Curse These Old Bones - SI as Hiruzen Sarutobi in Naruto

Curse These Old Bones

[SI as Sarutobi Hiruzen - Naruto]

​The story in one sentence :

A cocky, no-nonsense, and ambitious biologist reincarnates as Hiruzen Sarutobi and tries to fix the mess that is the Naruto universe while having some good times and trying not to die.

Tags :

Kingdom Building, Big Fights with eldritch fire and Politics, Serious Take on the Narutoverse

Already 55 chapters written.

Chapter 1 ​

He felt old. Incredibly old. Old, sick, and in pain. The original Sarutobi Hiruzen must have had a will of steel to keep moving and working with all those aching joints and scars that hurt with every step. The God of Shinobi, huh? Gabriel would have given anything to be reborn as Sasuke, Naruto—hell, even Sakura! Young, dashing, with their whole lives ahead of them!

At least there was one good thing about the situation. Gabriel wouldn't have to defend his damn PhD thesis in cell biology anymore; he wouldn't have to pay any damn rent, and, most importantly, he could throw mega fireballs. And lightning dragons. At least it was a childhood dream come true, considering the others—in terms of family and career—clearly weren't possible anymore. But... Sarutobi? A decrepit old man Come on, reincarnating as Kakashi wasn't too much to ask!

But no, Sarutobi. Because the old man meddled with seals he did not understand.

The Professor had discovered the subtle influence of a genjutsu he couldn't escape. A genjutsu that was secretly manipulating him, causing him to make decisions that seemed harmless at first but had significantly undermined Konoha's strengths: lowering the Academy's graduation requirements, turning a blind eye to Danzo's activities… A genjutsu that made him forget its existence within hours of discovering it, and one that prevented him from discussing it with others.

Gabriel had to admit, Hiruzen had been remarkably clever, sending himself coded messages—Memento-style—to try to remember and dismantle the illusion. But the Professor, in his absolute genius, had misdiagnosed the genjutsu. Gabriel, armed with his knowledge of canon, suspected it was some variation of the technique Tobi used to control Yagura, likely derived from the Mangekyo Sharingan. He couldn't quite recall the exact details.

Fuck, he could not recall the details.

Believing he'd been struck directly in the soul, the original Hiruzen had devised a summoning technique to "switch" his current mind with that of a shadow clone he had sealed away in a scroll several years earlier. Of course, experimental seals are rarely reliable, and somehow, at the end of the ritual, Gabriel found himself in the body of the old Kage.

The very old Kage.

Fuck joint pain.

At least he had time before…

"Fuck", he said aloud as he identified where he was in the timeline, surprising the Anbus : had the Hokage just…cursed ?

He was nearly at the beginning of canon. About…five weeks - or six ? - before Naruto's graduation. The beginning of a story in which he was old, tired and destined to die at the hands of his former pupil. And if he managed to survive the Sand Invasion ? Akatsuki. Enemy Kage. Other villages. Pain. Obito. Sasuke, once he would learn about the truth being the Uchiha massacre. Madara. Zetsu. A fucking goddess…All those people who dreamt of being reincarnated into Naruto clearly had a problem.

When people thought of Naruto, they imagined gleaming headbands and explosive duels, dazzling fireballs and eccentric mentors with hair or bushy brows that defied physics. They did not think of the child soldiers, conditioned to kill before they could understand the weight of a life. They did not think of the genjutsu that clawed into the mind, leaving free will shredded and discarded like a broken puppet - like the original hiruzen had almost been. They did not think of the eldritch entities bound in human flesh—ancient horrors that never should have crossed into this reality. They overlooked the white-and-black carnivorous thing lurking on the edges of legend, or the grotesque ritual where one could call forth a Death God to devour your soul as payment for its terrible service. They did not think of the eyes. The Eyes! And they certainly did not consider the Outer Goddess, a nightmare from beyond, that tore apart the fragile seams of existence to claim the divine essence from the eyes of demigods.

Naruto wasn't a shonen—it was a fractured, Lovecraftian nightmare masquerading as heroism.

Hiruzen let out what was probably the longest sigh of his entire life— both lives.

Why couldn't he have reincarnated into someone fun, like Dionysus from the Percy Jackson universe? Lounging around, sipping wine, and cracking jokes about demigods sounded a hell of a lot better than creaking joints and paperwork. Or even Dumbledore—sure, there'd still be politics, life-or-death stakes and a homicidal snake-man, but at least he'd get a cool beard. Hiruzen was stuck with a goatee.

At least he was in charge of a military dictatorship of murder-wizards, and once he'd solved all these problems, he…Fuck ! He wasn't even the top dog - as the Daimyo had him by the balls. This explained a lot of things he could not make sense of in canon…

The hidden villages were profoundly reliant on the Daimyo, their dependence spanning legal, commercial, and military realms. This reliance extended to crucial supplies such as raw materials, manufactured goods, and food, rendering the hidden villages utterly reliant on the support of the states. Gabriel had momentarily overlooked the fact that he wasn't navigating modern environments, where widespread literacy and understanding of logistics and management were the norm. In this less advanced setting, administrative affairs of the village were, to a significant extent, managed by Daimyo officials. These officials were the sole custodians of the administrative language, distinct from the vernacular spoken in the village—akin to the distinction between Latin and Old French in Gabriel's ancient world, where Latin persisted as the language of law in the Middle Ages.

The hidden villages were newborns compared to the ancient empires they served. The Land of Fire, for example, had over a thousand years of history behind it—a legacy carved into every road and palace. By contrast, Konoha was barely one hundred years old—hardly more seasoned than Hiruzen himself. The difference was stark not just in age but also in scale. Konoha housed around half a million people, whereas the Land of Fire's population exceeded two hundred million.

Alarmingly, more than four million people made up the Daimyo's regular army—and he could also call peasants to arms. Among the four million, most were ordinary individuals armed with spears and shields, hastily trained to patrol towns and roads. However, the samurai of the Land of Fire numbered over one and a half million. These were seasoned veterans who used their "internal energy"—a primitive term for chakra—to grant themselves superhuman abilities. Samurai were to ninjas what martial artists and their body-reinforcement arts were to cultivators in the Chinese webnovels he used to read.

Fuck! And now that he was stuck here, he couldn't even find out how One Piece ended!

On average, it took more than three samurai to fight a genin, and ten to fight a chunin. But even then… yeah, they'd be screwed, Hiruzen thought grimly after reviewing his forces. With enormous losses, the Daimyo's army could completely raze Konoha. The most powerful ninjas could kill samurai by the hundreds, but while defending Konoha's civilians? Their own families? Impossible.

Konoha's force was modest, numbering around sixteen thousand ninja with various specialties. Among them were about two thousand six hundred seventy specialists, including doctors and cryptanalysts—highly vulnerable to rapid elimination during the chaos of war. The regular troops consisted of roughly six thousandgenin, five thousand chunin, and about eight hundred jonin. Additionally, there were five hundred thirty "special jonin," like Anko. The Hokage's "personal militia" consisted of one thousand seventy Anbu, most of them chunin-level, with a solid core of about four hundred jonin-level ninjas.

Yet beneath this seemingly formidable force lay troubling internal weaknesses. Konoha was less a cohesive village and more a loose coalition of clans, cobbled together under a primitive feudal system. The Academy and the central mission organization were relatively recent additions, bolted on only a few decades ago. Despite the Hokage's considerable authority—illustrated by actions like the Uchiha massacre—the village's administrative structure was archaic and inefficient. The Hokage, a military dictator in all but name, wielded power more suited for commands like "assassinate this man" than nuanced reforms such as "revise administrative law."

This inefficiency and lack of sophistication in governance hindered the Hokage's ability to exercise subtle influence. Which made sense - the Hokage was selected as the leader because he was "the strongest ninja of the village". Which made sense - in a world where a genin could take on thirty normal persons, it was normal that strength-based social strategies and hierarchy stabilized, whereas it was impossible in his original world, where competence-based and prestige-based (often) mutually beneficial strategies had evolved. Fortunately, the clan leaders had pledged allegiance, the ninja followed orders, and the Hokage's authority remained unchallenged—though navigating the intricacies of refined leadership was a different matter entirely.

He made a gesture.

An Anbu operative silently materialized in Sarutobi's office, hooded and masked, the air thick with urgency. With a crisp salute, the shadowy figure saluted.

"Hokage-sama ?"

"Get me Ibiki Morino. And Shikaku Nara. And, while we're at it, Asuma Sarutobi, Kakashi Hatake, and Anko Mitarashi. Now. No - In one hour", he ordered. He had to spend some time to regather is thought, even if he already had an idea of a plan. He could not afford to make a mistake.

The Anbu didn't question Hiruzen's cryptic command. They didn't need to understand its purpose; a simple nod was all they gave before vanishing into the shadows. Finally—something dependable. Absolute obedience. A squad of over-trained, hyper-lethal assassins ready to follow his every word without hesitation.

Maybe, just maybe, reincarnating as Hiruzen wasn't so bad after all and…

"Fuck", he said aloud, for the second time, to the surprise of the last two Anbu operatives hidden in his office. He had forgotten. Danzo, and his brainwashed trigger-happy elite warriors. Even more ennemies. Yay ! Maybe it was not even Obito, but rather Danzo who had the original Hiruzen under a Genjutsu.

Hiruzen grimaced as he bent over - fuck his old bones. If only he could...but yes!

"Genjutsu ! I'm a fucking Genius".

The old man stretched, noticing out of the corner of his eye the surprise of his Anbus. He was going to have to be more careful to stay in character. But, after all, who would have been able to understand his situation? And he'd love to see you there, in his place, having to deal with the stress. In any case, he was a fucking genius. What if he used genjutsu on himself to deactivate his own pain receptors and stop his back hurting? Pure genius. OK, maybe it was a bit obvious, but you had to let him have his little victories.

The professor made a few signs—rat, horse, tiger—and sighed with relief. The pain had gone. Pending a more definitive solution, though, he knew this wasn't sustainable. Not knowing when he was in pain was the fastest way to miss something fatal—a truly stupid way to die.

Shikaku Nara lay stretched out on the rooftop of the Hokage Tower, staring lazily at the drifting clouds above. He wasn't in any rush. In fact, he wasn't in a rush to do anything. Work could wait. The village could wait. Everything could wait. At the moment, all he cared about was how long it took for that fluffy cloud over there to morph into something resembling an elephant.

He puffed a breath through his nose, eyes narrowing in exaggerated thought. "Hmm... that one's an elephant... and this one... maybe a ninja star? Nah, too edgy. Should've been a cloud—wouldn't be so sharp."

A sound cut through his musings, barely a ripple in the air. His gaze flicked to the edge of the roof without moving a muscle, already knowing what had arrived. Only one group moved that quietly.

A flash of black, an Anbu operative, their mask gleaming in the sunlight, crouched beside him, unwavering in their presence.

"Shikaku-sama," the Anbu said, voice crisp and unwavering, despite the casualness of the encounter. "The Hokage summons you."

Shikaku blinked lazily, like someone waking from a nap they didn't want to end. "The Hokage?" he drawled, yawning and stretching his arms overhead. "Now, that's a surprise. Normally I'd get a hawk... Anbu... huh. Alright, alright, I'm coming."

He shifted slowly, deliberately, as if moving faster would somehow be a crime. Clouds were important, after all. But there was no escaping it, was there? The Hokage wanted him, and that trumped whatever cloud formation was currently occupying his attention. With a final glance at the sky, he reluctantly stood, making his way toward the stairs.

He didn't hurry. Why rush? No one in the village was so desperate to see him that they'd actually care if he took a little extra time. The steps creaked under his weight as he descended, a casual rhythm to his pace. He was Head Jonin, after all—number two in the village. Everyone else could wait. He didn't need to run—his rank afforded him that much leeway. But still, he had answered the summons immediately. This was the Hokage, after all.

Shikaku respected the rank of Hokage as a soldier would respect the command of a general, but his regard for Hiruzen ran deeper. The man was sharp—razor-sharp—and Shikaku, as a fellow strategist and, above all, as the head of the Nara clan who lived in this village, appreciated that. Hiruzen didn't just lead with strength; he led with intellect, weaving solutions that others couldn't see until it was too late. Shikaku admired that kind of quiet brilliance. He wouldn't say it aloud—praise could feel like flattery, and neither man had time for that. But in his own subtle way, Shikaku saw himself as a quiet supporter of Hiruzen, someone who recognized not just the burden of the Hokage's position, but the mind behind it. Even if for the last years….decade or so…ah, old age. Truly, the death of the fourth had been…

Shikaku finally arrived at the door to the Hokage's office. The sight that greeted him was enough to jolt him to full alertness.

Hatake Kakashi stood by the Hokage's door—odd, but not entirely unexpected. If there was any door Kakashi would arrive early for and choose over a window, it was this one. What was strange was the company with him. Sarutobi Asuma looked unusually tense, his arms folded, while Mitarashi Anko fidgeted with a kunai, her restless energy practically radiating chaos. Then Ibiki Morino arrived. The head of Interrogation moved with his usual grim focus, seemingly untouched by the charged atmosphere surrounding the group.

Shikaku's instincts screamed. This assembly—these particular people…Whatever it was, it smelled like work. A lot of work.

"Shikaku-san", greeted Ibiki, as the other nodded at him. Even if he outranked them, Shikaku had always disliked military salutes or over-formal greetings.

He leaned casually against the wall, his posture relaxed, but his mind was sharp and alert. With a subtle flow of chakra, he activated an ancient Nara technique, the one that truly was their clan technique, a fiercely guarded secret known only to their bloodline. This jutsu divided his brain into two independent streams of thought, allowing him to process information in parallel. It was the true source of the Nara clan's fabled intelligence—a carefully concealed truth that the world mistook for natural-born genius. The Nara were content to let others believe the myth; their real advantage lay in how well they protected this secret. While one half of his mind cataloged every detail—the tension in Asuma's stance, the restless flick of Anko's kunai—the other began dissecting the situation, sifting through possibilities and crafting strategies.

The door to the Hokage's office creaked open, and in stepped the Hokage's secretary. Shikaku's sharp eyes flicked to her instantly, cataloging every detail with the quiet efficiency his clan was known for.

She had the kind of face that made you think of sunshine and daisies—bright, innocent, and unassuming. Large, doe-like eyes framed by soft lashes scanned the group, accompanied by a small, polite smile. Her petite stature and seemingly delicate frame screamed civilian, maybe a low-ranking chunin at best. But Shikaku's trained gaze caught the incongruities.

The muscles in her thighs, evident even beneath the modest skirt of her uniform, were far too developed for someone who spent their days pushing papers. Her abs, visible only because of the sharp line her sash cut across her tunic, hinted at rigorous training rather than office work. Her posture—lean, coiled, and subtly balanced—was the kind of readiness that came from years in the field, not behind a desk. The calluses on her hands were another giveaway. They weren't the kind that came from holding a pen or typing away at reports; they were the marks of someone who had spent years gripping weapons, sparring, and climbing sheer walls.

Shikaku's thoughts hummed. ANBU. Had to be. No chunin secretary carried themselves like that. His lips quirked ever so slightly. Someone with less of an eye for detail might miss it entirely. He doubted most of the village realized the Hokage's so-called "secretary" was probably more lethal than half the jonin corps.

"Shikaku-sama," she said, her voice soft yet precise, the kind of tone that wouldn't attract attention but demanded you listen. "The Hokage will see you now." She stepped aside, her movements fluid and measured, giving them passage to enter.

The group entered without a word, but Shikaku felt the atmosphere shift the moment they crossed the threshold. The others noticed it too—he could see it in the way Kakashi's habitual slouch straightened, his single visible eye narrowing almost imperceptibly. Anko's restless fidgeting stilled, and Morino Ibiki, already rigid, seemed to become a steel rod.

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk, but it wasn't the Hiruzen they were used to seeing. Gone was the warm, grandfatherly smile, the twinkle in his eye that softened his rigid demeanor. This Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, the posture almost lazy, as though he hadn't slept in days and no longer cared to mask his exhaustion. But his eyes…those eyes burned with an intensity Shikaku hadn't seen in years. Not since the Kyūbi attack—or perhaps even earlier, when Hiruzen himself had pursued Orochimaru through the dark forests of Konoha.

The old man's awake, Shikaku thought grimly. His instincts screamed at him to be alert. This wasn't the benign, approachable leader who juggled politics and ninja diplomacy with a patient hand. This was the man once hailed as the God of Shinobi. And judging by the tension in the room, everyone else felt it too.

With a subtle flick of Hiruzen's fingers, the four ANBU standing guard—the commander with unmistakable purple hair marking her as Uzuki Yugao—disappeared silently. Their departure made Shikaku shift slightly, his unease growing.

This just got serious. Anbus were the Hokage's most trusted operatives, his personal militia. Hell, it was a very badly-kept secret among Clan Heads that Dragon, the current Anbu Commander was Hizuen's eldest son, and the father of Konohamaru. If Hiruzen dismissed his Anbus, whatever was about to happen would be beyond sensitive. Shikaku's mind worked quickly. What could require this level of privacy? And why us? Why him ? Clan heads, no matter how loyal, always had their own agendas.

The secretary stepped out last, pausing at the door. With a practiced hand, she activated the seals embedded into the wood, locking the room down. The soft hum of chakra that followed was faint but unmistakable. The office was now completely soundproofed and secure. Whatever was about to be discussed wouldn't leave these walls.

Morino Ibiki was impossibly straight-backed, his expression grim and…was that alarm? It was rare for the head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit to look anything but stoic, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made Shikaku's stomach tighten.

Hiruzen's gaze swept over them slowly, lingering just a moment too long on Anko. Shikaku noted it immediately, the subtle tension that rippled through her shoulders under the weight of that stare. For a fleeting second, he thought the Hokage might be ogling her, but no. The old man would never…That wasn't it. His expression was too searching, too deliberate. Doubt? Suspicion? Shikaku's mind raced. His eyes went to the cursed seal…Hiruzen was a man who trusted his ninja, even at the cost of his own peace of mind. For him to fixate like that…Was it about Orochimaru ?

The silence stretched just long enough to feel oppressive. Finally, Hiruzen leaned forward, his movements slow, deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was low, measured—but there was an edge to it, a razor-sharp blade beneath the calm. The Jonin Commander was intently studying Hiruzen now, the lines of his face drawn tight with concentration. And then Shikaku noticed.

The fire in Hiruzen's eyes.

The Hokage wasn't as worn out as he seemed. This wasn't just a tired leader reacting to a crisis. This was a leader taking control, burning away complacency, and preparing to reshape the village as he saw fit. He had not seen such a fire since…well, since the third Shinobi war.

Maybe the old man was not that old after all, Shikaku thought grimly. Gods did not age.

"We have a problem," he said simply.

Shikaku's hands remained loose at his sides, but his mind was already in overdrive.

No shit, old man.