DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of fanfiction based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

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A good day or good evening to you, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my newest story on this website. Ignore my paranoid rambling above; it's something I occasionally indulge in. This specific story is primarily a Naruto story, though there may be inspired references, character designs, and other crossover elements in later chapters. I will mention those in due time. To be forewarned is to be forearmed!

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

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Miserly Old Man, Trickster Fox

Chapter I – A Stranger Comes To Town

...

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Hokage of Konohagakure no Sato, acknowledged leader of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, one of the most powerful ninja villages in the world, felt like an old man.

Scratch that, he was an old man. Luckily enough, being Hokage mostly involved paperwork and people skills, and growing as old as he was now in a world of shinobi, whose warriors prided themselves on learning how to kill silently or in the most over-the-top manner possible, was a significant achievement.

Nevertheless, Sarutobi hated paperwork with a passion, but knew to his chagrin that it was necessary. Even during the Third Shinobi World War, paperwork had come in from everywhere, mostly in the form of mission reports, casualty estimates, and requests for reinforcements. In some cases, the last words or gathered information of a doomed squad arrived through a summoned creature or a messenger bird, while the ninja were never heard of again.

The Hokage could appreciate the fact that if he had to go through the civilian council's mind-numbingly boring proposal for a decrease in the tax on market stalls, it still meant that his village was finally at peace.

After going over the document, quickly weighing the pros and cons and how a change in the tax would impact Konoha's economy, Hiruzen groaned and stood up from behind his desk. He stepped to the window in his office in the Hokage tower, looking over Konoha. He could see people bustling about the streets, selling their wares, yelling as carts were dragged through the streets from outlying farms, loaded with produce to be sold to city folks, merchants loudly praising their wares while the telltale flickers of fast-moving ninja appeared on the rooftops, the only obvious sign (excepting the gigantic Hokage monument) that this was not a normal town, but a military fortress.

Hiruzen smiled benignly. His village. He loved it dearly.

Admittedly, perhaps it would be nice to take a break, maybe take a little walk around the village...

Soon enough, the Hokage walked through the streets, people respectfully stepping out of his way, the villagers bowing or inclining their heads as they saw his pass. Passing shinobi, off-duty or not, saluted him as they spotted him amongst the crowd. The white hat and mantle gave it away, really. While not exactly a practical garment, it wasn't meant to be – it was meant to inspire respect, respect for his position, for the power that the Kage held.

The villagers respected the kind old man for watching over the village. They still recalled how, nearly four and a half years ago, the village was nearly razed by the attack of the Nine-Tailed Demon Fox, and how the Fourth Hokage died valorously to "kill" the beast, sacrificing himself only a few months after the end of the last war.

Sarutobi continued his walk at a leisurely place. He felt guilty that he'd decided to leave his workplace on a whim, horribly throwing the plans of his ANBU bodyguards out of whack. Well, they would be able to protect him, but the elderly man nevertheless felt slightly irritated that his work forbade him to do simple things like this.

Bah, Sarutobi snorted in amusement. Old men were supposed to be stubborn. Youngsters learned to deal with it.

Suddenly, the Hokage felt something, like a small breeze flowing through the street, tickling his goatee. He stopped immediately, trying to recall where he had felt this before. The wind was dry, hot... unusual for Konoha, which was rather warm and humid during the summer.

He remembered this wind from before.

His eyes widened, and he quickly bowed his head to hide them under the wide brim of his hat.

Please, not that annoying old geezer.

...

Teuchi was having a good day. Business was even better than usual, which meant something for his successful stand. His daughter had decided that she would start helping him out in his shop (something that had warmed his heart, though he had tried hard not to chuckle at how serious the ten-year old had looked when she practically demanded to help out), and he was now raking in money from journeying businessmen from outside cities and local merchants stopping to eat.

It was hot, the steam from the broth warming up his whole body. Considering that it was midsummer, that wasn't pleasant. But he loved doing it nevertheless, his smile never leaving his face.

A grunt came from the bar. "'Scuse me, I'd like to order."

Still smiling, he turned around to face his new customer, who was a middle-aged man with a sake bottle in his hand, a long lute strung over his shoulder and wearing long travelling robes. He seemed harmless, the skin around his eyes wrinkled in age, his salt-and-pepper hair strung back in a ponytail. He had tired grey eyes, and he also carried a large travelling bag. On his back was a conical straw hat, hanging from his throat by a simple string. Under his robes he wore practical clothing, and like many travellers, a few pouches were attached to his belt. The handle of a tantō was visible at his left side, in easy reach in case someone decided to prey on unsuspecting journeymen.

At the moment, though, the man was rummaging through a bag, grumbling all the while. He drew himself up after a moment, with a small book in his hand. He set down his bottle and flipped through a few pages. From somewhere, he drew out a pencil, and started writing in his little book, muttering to himself.

Teuchi waited, still smiling, as the old man kept mumbling to himself.

And waited some more.

It was then that he slammed both fists right on the tabletop, causing the man to nearly fall from his stool, his eyes wide open in shock. "What the-"

"Your order, please!" Teuchi said, still smiling.

The man glared at him angrily, clutching the front of his robes. "You could have easily given me a heart attack, youngster! Are all you Leaf people so friendly, nearly scaring an old man to death?"

"With respect, sir, I don't think you're that old yet to complain about someone my age being a 'youngster'," Teuchi retorted, though he was trying hard not to laugh.

His mirth must have been obvious, because the man uncorked his bottle with an annoyed grunt, throwing back his head to drink a loud gulp. "Whatever," he grumbled. "If I'd been a shinobi, you might have been killed out of pure reflex."

"Leaf-nin aren't allowed to harm civilians, you know," Teuchi replied with his eternally present smile. "The Hokage dislikes ninja taking advantage of defenceless citizens."

The newcomer squinted at him sceptically. "Really?" he mused. "Seems like the place changed since the last time I've been here. One large beef ramen, please."

"Coming right up, sir!" Teuchi replied, grinning. As soon as the grumbling traveller returned to his book and his back was turned, the ramen maker laughed quietly. A stereotypical miserly old man. Well, at least the world was still normal.

The visitor was still poring over his book, occasionally scribbling quick notes, when a large bowl of steaming noodles entered his field of vision. "One beef ramen, sir. Enjoy!"

He grunted in thanks, not bothering to look up as he closed his book. The man had other customers to worry about.

He joined his hands in a quick blessing before taking up his chopsticks. He was tired from walking, and he wanted food. He nearly started digging in when he saw a head of spiky blonde hair out of the corner of his eye, right next to him at the counter.

Said spiky blonde hair belonged to a small, four-year old child with wide blue eyes, which stared up at him in fascination. Interestingly enough, the child had a few long birthmarks on each cheek that resembled whiskers, making his appear like a cat, or fox. The blue eyes were deep, inquisitive, and full of innocent curiosity.

The traveller glared at him with his patented 'I'm an grumpy old man, piss off' look, expecting the kid to run off in fear or embarrassment, like most children his age did. He didn't like kids. At all.

The child kept staring at him though, completely undeterred. The traveller kept up his relentless glare. A good ten seconds of the staring contest later, his patience already snapped. "What do you want, brat?" he growled, quickly glancing at his food. It was already getting cold. Cold food was a waste.

The boy kept staring. "Why do you smell?"

Dumbfounded, the traveller's head snapped back to his observer. "What?"

"I said; why do you smell?" the child enquired, blinking a few times, but refusing to stop staring.

Okay, a creepy and rude child at the same time. The traveller grumbled, unhappy to be distracted from his meal. "I travelled all day along a busy road, in the blasting heat of this oven you call summer, not to mention that the damn humidity made me sweat like mad. Plus, I drink saké all the bloody time, so I probably smell like a drunk. You've got a problem with that?" he asked, grabbing his chopsticks and starting to eat. He'd be damned if he let some random local kid stop him from getting food.

The child said nothing, but continued to stare as the traveller ate ravenously. "You eat pretty fast, you know that?"

"Yeah. So?" came the grunted reply.

"I think you might eat even faster than me!" the child exclaimed in wonder.

"And how is that any of my business, brat?"

"It just seems weird. I've never seen anybody east faster than me. Are you from Konoha?"

The traveller sighed, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't able to get rid of the child. "Listen, brat, if you wanna talk to me, at least have a seat, okay?" He pointed to the stool next to him. The child climbed onto the stool with some difficulty and sat down, his head barely reaching the bar top. "Tell you what, where are your parents anyway? Didn't they teach you that bugging old men while they're eating is kinda rude?"

"I don't have parents."

The traveller stopped in the process of slurping a bunch of noodles, leaving them dangling from his mouth like a bizarre curtain over his chin. After a moment, he crammed the lot into his mouth, chewing furiously as he tried to think of something remotely tactful to say.

"No parents? Where do you live, then?"

Right. Not tactful at all.

"I live at the orphanage, but I don't like it there. I wanna go to the academy when I'm older!" the boy exclaimed, eyes shining. "I'm gonna learn how to be a ninja! And then I'm gonna be Hokage! Then the people here will have to respect me!"

A snort came from the eating man. "Sure, because everybody needs to show respect to a four-year old brat, or a man wearing a funny hat..."

The boy deflated, but immediately bounced back, staring at the man. "So, are you a ninja?"

"Am I wearing a headband, brat?"

Naruto frowned. "No."

"Well, there's your answer then." The old man with the lute continued to eat, nearly done.

"What's your name, old man?" the child asked, undeterred.

"None of your business."

"What's your job?"

"Don't have one, and like I said, it's none of your business," the traveller nearly snapped, but moderated his tone at the last moment. He was grumpy and old, yes, but yelling at kids wasn't something to be esepcially proud of.

"What's that thing on your back?"

The visitor nearly introduced his forehead to the tabletop with a loud smack to drown out the brat's voice with a lot of pain, but decided to finish up his noodles first. "Kid, if I buy you ramen, will you please shut the hell up? I'm tired from walking all day."

"Where did you walk from?" the child inquired.

At this point, the traveller had finished his ramen, carefully put the dish to the side so that he had some space, and finally smacked his forehead on the top of the table.

Yeah, he did feel a lot better now.

...

Nearly a bottle of saké and fifteen minutes later, the traveller had the pain in his head under control. He had learned early in his life that repeatedly giving himself some sort of head trauma was a good way to get his bearings in a new or unusual situation. He theorized that it was because the pain sharpened his senses somewhat, and he'd spent quite a while (and a few brain cells) to work out how much force needed to be applied for there not be any lasting damage while still being painful enough for the trick to work, which certainly was an interesting tightrope to walk. 'Alleviating the pain' also gave him an excuse to drink more high-proof alcohol, something he didn't mind at all.

Right now, though, the bottle was all but forgotten in his hand as he watched, open-mouthed, as the little blond shrimp finished his third – third! – bowl of ramen.

He gestured to Teuchi, who leaned closer with an eyebrow raised in question, although he tried to keep himself from guffawing out loud at the expression of confusion and slightly dazed shock on the visitor's face.

"Um, pal, just a quick question," the man mumbled, still watching the brat gobbling up the noodles at record speed with some sort of morbid fascination, "do all the kids here eat that much, or is this one unusual in some way?"

Teuchi nearly choked for a moment, trying to school his face back into his usual smile. Ichiraku's guest hadn't noticed anything, still watching the blond as he noisily slurped his noodles. "Oh, Naruto's eating habits are pretty unusual, even though kids his age can put down a lot of food in one sitting."

"No kidding. I think he just ate his size in ramen," the man mumbled. Suddenly his eyes snapped around to meet Teuchi's. "Wait, what's this brat's name?"

"My name is Naruto Uzumaki, and I'm gonna be Hokage!" the boy chirped as the small four-year old attempted to lift the comparatively huge ramen bowl to noisily slurp the tasty soup left. He had to stand up on his stool to do it, but he managed to heave up the heavy bowl to head height.

At this point, he lost his balance, and fell backwards from his stool trying to keep the bowl safe, failing miserably. A resounding crash occurred as Naruto fell headlong, the bowl smashing to pieces.

"Uzumaki?" the traveller said softly, staring at the child, who looked like he was about to cry as he sat up, his clothes drenched by the broth.

"I'm sorry, Teuchi-san!" he wailed, staring at the shop owner, his eyes swimming with tears. "I didn't mean to break your bowl; it was an accident! I'll pay you back for it, I swear!"

Teuchi sighed. "Naruto-" he began, but there were some indistinct mutterings from the people surrounding them. However, the traveller's ears were rather sharp – a necessity when you travelled alone, with bandits, missing-nin, and the occasionally dodged bill as all-too present dangers.

"Bloody demon..." someone grumbled quietly.

"Is the monster bothering honest folk again? He should be exiled..." a woman's voice whispered to her friend, nearly unheard.

"Should'a sent the brat away, I tell you, he's got no place here with us..." a burly worker addressed his friend under his breath.

The traveller's eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd. Ichiraku's, or whatever this ramen stand was called, was in one of the busiest streets of Konoha, meaning that there were always people walking around with business on their mind, or simply shopping with family and friends. But now, there was a gods-to-honest crowd gathered in a circle around the boy (Naruto? What kinda name was that? And Uzumaki? He'd heard that somewhere before, he was sure of it), all muttering and shooting the boy glares of hate, resentment, and perhaps even a little fear...

What the hell was going on in this village?

He stared at Naruto, scanning him as the boy snivelled, all too aware of that oppressive resentment lingering in the air.

More importantly, what the hell was wrong with that boy?

...

The original manga series of Naruto was written and drawn by Masashi Kishimoto, originally published by Shueisha in 1997, and is still ongoing at the time of writing (May 2012) after sixty published volumes and two different anime adaptations: one simply titled Naruto by Studio Perrot that premiered in October 2002 and ended in February 2007, and its sequel Naruto: Shipuuden (Naruto: Hurricane Chronicles) by the same studio that premiered in February 2008 and is still ongoing at the time of writing. Various tie-in works like novels, video games, and a series of theatrical movies have been published to date.

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