos.
His right eye saw the agony of the present.
His left eye saw the inevitability of the future.
And in that endless roar of battle and sorrow, he pondered in perfect silence:
"Should I intervene… or let destiny unfold as it must?"
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