My Name Is Sakuya

Morning sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, drawing a golden line across the floor.

Uchiha Sakuya stared at that beam of light for three seconds, then rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.

"Sakuya! Get up!"

His mother's voice came from downstairs, gentle yet impossible to refuse. She was the mistress of the Uchiha household—Uchiha Shizuka, a woman renowned throughout the clan compound for her flower arranging and cooking, and the only person who could make Sakuya leave his bed on a winter morning.

"Got it..." he mumbled, slowly sitting up in bed.

A seven-year-old body had an infuriating sluggishness to it. His muscles had yet to fully develop, his limbs were slightly disproportionate, and his lower back ached every morning—probably because of yesterday's training. Sakuya rubbed his eyes and reached for the forehead protector on the bedside table.

The metal felt cool to the touch. Engraved on it was the symbol of the Hidden Leaf Village: a leaf with a notch cut into it.

He tied the forehead protector around his brow and glanced at himself in the mirror. His black hair was a mess, and his eyes were still clouded with sleep. He looked like an utterly ordinary Uchiha child.

More or less.

"Sakuya! If you don't come down now, breakfast will get cold!"

"Coming, coming."

Downstairs, his father, Uchiha Takuma, was already seated at the table. He wore a dark blue shinobi uniform, his back ramrod straight. Before him sat a bowl of miso soup and several pieces of grilled fish. His features were stern, and the stubble along his chin had been neatly trimmed—standard Uchiha propriety.

"Morning, Dad."

"Mm." Takuma answered without lifting his head.

That was Uchiha Takuma's style. Few words, precise movements; even eating looked like he was carrying out a mission. Sakuya had compared him silently in his mind before—going by the original story's character types, he was probably somewhere between Fugaku and Itachi, though closer to the temperament of an ordinary core shinobi. Not a genius, not a traitor, merely a loyal member of the Uchiha Clan.

His mother brought out fried eggs and salad from the kitchen, with a little flour still clinging to her apron. When she saw that Sakuya had tied his forehead protector crookedly, she came over and straightened it for him.

"Didn't sleep well again?" Her fingers gently brushed aside the stray hair on Sakuya's forehead, and her eyes held a trace of concern that was easy to miss.

"I slept fine." Sakuya lowered his head and drank his miso soup, avoiding her gaze.

He had not slept well. In fact, he rarely did.

At night, he dreamed. They were not nightmares—the dreams were too specific, too vivid, and that made them more unsettling than nightmares. He dreamed of an entirely different world, one without chakra, shinobi, or Sharingan. That world had skyscrapers, computers, and comic books.

And in one of those comic books, there was a clan called Uchiha.

—And then that clan was massacred.

"What's wrong?" His mother sat down, noticing that his chopsticks had slowed.

"Nothing." Sakuya stuffed a fried egg into his mouth. "We have practical training at the Academy today. I might be back a little late."

"Be careful." His father spoke, his tone as flat as if he were saying, "The weather's nice today."

Sakuya nodded.

Safety.

The word carried an absurd weight when he heard it. He was seven years old and in his first year at the Ninja Academy. According to this world's timeline—there was roughly one year left until the Uchiha massacre.

One year.

What could a seven-year-old do?

Uchiha Sakuya shoveled down his last bite of rice, slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, and headed out.

Mornings in the Hidden Leaf Village were beautiful. That was a fact he had to admit. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, vendors called out along the streets, and cries from the training grounds carried from afar. The air held the scent of earth and fresh grass, and now and then, he could even catch the rich aroma of Ichiraku Ramen broth.

This was a living, breathing village. Not a comic, not an anime, but a real world with warmth and life.

Sakuya walked along the road toward the Academy, deliberately slowing his pace. He liked this time of day—he left slightly early, there were few people on the road, and he did not need to greet too many others.

Most Uchiha children traveled together. They lived within the clan compound and set out from the same direction, naturally forming small groups. But Sakuya always walked alone. Not because he was excluded—the Uchiha children were fairly friendly toward him—but because he was not very good at maintaining that sort of atmosphere among peers.

How should he explain it?

Chatting with a seven-year-old was exhausting for a soul that held over twenty years of memories.

"Hey—Uchiha!"

Of course, someone had spoken to him after all.

Sakuya turned his head. Beneath a large tree by the roadside, a blond boy was practicing shuriken throwing. A large wooden target stood crookedly at the edge of the grass, covered in several shallow scratches. Not a single shuriken had landed anywhere near the bullseye.

The boy's hair was as dazzling as sunlight. Six whisker-like marks lined his face. His blue eyes shone with stubborn determination.

Uzumaki Naruto.

He stood ten meters away, holding a kunai in one hand and tilting his head as he aimed—then he hurled it with all his strength. The kunai traced a ridiculous arc through the air and struck the ground beside the tree trunk with a loud clang.

Naruto's shoulders slumped. "Ah—missed again!"

Sakuya withdrew his gaze and kept walking.

He did not stop. It was not that he did not want to help—it was just that he and Naruto were not close at this stage. According to the persona he had designed for himself, he was merely an ordinary Uchiha child who was somewhat unsociable but stayed out of trouble. Getting close to Naruto too early would draw unnecessary attention.

At least—that was what he told himself.

The Academy classroom was on the second floor. By the time Sakuya entered, most of his classmates had arrived. The Uchiha children sat on the left side of the classroom, forming a natural group. Sasuke was already there—apparently he had arrived early today and was sitting by the window reading.

Sakuya took a seat slightly behind the middle, pulled out his textbook, spread it open, and rested his chin on the desk.

He had chosen this seat carefully. Not by the window—too conspicuous. Not in the back row—too much like a troublemaker. Not near any small clique—avoiding meaningless social entanglements. It was just right: a slightly odd but otherwise ordinary Uchiha child.

"All right, everyone, quiet down—"

Iruka Umino entered the classroom with his trademark enthusiastic smile. A horizontal scar ran across the bridge of his nose, left behind by the Nine-Tails incident. Yet there was no hostility toward Naruto in him—he was one of the few adults who truly cared about that blond boy.

Sakuya propped up his head and began listening to the lesson.

Today's topic was basic shinobi theory—the generation and application of chakra. Sakuya had memorized all of it inside out, not because he had worked hard, but because he had spent years studying this knowledge as a hobby in his previous life.

So he only needed to do one thing: pretend to listen attentively while keeping his expression under control, making sure he did not reveal that look of I already knew that.

Iruka's explanation was clear, with the occasional practical example woven in. When he reached the topic of the five major chakra nature transformations, he suddenly looked at Sakuya.

"Uchiha Sakuya—you answer this. What are the characteristics of Fire Release chakra nature transformation?"

Sakuya stood. Every classmate's gaze turned toward him.

"Fire Release chakra nature transformation rapidly raises temperature," he said evenly. "In terms of shape transformation, it primarily involves expansion and compression. In combat, it is usually paired with area attacks such as the Fireball Jutsu."

Iruka paused—the answer was far more thorough than he had expected.

"Very good! That was a very comprehensive answer." He nodded with a smile. "But—remember to raise your hand next time."

"Oh." Sakuya sat down.

A few snickers rose from the classroom. The Uchiha children remained expressionless—in their eyes, an Uchiha being good at Fire Release theory was only natural. But a subtle change flickered across Iruka's face for an instant.

He was probably thinking: this child sounded too composed when answering. Not like a seven-year-old.

—I've been noticed.

Sakuya sighed inwardly. He had to be more careful.

At lunch break, Sakuya sat alone in the corridor outside the school building, eating his bento. The rice balls and tamagoyaki his mother had made were delicious. He ate slowly, watching his classmates running around the playground.

In the distance, Naruto sat alone on a swing, tracing circles in the dirt with the tips of his shoes.

No one sat with him. No one spoke to him. Every so often, an adult passing by would cast him a disgusted look—then quickly look away, as though avoiding something unclean.

The Nine-Tails' jinchuriki. The Hidden Leaf Village's taboo.

Sakuya took a bite of his rice ball and chewed.

He knew Naruto's entire story. From his birth to becoming Hokage, from being isolated to being accepted, from a dead last who could not even perform the Clone Jutsu to a hero who saved the shinobi world. He knew Naruto's fate better than Naruto himself did.

But right now, he could do nothing.

He was only seven-year-old Uchiha Sakuya. A transmigrator waiting for the clan massacre beneath a ticking countdown.

Once he finished his bento, Sakuya packed away the lunchbox and leaned against a pillar, closing his eyes for a while.

The afternoon was for practical training. Basic shuriken throwing and taijutsu sparring.

Sakuya stood in line. When it was his turn, he picked up three shuriken and threw them unhurriedly—two struck near the bullseye, while the third landed about five centimeters off.

"Not bad, Uchiha!" Iruka wrote in the grade book. "But there's still room for improvement."

"Mm," Sakuya replied.

In truth, he could have landed all three in the bullseye. But he had chosen a level that was good without being outstanding. At this stage, any overly exceptional performance might draw unnecessary attention—especially from the ANBU.

Taijutsu sparring was even easier. He deliberately restrained his speed and strength, ending in a draw with his opponent. The other boy was another Uchiha child, average in talent but diligent. In the end, both of them lay on the ground gasping for breath as Iruka blew the whistle to end the match.

School was over.

The students left in twos and threes. Sakuya packed his things and stepped out of the classroom. In the hallway, Sasuke passed beside him, and their eyes met for a second.

Sasuke's eyes were bright. Like every Uchiha child's—deep black pupils, yet with an exceptional clarity to them. He was still that innocent, proud, occasionally awkward genius boy.

He had not yet been swallowed by darkness.

Sakuya looked away and continued down his own path.

As he left through the school gates, he saw Naruto being punished again. It seemed he had pulled some prank in class. Iruka stood before him with his hands on his hips, his expression stern but his eyes lacking any real anger.

Naruto pouted, arms folded over his chest, putting on an indifferent front.

Sakuya walked past them without stopping.

But in the instant he passed by, he heard Naruto mutter under his breath:

"...Nobody cares anyway."

Sakuya's steps paused.

Then he kept walking.

On the way home, he took a turn and made a detour to the Naka River.

The river glimmered gold beneath the setting sun, while low shrubs and wildflowers grew along the banks. This was a small river beside the Uchiha Clan compound, and few people came here normally. Sakuya sat on a large rock by the water and stared blankly at its surface.

This world was exactly the same as he remembered it.

No—it was more real than his memories. The wind was cool, the water was wet, and the birdsong drifting from afar had layers, distance, and depth. He reached down to touch a blade of grass beside his foot. The sensation against his fingertips was rough and fibrous.

This was not a comic. Not an anime. Not fiction.

This was the Hidden Leaf Village. He stood on real ground, breathed real air, and possessed the real body of a seven-year-old.

And in one year—real blood would flow across this land.

Sakuya closed his eyes.

The sound of the river was quiet. He sat there until the sun sank behind the mountains and the sky deepened into dark blue.

Then he stood, brushed the grass clippings from his pants, and slowly walked home.

"I'm home."

"Welcome back, Sakuya." His mother poked her head out of the kitchen. "You worked hard today—how about hot pot for dinner?"

"Sounds good."

Steam rose from the hot pot on the dining table. His father spoke more than usual—about a recent clan gathering, repairs to Naka Shrine, and the wedding of a distant relative. His mother smiled and chimed in, occasionally placing food into Sakuya's bowl.

It was an ordinary night.

Ordinary enough to be frightening.

After dinner, Sakuya returned to his room. He shut the door, sat by the windowsill, and looked out at the night sky.

The stars were bright. The Hidden Leaf Village had far less light pollution than any city from his previous life.

He stretched out a hand and loosely closed it around the empty air.

What if—

What if there were a way to change the outcome of the massacre?

This was not the first time the thought had appeared. But every time, the answer was the same.

He was seven years old. He had no Kage-level strength, no political influence, and no resources capable of affecting the higher-ups' decisions. He was one of the most ordinary members of the Uchiha Clan—he had not even awakened the three-tomoe Sharingan yet.

And the decision to massacre the clan came from the struggle between the Hidden Leaf Village's highest ranks and the Uchiha Clan head. It was a level entirely beyond the reach of a seven-year-old child.

He knew Itachi's truth. He knew Danzo's conspiracy. He knew Obito existed. He knew everything—yet between knowing and doing lay an uncrossable gulf.

Sakuya lowered his hand.

Outside, the moon was rising. Silvery-white light spilled across the yard, illuminating every blade of grass with perfect clarity.

He drew a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

"My name is Sakuya," he said to the moonlight beyond the window, so softly that only he could hear. "Uchiha Sakuya."

This was the only thing he could do now—remember who he was, remember where he was, remember what was about to happen.

Then—survive.

Under the countdown to the clan massacre, survive for as long as possible.