Naruto: The White-eyed Demon

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Other fanfics -- Naruto: Twin's Glory

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moshi moshi

Not cruelly. But genuinely, like an old man watching a child claim the moon.

"Even the most exceptional souls—the ones with lives of sacrifice, greatness, and profound karma—don't get Ōtsutsuki powers," he said. "At best, they get Naruto-level talent. You ask for a divine inheritance with an average record."

"I figured you'd say that," I replied. "I asked to see your reaction. And now I know your boundary conditions."

The god chuckled again. "Clever."

I wasn't done. "Then I want something different. Something meaningful. I want True Eyes—eyes that let me perceive truth, deception, knowledge, and intelligence."

The god's gaze sharpened.

"With these, I can learn everything about the world. I'll see through lies, understand nature energy, correct my training in real time, and more. I don't need raw power if I can comprehend everything better than anyone else."

A pause. Then a nod.

"It is… within limits. Granted."

My body began to unravel. My form, my thoughts, my name—they started to dissolve like mist in morning light. I felt myself falling, being pulled into some distant star, a world I once knew only through a screen and pages.

As I faded, I asked one last question. "Will I remember this conversation?"

"Only vaguely," the god said. "In dreams. In instinct. You'll know you are different. That will be enough."

And so I fell.

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A light. Dim. Fuzzy.

Raigo opened his eyes—or tried to. His eyelids felt heavy, almost glued together, but curiosity overcame fatigue. His field of vision swam in haze and motion. Everything around him felt enormous, and the ceiling looked like it had been pulled straight out of a historical drama. The scent of incense and the subtle musk of wood smoke drifted in the air.

He saw… rice paper walls. Tatami mats. A flickering candle casting soft shadows across the room. Soft footsteps. Whispering voices.

Traditional Japanese architecture? he thought, sluggishly. That looks like shoji… and tatami…

Three midwives moved gracefully around the room, their kimonos rustling softly as they checked on the mother and baby. No electric lights. No monitors. No buzzing hospital equipment. No sterile metal tools. Just towels, warm water, and gentle hands.

Multiple attendants… traditional setting… attentive care… His mind processed slowly but with intensity. I'm being treated carefully. Respectfully.

Must be born into a high-status family.

Despite being cradled in soft cloth, his infant body twitched occasionally—eyes darting, limbs tensing. A surveillance drone masquerading as a newborn.

But his system couldn't keep up. The sensory input, the attempt at logic, the strange new signals of a reborn brain overwhelmed him. His mind screamed to stay awake, to continue assessing—but biology betrayed him. The massive neural load hit like a wall.

System shutting down…

His thoughts faded as he slipped into sleep.

Meanwhile, Outside the Room…

Hizashi Hyuga paced with military precision, his sandals whispering against the wooden floorboards. Each turn was sharp. Calculated. Yet his calm exterior did little to conceal the anxiety burning underneath.

The corridor was dim, lit only by lanterns that flickered with soft light. The silence beyond the shoji doors grew heavier with each passing second.

Why haven't I heard a cry yet? Why is there no sound? he thought, jaw tightening.

His knuckles were pale from how tightly he clenched his fists. He pressed a hand to the wall, trying to steady his breath. Sweat rolled down his neck, but he barely noticed.

Then, the door slid open with a rustle.

"Lord Hizashi, please come in," one of the midwives said softly, her voice calm and warm.

He nearly broke form, rushing inside with uncharacteristic urgency.

His wife lay on the futon, face pale but peaceful. Her dark hair clung to her forehead with sweat, and a sheen of exertion covered her skin. But in her arms, swaddled in a thick white cloth, lay a small, quiet bundle.

She turned to him, eyes glistening.

"He's a boy," she whispered, voice trembling with joy. "A beautiful baby boy."

Hizashi froze. He stared at the bundle. He took a slow step forward, then another. His hand reached out, shaking.

"I… I have a son?" he breathed, voice cracking.

She nodded, her lips parting in a smile. "He's healthy… but he didn't cry."

One of the midwives laughed gently. "Not even once. He just… looked around. Studying everything. Like a tiny scholar."

As if on cue, the baby stirred. The cloth shifted slightly, revealing a pair of pale eyes, wide and strangely intense. Their gaze met Hizashi's.

For a moment, time stilled.

Those eyes… so sharp already. It's not the Byakugan—he's too young. But that clarity…

The baby blinked slowly, then looked to the side, then up at the ceiling.

Hizashi crouched beside his wife and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his expression softening.

"He looks just like you," she said, brushing the child's cheek.

"And just like Hiashi," Hizashi added, smiling faintly. "But maybe… hopefully, he takes more after me in spirit."

"Would you like to name him?" she asked.

Hizashi looked at her. All the worry from earlier drained out of him like mist. His expression grew serious.

"No," he said gently. "You should name him. You carried him. You brought him into this world. This honor is yours."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She looked down at the child and whispered, "Neji. Neji Hyuga."

Neji… Hyuga.

Raigo's mind buzzed faintly as the name echoed in the chambers of his reborn consciousness. Something stirred.

That sounds familiar. Neji… from Naruto? The thought sparked a flicker of memory. Wasn't he… the one who talked about destiny? And fate?

The gears in his mind turned slowly, sluggishly, like a rusted machine forced into motion. He couldn't grasp the full picture. Names, faces, scenes—all just out of reach. His memories of the anime were hazy, half-forgotten from years of adult life and burnout. But this name—Neji—stuck out. Tragic. Bitter. Resigned to fate… and yet he died protecting someone.

He… died, didn't he? Protecting… someone important. I remember sadness.

Was it Naruto? Hinata? He couldn't tell. It was like trying to recall a dream after waking up.

But the emotion—yes, he remembered that. Neji's life had weight. His death had meaning. And now… Raigo was him.

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