Uchiha… Saitama? Uchiha Saitama?!
Saitama felt like he had come too far south!
Although he had transmigrated into the most prestigious clan in Konohagakure, bearing the illustrious Uchiha name, he couldn't help but feel a certain lonely emptiness every time he returned home.
In the spacious courtyard of his estate, only Saitama and an elderly caretaker lived.
As for the rest?
As a transmigrator, Saitama didn't come with a family.
When he crossed over, he had inherited everything from parents who had died young—despite being less than three years old at the time.
A house in central Konoha, and a respectable inheritance.
He had become a rich man—something that his past self had dreamed of but never achieved.
Now at five years old, his caretaker told him that the clan planned to enroll him in the Ninja Academy.
After all, five was the age to start learning.
Returning home after a full day wandering the village, Saitama pushed open the black gate. He dragged his tired body but walked with a cheerful step into the courtyard.
He could hear sounds from the kitchen and smell something delicious drifting in the air.
Right on time.
Not bad—my timing's perfect! I'm really a clever little ghost!
He walked toward the kitchen with a satisfied grin, thinking of the kid he'd run into earlier.
Shisui, was it?
His memory drifted back to that afternoon.
Saitama had been strutting along the streets of the Uchiha district with tiny, confident steps, munching on dango skewers he'd bought from a vendor across the street.
He was absentmindedly watching the bustle of the district, occasionally popping a dango into his mouth.
This… this must be the peak of childhood.
Until he noticed a kid stealthily trailing behind him.
"Yo, kid!"
Saitama casually flicked the stick from his empty skewer backward—right into the kid's forehead.
"Ow!" Uchiha Shisui rubbed his head, surprised.
"Why are you following me?" Saitama asked, mouth half-full with the remaining dumplings.
Shisui looked at the fallen skewer, then back up at Saitama, trying not to seem suspicious.
"This is a public street. Who says I'm following you?"
Oh? If you didn't swallow nervously, I might've actually believed that!
"Really? Here I thought you wanted to make friends. I was just about to share my dango with you." Saitama sighed dramatically. "Guess not, then."
He turned and began to walk away.
"Wait—really?" came a surprised voice from behind him.
The corner of Saitama's mouth curled up.
Turning around, he stuffed all the remaining dango into his mouth in one go.
"Yup. Really."
He stared seriously at Shisui, watching the other boy's face twist in disbelief.
Shisui watched this weird guy—who had just offered to share food—devour all of it without hesitation.
"You… you…"
Shisui's young brain was struggling to compute the betrayal.
"What is it, kid?"
Even though they looked about the same age, Saitama—who still thought like an adult—couldn't help but enjoy calling others "kid."
As he nonchalantly picked his teeth with the used skewer, he sized Shisui up.
Not bad. He's got spirit.
"Didn't you say you'd give me some?" Shisui asked, confused.
"You didn't say you wanted any," Saitama shrugged. "I figured you weren't hungry."
Totally shameless.
Shisui was speechless. Five years of life hadn't prepared him for someone like this.
"What's your name? I'll treat you next time," Saitama offered.
After all, as a rich second-gen in this world, he wasn't short on pocket money.
The kid looked like a regular clan child—judging by his plain clothes, probably not from a wealthy branch.
Saitama didn't mind lending a hand.
Hearing that, Shisui's eyes lit up, his expression lifting.
"Really? That's okay?"
"Of course!" Saitama said casually, tossing the toothpick-skewer to the side.