Konoha, the Village Hidden in the Leaves. A place where the mighty and the legendary were born, where names like Senju, Uchiha, Hyuga, and Akimichi echoed through history like the roar of a great storm.
Each clan possessed something that made them feared—whether it was the Uchiha's pink eye, the Hyuga's x-ray and inbreeding, or the Senju's monstrous wood... vitality.
Yet, not all clans were carved into legend.
Some minor clans still existed, like the Aburame clan and their insects, and the Yamanaka and their mindfuck techniques.
If we go even deeper, we will find a lesser-known clan.
The Kurama clan.
They had the most OP Kekkei Genkai out there, and he put that on Lord Third's soul—the ability to turn illusion into reality.
But most of the people who had this ability had very weak minds and usually turned into monsters who needed to be put down.
Well, that was until he came around.
A lone boy sat, his breathing heavy, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Kurama Seijuro.
He had just finished his daily exercises. His arms trembled, his legs ached, and every breath burned his lungs. Unlike every member of his clan, he was born perfectly normal. His body was not weak by any means.
Still, he did have civilian-level stats. Well, that was an upgrade from the Kurama clan starting stats, and he got there through training by himself.
Now to enter the Academy.
He wiped his brow and stared at his hands. They were small, thin, delicate. A surgeon's hands, not a warrior's. He had memories of another life... floating around in his mind. It seemed fuzzy. The last thing he seemed to remember was a silver-haired boy telling him to live a good life.
He didn't even remember his name.
Hm, that didn't matter. He would find it out soon enough.
Three days.
In three days, he would enter the Academy. By then, he would be stronger.
He rose to his feet, feeling the soreness in his muscles, and turned his attention to a nearby cat wandering through the training grounds. It was a scruffy thing, its fur matted and its tail twitching as it scavenged for scraps. Seijuro focused his gaze on the creature, his brown eyes narrowing slightly.
He barely had to think about it.
The cat suddenly recoiled, its fur standing on end as it gagged violently. It hissed, clawing at the air before darting away as if it had just encountered something horrifying. Seijuro smirked.
"A simple illusion of a foul smell. And yet, to the cat, it was as real as the air it breathed."
It was then that he knew for certain—he had been born with the Kurama clan's Kekkei Genkai.
The power to make illusions indistinguishable from reality.
It was no ordinary Genjutsu. Most illusions merely tricked the senses, creating temporary deceptions. But his? His made the mind believe so thoroughly that the body reacted as if it were real.
A simple smell, an image, a sound—if he willed it strongly enough, the target's body would respond as if it were actually happening.
A man could burn to death without ever touching a flame. A shinobi could drown in an illusionary sea with lungs full of air.
Power like this was beyond dangerous. And yet, Seijuro felt no fear.
His control over illusion was basically... perfect.
He was always good with illusion, his nanny said. Even as a baby, he could make good illusions.
Now, as a child, he was ready for it.
He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into thought.
There was something wrong with him. Not just his body's frailty, but something deeper. He had spent hours in the library, pouring over medical scrolls and chakra studies, and he had found his answer. His clan's weakness was not some curse or flaw.
It was an imbalance.
"Yin energy fuels the mind, illusions, the unseen forces of chakra. Yang energy fuels the body, the physical world, vitality itself. My Yin is too great, my Yang too weak. My mind is powerful, but my body suffers because of it."
He needed to fix that.
But how?
The Senju and Uzumaki had monstrous vitality, their Yang energy overflowing like a raging river. But those clans were out of reach. Their bloodlines were too precious, too protected. No one would give a weak Kurama a chance to obtain what they had.
He would need to look elsewhere.
He would train for it—it seemed like a reasonable solution—but first, he needed a lot more knowledge.
His golden eyes gleamed as he looked toward the sky.
The Academy was only the beginning.
Later that day, Seijuro sat alone in his room, a small candle flickering beside an open book. His golden eyes scanned the aged parchment, absorbing every word with a quiet intensity. The text detailed chakra control—its mechanics, its importance, and the various exercises shinobi used to refine it.
"Chakra is not merely energy. It is the bridge between the physical and the spiritual. To control it perfectly is to control oneself."
The books were quite useful in describing how chakra felt and so on.
Closing the book, he exhaled slowly. He had read enough.
Now, it was time to put knowledge to the test.
Outside, the trees swayed gently in the evening breeze. Seijuro approached one, placing a hand against its rough bark. He focused, channeling chakra into the soles of his feet, and then—
He took a step up.
Then another.
A third step—crack. His foot slipped, and he tumbled down, landing on the ground with a dull thud.
Seijuro sat up, frowning. His chakra control was atrocious.
Again.
He repeated the process, adjusting the flow of chakra with each failure. His body trembled from exhaustion, but he refused to stop. It was a delicate balance—too much chakra and he would repel himself off, too little and he wouldn't stick.
Minutes passed.
Then—
With a final step, he stood upright against the tree trunk. His breaths were shallow, his vision blurred, and his body empty. His chakra reserves were practically depleted.
A major problem.
Even with his natural talent, his energy ran dry far too quickly. This was yet another flaw to fix.
With a sigh, he climbed onto a thick branch and sat down, pulling an apple from his pocket. The crisp crunch echoed softly as he gazed down at the village below. The Uchiha district loomed in the distance, their compound walled off like an empire within a village. The Hyuga estate was more subtle, yet its presence was undeniable. The Senju clan was there, but they weren't as great as they used to be—mostly since they started breeding with civilians.
The Uzumaki were fine. He planned to learn their techniques one day, maybe go there in a few years, preferably when he was a jonin.
Check out some sealing jutsu and so on.
The Uzumaki truly were a gift.
And then, there was his clan.
A small group, nearly forgotten, cursed by their own gift.
Seijuro closed his eyes, the apple momentarily forgotten in his hand.
His power was immense, but power alone was meaningless without control. Perfect control. He had seen what happened to those who let their minds waver, who allowed their emotions to dictate their illusions.
A single stray thought could warp reality into a nightmare.
That could never happen to him.
For the next three hours, he meditated. He silenced his thoughts, refining his mental state like a swordsmith tempering steel. There could be no fear, no doubt, no weakness in his mind. His illusions had to be his tool, not his master.
When he finally opened his eyes, the stars had begun to dot the darkening sky. His thoughts drifted once more to his biggest obstacle—his body. He needed Yang energy to counterbalance his excessive Yin.
The Akimichi Clan...
Their ability to manipulate their size and strength wasn't just a jutsu—it was tied to an extreme mastery of Yang Release. If he could understand their technique, he might find a way to balance himself.
But knowledge like that wasn't given freely.
"If I get an Akimichi teammate, I can observe them directly... perhaps even earn their trust."
It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best he had for now.
He sighed, leaning back against the tree.
"Should I stand out, or should I blend in?"
It was a dangerous question. Those who stood out drew attention—both good and bad. But those who were too average... were easily forgotten.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name.
"Seijuro!"
His nanny, a kind but strict woman, stood at the base of the tree, looking around.
"Where did that boy go?"
Seijuro smirked.
Was he on the tree? Or had he always been on the ground?
A whisper brushed against her ear from behind.
"Looking for something?"
She gasped, turning sharply—only to see Seijuro standing right behind her.
Her eyes darted back to the tree, confusion flickering across her face. Wasn't he just—?
He said nothing, just walked past her as if this was an average Tuesday for him. After all, he was a master of illusion techniques. If anyone didn't get him, that was their business... not his.
A/N....Yes...this is where Aizen Soul Went after the fight.