It's been three years since I first arrived in this world, and let me tell you, it's been a whirlwind of mischief. My days have been a chaotic mix of annoying my caretaker and stirring up trouble around the house. You see, I didn't just inherit the look of a monkey—I got their more… spirited traits too. At just eight months old, my body decided it was time to walk, and I took full advantage of it.
I climbed everything: cabinets, bookshelves, anything that could hold my weight. Over time, my climbs got bolder, higher, more daring. Now, my favorite sleeping spot is an old tree in the backyard, complete with a hammock my parents gave me for my second birthday. (I can be very persuasive.)
Speaking of my parents, they've been largely absent. They only show up for special occasions, always with the same excuse: "Important missions your Grandpa assigned us." As a reincarnated soul from the modern world, I've learned to roll with it. Their absence had perks—my caretaker showered me with attention and indulged my every whim. I could ask for anything: early training, jutsu to enhance my physique, and endless mountains of fruit (my favorite).
Occasionally, my grandfather, the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, would visit. Despite his busy schedule, he always found time to chat. He's a kind old man, though his visits were short.
Last night was different. I was asleep in my tree, swaying gently in my hammock, when I heard her voice.
"Konohamaru, wake up, sweetie," she called gently, her voice pulling me from my dream.
"Mom?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
"Yes, it's me. Now get up—we're going to the Sarutobi compound," she said, her tone turning urgent.
The air was tense as we entered the compound. Whispers buzzed among the clan members, their faces shadowed with worry. I couldn't resist eavesdropping.
"It's the Uchiha clan," one elder murmured, his voice tight with fear. "There's been... a massacre."
My heart skipped a beat. A massacre? The Uchiha? I knew this was coming, but as a three-year-old, there was nothing I could do—probably nothing but die if I tried.
My mom must've noticed my reaction because she quickly picked me up and held me close. "Come on, Konohamaru," she whispered, "we need to go inside."
In the main house, the atmosphere was suffocating. My grandfather sat at the head of a long table, looking older and more worn than I'd ever seen him. His face was etched with lines of worry, his eyes carrying the weight of the world.
"Konohamaru," he said, his voice heavy, "there are difficult things happening. Things that will change our village forever."
He didn't elaborate—he didn't need to. The room's tension was a silent confirmation. My mom stood beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder as if to anchor me amidst the storm. Even the usually boisterous Sarutobi clan members moved in hushed steps, their conversations reduced to whispers.
Musa Sarutobi's POV
The day after the Uchiha massacre is burned into my memory—not just as a nightmare but as a stark reminder of human darkness. My husband and I, both ANBU, were among the first responders. The scene was haunting. The stillness was suffocating, the silence an oppressive weight.
"Itachi Uchiha did this," one of Danzo's Root members, who was already on the scene, told us. His voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. "He's vanished, presumed rogue now."
The thought that one individual, a mere boy, could bring about such devastation seemed beyond comprehension. Itachi Uchiha, at only thirteen years old, had orchestrated a tragedy that would echo through the village's history.
I had met Itachi before, in less tragic circumstances.
It was during a festival, the kind where the whole village seemed to breathe as one, lanterns swaying gently with the night breeze. Itachi was there with his parents, his little brother Sasuke at his side. I remember his quiet demeanor, his eyes that seemed older than his years, and his politeness when he greeted me with a respectful bow. It was hard to reconcile that solemn child with the figure responsible for such a massacre.
Now, standing amidst the aftermath, it was hard to reconcile that solemn child with the figure responsible for such a massacre. The festival had been a celebration of life; this was a ceremony of death.
Bodies lay like discarded dolls, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and betrayal.
"Itachi did this alone?" my husband muttered, skepticism lacing his tone. He was always the more analytical one, questioning orders, looking for the hidden threads.
"Doubtful," I whispered. "The precision—it feels like more than one person's work."
We moved methodically, checking for signs of struggle, clues, anything that could contradict or confirm the tale we were told. But every indication pointed towards Itachi. His presence was like a ghost, lingering in the air, in the very essence of the place.
As we moved through the district, my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a small, quivering figure near one of the houses. It was Sasuke, Itachi's younger brother, the sole survivor of the clan. His eyes, wide with horror, met mine. In his gaze, I saw the reflection of my own son, Konohamaru. The fear, the confusion, the pain—it was a mirror to what could have been if fate had not been so cruel to another family.
"Dog," I whispered to my comrade, gesturing towards Sasuke. He understood immediately, his face set in a grim line as he approached the boy, offering the comfort we could afford in such desolation.
The scene haunted me. Why had Itachi done this? The question lingered as we pieced together the tragedy. The village elders whispered in fear, and the Hokage's office buzzed with unease.
That night, back home, I watched Konohamaru. There was something about him—an intelligence far beyond his years. He absorbed every lesson, every story, as if preparing for something far greater. Despite the darkness around us, he gave me hope.
End Of Musa P.O.V
I opened my eyes to the warm, soft light filtering through my bedroom window, the curtains dancing slightly with the breeze. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to piece together the fragments of last night's dream—a wild escapade involving me, a thousand monkeys, and a giant banana. With a dismissive shake of my head, I chuckled. "Just another crazy dream," I muttered, stretching my arms high above my head, my monkey tail swishing behind me.
I padded across my room, my feet finding the cool wood of the floor, and pushed open the door, stepping out into the quieter than usual Sarutobi clan compound. The silence was a stark reminder of the void left by the Uchiha clan massacre. It was as if the very air had lost its lively buzz, replaced by a somber stillness.
"Good morning, Honourable Grandson," an elder greeted me with a slight bow as I passed by. I returned the greeting with a nod, my monkey-like features, including the playful ears and a mischievous glint in my eyes, somewhat at odds with the formality.
The streets of our compound were less crowded now, the echoes of laughter and the hustle of daily life having dwindled. My grandfather, the Third Hokage, would often speak of the days when both clans' children played together, their laughter intertwining like the branches of the nearby trees.
Feeling a tad melancholy, I decided a bit of mischief might lighten the atmosphere. Spotting a small group of clan members setting up for an early morning training session, I hatched a plan. With a sly grin, I darted behind a nearby tree, using my enhanced agility to leap silently from branch to branch, my tail aiding in my balance.
I waited until the kid, a stern but fair Sarutobi, began demonstrating a basic jutsu. With impeccable timing, I dropped a handful of acorns from above. They rained down with a series of soft thuds, causing the children to look up in surprise.
"Watch out!" one of them yelled, as the oldest kid in the bunch narrowly dodged an acorn, his usual composed demeanor cracking into confusion.
"Who's there?" he demanded, scanning the trees. I stifled a giggle, my body shaking with silent laughter.
Suddenly, I swung down from the branch, landing in front of them with a cheeky grin.
"Morning training, huh? Thought you might need a little... motivation," I said, unable to keep the mischief out of my voice.
The oldest of the children raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in an attempt not to smile. "Konohamaru, if you're here to train, then by all means, join us. But if you're here to disrupt, then you'll have to deal with me."
The students laughed, breaking the tension, and one of them, a boy about 12 years age, said, "look at him haki-san he's scared"
"Very well," I conceded, pretending reluctance. "But only if I get to show off my new trick."
The training session turned into a spectacle, with me showcasing a series of monkey-themed jutsu, which were more for amusement than combat. My 'Monkey Dance' had everyone in stitches, with me hopping and twirling, my tail acting as an extra limb in my dance.
As the morning wore on, the laughter and light-heartedness seemed to push back the shadows of the past, if only for a moment. Even the stern one of the oldest kid Name Haki Sarotubi found himself laughing, it felt like the weight of yesterday had lifted.
And for now, that was enough.