Naruto: The White-eyed Demon

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Time: 5:00 PM | Location: ABC Corporation, Downtown Chicago

Raigo Tenku sat hunched over his desk, the cold glow of the computer screen reflecting off the dark circles that clung stubbornly beneath his eyes. His usually sharp, well-kept appearance had eroded over the past 36 sleepless hours. The beard that shadowed his chin was untrimmed, giving him the look of a man worn by time and forgotten by rest.

But none of that showed on his face.

He had trained himself long ago to wear composure like armor—firm jawline, neutral eyes, unshaken breath. Even when everything inside him begged for collapse.

He had just clicked "Save" on the last document for the day, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. Slowly, he stood and reached for his bag, slinging it over one shoulder like a soldier sheathing his weapon after battle. Today was supposed to be over. He had earned the right to go home, collapse on his mattress, and sleep until time itself paused.

And then, from across the open office, came the voice. Bright, cheerful, and altogether too loud.

"Rig!"

Raigo blinked slowly, letting out a breath that was more sigh than air.

David.

David Elliot Walker. Nephew to Gregory Walker, the managing director of ABC Corporation. Tall, sharply dressed, hair like it had been combed by angels, and a grin so wide it could eclipse the sun. He had that kind of charisma that people gravitated toward—maybe it was his family name, maybe it was the expensive cologne, maybe it was just that blinding confidence.

David approached with his usual swagger, one hand already raised in greeting, the other holding a paper cup of coffee he wasn't going to finish.

"What is it this time?" Raigo muttered, not even bothering to mask the irritation in his voice.

David gave a sheepish smile. "Actually, I haven't finished a few of my files today. But, I have to head out early. My frie—"

"David! Come fast, it's getting late for the show!" a woman's voice called out from the hallway—Natalie, the HR executive who had been throwing hearts at David all month.

David turned on his heel. "Raigo, I can only count on you! Please finish it, I owe you one!"

And he was gone before Raigo could even curse.

Raigo stood there, bag in hand, blinking. Then, with a deep exhale, he placed his bag back down, shoulders slumping with the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

"One day's worth of files?" he mumbled to himself. "That idiot would take a day. I can finish in an hour."

He wasn't boasting. Raigo had the pedigree to back up his arrogance. Top scorer in the SATs. Graduate from the most prestigious university in the U.S. A list of published research papers in economic systems and corporate psychology. He'd once been scouted by a think tank in Japan. He'd turned it down to stay here—biggest mistake of his life, maybe.

But none of it mattered now.

All of that, and he was still the guy people dumped work on.

He set the alarm on his phone for 30 minutes. Just a nap. That's all he needed.

5:30 PM

The shrill ring of the alarm pierced the stale air of the office.

Raigo woke with a groan. His neck ached, his eyes stung, and he still hadn't slept nearly enough to fix the throb behind his skull. Yawning, he dragged himself to David's desk, expecting a few neat folders.

What he found instead jolted him fully awake.

Ten towering stacks of paperwork, each at least an inch thick. Digital files blinking on David's terminal—untouched, unorganized.

Raigo's mouth hung open. His brain scrambled for words, for logic, for something—anything—that could explain this betrayal.

"You son of a—" he started, then hit the chair with a palm, sending it rolling into a filing cabinet.

Pulling out a cigarette—strictly against company policy—he lit it without a second thought. The smoke curled above his head like a ghost of his lost patience.

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, David? You said it was just today's work. But here there's—"

"Hello? Hell—Yo—no—aud—" came the garbled response, background noise roaring like a concert.

And then, nothing.

Call dropped.

Of course.

Raigo stared at the mountain of work. He could leave. Just walk away. No one could blame him.

But they would. Somehow, they would.

Because he was the quiet one. The foreign one. The genius who never spoke about his past. The one with no uncle in the upper floor.

He took a long drag from the cigarette and rolled up his sleeves.

6:15 PM

Talia Monroe, the floor supervisor and head of Operations, was doing a final sweep before she left. She paused by Raigo's desk, raising an eyebrow.

"You're still here?" she asked. Her voice wasn't cold, but it wasn't friendly either.

Raigo didn't look up. "Finishing up David's queue."

Talia glanced at the files. Her lips tightened. She didn't say anything for a long moment.

"You know you're not obligated to clean up his mess."

Raigo gave a slight shrug. "I'm not. But if I don't, he'll just say I left things incomplete."

Talia nodded slowly, as if she understood—but didn't agree. "I'll make a note of it in the logs. Don't stay too late."

He offered a weak "Thanks," but she was already walking away.

6:45 PM

Gregory Walker, the boss himself, exited his office with coat in hand. The man looked like a retired navy admiral—silver hair, pristine suit, eyes that cut like steel. He paused near the elevator and noticed the only light still on in the sea of cubicles.

He walked over.

"You're still working, Raigo?"

Raigo nodded.

"That David's queue?"

Another nod.

Gregory's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "You didn't need to pick that up."

Raigo looked up this time. "No one else was going to."

Gregory paused. "I see."

There was a silence between them. Heavy. Complicated.

"Good work ethic," Gregory said finally, then turned and left.

But he never said "thank you."

8:00 PM

It was past dark now. The city outside glowed through the tall office windows, casting long shadows. Raigo had removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves, and was tearing through the backlog like a machine. Excel sheets. Inventory reports. Team logs. Budget reviews.

He was fast, meticulous, and brilliant.

But tired.

He slouched in his chair, rubbing his face. Just as he leaned back, he heard footsteps.

From behind the corner emerged someone unexpected—Lena Carter.

She was a marketing associate, usually quiet and tucked into the back end of the office with the creative team. Tonight, she held a bag of food and two cups of hot tea.

"I heard you were still here," she said, placing the food on his desk.

Raigo blinked. "How did you—"

"I saw the email logs. David clocked out early. His work was still pending. You showed up on the internal tracker."

She smiled, but it wasn't pity. It was solidarity.

"You shouldn't have to carry all this."

Raigo stared at her. Then, softly, almost inaudibly, he said, "I don't have a choice."

Lena pulled up a chair beside him.

"Then let me help."

Later That Night

Together, they worked in silence. Occasionally, they spoke—about music, about cities they'd never been to, about the pressure to prove yourself when no one remembers your name.

As they filed the last report, Raigo leaned back.

"Do you think anyone will even notice?"

Lena looked at him.

"I noticed."

And for the first time in what felt like years, Raigo Tenku was tired but smiled.

Not because he'd finished the work. Not because someone finally acknowledged it.

But because for once, he didn't feel invisible.

Somewhere Else | The Concert

David danced with Natalie under blinding lights, posting selfies, tagging the company, smiling for a life he didn't build.

He never noticed the phone buzzing in his coat.

---

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It was 3:30 a.m. when I finally leaned back in my chair, my muscles aching, joints stiff like rusted iron. My eyes, sunken and ringed with purple shadows, blinked slowly. I had finished David's ten-day load of work in a single night. The office lights above flickered as if in sync with my fading pulse.

I pushed myself up, wobbling like a marionette cut from its strings. My knees buckled momentarily, and I caught myself against the desk. My fingertips were cold. My breath felt thin. I slung my bag over my shoulder, heavier than it had any right to be, and made for the door.

The world outside was a void—quiet, eerie, painted in the silvery hue of the moon and splashes of neon signs that blinked into nothing. The street was mostly empty. Just me, flickering streetlamps, a few sleeping homeless souls curled under threadbare blankets, and the distant howling of dogs.

Every step I took was deliberate, but my mind was foggy. I could barely see straight, and everything began to blur. Still, I whispered to myself, "Almost there… almost home."

I don't know how much time passed. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe none at all.

Then—clang.

My foot hit something metallic. I tripped. My body fell forward like a collapsing pillar, and I crashed onto the pavement. There was no strength left in me to scream or even gasp. The chill of the ground crawled up my spine as the darkness rushed in.

Then—nothing.

A Lifetime in a Second

I don't know how long I was gone. But the moment the void took me, something strange happened.

I remembered everything.From my childhood scraped knees to graduation day.From awkward school dances to my first kiss.From my mother's quiet smile to the suffocating pressure of expectation.From moments of joy… to all the times I was overlooked, underestimated, and left alone.

I remembered everything. With painful clarity.

And then, a thud—not in my body, but in my mind. A gentle tug, like being pulled through layers of space itself.

I opened my eyes—or at least, it felt like I did.

The Presence

I stood—somehow—on a vast, infinite plane. No ground, no sky. Just a never-ending expanse of white and light.

In front of me was a being. Tall, robed in flowing threads that shimmered like liquid starlight, eyes like galaxies. His presence wasn't loud or commanding. It was silent, still. Calm. Like the end of time.

I stared at him, unblinking. I didn't bow. I didn't tremble.

Instead, I spoke.

"I knew it. A being like you had to exist. Something outside the containment of space and time… a higher-dimensional entity, beyond entropy. One that can create and destroy from nothing."

The god tilted his head, curious. He had seen many souls. Billions, maybe trillions. But not many who greeted him with analysis instead of awe.

"You are surprisingly composed," he said. His voice was not heard. It arrived directly in my mind. "You're not surprised?"

"I'm a man of science," I said. "And I've always believed that, logically, something had to exist at the origin of consciousness. Something that bridges cause and effect with choice and freedom. An architect, a guardian—or maybe just a cosmic bystander."

He nodded. "Fascinating. You are… average, karmically speaking. Not cruel, not kind. Not lazy, not driven. You've lived quietly, passed unnoticed, and died alone. Your karmic record is… neutral."

Ouch. But fair.

"You may reincarnate into another world," the god continued. "Standard package: healthy body, solid stamina and durability, ability to retain memories. But nothing exceptional unless you ask for one gift—and even that has limits."

I was quiet for a while.

"…Can I choose where or who I'm born as?"

"No."

That stung, but I had suspected as much. A truly divine being wouldn't micromanage free will.

So I asked the next question.

"I choose the Naruto world."

He blinked slowly. "Interesting. You and many others, it seems."

"And," I said, carefully, "I want Ōtsutsuki powers."

The god… laughed.

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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--------

 

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---

So I've been reborn as Neji Hyuga?

He didn't know how to react. There was no elation. No despair. Just… a quiet gravity. A sense of inherited purpose.

I remember the speeches. About fate and destiny. About being caged…

He turned his eyes once again to the woman—his mother now—and the man with sharp, proud features kneeling beside her. Hizashi Hyuga. His father.

They looked down at him with a mixture of awe, love, and something else. Expectation?

They don't know what's ahead. What's supposed to happen to me. What might happen to them. But I do. Sort of. Vaguely.

A warm hand gently ran over his head. A midwife's voice whispered something soft and congratulatory. Hizashi leaned in, kissed his wife's forehead, then placed a careful kiss on the baby's brow.

This time… I'll change my fate. Not just mine. Theirs too.

His gaze drifted to the paper lanterns. The tatami. The distant murmur of wind against the wooden frame of the house.

This wasn't just a second life. It was a mission.

But once again, the strain of cognition hit him like a crashing wave. The baby body demanded rest, and his eyelids dropped despite his will.

As he drifted to sleep, he felt a ripple through his optic nerves. Something sleeping deep within him stirred.

Not the Byakugan. Not yet.

Something else.

The True Eyes.

Dormant.

But waiting.

Watching.

And ready—when the time came—to awaken.

<Late Afternoon>

It was late afternoon when Hiashi Hyuga arrived.

The air grew still as he approached, the sound of his footsteps absorbed by the tatami. His presence carried the weight of authority—the kind that made even veteran shinobi straighten their backs. Hizashi stood quickly and bowed deeply. His wife, recovering from childbirth, offered a shallow nod from her futon.

Hiashi surveyed the room with that unreadable calm unique to clan leaders. Then his gaze settled on the bundle cradled in Hizashi's arms.

"So," Hiashi said quietly, "this is Neji."

"Yes, brother," Hizashi replied, carefully angling the baby for him to see. "A boy. Strong and healthy."

Hiashi's pale eyes lingered on the infant. Neji lay still, swaddled tightly, fast asleep. There was no crying, no stirring. Just peaceful breathing and an occasional twitch of his tiny fingers.

"He didn't cry upon birth?" Hiashi asked, raising a brow.

"No," Hizashi said. "The midwives found it odd. He opened his eyes and… just looked around."

Hiashi's expression didn't change, but he stepped forward. "I would like to examine him."

Hizashi stiffened. He knew what that meant.

"Brother…" he began hesitantly. "The Byakugan—using it on an infant, our own kin—"

"It's for the clan," Hiashi interrupted gently but firmly. "I must understand his chakra potential. As head of the Hyuga, it is my duty."

Hizashi's fists clenched at his sides. The Byakugan was not a tool to be used lightly, especially not on one's own family. It was a weapon—one traditionally reserved for evaluating enemies on the battlefield. To use it on a baby, his baby, felt invasive. But Hiashi was clan head. A refusal would be disrespectful—and futile.

Hizashi stepped aside.

Hiashi knelt beside the sleeping child. With a silent breath, the veins around his temples bulged. His Byakugan activated with a soft hum of chakra. The world became transparent before his eyes.

He focused on Neji's chakra network.

"Steady," he murmured to himself. "Efficient flow. Balanced coils. No visible blockages."

Then his eyes narrowed.

"This chakra pool… it's large."

Larger than expected for a newborn. In fact, if Hiashi hadn't known better, he might have guessed the chakra level of a high-genin. And not just quantity—there was resilience in the tissue, a sturdiness to the infant's physical structure, as if his body had been reinforced by years of conditioning.

He deactivated his Byakugan, leaning back slowly.

"Congratulations, Hizashi," he said, standing. "You've birthed a strong son. He may do the branch family proud."

But Hizashi knew. That was not the only reason Hiashi had come.

The clan head wasn't just checking on his brother's child out of sentimentality. He had come to assess power—potential. Neji was not just a baby. He was a future piece in the Hyuga hierarchy.

And perhaps… a threat.

Hiashi offered a curt nod and exited the room, robes brushing the frame of the sliding door as it closed behind him.

---

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The Mother's Wrath

As the door shut, Hizashi turned to find his wife glaring at him.

"You let him use the Byakugan on our son?" she said sharply.

"He is the clan head," Hizashi said quietly. "I had no choice."

"He treated him like a test subject. Not family."

Her voice trembled with fury. "Neji isn't a tool. He's our son."

"I know." Hizashi took her hand gently. "Believe me, I know."

But deep down, he understood exactly what Hiashi was doing. Assessing strength. Measuring the next generation. Determining whether the branch family's blood was growing too strong, too fast.

Hiashi fears imbalance, Hizashi thought. He fears that power concentrated in the wrong hands might break the delicate structure our clan depends on.

What Hiashi failed to see—or perhaps refused to admit—was that Neji's strength was not just physical. There was something far deeper. Something invisible to the Byakugan.

Hiashi hadn't noticed the faint ripple beneath the surface—the slumbering spark of the True Eyes.



Later that evening, deep within the main estate, Hiashi met with the elder council of the Hyuga clan. They gathered beneath lantern light, kneeling on cushions, scrolls spread across a low lacquered table.

Hiashi's voice was quiet but firm.

"Neji, son of Hizashi, exhibits unusually high chakra reserves for his age. His chakra network is clear and refined. His body shows signs of accelerated resilience."

One elder named Kido Hyuga stroked his beard. "A prodigy?"

Another elder named Eirian Hyuga retored. "Just an early blommer, we seen a lot of them, right?"

"Too soon to say," Hiashi said. "But he is… promising. Possibly powerful."

Another elder spoke up. "This is good. The branch family must remain strong to protect the main line."

Hiashi's eyes narrowed. "Strength in the branch is good. But unchecked growth breeds ambition."

A silence settled.

The Hyuga clan thrived on rigid structure—main and branch, discipline and order. Ambition, in the wrong place, was a threat. Even blood ties couldn't erase that reality.

"We will continue observing him," Hiashi said. "Quietly. No interference. If he becomes… difficult to contain, I will take responsibility."

None dared oppose him. But tension hung in the air like unshed rain.

The Eyes Beneath

Neji stirred in his sleep.

Dreams drifted through his newborn mind—flashes of fluorescent lights, the hum of an office printer, David's smug grin. And then: death. The weight of exhaustion. The final collapse.

He blinked, the darkness behind his eyelids swirling. There, just beyond his inner vision, shimmered something dormant. A lens behind the lens. Not Byakugan.

The True Eyes.

They pulsed once, faintly. As if acknowledging the world outside.

No Hyuga elder could see them. Not even Hiashi. And that was good.

Because in those eyes was a power untouched by clan politics. A vision that transcended bloodline and structure. A sight that could see through lies, manipulation, and destiny itself.

Neji—Raigo—didn't just inherit a role. He carried revolution.



In the weeks that followed, rumors began to trickle through the Hyuga compound. The midwives whispered about the "silent child" with the gaze of a sage. The guards noted the increased presence of main family elders near Hizashi's home.

And Neji's mother? She never forgot the sight of Hiashi peering into her son's soul.

She grew cold toward the main house. Civil, but cool. And Hizashi noticed.

He walked a delicate line—loyal to his brother, but devoted to his family. As Neji grew stronger, so too did the tension between obligation and affection.

It wasn't just familial.

Among the elders, discussions deepened.

"If Neji truly surpasses expectations," one whispered, "should he not be elevated?"

"Impossible," another replied. "He is branch. That would shatter the system."

"What if the system no longer fits?" came the daring reply.

Hiashi heard the murmurs. And though he dismissed them outwardly, he tightened his control. More surveillance. Stricter scroll access. Fewer private meetings among branch families.

To most, it looked like prudence.

But to Hizashi—it looked like fear.

A fear not just of Neji, but of change. Of possibility.

And Neji, nestled in his cradle, continued to grow—quiet, observant, and unseen.

But the day would come when those True Eyes would open.

And the entire Hyuga clan would be forced to look back.

---

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