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Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Acting is very immediate.'' - Val Kilmer

Melissa Henderson walked into her two-bedroom apartment, discarded her shoes by the door.

Clothes fell to the floor until she was only in her underwear before collapsing face-first into her bed.

She reached up and yanked out her hair tie.

Only to curse, ''Ow!'' as strands of her hair were caught in the black hair tie.

Her other hand reached up and carefully unravelled her brown, curly hair.

She smelled it, knowing wash day was imminent for her curls.

Today had been a long day.

As a millennial at 31, she was used to going through the motions at work.

She had lived through crisis after crisis, and her job as a risk management coordinator ensured that she prevented them.

However, she was unhappy.

Her family lived far away in Connecticut, she lived alone in New York.

Her brown eyes looked up at her ceiling to see Kakashi Hatake's poster staring down at her.

She still loved anime, reading manga, watching Korean --Chinese--or Japanese dramas, they made it easier to breathe for her ADHD heart.

It was automatic dopamine.

'Someone rescue me from this,' it was like a plea to the universe, and the universe answered.

A deep, warm voice called from outside her room.

“Hikari! If you sleep any later, even the turtleducks will have finished their breakfast.”

Melissa Henderson—no, Hikari—woke with a start, her face pressed into unfamiliar sheets. The scent of tea and iron filled the air, a far cry from her cramped New York apartment. She bolted upright, her fingers instinctively reaching for her curls—still brown, still wild, but her hands were smaller, younger.

What the—

Uncle Iroh. The name surfaced in her mind like a long-buried memory.

Her breath hitched.

No way.

She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting cold wooden floors. The room was simple—a futon, a small desk with scattered scrolls on kenjutsu, and a single framed photo on the wall. She grabbed it, heart pounding.

The image showed a grinning man with kind eyes and an apron, standing proudly in front of a ramen stand. The sign above him read: Ichiraku Ramen.

Old Man Teuchi.

Her father.

A dizzying wave of disbelief crashed over her. Melissa—now Hikari—hadn’t just been reborn in the Naruto world. She was Teuchi’s oldest daughter. The ramen guy. The man who fed Naruto when no one else would.

And her father had sent her here, to the Land of Iron, to train under her uncle—Iroh—because he didn’t trust the growing tension in Konoha.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up.

Of course, her ADHD, anime-loving millennial soul would get isekai’d into this.

The door slid open. Iroh stood there, steaming cup in hand, his gaze knowing. “Ah. You're awake.”

She blinked.

“…Yeah?”

He chuckled.

“Well, thank the spirits. Now come. Your sword won’t swing itself.”

Hikari stared at the photo one last time before setting it down.

Every evening, after hours of grueling kenjutsu drills that left her muscles trembling, Hikari would collapse onto the tatami beside Uncle Iroh, who would already have a pot of tea brewing. The scent of jasmine and ironwood filled the air as he poured her a cup, his eyes twinkling with the promise of a story.

"Your father," he began, voice warm like the fire crackling between them, "was the best swordsman of his generation—yet he hated the weight of the title."

Hikari sipped her tea, her calloused fingers tracing the rim of the cup.

"Because of the clan?"

Iroh nodded. "The Himura name carried expectations. Duty. Politics. But your father—he only ever wanted to make people happy."

She snorted.

"So he opened a ramen stand."

"The greatest ramen stand in Konoha," Iroh corrected, chuckling. "He met your mother when she came to the village selling Suna spices. She teased him for his bland broth—next thing he knew, she was teaching him how to balance flavors, and he was teaching her how to wield a ladle like a sword."

Hikari smiled despite herself. It was strange, hearing about parents she had no memory of—yet somehow, the stories felt right.

"Why wasn't Ayame allowed to come here?" she asked quietly.

Iroh’s expression softened.

"Your sister is still too young for the journey. And your maternal grandfather in Suna… well, let’s just say he was less than pleased when his daughter married a ‘leaf-loving noodle peddler.' Your mother's family means well --- but your father decided a compromise was in order."

The teenager groaned.

"So I got stuck with the sword training, and Aya-chan got stuck with the desert grandpa."

"A fair trade," Iroh mused.

"You, learning discipline. Her, learning survival. And your father…" He sighed.

"He just wanted you both safe."

Safe.

The word echoed in her chest.

Konoha had been safe—until it wasn’t.

Until the Kyuubi.

Until everything changed.

But for now, she was here. In the Land of Iron, where the air was crisp but not biting, where the trees stood tall but not suffocating. It wasn’t Connecticut, with its sprawling spruce forests. It wasn’t New York, with its dizzying skyscrapers.

But it was enough.

For now.

It was all a matter of waiting.

The Himura-style kenjutsu was brutal.

Hikari had expected elegant swings, precise strikes—something like the samurai films she’d watched in her past life.

Instead, Iroh drilled her in weight.

"A sword is not just a tool," he said, adjusting her grip for the hundredth time.

"It is an extension of your body. Your breath. Your intent."

She gritted her teeth as she lifted the practice blade—heavier than any bokken she’d seen in anime.

Her arms shook.

"Again," Iroh commanded.

Sweat dripped into her eyes as she repeated the overhead strike.

Thud.

The blade hit the wooden post, but her form wobbled.

"You’re hesitating," Iroh observed.

"Why?"

Hikari exhaled sharply.

"Because I’m afraid of messing up."

He chuckled.

"Good. Fear keeps you alive. But hesitation?" He tapped her wrist lightly with his fan. "That gets you killed."

Weeks passed.

Mornings began with meditation, evenings ended with blistered palms and aching shoulders.

Iroh taught her footwork first—how to move with the earth, not against it.

"The Land of Iron does not forgive imbalance," he said as she stumbled over uneven terrain.

Then came the kata.

Slow, deliberate forms that burned into her muscle memory.

"Himura swordsmanship is not about speed," Iroh explained.

"It’s about timing."

She learned to read the shift in the wind, the minute tension in an opponent’s stance.

And if she sometimes imagined her blade slicing through the soul-crushing spreadsheets of her past life? Well. That was motivation.

Hikari sat beneath the peace blossom tree, watching the koi ripple through the pond’s surface. The petals drifted down like snow, catching on her unruly curls before floating away.

In her world, she would’ve been scrolling through her phone right now—mindlessly flipping through social media, drowning in memes, or doom-reading news articles about yet another crisis she couldn’t fix.

Here, there was no endless feed. No dopamine hits from notifications. Just the quiet hum of nature, the weight of a sword at her hip, and the gnawing absence of something she couldn’t name.

Addicted to distraction, even in another world.

She huffed a laugh. "Pathetic."

A koi surfaced, its golden scales glinting in the sunlight, as if judging her.

She missed music the most.

Not the grand, cinematic scores of this world—though the sound of samisen and flute were beautiful—but the noise of her old life. The playlists she’d curated for every mood. The podcasts she’d half-listened to while doing dishes. The way a song could yank her back to a memory in an instant.

Now, all she had was silence.

And the occasional off-key humming of Uncle Iroh while he brewed tea.

So she adapted.

She carved grooves into wood to mimic the rhythm of songs she barely remembered. She scribbled half-forgotten lyrics on the margins of her training scrolls. And when the loneliness pressed too hard, she’d sit by the pond and pretend the rustling leaves were a lofi beat.

August was warmer. 

One evening, as Hikari massaged her sore arms, a messenger falcon landed on the engawa. Tied to its leg was a small scroll.

Her breath caught when she recognized the messy, childlike script.

"Nee-chan,
Jiji says I can’t visit yet. But I’m practicing with spices! One day, I’ll make ramen even better than Tou-chan’s.
…Do you miss Konoha too?
—Ayame"

Hikari’s throat tightened.

Five years old.

Ayame was five, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in Konoha—the Kyuubi, the coming war, the shadows creeping closer to their father’s ramen stand.

Iroh watched her carefully.

"Will you reply?"

She curled her fingers around the letter.

"…Not yet."

First, she had to get stronger.

Strong enough to protect what mattered.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.'' - Reinhold Niebuhr

Then came a day in September when she stumbled upon it—a workshop in the Land of Iron’s capital.

A tinkerer’s den, filled with gears, wires, and prototypes of early ninja-tech.

And there, sitting on a shelf like a relic from the future: a crude, hand-cranked music box.

Hikari stared at it like it was the Holy Grail.

The tinkerer, an old man with grease-stained fingers, smirked.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Something like that," she whispered.

She bought it on the spot.

That night, curled under her blankets, she wound the mechanism and let the tinny, familiar melody of Für Elise fill the room.

It wasn’t Spotify.

But it was hers.

Maybe this world wasn’t so backward after all.

Maybe she didn’t need a smartphone to feel connected.

Or maybe she was just coping.

But as the music box played, and the peace blossoms drifted past her window, Hikari allowed herself a small, quiet truth.

She missed her old life.

But this one?

This one had swords.

Hikari sat by the flickering candlelight, her brush hovering over the parchment. The words wouldn’t come easily—not when she knew what was coming, not when the weight of the future pressed down on her like a blade against her throat.

But she had to try.

"Ayame,

I hope Jiji isn’t making you eat too much of his ‘special’ Scorpion Pepper Ramen. (I still remember the time Tou-chan tried it and drank an entire barrel of water. He pretended it wasn’t spicy. We all knew.)

I miss Konoha too. The big trees, the way the sun hits the Hokage Monument in the evening. But… Konoha isn’t just the village. It’s the people. And sometimes, the people are the ones who hurt it the most.

There’s an old story I heard once—about a great house that fell, not because of its enemies, but because of itself. Konoha is like that. The Will of Fire was supposed to protect, but now? It burns out of control. And there are people who like it that way.

But we’re not like them. We protect. Even if it’s just one bowl of ramen at a time.

Stay safe, little sister. I’ll see you soon.

—Hikari"

She sealed the letter, pressing her thumb into the wax. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was all she could give Ayame right now—a warning, a promise, and the unspoken truth between them:

Konoha was broken long before the Kyuubi attacked.

Hikari knew the history.

Madara’s betrayal. Hashirama’s idealism. Tobirama’s mistrust. Danzo’s poison.

Zetsu had manipulated events, yes, but the Uchiha massacre? The corruption of Root? The endless cycle of suspicion and bloodshed?

That was all Konoha’s own making.

And now, in the wake of the Kyuubi’s attack, the village would fracture further.

Would her father survive?

Would Ayame be safe in Suna if war broke out?

Could she—a fourteen-year-old with a borrowed sword and a technique she barely understood—change anything?

Hikari clenched her fists.

"I have to try."

The news spread like wildfire—Konoha had fallen.

The Kyuubi’s rampage left the village in ruins. The Yondaime was dead. And Hikari’s father—Teuchi, the ramen-maker, the man who had sent her away to keep her safe—was somewhere in the wreckage.

Her hands clenched around her sword.

"I have to go back."

Iroh’s grip on her shoulder was firm.

"Running into a battlefield unprepared helps no one."

"Then what good is this training?!" she snapped, her voice cracking.

The words hung between them. The firelight cast shadows across Iroh’s face, but his eyes were unreadable.

"Show me," he said quietly.

She trained like a demon possessed.

Blade forms at dawn.

Sparring until her knuckles split.

Meditation that felt more like punishment than peace.

Too slow. Too weak.

She wasn’t ready.

She would never be ready.

One night, under the cold light of the moon, Hikari swung her sword—again, again, again—until her muscles screamed.

"Faster," she hissed to herself.

"Stronger."

Her vision blurred. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

And then—

A surge of energy exploded through her veins.

The world slowed.

Her blade moved before she could think, cutting through the air with impossible speed. The trees around her trembled as wind split around the steel.

Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū.

The legendary style of her clan's founder, Himura Kenshin—swordsmanship meant to protect, not to kill.

She staggered back, gasping.

Her hands shook.

Iroh stood at the edge of the clearing, his expression unreadable.

"…So that’s why your father left the clan," he murmured.

Hikari’s heart pounded.

"What?"

"The Himura Clan’s secret art. Only those with pure intent can wield it." His lips quirked. "No wonder he preferred making ramen."

When Hikari discovered her chakra natures—yin, yang, earth, and wind—she nearly laughed.

Of course, she’d be stuck with the most abstract, philosophical elements alongside two of the most practical ones.

"Yin and yang? Really?" she muttered, staring at the chakra paper where it had split into four distinct reactions—black for yin, white for yang, crumbled for earth, and sliced clean for wind. "What am I supposed to do with this? Meditate reality into submission?"

Iroh, ever amused, sipped his tea.

"Or perhaps… create something new."

Her father had been found.

Ichiraku hadn't been destroyed.

Iroh found her sharpening her blade at dawn.

"You’ve made your decision," he observed.

She didn’t look up.

"Konoha’s downfall won’t come from outside. It’ll come from within. And if I don’t do something, my family will be caught in the crossfire."

Her uncle sighed, but there was pride in his gaze.

"Then you’ll need more than a sword."

He tossed her a worn-out map—one with hidden routes, safe houses, and a single name circled in red.

"Orochimaru."

Hikari’s blood ran cold.

"You can’t be serious."

His smile was grim.

"He knows the rot better than anyone. And he hates Danzo."

Hikari exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the map. The name Orochimaru seemed to pulse like a warning.

"He experimented on children," she repeated, voice low. "Or at least followed orders that did. He’s not just some rogue nin—he’s a monster."

Iroh sipped his tea, unfazed.

"And yet, you know better than anyone that monsters are rarely born. They are made."

She scowled.

"That doesn’t excuse—"

"It doesn’t," he agreed. "But hatred blinds, and you need eyes to see the truth." He tapped the map. "Orochimaru knows Danzo’s secrets. His networks. His weaknesses. And more importantly…" A sly smile curled his lips. "He loathes him."

Hikari gritted her teeth.

The enemy of my enemy…

She studied herself in the mirror—green eyes, brown curls, the faintest hint of Suna’s desert sharpness in her cheekbones. Not conspicuous, but not nobody either.

"Time for a change."

A henge wouldn’t cut it. She needed something real.

Her fingers wove through hand signs, chakra humming under her skin.

"Himura-style: Haku no Kamen." White Mask

Her features shifted. Hair darkened to crimson, eyes bled into a cold, pale gold—uncannily like his. The resemblance was deliberate.

A gamble.

A message.

I am not prey.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''A word to the wise is infuriating.'' - Hunter S. Thompson

Orochimaru’s hideouts were never truly hidden—just ignored.

She found him in a crumbling fort near the Land of Rivers, its halls lined with scrolls and the faint scent of formaldehyde.

"Well, well," a voice hissed from the shadows.

"A little bird has flown far from its nest."

Hikari didn’t flinch. "Not a bird. A sword."

Golden eyes gleamed in the dark as the Snake Sannin emerged, his smile razor-thin. "And what does a sword want with me?"

She met his gaze.

"Danzo Shimura’s head."

A beat.

Then—laughter, low and delighted.

"Oh," he murmured.

"This will be fun."

The air in Orochimaru’s hideout was thick with the scent of damp parchment and something metallic—blood or mercury, Hikari couldn’t tell. She stood in the center of the dimly lit chamber, her sword resting against her shoulder, watching as the Snake Sannin’s golden eyes gleamed with predatory interest.

"You want to observe the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū?" she asked, voice steady.

"Fine. But not the full style. I’ll show you one technique—the Shinamori Spirit Style."

His lips curled.

"How… generous."

Hikari exhaled, centering herself. Yin and yang chakra coiled in her veins like twin serpents, balancing perfectly as she raised her blade.

Then—she moved.

The sword flashed, not in a physical strike, but in a ripple of energy. The air itself seemed to shudder as her chakra wove into the fabric of the world, threading between life and death.

A ghostly afterimage flickered—a silhouette of a fallen warrior, transparent but unmistakable, its form held together by sheer will and Hikari’s chakra.

"Shinamori Spirit Style: Soul’s Echo," she murmured.

The specter lunged, striking a training dummy with phantom force before dissolving into mist.

Orochimaru’s breath hitched.

"Fascinating," he whispered. "Not a true Edo Tensei, but… close. You pull the soul back, don’t you? Just for a moment. Just long enough to fight."

Hikari lowered her sword.

"It’s not resurrection. It’s a memory given form. And it burns through chakra like hellfire."

For a long moment, Orochimaru was silent.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into his robe and withdrew a scroll.

"Root’s primary base," he said, tossing it to her. "Beneath Konoha’s eastern cemetery. Danzo’s little gravediggers are always busy."

She caught the scroll, her fingers tightening around it.

"Why help me?"

The Sannin’s smile was a knife. "Because you amuse me. And because…" His gaze lingered on her blade. "I wonder what will happen when you try that technique on someone truly dead."

A chill ran down her spine.

Now, she had a target.

Now, she had a way in.

But Danzo was no fool—and Root’s tendrils ran deep.

Hikari tucked the scroll into her belt and turned to leave.

"One more thing," Orochimaru called. "If you survive… do come back. I’d love to see what else that sword can do."

She didn’t look back.

Konoha’s eastern cemetery was silent, the moonlight casting long, skeletal shadows over the gravestones. Hikari moved like a wraith, her breath steady, her pulse a quiet drum in her ears. The ANBU patrols were thin—stretched too far after the Kyuubi’s devastation—but she wasn’t taking chances.

Black clothes. Masked chakra. Sword sealed into her flesh.

She was a ghost. And ghosts didn’t get caught.

The entrance to Root was hidden beneath a mausoleum, its stone slab shifting soundlessly under her earth-natured chakra. The tunnel beyond was damp, the air thick with the scent of mildew and something sharper—blood, antiseptic, fear.

Hikari didn’t hesitate.

She dropped into the darkness.

The children were kept in rows of iron-barred rooms, their faces hollow, their eyes empty. Some were no older than Ayame.

Danzo’s little gravediggers.

Her stomach twisted, but her hand stayed steady.

The first lock shattered under a wind-chakra-infused strike. Then the next. And the next.

A boy with sunken cheeks flinched as she crouched before him.

"I’m not one of them," she whispered. "You’re getting out."

He didn’t believe her.

She didn’t blame him.

Further in, the corridor opened into a cavernous pit—a training ground. The sand was stained dark in patches.

A whimper echoed.

Hikari turned.

Two children—maybe seven years old—were shoved into the ring, kunai trembling in their hands. A Root agent loomed above them, masked and merciless.

"Fight," the agent commanded. "Or die."

Hikari’s vision went red.

Her sword was in her hand before she’d fully summoned it, the blade a silver flash in the dim light.

The Root agent barely had time to turn before Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū’s strike split the air—

—and the agent fell, their mask clattering to the ground in two perfect halves.

Silence.

Then the children screamed.

Hikari didn’t stop. She cut through the chains that bound them.

"Run," she ordered, pointing to the tunnel. "Follow the wind. It’ll lead you out."

They fled like spooked deer.

The last room was the worst.

Tubes. Scalpels. Eyes floating in jars.

And a small figure strapped to a table—a young woman with dirty blonde hair and a face too pale to be alive.

Hikari’s breath caught.

Nonō Yakushi.

Kabuto’s mother.

She wasn’t supposed to be here yet.

The girl’s chest rose weakly. Still alive. Barely.

Hikari reached for the restraints—

—then froze.

Footsteps.

Dozens of them.

Root was coming.

And she was out of time.

Danzo Shimura had always been a man who moved in silence, his presence like a stain on the periphery of Konoha’s light.

But tonight, he screamed.

Hikari’s blade had taken his arm first—the one littered with stolen Uchiha eyes, their Sharingan still glinting grotesquely in the torchlight as the severed limb hit the ground. His shock lasted only a second before she moved again, her sword a silver flash—

—and then his head rolled.

No grand last words. No final betrayal. Just a thud as his body collapsed, his reign of shadows ending in a pool of his own blood.

"Rot in hell," Hikari spat, sheathing her sword.

Then she turned—and froze.

The Hokage stood at the tunnel’s entrance, his face ashen. Behind him, ANBU, the Military Police, even a handful of jounin—all staring at the scene before them.

And in the center of it all: the children.

Dirty, trembling, but alive.

A tiny Hyuuga girl—no older than six—stepped forward, her small hands clutching a stack of scrolls. Without a word, she held them out to Hiruzen.

The Sandaime took them, his fingers tightening as he unsealed the first one. His breath hitched.

Orders to Orochimaru.

Falsified mission reports.

Mission to wreck the reputation of Hatake Sakumo by the rumour mill.

The murder of Kato Dan.

The systematic destruction of the Uchiha’s trust.

Every crime, every sin, laid bare in ink and blood.

Hiruzen’s voice was hoarse.

"Who… gave you these?"

The Hyuuga girl smiled, her Byakugan gleaming.

"The samurai onee-san."

Hikari, still half-hidden in the shadows, felt the weight of a dozen gazes snap toward her.

Damn it.

She didn’t wait for questions.

Wind chakra surged at her feet, and she moved, darting past stunned ANBU, through the maze of tunnels, up into the cold night air. Behind her, shouts erupted—orders to stop her, to find her—

But Hikari was already gone.

A whisper on the wind.

A blade without a name.

By dawn, Konoha would reel.

The Uchiha would demand answers.

The Hyuuga would reclaim their stolen kin.

The civilians would whisper of a shadow-war they never knew existed.

And Hiruzen Sarutobi?

He would stare at the scrolls in his hands and wonder:

Who was the girl with the sword?

And why had she done what he could not?

Hikari didn’t stop running until she reached the border.

Nonō Yakushi was limp in her arms, her breathing shallow but steady. Somewhere, Kabuto was still a lost orphan. Somewhere, Ayame was waiting.

And somewhere—

"Impressive."

—Orochimaru leaned against a tree, his golden eyes alight with something dangerously close to admiration.

"You’ve made quite the mess, little sword."

Hikari tightened her grip on Nonō.

"I’m not done yet."

The Snake Sannin smiled.

"Oh, I know."

Nonō Yakushi stirred, the soft rustle of sheets the first thing she registered. The air was dry, warm—wrong.

Konoha didn’t feel like this.

Her eyes fluttered open. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the room in hues of gold and sand. A ceiling of woven reeds, not sterile hospital tiles.

Where—?

The door creaked open.

A girl stepped in—young, maybe mid-teens, with wild brown curls and green eyes that held too much weight for her age. She carried a tray of food: flatbread, spiced lentils, a cup of tea steaming faintly.

"Hi," the girl said, setting the tray down. "You’ve been out for a while."

The older woman's throat was parched.

"Where…?"

"Suna. Well, just outside it." The girl—Hikari—leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"I kinda rescued you. You were in a… bad place."

Memories flickered—cold metal, the sting of needles, Danzo’s voice. Nonō’s breath hitched.

Hikari didn’t flinch.

"Figured you wouldn’t want to wake up to T&I poking around your skull. So I left a message at your hospital. A ‘leave of absence.’ Paperwork’s all in order."

Nonō stared.

"You forged—?"

"I improved administrative efficiency," Hikari corrected, deadpan.

Then, said softly, "You’re safe here. No one’s looking for you. Not yet, anyway."

The older woman's fingers trembled around the teacup.

"Why?"

Hikari paused.

"Because I could."

A simple answer. Too simple.

Nonō’s gaze sharpened—medic’s instincts cutting through the fog. "You’re not just some runaway. That technique you used to move me… it wasn’t standard shunshin."

Hikari’s lips quirked.

"And you’re not just a medic. Kabuto’s lucky to have you."

Kabuto.

Nonō’s cup clattered to the floor.

"You—where is he?!"

"Safe. For now." Hikari met her panic head-on.

"He’s still in Konoha. Orphanage. But he’s smart. He’ll survive until you’re strong enough to go back."

If you go back at all, she didn’t say.

Silence stretched.

Then—

"I can get him out," Hikari said quietly. "If that’s what you want."

Nonō’s hands clenched. "What do you want in return?"

"Nothing."

A lie. Or maybe not.

Hikari turned to leave, but Nonō’s voice stopped her.

"Who are you?"

The girl glanced back, sunlight catching the edge of her grin.

"Just a ramen girl.''

Chapter Text

-thoughts

''-talking

''The wisdom of the wise and the experience of the ages are perpetuated by quotations.'' - Benjamin Disraeli

Rasa, the Fourth Kazekage, gazed at the picture of the young girl as his ANBU delivered their report.

"A young girl," one of them said, "requested entry at the gates. She carries a storage scroll and claims family ties to the merchant Hiko."

His fingers tapped idly against his desk. His wife’s family—though not shinobi, they were influential in Suna’s trade networks.

And this girl…

"Let her in," he decided. "But have her watched."

Hikari stepped into her grandfather’s home, the scent of spices and sun-baked clay wrapping around her like an old memory. Ayame—small, bright-eyed, her dark brown straight hair, a mirror of their father's—looked up from where she was grinding herbs with their grandfather.

"Nee-chan!" Ayame launched herself at Hikari, nearly knocking her over.

The teenager caught her, squeezing tight.

"Hey, little firecracker."

Hiko, their grandfather, wiped his hands on his apron, his sharp eyes flicking to the storage scroll at Hikari’s hip.

"You’re early."

"Plans changed," Hikari said. "We’re going home in a few days."

Ayame gasped.

"To Konoha? Really?"

Hikari nodded.

"Really."

Then she turned to Hiko and lowered her voice.

"I need healers. There’s… someone. A friend. She’s in bad shape."

Hiko didn’t ask questions.

He never did.

He just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You’re just like your mother."

The words hit like a kunai to the ribs.

Their mother—a woman Hikari barely remembered, who had died bringing Ayame into the world. A woman who, according to Hiko, had once smuggled an entire caravan of wounded rebels out of Iwa under the Tsuchikage’s nose.

Like mother, like daughter.

Her grandfather snapped his fingers, and within the hour, two of Suna’s best medics—discreet, well-paid, and very uninterested in politics—were at the door.

Hikari unsealed the storage scroll, and Nonō’s unconscious form appeared on the low cot. The medics got to work, their hands glowing green as they assessed the damage.

Ayame hovered at the doorway, wide-eyed. "Who’s that?"

"Someone who needs help," Hikari said.

"Just like we did once."

Hiko crossed his arms. "You’re bringing trouble to Suna's doorstep."

"No," Hikari corrected.

"I’m taking trouble off it."

Her grandfather studied her for a long moment—then snorted.

"Fine. But when the Kazekage asks, I knew nothing."

Hikari grinned.

"Obviously."

That night, as Ayame slept curled against her side, Hikari stared at the ceiling.

Konoha awaited.

Danzo was dead, but his rot ran deep.

Nonō would live, but what then?

And Kabuto—Kabuto—was still out there, a loose thread in a tapestry already unraveling.

But for now, in this quiet house of spices and secrets, she let herself breathe.

The walls of Suna’s administrative building were thick, designed to keep out both the desert heat and prying ears. Rasa sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, as Hikari stood before him—a girl who carried herself like a seasoned shinobi, yet whose eyes held the weariness of someone far older.

“You’ve caused quite a stir,” Rasa said, his voice cool.

Hikari didn’t flinch.

“Family visits are supposed to be stir-free, Uncle.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face at the informal address, but before he could retort, the door slid open.

Temari and Kankuro peeked in, curiosity outweighing caution.

Behind them, a servant hovered nervously, holding a bundled-up Gaara.

“Come in,” the Kazekage sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Meet your… cousin.”

Temari, all sharp edges and suspicion, eyed Hikari like she was a puzzle to solve. Kankuro, ever the performer, grinned and immediately launched into questions about Konoha’s puppet theaters (Hikari, to his delight, knew way too much about them).

But Gaara—

The baby stirred as the servant passed him to Hikari, his tiny face scrunching up.

For a heartbeat, the room tensed.

Then, impossibly, Gaara settled against her chest, his small fingers curling into her shirt.

His breathing evened out.

Shukaku didn’t stir.

Rasa’s teacup hit the desk with a clink.

“How?” The word was barely more than a breath.

Hikari looked down at Gaara, her expression softening. “Some things just need warmth,” she said simply.

She didn’t mention the faint pulse of yang chakra she’d woven into her touch—the same energy that had once brought souls back from the brink.

Rasa recovered quickly, his shock hardening into calculation. “You’re returning to Konoha.”

“By caravan,” Hikari confirmed. “With spices, a healed medic, and my sister.”

“And what do you want from me?”

She met his gaze. “Safe passage. And a favor.”

A beat. Then—

“Name it.”

“When the time comes,” she said, shifting Gaara gently in her arms, “remember that Suna doesn’t have to stand alone.”

Rasa’s eyes narrowed.

“You speak like a diplomat.”

“No,” Hikari corrected, smiling as Gaara yawned.

“I speak like family.”

The desert gave way to rocky plateaus, then to sparse woodlands as the caravan lumbered toward Konoha. Hikari sat atop one of the wagons, legs swinging, watching the horizon with a mix of anticipation and wariness. Ayame chattered excitedly beside her, while Nonō—still regaining her strength—rested in the shade of the covered cart.

Then, a flicker of movement ahead.

Two figures walked the road—one tall, blonde, and radiating an aura of don’t mess with me, the other younger, dark-haired, and carrying a small pig like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Tsunade and Shizune.

Hikari’s lips twitched.

Of course.

Tsunade’s sharp golden eyes locked onto the caravan, then narrowed as she took in Hikari’s unmistakable not-from-around-here energy.

“You,” Tsunade called, jerking her chin. “What’s a kid doing leading a merchant group?”

Hikari hopped down from the wagon, dusting off her pants. “Technically, my grandfather’s the merchant. I’m just the delivery girl.”

Shizune blinked.

“Delivery girl?”

“Spices for Ichiraku Ramen,” Hikari said smoothly, patting the sealed scroll at her hip.

“And, uh. A few other things.”

Tsunade’s gaze flicked past her, lingering on the covered cart where Nonō sat.

A medic’s instincts were hard to fool.

“You’ve got a patient back there,” Tsunade stated.

Hikari shrugged. “And you’ve got a pig. We all have our quirks.”

Shizune gasped. “Tonton is not a quirk!”

The Slug Sannin ignored her, stepping closer.

“Who are you really?”

Hikari met her stare.

“Just a ramen girl Tsunade-sama.”

A beat of silence.

Then—Tsunade laughed, sharp and unamused.

“Cheeky Brat.”

“Yep,” Hikari said cheerfully. “Just trying to get back safely to Konoha with my goods, my sister, and my friend.”

Tsunade’s smirk was razor-thin.

“Flattery won’t get you a free escort.”

“Good thing I’ve got spicy ramen bribes, then.”

By nightfall, they’d set up camp together. Tsunade—after a very thorough examination of Nonō—grudgingly admitted Hikari hadn’t botched the healing.

“You’ve got decent chakra control,” Tsunade muttered, taking a swig of sake. “For a kid.”

Hikari poked the campfire. “I had a good teacher.”

“Who?”

“A tea-loving uncle who believes in tough love.”

Tsunade snorted.

“Sounds like a pain.”

“The worst,” Hikari agreed, grinning.

Shizune, ever the peacekeeper, passed around bowls of stew. “So… why are you going to Konoha?”

Hikari smiled.

“Family business.”

As the fire burned low, Hikari watched the stars.

Tsunade’s return would change things.

Nonō’s survival would change more.

And Ayame—sweet, oblivious Ayame—would finally see home again.

But first, they had to get there.

The journey had been peaceful—until it wasn’t.

A whistle pierced the air.

Then, the ambush.

Bandits poured from the trees, blades glinting, their laughter sharp with greed.

"Hand over the goods, and maybe we’ll let you live!" their leader sneered, a jagged kunai twirling in his hand.

Hikari sighed.

She didn’t hesitate.

Her hand flashed in symbols as she pulled out the hilt of her sakabatou—the reversed-edge sword, its dull side gleaming in the sun from her seal. She had no intention of killing, but she would make them regret this.

"Stay behind me," she ordered Ayame and Nonō, stepping forward.

Tsunade, who had been lounging on one of the wagons, stiffened. 

"Kid, don’t—"

But Hikari was already moving.

Wind chakra surged at her feet, propelling her forward in a blur.

The first bandit swung—

—and found his wrist snapped by the flat of her blade. He screamed, collapsing.

The second lunged.

Hikari twisted, her sword slamming into his ribs with enough force to send him flying into his comrades.

A third came from behind.

She didn’t even turn.

Her elbow cracked into his jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Then, the scent of blood hit the air.

One of the bandits had slashed Hikari’s arm—just a scratch, really—but the metallic tang was enough.

A choked gasp came from behind her.

Tsunade’s face had gone deathly pale. Her hands trembled, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Hemophobia.

Shizune was at her side instantly, blocking her view. 

"Tsunade-sama, don’t look—!"

Hikari cursed under her breath.

This just got complicated.

With a snarl, Hikari moved.

Her sword became a whirlwind, striking pressure points, disarming, disabling.

The bandits didn’t stand a chance.

Within seconds, they were groaning in the dirt, their weapons shattered, their pride in tatters.

The leader, still conscious but clutching a broken wrist, gaped at her.

"W-what are you?!"

Hikari wiped the blood from her arm with a cloth, her voice icy.

"Annoyed."

Then she knocked him out.

The caravan was silent.

Shizune had managed to calm Tsunade, though the Sannin’s usual bravado was gone, replaced by a brittle tension.

Ayame stared at Hikari with wide eyes.

"Nee-chan… you were amazing!"

Nonō, ever the medic, was already reaching for Hikari’s arm.

"Let me clean that."

Hikari let her, but her gaze was fixed on Tsunade.

The older woman met her eyes, shame and fury warring in her expression.

"You fight like a demon," Tsunade muttered.

The younger woman smirked.

"And you faint at paper cuts. We all have our flaws."

Tsunade’s glare could have melted stone.

But for the first time in years—she didn’t argue.

The gates of Konoha stood tall, the familiar sight of the village’s towering walls and bustling streets sending a wave of nostalgia through Hikari. Beside her, Ayame practically vibrated with excitement, her small hands clutching Hikari’s sleeve.

“We’re really home,” her little sister whispered, eyes wide.

Hikari ruffled her hair.

“Yeah. Let’s go see the old man.”

With a nod to Tsunade and Shizune—who were already striding toward the Hokage Tower with purpose—and a quick glance at Nonō, who had set off for the orphanage with quiet determination, Hikari led Ayame through the winding streets of Konoha.

The ramen stand was just as she remembered it.

The scent of simmering broth, the warm glow of the lanterns, the sound of her father’s voice humming as he chopped scallions—

Teuchi looked up, and for a moment, time stood still.

Then—

“Hikari? Ayame?!”

The ladle clattered to the counter. In an instant, he was around the stall, sweeping both of them into a crushing hug. Ayame squealed, burying her face in his apron, while Hikari—despite herself—felt her throat tighten.

''Tou-san!''

''Tou-chan!''

“You’re back,” Teuchi breathed, his voice rough.

“You’re both back.”

Hikari grinned against his shoulder.

“Missed us that much, old man?”

He pulled back, gripping her shoulders, his eyes searching hers. “What happened? You're early.”

“Long story,” Hikari said, glancing at the empty shop. “Got any miso pork to spare while I tell it?”

Teuchi laughed, wiping his eyes.

“For you? Always.”

Meanwhile, Nonō stood before the orphanage doors, her heart pounding.

She hadn’t seen Kabuto in weeks.

Would he even want to come with her? Would he want to?

Steeling herself, she pushed the door open—

—and froze.

A small boy with silver hair and round glasses looked up from a medical scroll, his eyes widening behind the frames.

“Nono-san…?”

Nonō’s breath hitched.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

Tsunade didn’t knock.

She kicked the doors open, her sandals slapping against the polished floor as she stormed into Hiruzen’s office.

The Sandaime looked up from his paperwork, weary but unsurprised.

“Tsunade.”

“Hokage-sama,” she spat. “We need to talk. Now.”

Shizune, trailing behind, gave Hiruzen an apologetic look.

Hiruzen sighed, setting down his pipe.

“I suppose we do.”

The Sandaime's gaze flickered to the scrolls at Shizune’s side—the ones he’d sent, the ones detailing Danzo’s crimes. The ones that confirmed Danzo had orchestrated Dan’s death.

“I see,” he murmured.

Her fists clenched.

“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, you let a rotten bastard run loose in your village for decades.”

The air grew heavy.

The ANBU flanking Hiruzen tensed, but he raised a hand, stopping them.

“I won’t deny my failures,” he admitted.

“But Danzo is dead now. And the truth is out.”

Tsunade scoffed. “And what? You expect me to just forgive and forget?”

“No,” Hiruzen said quietly. “I expect you to help me fix it.”

Chapter Text

-thoughts

''-talking

''Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.'' - Leo Buscaglia

The chamber of the Konoha Clan Council was usually a place of measured debates and veiled tensions. Tonight, it was a powder keg.

Sarutobi Hiruzen stood at the head of the table, his pipe unlit, his expression grave. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows over the faces of the assembled clan heads—some confused, others already simmering with anger.

Then the doors slammed open.

"Sorry I'm late," Tsunade drawled, striding in like a storm.

"Had to clean up some trash on the way."

Murmurs rippled through the room. The Senju princess hadn’t set foot in a council meeting in over a decade.

And behind her—

"Hatake Kakashi?" Hiashi Hyuuga’s brow arched.

"This is… unexpected."

Kakashi, masked and slouched, gave a bow.

"Hokage-sama insisted."

Fugaku's Sharingan flickered.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Sarutobi exhaled.

"We have uncovered evidence of grievous crimes committed by the late Danzo Shimura."

A scroll unfurled on the table, its contents damning.

Missing orphans.

Stolen clan children.

Experiments. Assassinations. A shadow war waged within our own walls.

Fugaku’s fist hit the table.

"You knew."

"Not all of it," Sarutobi admitted.

"But enough to act too late."

Shikaku leaned forward, his voice dangerously calm.

"And the children?"

Tsunade smirked.

"Alive. Freed by a samurai with a grudge."

Fugaku stood, his chair scraping back.

"This is beyond negligence. This is treason."

"Agreed," The last Senju said bluntly. "Which is why I’m staying."

The room stilled.

Sarutobi’s eyes widened.

"Tsunade—"

"Not as Hokage," she cut in. "As a medic. Someone’s gotta fix the mess you made."

The meeting dissolved into shouting, demands, and threats.

But two things were clear.

Konoha’s rot ran deeper than anyone admitted.

Someone had already begun cutting it out.

As the chaos swirled, Kakashi slipped out, his mind racing.

That girl with the sword…

She’d started a war.

And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

The Konoha Hospital had always been a place of quiet efficiency—at least when Tsunade had been at its helm.

The Senju stormed through its doors like a force of nature.

Within hours, the entire hierarchy trembled.

"You." She pointed at the head administrator, Jun Moto, a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a habit of smoothing his robes when nervous.

"My office. Now."

Moto swallowed hard but followed her.

''Have you seen the hospital's finances? --- It's a disgrace!'' 

Her fist slammed down.

"Tsunade-sama, I assure you, the hospital’s finances are—"

"A disgrace," Tsunade interrupted, slamming a ledger onto her desk.

"Missing funds. Overpriced supplies. Ghost employees." Her golden eyes burned. "You’re fired."

His face drained of color. "You can’t—!"

"Watch me."

By noon, the older man was escorted out by ANBU to T&I, and the hospital staff buzzed with a mix of terror and exhilaration.

With Nonō and Shizune at her side, Tsunade wasted no time.

"From today," she announced to the assembled medics, "every squad will have a trained field medic. No excuses."

A jounin in the back scoffed.

"Not enough chakra control for that."

Tsunade’s smile was razor-sharp.

"Funny you should say that."

She flipped open a file—ninjas with perfect chakra control, buried in grunt work for years.

A chuunin who could water-walk at age six, now stuck on border patrol.

A kunoichi with precise chakra scalpels, relegated to the genin corps.

A Hyuuga branch member whose Byakugan could track capillary flow was ignored because of his status.

"These are your new medics," Tsunade declared. "And if I hear one complaint, I’ll personally demonstrate why they call me the Legendary Sucker."

No one argued.

Alone in her office that night, Tsunade stared at another file—one she had only shown Dan.

Nawaki’s autopsy report.

Cause of death: Blood loss. Preventable with a single field medic.

Her fist clenched.

"Too late for you, brat," she muttered. "But not for the rest."

Word spread fast.

The Uchiha demanded medics for their police force, and eventually volunteered some of their clansmen after Tsunade got into a heated argument with Fugaku.

The Hyuuga quietly reassigned branch members to training.

Even the Aburame offered their hive-synchronized chakra techniques for triage.

And in the shadows, a certain snake observed it all—amused.

"Oh, Tsunade," Orochimaru mused. "You always did wear your heart on your sleeve."

Meanwhile, in Ichiraku Ramen, Hikari slurped miso broth and grinned.

About damn time.

The scent of simmering broth and sizzling garlic filled Ichiraku Ramen as Hikari worked behind the counter, her curls tucked under a hair net, her hands moving with practiced ease. A pink apron—emblazoned with "Kiss the Cook (Or Else)" in bold blue letters—was tied snugly around her waist.

Eggplant slices sizzled in a pan, their edges crisping to perfection as she tossed them with a drizzle of honey and chili oil.

"Tou-chan, try this," she called, sliding a small plate toward Teuchi.

He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then grinned.

"Hikari… this is good."

She smirked.

"Told you eggplant could work in ramen."

Ayame, perched on a stool, wrinkled her nose.

"I still think it’s weird."

"More for me, then," Hikari said, flicking a chopped scallion at her sister.

The curtain of the stall rustled.

A masked jounin slouched in, his lone visible eye scanning the menu with exaggerated boredom.

Hatake Kakashi.

A teenage Hatake Kakashi.

Hikari didn’t miss a beat.

"Welcome to Ichiraku. What’ll it be?"

Kakashi glanced up, his gaze lingering on her for half a second too long.

"Hmm… surprise me."

"Bold move," Hikari said, already reaching for a bowl. "Hope you like eggplant."

His eye curved in what might’ve been a smile.

"Living dangerously."

As she assembled his bowl—thick miso broth, chewy noodles, crispy eggplant tempura—she could feel him watching.

Not the way customers usually did, with hunger or curiosity.

No, this was an assessment.

Did he know?

She’d been careful. Covered her hair during the Root raid. Masked her chakra. But Kakashi wasn’t just anyone.

She slid the bowl toward him.

"Special of the day. Eggplant Explosion."

Kakashi lifted his mask just enough to take a bite.

Chewed.

Paused.

"...Not bad," he admitted.

Jiraiya stood at the edge of a nameless cliff, the wind tugging at his wild mane of white hair as he stared down at the small scroll in his hands. The words were simple, but their weight was crushing.

"Orochimaru. Danzo. Experiments. Orders. Children."

Each syllable felt like a kunai to the gut.

His first instinct was denial.

No. Not Oro. Not like this.

But Sarutobi wasn’t one for baseless accusations. And Tsunade—Tsunade—had already returned to the village. That alone told him everything he needed to know.

With a heavy sigh, he bit his thumb and slammed his palm onto the rocky ground.

"Kuchiyose no Jutsu!"

A small, blue-tinged toad appeared in a puff of smoke.

"Gamatatsu," Jiraiya said, his voice rough.

"Take this to the old man."

The toad blinked up at him, sensing the gravity in his tone. "You okay, Raiya?"

The Sannin's jaw tightened.

"Just deliver the message."

He scrawled two words onto a scrap of paper.

"Understood, Sensei."

Then, as Gamatatsu vanished in another puff, Jiraiya turned his gaze toward Konoha.

Jiraiya didn’t head for the Hokage Tower once he reached Konoha.

Not yet.

Instead, he found himself outside a familiar ramen stand, the scent of miso broth and chili oil thick in the air.

And there, behind the counter—

A girl with wild brown curls in a net and an apron wrapped around her waist.

Jiraiya smirked, despite himself.

"Hey, kid," he called, sliding onto a stool.

"Got anything strong enough to make me forget the last decade?"

The girl—Hikari—glanced up, her green eyes sharp.

"I’ve got eggplant ramen and a really uncomfortable family reunion story."

Jiraiya barked a laugh.

"Perfect."

As he slurped the ramen which was, admittedly, damn good, Jiraiya’s mind raced.

Tsunade was already cleaning house.

Orochimaru was in the wind.

He wiped his mouth and tossed a handful of coins onto the counter.

"See you around, kid."

Fugaku sat in the dim light of his office at the Konoha Police Headquarters, the weight of the past weeks pressing down on him like a physical force.

The Kyuubi attack. The forced relocation. The whispers—always the whispers—that the Uchiha had somehow been involved.

And now, the truth.

Shimura Danzo, the man who had orchestrated their disgrace, was dead. His crimes lay bare: stolen Sharingan, kidnapped Uchiha children, experiments on their fallen kin. The revelation should have brought relief.

Instead, it only stoked the embers of Fugaku’s fury.

They had done their duty.

They had obeyed orders, evacuated when told, fought where they could—only to be treated like traitors in their own village.

And now?

Now, the same village that had turned its back on them expected them to simply move on.

His thoughts turned to the Hatake child—the boy who carried Obito’s eye.

The elders had been furious.

"That eye belongs to the Uchiha!" they’d argued.

But Fugaku knew the truth - Obito had given it willingly. To take it now would be to dishonor his sacrifice.

Still, the sight of a non-Uchiha wielding the Sharingan was a bitter pill to swallow.

And then there was the samurai.

The masked figure who had stormed Root, freed the prisoners, and exposed Danzo’s rot to the light.

Who were they?

A rogue? A spy?

Or something else entirely?

The elders wanted action. Retribution. A show of strength to remind Konoha that the Uchiha were not to be trifled with.

But Fugaku had seen where that path led.

Danzo was dead. The truth was out.

And if the Uchiha acted now, in anger, they would only prove the village’s suspicions right.

No.

There was another way.

He stood, rolling the scroll shut.

"Summon Itachi," he ordered the clansman outside his door.

If anyone could navigate this storm, it was his son.

Chapter Text

-thoughts

''-talking

''It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.'' - Aesop

Hikari missed technology. Not just smartphones, but the little things—electric kettles, refrigeration, dishwashers.

So she did what any millennial reborn in a pseudo-feudal ninja world would do: she started inventing.

1. The Ever-Cool Storage Scroll (Patent Pending)
Problem: Perishable ingredients spoiled too fast during travel.

Solution: Modified storage scrolls infused with wind-natured chakra to regulate temperature. A rudimentary fridge scroll.

Bonus: Perfect for keeping ramen broth fresh.

2. The Self-Stirring Pot (Ramen Savior)

Problem: Her father’s arms got tired from stirring giant broth vats.

Solution: An earth-natured chakra seal array that kept the liquid in gentle motion. No more uneven heating.

Her father's Verdict: "You’ve weaponized laziness. I’m proud."

3. The Blade’s Breath (Sword Maintenance Kit)

Problem: Kenjutsu was hell on her weapon’s edge.

Solution: A wind-chakra-infused whetstone that sharpened with a single swipe.

With Konoha still recovering from the Kyuubi attack, rare ingredients for Ichiraku Ramen were harder to come by.

So Hikari took it upon herself to track them down.

Which included sneaking into Kumo’s lightning-infused valleys for thunder-root mushrooms (good for umami depth).

Bargaining with Suna’s spice merchants.

Avoiding Kiri’s mist-covered bogs while hunting phantom kelp (which, yes, was as creepy as it sounded).

And when bandits or overzealous ninja got in her way?

Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū made short work of them.

Her father never asked where the ingredients came from.

But when Hikari slid a sealed scroll of fresh, still-cold Ame eel across the counter, his eyes softened.

"You’re going to make Ichiraku legendary," he said, ruffling her hair.

She grinned.

"Someone’s gotta keep you in business, old man."

Fugaku stood in the quiet of the family dojo, watching his son.

Itachi, barely five years old, moved through the basic katas with a precision that belied his age. His small hands were steady, his dark eyes focused—already carrying the weight of the Uchiha name.

The clan head had always known his son was gifted. Genius was too small a word for it. The elders whispered of prodigies like the Sannin, like Minato. They saw only potential, a weapon to be honed.

But Fugaku had seen what ANBU did to people.

How it hollowed them out.

How it broke them.

"Itachi," Fugaku called, his voice softer than usual.

His son paused mid-motion, turning with that eerie calmness of his.

"Yes, Father?"

Fugaku knelt, meeting his eyes.

"Have you ever thought about becoming a medic?"

The young boy blinked.

"A… medic?"

"You have the chakra control for it," Fugaku said, choosing his words carefully.

"And the mind. Precision. Patience."

Itachi tilted his head, considering.

"But the clan—"

"The clan needs healers as much as it needs warriors," Fugaku interrupted. "Tsunade Senju has reopened the Medic Corps. It’s a path worth considering."

A path away from ANBU. Away from the shadows that had already taken too much from them.

The child studied his father’s face—something he did often, as if reading the emotions Fugaku so rarely showed.

"You don’t want me to join ANBU," he said quietly.

Fugaku’s jaw tightened. "No."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Okay," Itachi said simply.

No argument. No resistance. Just acceptance.

Fugaku exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying easing from his shoulders.

Hikari knew the training grounds were off limits to her because she was considered a civilian.

Only registered Konoha-nin could use the training grounds.

Still, she was itching to practise her kenjutsu.

Her hair was wrapped.

She wore all black as she practiced her kata, and used her jutsu.

Not knowing someone, had heard her in training ground seven.

15-year-old Kakashi, who was on ANBU patrol, watched as the young woman practised her swordsmanship.

The young ANBU had his  White Light Chakra Sabre strapped to his back.

He was intrigued.

He jumped down and drew his blade, only for Hikari to meet him head to head.

''You shouldn't be here,'' he said bluntly, ''It's off limits.''

Hikari tilted her head up, ''It's a shame, I kinda liked the view.''

She grinned at him, ''How about a spar, your blade against mine.''

He wordlessly shifts his stance, ''Your move,'' then she moved, her agility to match his.

The clash of steel echoed through Training Ground 7, the moonlight glinting off the edges of their blades as Hikari and Kakashi danced across the dirt. His White Light Chakra Sabre hummed with energy, her sakabatou a silver blur in the night.

"You’re good," Kakashi admitted, his voice muffled by his mask. "For a civilian."

Hikari smirked, flipping her sword in her grip. "And you’re predictable. For an ANBU."

He lunged. She parried. Their movements were a mirror—sharp, precise, deadly.

Then, in a flash, she twisted, her foot hooking behind his knee. Kakashi stumbled, and with a flick of her wrist, his blade went flying.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then—

"Chidori."

Lightning crackled in his palm, the air splitting with its scream.

Hikari’s eyes glowed—a brief, unnatural blue—and before she could think, her hands moved on instinct.

"Fūton: Rasengan!"

The wind roared, a spiraling vortex of chakra forming in her palm. Kakashi barely dodged as it tore through the trees behind him, reducing them to splinters.

The clearing fell silent.

Kakashi’s visible eye widened.

"How the hell do you know that jutsu?"

Hikari stared at her hands, horrified.

Shit.

Only three people in the world knew the Rasengan.

And she’d just used it like it was nothing.

Before Kakashi could react, Hikari slapped a hand to her forehead.

"Idiot," she muttered.

Then—poof—she was gone, leaving only a swirl of leaves behind.

Kakashi stood alone in the wreckage, his mind racing.

Who was she?

How did she know Minato Sensei's technique?

And most importantly—

Why did her eyes glow like that?

Hikari reappeared in her room, heart pounding.

"Well," she whispered to herself, "that could’ve gone better."

She flopped onto her bed, groaning.

Rasengan.

Of all things, why did it have to be the Rasengan she chose?

Now Kakashi would be suspicious.

Now everyone would be.

But as she stared at the ceiling, a slow grin spread across her face.

At least the spar had been fun.

The red-light district of Konoha had always been a place of shadows, where secrets were traded as freely as coin, and loyalty was a currency more valuable than ryo.

And now, it had a new player.

Hikari’s apartment building stood unassuming at first glance, its weathered exterior blending into the rowdy streets. But those who knew seals noticed the subtle, swirling insignia of the Uzumaki clan etched into its foundation—reinforced, layered, humming with chakra.

A statement.

A challenge.

Inside, the building was a hive of quiet activity.

The ladies of the district came and went, their steps lighter, their eyes sharper. Free healing. Free meals. Free choices.

The walls whispered with coded messages, passed between hands and hidden in laughter.

And Hikari? She moved among them like a ghost, her green eyes missing nothing.

"Mika," she called to one of the older women, tossing her a small scroll.

"The Daimyo’s envoy likes to talk after a few drinks. See what he knows about Kiri’s movements."

Mika caught it with a smirk.

"He also likes my lavender oil. I’ll have him singing by dawn."

Hikari grinned.

"That’s why you’re my favorite."

Jiraiya had been sniffing around for days.

A wind-style Rasengan wasn’t something you just stumbled into. How did she know to add an element to it? 

Oh, he was interested.

He leaned against a nearby wall, watching the renovated building with narrowed eyes.

"Uzumaki seals," he muttered.

This was no ordinary civilian.

This was a problem.

He found her the next day.

He wasn't the spymaster for nothing.

Jiraiya leaned against the counter of Ichiraku Ramen, his fingers drumming an idle rhythm as he studied Hikari over the rim of his sake cup. The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting warm streaks of light across the wooden counter between them.

"So," he said, his tone deceptively casual, "let’s circle back to the Rasengan."

Hikari didn’t pause in her chopping, the knife in her hand moving with practiced ease through a pile of scallions.

"What about it?"

"You expect me to believe some drunk Uchiha just happened to teach your uncle one of the most advanced jutsu in existence?"

She shrugged.

"Not just any Uchiha. A really drunk one. Said he picked it up from a blonde guy in a flashy jacket during the war. Guess they were friends—or rivals. Hard to tell when someone’s slurring."

Jiraiya’s eye twitched.

Minato had never mentioned—

No.

He was getting sidetracked.

"And the wind aspect?"

Hikari set the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron. "The scroll my uncle wrote was… incomplete. Like the technique was missing something. So I tweaked it." She mimed a swirling motion with her fingers. "Wind’s good for cutting. Seemed like a natural fit."

The Sannin stared at her.

It was a bald-faced lie.

It was also just plausible enough to be frustrating.

"Which Uchiha?" Jiraiya pressed.

"Dunno. Didn’t catch his name."

"Where’s the scroll now?"

"Burned it. Didn’t want Ayame stumbling onto it and blowing up the house."

"Your uncle’s name?"

The teenager grinned.

"Wouldn’t you like to know."

Jiraiya groaned, rubbing his temples.

"Kid, you’re impossible."

"So I’ve been told." She slid a bowl of ramen toward him. "Extra naruto. On the house."

Of course, the real story was far simpler:

Step 1: Watch Naruto religiously in a past life.

Step 2: Memorize every jutsu montage like it was the damn Bible.

Step 3: Get isekai’d into said universe.

Step 4: Profit.

But Jiraiya didn’t need to know that.

(No one did.)

Jiraiya slurped his ramen, eyeing her with grudging respect. "You know, if you’re gonna lie, at least make it fun."

"Oh?" Hikari leaned forward.

"How’s this—I learned it from a talking toad who owed me money."

He choked on his noodles.

Hikari stood in front of the Hokage’s desk, resisting the urge to fidget under the weight of Sarutobi Hiruzen’s assessing gaze. The old man puffed on his pipe, the smoke curling lazily between them as he studied her.

“So,” he began, “you’re applying to be a nanny.”

“Yep,” Hikari said, popping the ‘p.’ “Saw the poster. Figured I’d give it a shot.”

Hiruzen's eyebrows rose slightly.

“And your qualifications?”

She shrugged.

''Raised my little sister, Ayame. Also babysat a bunch of my cousins. Oh, and I know first aid.”

“First aid?”

“Ayame was that kid,” Hikari deadpanned. “You know, the one who tried to eat rocks, bugs, and—on one memorable occasion—a live scorpion.”

The Sandaime coughed, either from the smoke or the mental image.

“I see.”

The Hokage leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “And your… other skills?”

Hikari blinked innocently.

“I make a mean miso ramen?”

A beat of silence.

Then Hiruzen sighed, rubbing his temples. “Very well. The position is for a temporary assignment—caring for a child whose parents are on a high-profile mission. You’ll be compensated fairly.”

The teenager grinned.

“Sweet. When do I start?”

Hikari stared down at the toddler sprawled on the Nara clan’s porch, his tiny face scrunched in displeasure as he glared at a drifting cloud like it had personally offended him.

"…You’ve got to be kidding me," she muttered.

"Problem?" Yoshino Nara asked, arms crossed, though her lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement.

"He’s fifteen months old and already looks like he’s judging the universe."

Shikamaru sighed—an impressively world-weary sound for someone who still needed help walking.

As it turned out, Shikaku was on a mission with his team, and Yoshino had been called away on a long-term diplomatic mission to Wind Country—some delicate matter involving the Kazekage’s temper and Suna’s dwindling funds.

Which left Hikari in charge of their pint-sized, future-genius son.

"He’s… low-maintenance," Yoshino said, handing over a list titled Shikamaru’s Routine in neat script.

Hikari scanned it:

Naps: 3x daily (or whenever he feels like it).

Food: Prefers grilled fish. Will throw vegetables if provoked.

Entertainment: Clouds. Only clouds. Do not attempt games.

"This is the easiest job I’ve ever had," Hikari declared.

Shika yawned, as if to say, Famous last words.

By day three, Hikari realized the truth.

Shikamaru Nara was a menace.

 He fake-snored when she tried to put him down, then smirked when she gave up.

 He’d somehow mastered the art of dropping fish into the grass so the Nara deer would eat it, leaving his veggies untouched.

 If a cloud dared move too fast, he’d whine until she carried him to a better viewing spot.

"You’re militantly lazy," Hikari accused, flopping onto the grass beside him.

The baby patted her cheek, his tiny fingers sticky from the dango he’d guilted her into giving him.

That night, as she tucked him in (after two bedtime stories and a promise of extra fish tomorrow), Hikari sighed.

"You’re gonna be a nightmare as a teenager, aren’t you?"

Shikamaru blinked up at her, then reached out and grabbed her finger.

"Troublesome," he mumbled—his first word, delivered with perfect Nara deadpan.

Hikari burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''To begin, begin.'' - William Wordsworth

Hikari’s apartment was a mess of scrolls, ink, and half-finished prototypes. The centerpiece of the chaos? A large, woven rug spread across the floor, its edges lined with intricate Uzumaki sealing arrays—each character pulsing faintly with chakra.

"Flying carpet," she muttered, tapping a brush against her lips.

"Why not?"

She’d stolen—ahem, copied—every scrap of sealing knowledge from the Himura Clan’s library before leaving the Land of Iron. The Uzumaki’s lost arts were now hers to resurrect, one reckless experiment at a time.

She pressed her palm to the carpet’s central array, channeling chakra.

The seals flared—

—and the rug lurched off the ground, hovering a shaky foot above the floor.

"Holy shit," Hikari breathed.

Then the array sputtered.

The carpet dropped like a stone.

"…Back to the drawing board."

A knock at the window.

Kakashi Hatake perched on the sill, his masked face unreadable.

"You’re really bad at hiding your chakra."

Hikari didn’t look up. "And you’re really bad at knocking on doors like a normal person."

He eyed the crashed carpet.

"…Is that a flying rug?"

"Was," she corrected.

"Now it’s a fancy rug."

Kakashi’s visible eye crinkled.

"You’re insane."

"Says the guy who's obsessed with eggplant.''

He dropped onto her couch, flipping open one of her sealing books.

"Jiraiya-sama's looking for you."

"Hard pass."

"He says he’ll trade you sealing techniques for intel on Wind Country’s border patrols."

Hikari paused.

Damn it.

That was a good deal.

"Fine. But only if he throws in a meeting with his publisher."

Kakashi sighed.

"You’re both impossible.

As he left, Hikari glanced at the Uzumaki crest painted on her wall—a symbol of a lost nation, a family she’d never known. 

Neither would Naruto.

Then she grinned, dipping her brush in ink.

Time to make history.

The night air was cool against Hikari’s skin as she stood on her newly perfected flying carpet, hovering just above the rooftops of Konoha. The Uzumaki seals pulsed steadily beneath her feet, their intricate patterns glowing a soft blue in the darkness.

"Alright," she muttered, crouching low. "Let’s see if this thing actually works."

With a surge of chakra, the carpet shot forward—smooth, silent, and fast.

Konoha sprawled beneath her like a living map.

The Hokage Tower, lit even at this hour.

The training grounds, where a lone ANBU (probably Kakashi) was practicing late-night katas.

Ichiraku Ramen, its lanterns still glowing warmly—Tou-chan must be cleaning up.

And then—

"What the hell is that?!"

A voice.

From below.

The teenager glanced down to see a very awake, very bewildered Genma Shiranui staring up at her, senbon nearly falling from his lips.

"Uh," Hikari said.

"Cloud-watching?"

Genma pointed. "You’re flying."

"…Perspective."

By the time Hikari looped back toward her apartment, the village was buzzing.

ANBU materialized on rooftops, trying to intercept her.

Jiraiya nearly fell out of a tree, his spy notes forgotten.

Kakashi just sighed and flipped a page of the ANBU training manual, as if this was entirely expected.

Hikari grinned, weaving between buildings.

"Wheee—"

Then—

"HIKARI!"

Uh-oh.

Tsunade Senju stood on the Hokage Tower balcony, her fist clenched, her voice thunderous.

"GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE NOW!"

Hikari descended reluctantly, her carpet floating to a stop just above Tsunade’s eye level.

"So," she said brightly.

"Funny story—"

Tsunade’s fist met the ground.

The resulting crater swallowed half the street.

"You’re grounded," the medic snarled.

Hikari blinked.

"Pun intended?"

By dawn.

The Hokage had a migraine.

The ANBU were drafting "No Flying Carpets" regulations.

Jiraiya was already trying to bribe her for the schematics.

And Hikari?

She was back in her apartment, sketching Flying Carpet 2.0—this time with stealth seals.

"Worth it," she decided, munching on a stolen dango.

Itachi Uchiha stood at the entrance of Konoha General Hospital, his posture impeccable, his expression serene. At just six years old, he was already the youngest medic-nin trainee in history—and Tsunade Senju had personally accepted him into her program.

The hospital staff whispered as he passed, their eyes lingering on the Uchiha crest on his back.

Genius. Prodigy. Future legend.

Itachi ignored them.

He was here to learn.

Tsunade didn’t believe in coddling—even for children.

"Strip to your waist and sit," she ordered, already rolling up her sleeves.

Itachi obeyed without hesitation, his tiny frame dwarfed by the examination table.

The medic's hands glowed green as she pressed them to his chest, her chakra threading through his lungs, heart, and meridians with clinical precision.

Then—she paused.

"Hmph."

Itachi blinked.

"Is something wrong, Tsunade-sama?"

"Your lungs are a mess," she grunted.

"Early-stage fibrosis. Probably from overusing fire-release jutsu before your body could handle it."

Itachi’s eyes widened slightly.

He hadn’t even noticed.

Tsunade didn’t ask permission.

Her chakra surged, knitting together damaged tissue, flushing out toxins, and reinforcing his alveoli with a precision only the world’s greatest medic could achieve.

Itachi gasped as the tightness in his chest—a discomfort he’d grown so used to he’d forgotten it existed—vanished.

"There," Tsunade said, withdrawing her hands.

"Now you won’t drop dead at twenty."

Itachi touched his chest, awed.

"Thank you, Tsunade-sama."

She snorted.

"Save the gratitude brat. You’re on bed rest for 48 hours."

"But—"

"No buts. Healing is part of the job."

Hikari stood in the middle of the Yamanaka flower shop, Ino perched on her hip, Choji clinging to her leg like a koala, and Shikamaru already sprawled on the floor, sighing at the ceiling.

"This is a nightmare," she muttered.

Inoichi grinned, tossing her a bag of snacks.

"You’re the one who took Shikamaru flying. Now everyone wants in."

Choza nodded solemnly.

"Choji won’t stop talking about it."

Choji looked up, eyes sparkling. "... go now?"

Hikari groaned.

"I’ve created monsters."

The upgraded flying carpet now had:

Safety rails (reinforced with Uzumaki seals).

Snack holders (Akimichi-approved).

A "no whining" rule (which Ino immediately violated).

"Higher!" Ino demanded, gripping the rails as the carpet soared above the village.

Shikamaru, lying on his back, yawned.

"Troublesome."

Choji, mouth full of chips, pointed.

"That cloud looks like a pork bun!"

Hikari, piloting with one hand and holding Ino’s sash with the other, sighed.

"I’m never having kids."

By sunset:

Ino declared Hikari her "best friend" (until she got bored).

Choji cried when the flight ended (until bribed with food).

Shikamaru pretended to hate it (but secretly begged for "just five more minutes").

And Hikari?

She collapsed onto a bench outside Ichiraku, covered in glitter (courtesy of Ino’s "art project") and chip crumbs.

Her father slid her a bowl of chicken ramen.

"So. When’s the next flight?"

Hikari groaned into her noodles.

"Never. Never again."

She was already sketching a bigger carpet.

Sarutobi Hiruzen massaged his temples as yet another nanny stormed out of the office, her face pale with fear.

"I won’t—I can’t—take care of that thing!" she spat before slamming the door behind her.

The Third Hokage sighed, staring down at the giggling, blond baby in his arms. Naruto’s bright blue eyes crinkled with laughter, completely oblivious to the hatred the village had already begun to heap upon him.

Minato… Kushina… I’m sorry.

Then, like a bolt of clarity, he remembered.

"Hikari," he muttered.

The girl who had somehow tamed Ino-Shika-Cho, flown them around the village, and lived to tell the tale.

The girl who didn’t seem to fear anything.

Hikari stared at the Hokage, then down at the baby in his arms, then back up.

"Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You want me to babysit Naruto."

Sarutobi nodded wearily.

"The last five nannies quit. The sixth called him a 'monster.'"

Naruto cooed, reaching a tiny hand toward Hikari’s curly hair.

She studied him—his whisker marks, his cerulean blue wide eyes, the way he kicked his feet like he was already trying to run before he could even walk.

Then she smirked.

"Sure. But I want hazard pay."

Hikari’s apartment was now baby-proofed with:

Seal-reinforced crib walls (in case of unintentional chakra surges).

A floating mobile of tiny Rasengan (because why not).

A stack of baby formula (for emergencies).

Naruto, strapped into a sling across her chest, babbled happily as she stirred a pot of broth.

"Alright, kid," she said, tapping his nose. "Rule one: No biting. Rule two: No crying unless you’re actually dying. Rule three: We don’t talk about the flying carpet."

The blonde responded by yanking her hair.

"…We’ll work on it."

Late that night, as Naruto slept against her chest, Hikari stared at the Uzumaki crest on her wall.

This kid was family.

Distant, maybe. Complicated, absolutely.

But family all the same.

She adjusted his blue blanket, her voice soft.

"Don’t worry, Naruto. I’ve got you."

The next day, Hikari strolled through the streets of Konoha, enjoying the afternoon sun when she spotted a tiny figure sitting on a bench, solemnly nibbling on a stick of dango.

Baby Itachi.

Just as she was about to pass by, one of his dango slipped from the stick, tumbling toward the ground—

Whoosh.

Her hand snapped out, catching it mid-air before it could hit the dirt.

"Hey," she said, holding it out to him with a grin.

"You dropped this?"

Itachi blinked up at her, his dark eyes wide with surprise. He accepted the rescued dango with a quiet, "Thank you."

Hikari tilted her head, studying him.

Damn, he’s even cuter up close.

"Y’know," she said, crouching to his eye level, "to make up for almost dropping your dango… how about some cake?"

The child hesitated, glancing down at his half-finished treat before looking back at her.

"Cake?"

"Yeah! There’s this place nearby—Yuu Sweets. Best strawberry shortcake in the village."

A flicker of interest crossed his face. Then, after a moment—a tiny nod.

Hikari had to physically restrain herself from squealing.

He’s so smol. So serious. So adorable.

The bell above the door chimed as they stepped inside, the warm scent of sugar and butter wrapping around them. Itachi’s eyes (subtly) widened at the display case of pastries, his usual composure slipping just a fraction.

Hikari smirked.

Gotcha.

"Two slices of strawberry shortcake," she ordered, then leaned down to whisper to Itachi, "and an extra mochi. For emergencies."

Itachi gave her a look that clearly said, I am six years old and above such frivolity.

He still ate the mochi first.

They settled at a small table by the window, Itachi meticulously cutting his cake into even pieces while Hikari devoured hers in three bites.

"So," she said, licking frosting off her thumb.

"How’s medic training?"

Itachi paused.

"Adequate."

"Tsunade hasn’t thrown you through a wall yet?"

"Not yet."

Hikari snorted.

"Give it time."

He took another bite, then—after a long silence—asked, "Why did you invite me?"

Hikari blinked.

"Uh. Because cake is good?"

Itachi stared.

The Uchiha patented ‘Explain Properly’ stare.

She sighed.

"…Alright, fine. You looked like you could use a break. And also, baby geniuses deserve sugar."

The child considered this.

Then nodded, as if filing the information away for later.

"Thank you," he said again, softer this time.

Hikari’s heart melted.

This kid is going to ruin me.

Hikari stood behind the counter at Ichiraku Ramen, arms crossed, watching as Shikaku Nara, Inoichi Yamanaka, and Choza Akimichi stared down at their steaming bowls with varying degrees of skepticism.

The broth was a deep, shimmering gold—infused with medicinal herbs, chakra-stimulating roots, and a hint of honey to balance the bitterness. The scent alone was enough to make the air feel lighter.

"So," Shikaku drawled, poking at a floating herb.

"This is supposed to… what, refill our chakra?"

She grinned.

"Yep. Call it ‘Battle Recovery Ramen.’ Perfect for post-mission exhaustion."

Choza, ever the optimist, took the first slurp.

Then his eyes widened.

"Oh. Oh wow."

The Akimichi clan head immediately went for a second bite, his chakra flaring visibly as his stamina surged back.

Inoichi, after a cautious sip, exhaled sharply as the mental fog from a long interrogation shift lifted.

The Jounin Commander just sighed, muttering, "Troublesome," before draining the entire bowl in one go.

Hikari leaned on the counter, smug.

"Well?"

Shikaku wiped his mouth. "…How much for the recipe?"

"Not for sale," she said, tapping her temple. 

Tsunade slammed her palms on Hikari’s counter, her golden eyes blazing.

"I want that recipe in the hospital cafeteria. Yesterday."

Hikari didn’t even look up from stirring her latest batch of broth.

"Sure. But one of my people gets hired to oversee it. No substitutions, no shortcuts."

The medic's eye twitched.

"Fine. But if I catch you sneaking extra spice into the patients’ bowls—"

"Would I ever?" Hikari gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense.

The older woman growled.

"You’re worse than Jiraiya."

Orochimaru stood at Konoha’s gates, his pale face a mask of irritation as a squad of ANBU materialized around him.

"Ah," he sighed. "How… nostalgic."

Before he could so much as flick a finger, the ANBU grabbed him—and in a whirl of shunshin, they were in the Hokage’s office.

Where Tsunade and Jiraiya were waiting.

The Snake Sannin groaned.

"Must we?"

Jiraiya grinned.

"Missed you too, buddy."

Tsunade cracked her knuckles.

"We’ve got questions."

Hiruzen sat behind his desk, puffing his pipe as his former students bickered.

"Danzo ordered you to experiment on children, and you went along with it?!!" The Slug Sannin snarled.

''Why didn't you come to us?''

''You were gone Hime! Both of you were!''

Orochimaru shrugged.

"And you knew something felt wrong about Dan's death. Yet here we are."

Jiraiya winced.

"He’s got a point."

"Shut up, Jiraiya."

Hiruzen sighed.

"Enough. Orochimaru—you’re here because Hikari’s ramen has… interesting properties. Properties that could benefit Konoha."

Orochimaru’s eyes gleamed.

"Oh? Do tell."

Tsunade shoved a bowl of Hikari’s chakra-restorative ramen at him.

"Eat. Then talk."

The scientist took a delicate sip—then froze as the broth’s effects surged through him.

His pupils slit.

"Fascinating."

The Sandaime leaned forward.

"We want you to improve it. Under supervision."

Orochimaru smirked.

"And my freedom?"

Jiraiya crossed his arms.

"Try ‘not getting punched into the stratosphere’ as a starting point."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''In order to carry a positive action we must develop here a positive vision.'' - Dalai Lama

Hikari adjusted the strap of her travel pack, glancing back at Konoha’s gates as the merchant caravan prepared to depart. Her sword was sealed safely within her storage seal on her hand-- out of sight, but never out of reach.

"You sure about this?" Teuchi called from the ramen stand, arms crossed. "Wind country's not exactly friendly these days."

She grinned.

"Relax, Tou-chan. I’ll be back before you miss me."

Ayame, clinging to their father’s leg, pouted.

"Bring me a scorpion!"

"Absolutely not," their father shouted.

Hikari winked.

With that, she hopped onto the caravan wagon, the wheels creaking as they rolled toward the desert.

The journey was long, the air growing drier with each mile. Hikari spent the trip:

Bribing the caravan guards with homemade jerky to avoid questions.

Sketching seal designs for a new, heat-containing ramen bowl.

The desert wind howled as the rogue ninja’s blade slashed toward Kizashi Haruno’s stomach—only to be met with a sudden clang of steel.

Hikari stood between them, her sakabatou gleaming in the sun, its reversed edge catching the attacker’s sword with effortless precision.

"Sorry," she said, flashing a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. "But I hate when people ruin my supply runs."

The rogue ninja sneered.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

Hikari’s grip tightened.

"The last mistake you’ll ever make."

Kizashi stumbled back, clutching his bleeding side as Hikari moved.

Her swordplay was fluid—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Every strike was calculated, every step deliberate. The rogue ninja, a B-rank missing-nin from Kiri, barely had time to register her speed before:

 His sword arm went numb.

 His knees buckled.

 His weapon clattered to the ground.

Hikari kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling into the sand.

"Stay down."

Kizashi wheezed, pressing a hand to his wound.

"You… you’re that ramen girl from Ichiraku."

The teenager crouched beside him, already pulling out a roll of bandages and a small vial of healing salve. "And you’re the Haruno merchant."

He blinked.

"You know me?"

"I've heard of your family," Hikari admitted, smearing the salve over his injury. 

The wound knit itself shut under her hands—not perfect, but enough to stabilize him.

At the Wind Country border, the caravan was stopped by Suna patrols.

"Purpose of visit?" a Suna-nin barked, his gaze sharp.

Hikari held up a scroll.

"Spice merchant. Here to restock Konoha’s finest ramen stand."

The ninja eyed her—too young, too confident, too unbothered by the desert’s harshness—but the caravan master vouched for her.

"Fine. But no funny business."

She pressed a hand to her chest.

"I’m all business."

The lie tasted like salt and opportunity.

Rasa stared at the scroll unfurled across his desk, the intricate whirls and spirals of Uzumaki fuinjutsu glaring back at him. His usually impassive expression cracked—just for a second—as his eyebrows shot toward his hairline.

"An Uzumaki seal," he muttered, tracing a finger over the array.

"And not just any Uzumaki seal—this level of complexity…"

Hikari, already halfway to the door, waved a hand over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, it’ll work. I’m gonna go seal the raccoon now. Bye."

The Suna administration staff gaped as she strolled out like she hadn’t just:

Walked into the Kazekage’s office unannounced.

Dropped a potentially village-altering seal on his desk.

Casually referred to the Ichibi as a ‘raccoon.’

One clerk whispered, "Did she just—?"

The Kazekage just rubbed his temples tiredly.

Hikari found Gaara in the quietest corner of Suna’s training grounds, the desert wind whipping sand against his small frame. At just fourteen months old, his tiny fists were clenched, his teal eyes wide and sleepless—haunted by the growling presence inside him.

"Hey, panda-kun," she murmured, crouching in front of him.

Shukaku’s voice rasped through Gaara’s mind, a guttural snarl.

"Who the hell are—"

Hikari didn’t let him finish.

Her hand glowed faintly with yin-release chakra, a soothing, dreamlike energy that seeped into Gaara’s consciousness like a lullaby. His eyelids fluttered once, twice—then he slumped forward, fast asleep in her arms.

"Good baby," she whispered, brushing sand from his red hair.

Gently, she lifted the edge of Gaara’s tiny shirt, revealing the jagged, unstable seal on his stomach—the one that barely contained Shukaku’s rage.

"Yikes," Hikari muttered.

"No wonder you’re cranky."

She unrolled her scroll, revealing a modified version of the Eight Trigrams Sealing Style—the same one used on Naruto, but recalibrated for Shukaku’s smaller but no less volatile chakra.

Reinforced barriers to mute the One-Tail’s influence.

Chakra-dampening spirals to prevent outbursts.

And a tiny, hidden whisker-mark motif—because why not?

With a press of her palm, the new seal burned into place, its lines glowing gold before settling into Gaara’s skin.

Shukaku’s roar of protest was cut off mid-screech.

When Gaara woke, the world was different.

The constant growl in his mind—the one that had been there since he could remember—was gone.

No whispers. No rage. Just… quiet.

Temari peeked into his room, her usual cautious expression softened with concern.

"Gaara? How are you feeling?"

Kankurō hovered behind her, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, Hi-onee-san fixed you up good."

Gaara blinked, his tiny fingers curling into the blankets. For the first time in his life, his head didn’t ache. His chest didn’t burn.

"…Rested," he murmured.

Then—slowly, uncertainly—he smiled.

Rasa stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching his youngest son’s uncharacteristic calm. His ANBU lingered behind him, tense, waiting for orders.

Hikari stood behind him as she stretched lazily.

"Told you it’d work."

The Kazekage's jaw tightened.

"That seal… it’s Uzumaki work. But not just any Uzumaki’s."

Hikari shrugged.

"I’m full of surprises."

"You’re full of something," Her uncle muttered. But for once, he didn’t sound angry. Just… tired.

Tired of the fear. The sleepless nights. The blood.

And now, against all odds—his son was smiling.

The Kazekage’s office was quiet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the polished wood of Rasa’s desk. A pot of tea steamed between them, its earthy scent mingling with the dry desert air.

Hikari took a sip, her gaze steady over the rim of her cup.

"I have a solution to a problem Suna’s faced for a while."

Rasa’s fingers paused around his cup.

"And what problem is that?"

"Water."

His eyebrow arched.

Hikari leaned forward. "There have been whispers that the Wind Daimyo is starting to favor Konoha. Cutting your funding. Ignoring your requests. Leaving Suna to parch while the capital grows fat."

Her Uncle's expression darkened.

"How do you know that?"

She smirked. "I have ears in all the right places."

Setting her cup down, she unrolled a scroll across the desk—a complex network of seals, channels, and carefully drawn waterways. "So, just in case that pompous windbag gets too full of himself over even the smallest slight… I’m prepared to design seals that would divert the overflow of the Naka River straight to Suna."

The seals were Uzumaki-tier ingenuity—modified for desert terrain.

Aqueduct Seals: Embedded along the riverbanks, they would siphon excess water during Konoha’s rainy season.

Underground Channels: Reinforced with chakra-conductive alloys to prevent evaporation.

A Fail-Safe: If Konoha ever faced drought, the flow could be reversed.

Rasa studied the schematics, his face unreadable.

"This would require cooperation from Konoha."

Hikari waved a hand.

"Leave the Sandaime to me.''

The kitchen of the Kazekage’s residence was rarely used for anything beyond ceremonial tea, but today, it was alive with the rich, aromatic scent of Hikari’s spiced ramen.

Temari and Kankurō hovered near the doorway, noses twitching as the steam curled toward the ceiling. Gaara sat at the low dining table, tiny hands folded in his lap, his usual guarded expression softened with curiosity.

"Alright," Hikari announced, setting down three steaming bowls. "Specialty of the house— Land of Fire meets Wind Country. Extra spice for the brave."

Kankurō immediately reached for his chopsticks.

"Hell yeah—"

Temari smacked his hand.

"We say thanks first."

Gaara, ever observant, poked at a floating slice of scorpion pepper-infused fish cake before glancing up at Hikari.

"…Safe?"

She grinned.

"For you? I made the broth mild."

The redhead's lips twitched—almost a smile.

Kankurō took a huge slurp, then promptly turned red.

"HOT—HOT—"

He chugged three glasses of water while his sister laughed.

Temari, more cautious, savored the flavors—smoky, tangy, with a slow-building heat.

"This is… really good."

Gaara, after a tentative sip, blinked.

Then took another.

And another.

Hikari leaned back, smug.

"Told you."

After lunch, Hikari made her way to the quieter outskirts of Suna.

Her grandfather's house smelled of old parchment and cinnamon.

"You’re late," he grunted from his armchair, not looking up from his ledger.

Hikari dropped a wrapped package on the table—leftover ramen, kept warm with a heating seal.

"Had to feed your other grandkids first."

Hiko finally glanced up, his stern facade cracking at the edges.

"…They liked it?"

"Kankurō cried. Temari pretended not to. Gaara smiled."

A pause.

Then—

"Good," Hiko muttered, unwrapping the bowl.

"About damn time."

The wind whipped through Suna’s streets as Hikari adjusted her travel pack, the weight of her next journey settling on her shoulders. Behind her, tiny footsteps crunched in the sand.

She turned just in time for Gaara to latch onto her leg, his small arms wrapping tight.

"Oi, panda-kun," she chuckled, ruffling his red hair.

"What’s this for?"

Gaara didn’t answer, his face buried in her pants. But the meaning was clear—Don’t go.

Kankurō grinned from the sidelines.

"Be safe on the road, Hi-onee-san.''

Temari rolled her eyes but didn’t protest when Gaara’s grip tightened.

Hikari crouched, prying him off gently. "I’ll be back. And next time," she whispered, tapping his tummy where the seal lay hidden, "I’ll bring fireworks."

His eyes widened—just a fraction—before he nodded solemnly.

Rasa watched her go from his office, a sealed scroll on his desk—her water-diversion plans, already in motion.

Temari would later find a wind-release scroll tucked under her pillow. "For practice,'' the note read.

Gaara, that night, dreamed of quiet.

The ruins of Uzushiogakure were eerily silent, the wind howling through broken towers like a lament. Hikari stepped carefully over shattered stone, her fingers tracing the faded Uzumaki spiral etched into a crumbling wall.

This was home once.

Not hers, not really—but the blood in her veins remembered.

Then—

CRACK.

The floor gave way beneath her, seals flaring to life as she plummeted into darkness.

Hikari landed in a crouch, dust swirling around her. When it settled, her breath caught.

Five women. Three men.

Their bodies were suspended in a sealing stasis, their features untouched by time, their chests rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths.

"Oh my god," the teenager whispered.

They should be dead. This chamber had been buried since the Second Shinobi War—decades ago.

Her eyes darted to the array beneath them—a blood seal, intricate and cruel, designed to preserve life at a cost.

Hikari didn’t know how closely she was related to Naruto.

A cousin? A distant aunt? It didn’t matter.

Blood called to blood.

She grabbed a kunai, slashed her palm, and slammed it onto the central rune.

"Wake up."

The seal shattered, light exploding outward as the stasis broke.

One by one, the survivors gasped—alive, awake, disoriented.

The oldest woman, her crimson hair streaked with silver, locked eyes with Hikari.

"Who… are you?" she rasped.

Hikari grinned, blood dripping from her hand.

"Family."

Their stasis had been a last resort, a gamble to outlast the slaughter.

And now? They were her responsibility.

The silver-haired woman—Uzumaki Ryoko—gripped Hikari’s shoulder.

"How long?"

"Over thirty years," Hikari admitted.

Ryoko’s face twisted with grief, then hardened with resolve.

"Then we have work to do.''

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up..'' - Mark Twain

The moment the words left her mouth, Hikari knew she’d made a mistake.

The Uzumaki survivors—Ryoko, Haru, Aiko, and the others—stared at her with widening eyes as she spilled secrets like a shattered dam.

"Uzumaki Nagato—he’s alive, he’s the leader of Akatsuki, but he’s being manipulated by Uchiha Madara—well, not really Madara, it’s actually Black Zetsu, who’s working for Kaguya—oh, and the Fourth Shinobi War? Yeah, that’s gonna happen unless we stop it—"

She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Ryoko’s face paled.

"You speak of the Rinnegan as if it’s a common thing."

Haru, the youngest of the survivors, gripped his tanto.

"You’re saying our clan’s last heir is being used as a pawn?"

Aiko, a master of barrier seals, simply sat down hard.

"…We’ve been asleep for nearly twenty years and somehow this is the world we wake up to?"

Hikari winced.

"Uh. Surprise?"

Ryoko stepped forward, her crimson hair like a banner of war.

"How do you know all this?"

Hikari hesitated.

Then, with a sigh, she tapped her temple.

"Let’s just say… I’ve seen things. Things that haven’t happened yet. And things that will if we don’t intervene."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Then we intervene," Ryoko said, voice steel.

Then she made another mistake.

She mentioned Kushina and Naruto and the air in the chamber crackled with raw emotion.

Ryoko’s greying hair lifted slightly, swirling with unrestrained chakra—a sign of her sheer fury.

"Mito’s grandniece… reduced to a sacrifice, and her son left to rot?" Her voice was dangerously calm.

"Konoha will answer for this."

Kikiyo, her sister-in-law, clenched her fists. Crimson streaks in her red hair seemed to glow under the dim light.

"Our blood treated like a weapon and then discarded?"

The other Uzumaki survivors exchanged glances, their expressions hardening with resolve.

Hikari swallowed.

Oh, I’ve unleashed a storm.

"Naruto’s not just a Jinchūriki," she said quickly. "He’s got the potential to surpass even Hashirama. But right now, he’s just… a baby right now. A baby who doesn’t even know his name matters."

Ryoko’s eyes burned.

"Then we remind him."

Kikiyo crossed her arms.

"First, we find Nagato. He’s still Uzumaki. He deserves to know the truth before that masked fool twists him further."

Yuna smirked, resting a hand on her sword.

"And if Konoha tries to stop us?"

Akira cracked her knuckles.

"We remind them why everyone feared Uzushio."

Hikari exhaled.

"And me?"

Ryoko’s smile was razor-thin.

"You, girl, are going to Kiri. Find the leader of the resistance. If we’re reigniting the fires of Uzushio, we’ll need allies…''

The ruins of Uzushiogakure had stood silent for decades, a graveyard of spiraling stone and shattered seals. But today, the wind carried something new—the hum of chakra, the sound of resurrection.

Ryoko Uzumaki stood at the heart of the fallen city, her arms outstretched, crimson hair whipping in the ocean breeze. Around her, Ren, Sota, and Yuto channeled their earth-natured chakra into the cracked foundations, their hands pressed to the ground as the earth itself shifted beneath their fingers.

"Barrier first," Ryoko commanded. "Then we rebuild."

With a synchronized surge of chakra, the Uzumaki unleashed their signature art—the Whirlpool Barrier Seal.

Ryoko’s hands wove the primary lattice, a dome of shimmering crimson energy that flickered into existence over the ruins.

Ren reinforced the structural anchors, embedding seals into the bedrock to prevent collapse.

Sota and Yuto layered illusionary arrays, ensuring the barrier remained invisible to prying eyes.

The air crackled as the barrier solidified, its surface rippling like water under the sun.

Uzushio was no longer unprotected.

Hikari gaped.

Yuna and Akira cleared debris with controlled bursts of water-whip jutsu, carving pathways through the wreckage.

Asami directed the reconstruction, her knowledge of architectural seals guiding the rebirth of homes, workshops, and the Great Seal Tower—once the heart of Uzumaki knowledge.

Kikiyo, standing at the docks, summoned tidal currents to cleanse the harbor of decades of neglect.

And at the center of it all, Ryoko pressed her palms to the ground—and the earth answered.

Stone slabs rose from the rubble, reassembling like puzzle pieces. Walls reforged themselves, their surfaces etched with fresh seals—stronger, smarter, alive with Uzumaki will.

The newly reconstructed Council Hall of Uzushio hummed with energy as the surviving Uzumaki gathered around the ancient spiral table. Ryoko stood at its head, her purple robes—recovered from the ruins—draped over her shoulders like a mantle of fire.

"Uzushio lives again," she declared, her voice echoing off the restored stone. "But we are few. Our strength lies not in numbers, but in our will. And so, until the heir of our blood is ready…"

She placed her palm on the table, and the Uzumaki crest flared to life beneath her touch.

"I will serve as Uzukage."

A murmur of approval rippled through the room. There was no dissent—Ryoko had been the late Uzukage’s sister, a strategist who had helped steer Uzushio through its darkest days before the fall.

"But this seat," she continued, her gaze sharpening, "belongs to Naruto. When he is ready, when he knows what it means to be Uzumaki… it will be his."

Konoha’s streets were quiet under the moonlight as Yuna and Asami moved like shadows along the rooftops. Their senses, honed by decades of Uzushio’s training, locked onto the faint but unmistakable pulse of Uzumaki chakra—bright, warm, and untrained.

"There," Yuna murmured, nodding toward a small, nondescript apartment.

Inside, Kakashi Hatake lounged on a chair beside a crib, one eye buried in a baby book while the other flicked occasionally to the wriggling bundle within.

Uzumaki Naruto, sixteen months old, giggled as he kicked his feet, his tiny hands grasping at the air.

His whisker marks glowed faintly under the dim lamplight.

Asami’s lips thinned.

"They left him with one guard? A jinchuuriki child?"

Yuna’s grip tightened on her Tidal Cleaver.

"Konoha’s arrogance never changes."

A flick of Asami’s wrist sent a scentless paralytic powder drifting through the window. Kakashi’s nose twitched—then his eye slid shut, his book slipping from his fingers as he slumped forward, unconscious.

"Five minutes," Asami said.

"Move."

Yuna was already at the crib, her stern expression softening as Naruto blinked up at her with wide, ocean-blue eyes.

"…Hi," he babbled, reaching for her crimson hair.

Yuna’s chest tightened.

He looks like Kushina.

The poison mistress pressed a chakra-sensitive seal to Naruto’s tiny palm. It flared gold, then crimson, swirling into the unmistakable spiral of the Uzumaki crest.

"No doubt," she whispered. "He’s ours."

Naruto cooed, fascinated by the light.

Yuna hesitated.

"Do we take him now?"

Asami shook her head.

"Not yet. Ryoko wants him recognized, not stolen. But he will know his name."

She pulled a tiny seashell charm from her pouch—a Uzushio lullaby charm—and tied it securely around Naruto’s wrist. The moment it touched his skin, it glowed faintly, resonating with his chakra.

"For when he’s older," Asami said. "So he finds his way home."

Before leaving, Yuna paused beside Kakashi’s slumped form. She slid a water-etched kunai into the floorboards beside him, its hilt wrapped in Uzumaki-red thread.

A message. A challenge.

We were here. We’ll be back.

By the time Kakashi stirred, groggy and disoriented, the Uzumaki were gone—leaving only:

A seashell charm on Naruto’s wrist.

A kunai sunk into the wood.

And a baby now babbling the word "Uzu!" between giggles.

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed.

"…Well," he muttered. "This complicates things."

Akira, Ren, Sota, and Yuto moved with purpose, their fingers tracing the remnants of once-great seals carved into the crumbling stone.

"This way," Akira murmured, pressing her palm against a fractured wall. A pulse of her chakra activated the concealed locking array, and with a groan of ancient mechanisms, a hidden compartment slid open.

Inside—scrolls, tomes, and sealing manuals, preserved by stasis arrays.

"The Uzukage’s private library," Ren breathed, lifting a dust-covered volume.

"I thought these were lost."

Sota uncovered tidal barrier schematics—blueprints for the legendary Whirlpool Defense Array that once repelled fleets.

Yuto found medical sealing texts, including advanced chakra-suppression techniques used to stabilize Jinchūriki.

Akira located the most critical prize: The Uzumaki Clan Registry, listing every known member—including Kushina’s lineage and Nagato’s birth record. The Uzumaki's a distinctive way on how to track their lineage, it all had to do with their chakra, which registered an Uzumaki birth from thousands of miles away, almost like magic --but were space-time seals.

Meanwhile, Hikari slipped into the mist-choked streets of Kirigakure, her hood pulled low. The village was a graveyard of paranoia, its people flinching at every shadow. The Bloodline Purge had left scars deeper than the missing faces of the Kaguya, Hōzuki, and Yuki clans.

But whispers led her to the resistance—a network of rebels led by none other than Mei Terumī, the future Mizukage.

"You’re either very brave or very stupid," Mei remarked, her green eyes assessing Hikari from across a dimly lit teahouse.

"Konoha doesn’t send envoys to Kiri. Not anymore."

Hikari smirked. "Good thing I’m not Konoha’s." She slid a sealed scroll across the table—a message from Ryoko. "Uzushio has… opinions about villages that slaughter their own."

Mei’s fingers tightened around the scroll.

"Uzushio is dead."

"Funny," Hikari said, sipping her tea. "It looked pretty alive when I left."

Hiruzen Sarutobi stared at the missive in his hands, the weight of Rasa’s words sinking in like a well-placed kunai.

"Aqueduct seals… underground channels… reversible flow…"

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke from his pipe, rubbing his temples. It was a brilliant proposal—one that would stabilize Suna’s water crisis without stripping Konoha of its resources. And with Suna’s infamous poison mastery as a potential bargaining chip, the political benefits were undeniable.

But.

"This is going to be a paperwork nightmare," he muttered, already envisioning the stacks of scrolls that would flood his office. "Trade agreements, infrastructure permits, border security clauses—"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a suspicion flickered.

This reeked of Hikari’s meddling.

He weighed his options:

Agree to Rasa’s terms, securing an alliance with Suna and gaining access to their toxin antidotes (a boon for Konoha’s medics).

Refuse, and risk Suna growing desperate—and hostile.

Investigate who orchestrated this, then strangle them for the bureaucratic hell they’d unleashed.

(He was leaning toward Option 3, but diplomacy won out.)

With a sigh, he reached for his brush.

"Very well, Suna. Let’s build a river."

Deep in the newly constructed Medical Research Wing of Konoha Hospital, Orochimaru stood over a bubbling pot of broth, his golden eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to enthusiasm.

"Fascinating," he murmured, stirring the steaming liquid with a chopstick. "The chakra-infused herbs bind to the miso base, creating a self-sustaining loop of energy replenishment…"

A nearby lab assistant—assigned to "supervise" him (rmake sure he didn’t poison anyone)—edged away nervously.

"U-um, Orochimaru-sama? Shouldn’t we… test this on mice first?"

Orochimaru smirked.

"Mice lack the necessary chakra coils. No. We need a human subject."

The assistant paled.

As if summoned by fate (or sheer idiocy), Jiraiya barged in, sniffing the air.

"Is that ramen? Since when do you cook?"

The raven-haired Sannin smile was serpentine.

"Since Tsunade sentenced me to ‘community service.’ Try some."

Jiraiya, ever the fool, slurped a spoonful—

—and promptly glowed blue, his chakra flaring like a bonfire.

"HOLY— I FEEL TWENTY AGAIN!"

Orochimaru’s notes flew as Jiraiya shot through the ceiling, leaving a Toad Sage-shaped hole in the roof.

Hiruzen, halfway through signing Suna’s water treaty, heard the explosion.

"…Let me guess. Orochimaru."

His secretary nodded.

"Jiraiya just launched himself into the stratosphere, Hokage-sama."

The Sandaime sighed, adding another line to his mental list:

Reasons to Strangle Hikari--

1. Paperwork.
2. This.

The line outside Konoha Hospital stretched to the training grounds. Chunin, jounin, and even a few brave genin clutched their bowls, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"I heard it makes you see colors that don't exist," whispered a wide-eyed chuunin.

"I heard it cured Hatake’s chronic laziness for a whole hour," countered another.

At the front of the line, Gai flexed dramatically.

"THE POWER OF YOUTH—AND NOODLES—WILL MAKE ME INVINCIBLE!"

Nearby, Kakashi sighed, flipping a page of Icha Icha.

"Or kill us. Fifty-fifty chance."

The walls of the Hospital shook as Tsunade’s fist met her desk.

"OROCHIMARU! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE REHABILITATING, NOT TURNING MY HOSPITAL INTO A NOODLE STAND!"

Orochimaru, lounging across from her with a steaming bowl in hand, smirked. "You said ‘contribute to society.’ I’ve doubled productivity in the chunin corps."

"THEY’RE HALLUCINATING, NOT WORKING!"

"Potato, potahto."

The grand halls of the Water Daimyo’s palace were silent save for the frantic click-clack of Saiyuki Ruu’s geta sandals against polished wood. The usually composed secretary clutched the missive in trembling hands, her normally serene face alight with shock.

She burst into the main chamber, where Lord Yoshi Hinoba, the Water Daimyo, lounged on his dais, idly sipping tea while his advisors debated tax reforms.

"My lord!" Ruu gasped, bowing deeply.

"A message from the outer islands—from Uzushio!"

The room fell silent.

Hinoba arched a brow.

"Uzushio has been dead for decades."

"Not anymore."

Ruu unfurled the scroll, her voice steady despite the weight of the words:

"To the Esteemed Water Daimyo,

By the authority of Uzukage Uzumaki Ryoko, sister to the late Uzukage Uzumaki Ashina, acting regent of Uzushiogakure, we formally petition for the reinstatement of the Uzumaki Clan under the Shogun Laws of Sovereignty, as recognized prior to the Second Shinobi War.

Our people have returned. Our seals remain unbroken. And our allegiance to the Land of Water endures—should you honor the old treaties."

The seal at the bottom was unmistakable—the Uzumaki spiral, pressed in crimson ink.

His advisors erupted.

"Impossible! Uzushio was annihilated!"

"If they’ve truly returned, Kiri will never accept this!"

"The old treaties grant them autonomy—we’d be acknowledging a new hidden village!"

Hinoba silenced them with a raised hand.

"Where is this message from, exactly?"

Ruu swallowed.

"An island near Kiri’s waters. But the messenger… was a kunoichi with crimson hair."

The Daimyo’s eyes sharpened.

"Send word to Yagura Karatachi. If Uzushio is rising, Kiri must decide—ally or adversary."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Honor is simply the morality of superior men.'' - H. L. Mencken

Jiraiya slammed his manuscript onto the desk of his long-suffering publicist, Tsubaki, who didn’t even glance up from the stack of papers in front of her—Hikari’s Five Nations of Ramen cookbook draft.

"Tsubaki-chan! Prepare to be awed!" Jiraiya declared, striking a pose. "Icha Icha: Ramen of Passion—a tale of love, lust, and chakra-infused noodles!"

Tsubaki slowly lifted her gaze, her expression deadpan. "Jiraiya-sama. You do realize Hikari’s ramen cookbook already has a three-village bidding war?"

The Sannin blinked.

"Wait, what?"

Hikari’s Five Nations of Ramen was more than just recipes—it was a cultural phenomenon.

Fire Country Spice Blends with a foreword by Teuchi.

Wind Country Scorpion Pepper Survival Guide (endorsed by Rasa, to everyone’s shock).

Earth Country Boulder-Broth Techniques featuring a very reluctant Ōnoki.

Lightning Country Volt-Noodle Secrets with A’s grudging approval.

Water Country Mist-Glazed Dumplings (Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist).

And the kicker?

Each recipe came with a sealing array to keep broth warm for days.

His publicist tapped the cover.

"She’s outselling your last three books combined."

"But—but mine has plot!" Jiraiya sputtered, flipping to a particularly steamy ramen scene. "Look! The heroine uses boiling broth to—"

Tsubaki held up a hand.

"Jiraiya-sama. The daimyo’s wife pre-ordered five hundred copies of Hikari’s book. The Tsuchikage asked for a signed edition. Even Orochimaru-sama submitted a ramen haiku for the appendix."

Jiraiya’s eye twitched.

The night air in Kirigakure was thick with the scent of salt and iron as Mei Terumī’s rebellion reached its crescendo. The streets, usually silent under Yagura’s reign of terror, erupted in chaos as rebel forces clashed with loyalists.

And at the heart of the storm—Hikari, her sakabatou gleaming under the moonlight, stood face-to-face with the Mizukage, Yagura Karatachi.

His eyes were hollow, his movements jerky—a puppet dancing on Obito’s strings.

"You’re not in control," Hikari said, shifting into a defensive stance.

"But I’ll free you anyway."

Yagura moved with unnatural speed, his Bijū-enhanced strength shattering stone as he lunged.

Hikari countered with wind-infused strikes, her blade a silver blur as she deflected his brutal swings.

Mei, battling loyalist ANBU nearby, unleashed Lava Release: Melting Apparition, clearing the battlefield of reinforcements.

Then—a flicker in Yagura’s chakra.

A hesitation.

Obito’s control was slipping.

Hikari didn’t waste the opening. Her sword flashed—not to kill, but to sever.

The blade carved through the air, slicing the chakra threads binding Yagura to Obito’s will. For a single, fleeting moment, Yagura’s true consciousness surfaced.

His eyes cleared.

"…Thank you," he whispered.

Then—knowing what came next—he stepped into Hikari’s blade.

The sakabatou pierced his heart.

The Kirikage smiled as he fell.

"Finally… free."

The first light of dawn painted Kirigakure in pale gold as Mei Terumī stood atop the Mizukage tower, her green eyes sweeping over the village she had just reclaimed. The scent of blood and mist still clung to the air, but the oppressive dread of Yagura’s reign was finally lifting.

Beside her, Hikari cleaned her sakabatou with a cloth, the steel glinting as she sheathed it.

"You owe me a favor," the teenager said, her voice casual, as if she hadn’t just helped dismantle a dictatorship.

Mei smirked, crossing her arms.

"And here I thought you were just being noble."

"Please," Hikari snorted. "I’m a businesswoman. And business is booming."

Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a blur of blue.

"Uzushio is back," she said simply.

"And when the time comes, I need Kiri to stand with us."

Mei’s smirk faded into something sharper.

"That’s not a favor. That’s a political alliance."

"Call it what you want." Hikari shrugged. "But the world’s about to realize the Uzumaki didn’t stay dead...."

She didn’t need to finish.

The older woman turned to face her fully, the morning light catching the steel in her gaze.

"Fine. When Uzushio rises, Kiri will acknowledge it."

A pause.

"But only if you promise me one thing in return."

The teenager raised a brow.

"Name it."

"That ramen recipe you used to bribe my rebels." Mei’s lips curled. "The one with the fire-pepper oil."

Hikari burst out laughing.

"Deal."

They shook on it—a kunoichi’s bargain, sealed in spice and blood.

Far below, hidden in the mist, Obito’s single visible eye narrowed.

His plans for Kiri were ash. His pawn, Yagura, was dead. And now—

Uzushio.

The name alone was a threat.

With a silent snarl, he melted into the Kamui’s void.

This wasn’t over.

The rain poured harder as Nagato’s skeletal fingers trembled around the Uzumaki clan registry, his Rinnegan flickering with unstable light. The name "Uzumaki Fūka" stared back at him from the page, inked in a script he hadn’t seen since childhood—since before the wars, before the hunger, before Yahiko’s blood had dried on his hands.

"You’re lying," he whispered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Ryoko stepped closer, her crimson hair like a banner against Amegakure’s gloom. "Danzo Shimura orchestrated Akatsuki's downfall using his root agents after allying with Hanzo to wipe you all out.''

Kikiyo’s voice was quieter, but no less sharp.

"Your mother was my niece. You have her eyes. And her stubbornness."

A crack of thunder split the sky as Nagato’s knees buckled.

The Asura Path’s mechanical limbs whirred, bracing him against the paper.

"Yahiko…" Nagato’s voice broke.

"He believed in peace. And I—"

"You were deceived," Ryoko cut in.

"Danzo wanted Amegakure weak. Divided. His pawns murdered your friend to make you resentful of Konoha."

Kikiyo pressed a hand to the registry.

"But you’re not a weapon. You’re family."

Nagato’s breath came in ragged gasps. The rain masked the tears, but not the way his Outer Path chains shivered like struck glass.

A swirl erupted in the form of distorted space.

Obito materialized atop a broken pipe, his orange mask tilted in mock amusement.

"Touching reunion. But the boy’s made his choice."

Ryoko didn’t flinch.

"Ah. The fake Madara."

Obito’s posture stiffened.

Kikiyo smirked.

"Did you really think we wouldn’t recognize a Uchiha parlor trick? The real Madara wouldn’t need to hide behind cheap genjutsu."

Nagato’s head snapped up.

"…What?"

Ryoko extended her hand.

"Nagato. Come home."

For a heartbeat, the rain seemed to still.

Then—

The Deva Path’s power erupted, sending Obito’s form crashing through three buildings as Nagato wrenched himself free of the chakra rods buried in his back.

"Enough lies," he snarled, the Rinnegan blazing. "Enough pain."

Obito barely phased back into existence before Nagato’s voice, raw with decades of grief, shook the ruins:

"SHINRA TENSEI!"

The Uchiha vanished—but not before Ryoko’s sealing tag grazed his arm, leaving a spiral burn.

The docks of Kirigakure were slick with mist as Hikari adjusted the straps on her five overflowing crates of Kiri ramen ingredients:

Mist-glazed dumpling wrappers (stored in ice seals).

Abyssal kelp broth concentrate (smuggled out under ANBU noses).

Volcanic scorpion peppers (Mei’s personal stash).

Zabuza Momochi, loomed beside her with Kubikiribōchō strapped to his back, eyed her with grudging respect.

"You’re lucky the Mizukage likes you."

Hikari grinned.

"Nah. She just really likes my fire-pepper oil."

He snorted.

"Whatever. Don’t drown on the way back."

The journey home was smooth, the sea calm under Hikari’s tidal navigation seals. By the time she reached Konoha’s gates, the sun was setting, painting the village in hues of orange and gold.

First stop.

Home.

Teuchi took one look at her crates and groaned.

"Hikari, we don’t have room for—"

"Tou-chan," she interrupted, slamming down a vial of Mei’s signature lava-spice blend, "we’re revolutionizing the menu."

Naruto giggled in Hikari’s arms, his tiny fingers batting at the seashell charm on his wrist as it pulsed with a soft, blue glow. The lullaby it played was an ancient Uzumaki melody—one that resonated deep within his bloodline.

And deep within his mindscape, Kurama’s massive eyes snapped open.

"Kurama... I don’t know if you can hear me," Hikari murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she adjusted Naruto’s green blanket, "but for now, keep Naru safe."

The Nine-Tails’ pupils contracted into slits.

"How…?" His growl reverberated through the cloud-like prison of Naruto’s subconscious.

"How does this brat know my name?"

No human had spoken it in decades.

Not since Mito.

And yet, this girl had just uttered it like it was nothing.

Kurama’s claws flexed, chains rattling as he leaned closer to the "bars" of his cage, watching through Naruto’s eyes as Hikari hummed that damnable lullaby.

"Tch. Annoying woman," he grumbled… but his voice lacked its usual venom.

Something about her chakra—warm, sharp, familiar—made his fur bristle.

Not with rage, but with… curiosity.

And when Naruto, sensing the shift, babbled "Uzu!" again, Kurama huffed.

"Fine. I’ll play along… for now."

If his ear twitched when Hikari laughed, well. No one needed to know.

On December 12, Hikari turned 16 and her body went through a change overnight.

When she woke up and looked in the mirror, she gaped at her appearance.

''I'm an evolving Pokémon.''

Her curly brown hair had become more wavy, reaching to the top of her waist, her chest had jumped from 32B to 36 DD, and her face seemed more refined.

The moment she stepped out of her apartment wearing a pink dress, with cherry blossom flowers on it, which stopped three inches above her knees, along with black sandals.

The samurai smirked. 

Hikari’s transformation didn’t go unnoticed, least of all by him.

Kakashi Hatake, leaning against the wooden railing of the engawa, his usual lazy smirk playing on his lips, watched as she stepped into the morning light. His dark eye—the one not hidden behind his hitai-ate—traced the new curves of her figure, the way her waist-length waves caught the breeze, the confidence in her stride despite the obvious surprise at her own body.

"Hn," he mused, voice low and teasing.

"Someone evolved overnight."

Her cheeks flushed, but she shot him a look, hands on her hips.

"Shut up. Like you weren’t just as awkward when you hit your growth spurt."

Kakashi chuckled, pushing off the railing to fall into step beside her.

"Awkward? Me? Never." He tilted his head, eye crinkling in amusement. "Though I do remember a certain ramen chef who used to trip over her own feet."

"That was one time—!"

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hikari couldn’t help but grin back.

The rest of Hikari’s birthday was spent lazily drifting above the village on her flying carpet, the seals humming softly beneath her as the wind played with her long, wavy hair. Below, Konoha bustled with life, but up here, she was untouchable—free.

Her gifts from the tiny Ino-Shika-Cho trio had been adorable in their earnestness.

Shikamaru, ever the pragmatist even at two, had (with Yoshino’s guidance) given her a book on advanced sealing theory from the Nara archives—though she suspected he just liked the patterns.

Choji, already food-motivated, had presented her with a hand-painted coupon for "one lifetime supply of BBQ (when I’m rich)."

Choza had definitely helped with the handwriting.

Ino, the most decisive of the three, had shoved a tiny kunai with a flower-painted handle into her hands, declaring, "Pretty like you!" before toddling off.

And then there was Naruto.

The hyperactive two-year-old had barreled into her legs earlier, clutching a messily wrapped package. Inside was a bright pink scarf—crocheted, of all things.

"Kashi-nii helped!" he’d announced, grinning toothily.

"But I picked the color! Dattebayo!"

Hikari had burst out laughing, imagining Kakashi—Kakashi—painstakingly knitting between missions.

She’d have to tease him about it later.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in pinks and golds, Hikari sighed contentedly.

Hikari’s fingers traced the delicate petals of the yellow chrysanthemums, her lips curling into a knowing smile as Kakashi slipped through her window with the effortless grace of a shinobi who’d done this a hundred times before. Moonlight spilled across the floor, painting silver edges around his silhouette as he leaned against the windowsill, one knee bent, his hitai-ate glinting faintly.

"Is that all my presents, Hatake?" she teased, tilting her head as she set the bouquet on her nightstand. The flowers were vibrant against the muted tones of her room—just like him, always a splash of unexpected color in her life.

Kakashi’s visible eye crinkled in amusement. "And what does the birthday girl want?" His voice was a low drawl, the kind that sent a shiver down her spine.

She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin in exaggerated thought. "Hmm… let’s see. A rare wind jutsu scroll? A new ramen ingredient? Or maybe…" She took a step closer, her bare feet silent against the tatami. "...something only you can give me."

He didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened, tracking her like a predator watching prey walk right into its jaws.

"Careful," he murmured. "I might take that as a challenge."

"Good." Another step.

Now she was close enough to see the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, the way his breath hitched just slightly when her fingers brushed the edge of his flak vest.

"I like winning."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Kakashi’s hand snapped out, catching her wrist before she could pull his mask down.

"Cheeky," he chided, but there was no real scolding in it.

Just heat.

Hikari grinned, undeterred. "You love it."

He sighed—long-suffering, fond—before tugging her forward.

"Tch. Happy birthday, Hikari."

And then his lips were on hers, and the flowers, the night, the world outside her window—none of it mattered anymore.

When they finally broke apart, Kakashi’s visible eye was dark, his usual lazy amusement replaced with something far more intense. "…Troublesome," he muttered, but the way his hands lingered on her hips betrayed him.

Hikari smirked, still flushed.

"You’re welcome."

He huffed, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"Next time, warn a man before you ambush him."

"Where’s the fun in that?" She grinned, stepping back just enough to trace the edge of his hitai-ate with her fingertip. "Besides… best birthday present ever."

Kakashi rolled his eye, but he didn’t let go.

And outside, the last hour of Hikari’s sixteenth birthday slipped away—marking the start of something new.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''All great artists draw from the same resource: the human heart, which tells us that we are all more alike than we are unalike.'' - Maya Angelou

The flames in the iron brazier hissed as Nagato fed another Akatsuki missive into the fire, the blackened edges curling like dying fingers. The orders—Obito’s orders—had once been scripture to him.

Now, they were just ash.

"Madara was a lie," he said, voice hollow.

"And we built our war on his ghost."

Konan said nothing. Her hands moved with quiet precision, folding the charred remnants into delicate paper cranes. One by one, they took flight on the damp breeze, wings stained gray with the remains of their past.

A single crane landed in Nagato’s palm.

He crushed it.

"We will atone," he murmured.

"Starting with Uzushio."

Mei Terumī lifted her stolen ramen bowl—Hikari’s favorite fire noodle bowl, smuggled out of Konoha like contraband—and toasted the empty air.

"To the woman who made a Hokage kneel with paperwork," she declared, slurping a defiant mouthful of fire-pepper broth.

"And to us, for being smart enough to ally with her."

Zabuza, slumped against the wall with his arms crossed, let out a derisive snort.

"Tch. If she ever moves here, I'm resigning.''

"Oh Za-za-kun," the Kage smirked.

The swordsman's eye twitched.

"For her ramen, I'll sell the Sanbi myself."

Outside, the mist rolled in—thinner now, softer.

Like the world itself was holding its breath.

Ryoko leaned back in her chair, Hikari’s letter in one hand and three official scrolls spread before her. The wax seals gleamed under the lantern light—one bearing the crest of the Water Daimyo, another the jagged symbol of Kirigakure, and the third marked with Amegakure’s rain-soaked insignia.

She read them again.

Then—slowly—she smiled.

“Well,” she mused, lifting the Daimyo’s decree between two fingers.

“It seems the world is finally catching up.”

Kikiyo, perched on the edge of the table, snorted. “Took them long enough. What’s the play?”

The Uzukage's gaze flicked to the Kiri missive—Mei’s elegant script proposing a formal alliance—then to Ame’s, where Nagato’s words carried the weight of a prodigal son seeking redemption.

“First, we accept the Daimyo’s restoration of our noble status. That gives us political leverage.” She tapped the Kiri scroll. “Then, we invite Mei here to sign the alliance in person—preferably somewhere visible, so the other nations remember Uzushio still stands.”

Yuna, who had been sharpening Tidal Cleaver with deliberate, unhurried strokes, paused.

“And Ame?”

Ryoko’s smile turned razor-edged. “We let Nagato come. Let him see what his ancestors fought for. And then…” She glanced at Asami, who was already mixing something that smelled suspiciously like paralytic venom into a teacup. “We ensure his ‘Madara’ problem goes away.''

Akira cracked her knuckles.

“Do we get to teleport into Konoha and check on Hikari’s kid while we’re at it?”

“Patience,” The older woman said, though her eyes glinted with something dangerously close to anticipation.

“One revolution at a time.”

Outside, the waves crashed against the rebuilt docks—a sound Uzushio hadn’t heard in decades.

It sounded like victory.

Official Petition for Adoption of Uzumaki Naruto
Submitted by: Himura Hikari, Ramen Chef of Konohagakure, Samurai of the Himura Clan

To the Esteemed Sandaime Hokage,

I, Himura Hikari, formally petition for the legal guardianship and adoption of Uzumaki Naruto, son of the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze, and Uzumaki Kushina.

Reasons for Petition:

Bloodline & Heritage – As a descendant of the Uzumaki clan through my father's lineage, I am one of the few remaining in Konoha who can teach Naruto about his heritage. He deserves to know where he comes from—not as a weapon or a burden, but as the legacy of a noble clan.

Current Living Conditions – The orphanage is no place for a child, let alone the son of a previous Hokage. I have already secured a safe and stable home in a refurbished apartment building, reinforced with security seals and staffed by trusted individuals.

Personal Capability – I am a trained samurai, proficient in kenjutsu (Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū, taught by my uncle, Himura Iroh of the Land of Iron), fuinjutsu, and combat tactics. I am more than capable of protecting and raising him.

Naruto’s Well-Being – The boy is bright, kind, and full of potential. He should not grow up in isolation, feared by the village his father died to protect.

Additional Notes:

I am prepared to take full responsibility for Naruto’s upbringing, education, and training.

I await your approval.

Signed,
Himura Hikari

Hiruzen Sarutobi exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his aged fingers tapping against the wooden desk. The petition sat before him, its ink stark against the parchment.

Himura. A name that carried weight-- in the Land of Iron. A noble samurai lineage, though Hikari’s father had forsaken his title for his passion. And now, his daughter was wielding that same legacy to claim an orphaned jinchūriki.

"You understand," he said at last, "that this will not erase the village’s fear of him."

Hikari didn’t blink.

"No. But it will give him someone who loves him. Someone who will fight for him."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Very well."

The Hokage stamped the document.

"He is yours."

Ryoko-sama,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits—or at least in better spirits than the last time we spoke, when you threatened to turn the Hokage’s office into a coral reef.

I write with good news: Naruto is no longer in the orphanage. Our favourite sunshine now lives with me in my refurbished apartment building in the red-light district—don’t worry, I’ve already purged the place of its less savory elements and reinforced the walls with enough seals to make even Kiri’s ANBU think twice before trespassing. He’s safe. He’s happy. And he’s eating well.

That said, I know this isn’t enough. He should know his heritage. He should grow up surrounded by his own blood. But until Uzushio is fully secure, I’ll make sure he never feels alone again.

Speaking of Uzushio…

I’ve heard whispers. The Daimyo’s recognition. Kiri’s alliance proposal. And—if my sources are correct—Ame’s sudden interest in diplomacy. The tides are turning, Ryoko-sama. The world will remember the Uzumaki.

Let me know how I can help. Naruto may be my charge now, but he is Uzushio’s future.

—Hikari

Naruto, barely three years old and clutching a stuffed frog toy, stared wide-eyed at his new room—painted in warm oranges and blues, a tiny bookshelf already filled with picture books, and a window that let in the afternoon sun.

"This… is my room?" he whispered, as if afraid it would disappear.

Hikari crouched beside him, ruffling his wild blond hair. "Yours. And if anyone tries to take it from you, they’ll have to go through me."

Naruto’s grin was brighter than the sunrise.

"Dattebayo!"

The bell above the shop door chimed softly as Orochimaru stepped inside, the scent of sweet rice flour and roasted soy powder wrapping around him like an old memory. His golden eyes scanned the room—past the giggling genin, the elderly couple sharing a pot of tea—until they landed on her.

Anko Mitarashi.

Slouched in the corner booth, a skewer of dango in one hand and a scowl permanently etched on her face, she looked every bit the rebellious kunoichi she’d always been. The cursed seal on her neck pulsed faintly under her high collar, a dark reminder of his sins.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then—

“Anko.”

Her head snapped up.

The moment she recognized him, her grip tightened around the skewer hard enough to snap it. “Oh, fantastic,” she drawled, voice dripping venom.

“Just what I needed—a snake slithering into my dessert time.”

Orochimaru exhaled through his nose.

This was going to be harder than expected.

He slid into the seat across from her, ignoring the way her entire body tensed.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Wow, really?” His student rolled her eyes.

“Could’ve fooled me, since y’know, two years of radio silence kinda sends the opposite message—”

“I was in prison,” he said flatly.

“Community service,” she corrected with a sneer. “And don’t act like you couldn’t have found me if you wanted to.”

A beat of silence.

The shop’s chatter faded into white noise.

Orochimaru’s fingers twitched against the table.

“You’re right.”

The jounin blinked.

“…Hah?”

“I could have reached out sooner,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t certain I could face you—not until I was sure I could undo what I did.”

Her breath hitched.

“The seal.”

“Yes.”

His gaze flicked to her neck.

“It was never meant to be a curse. Only… a tool. One I gave you because I believed you could master it.”

A pause.

“I was wrong.”

The teenager stared at him, her bravado cracking just enough to show the hurt underneath.

“Damn right you were.”

Orochimaru reached into his sleeve and slid a scroll across the table.

“This contains the counter-seal. Tsunade-hime has already verified its efficacy. If you’ll allow me…”

Anko’s fingers trembled as she grabbed the scroll—then, with a sudden, sharp movement, she threw it back at him.

“No.”

The Snake Sannin stilled.

“Not yet,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “First? You’re gonna sit there and eat a damn dango with me. And then you’re gonna explain every fucked-up experiment Danzo made you do. And then—” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “—you’re gonna promise to never pull that ‘mysterious mentor’ crap again. Then you can fix your mess.”

For the first time in decades, Orochimaru felt something dangerously close to regret coil in his gut.

And then—

A smirk.

Slow, wry, almost fond.

“…As you wish, Anko-chan.”

She grinned, all teeth.

“Good. Now order something before I stab you with this skewer.”

Outside, the sun dipped below the rooftops, painting the streets of Konoha in gold.

Naruto wobbled slightly on his stool, his tiny hands gripping the counter as he peered into the bubbling pot. The rich, savory aroma of Hikari’s experimental broth filled the air, infused with rare herbs from the Land of Snow and a hint of spice from Tea Country.

“Healing ramen?” Naruto scrunched his nose.

“But ramen’s s’posed to be delicious, not medicine!”

Hikari chuckled, stirring the broth with a practiced flick of her wrist.

“Who says it can’t be both, sunshine? Just wait ‘til you taste it.”

The bell above the door jingled.

Both turned to see Uchiha Itachi, now eight years old and already dressed in the pale blue robes of Konoha’s Medic Corps, standing in the doorway. His dark eyes—still soft with childhood—flickered with quiet amusement.

“Am I interrupting, Hikari-nee?” he asked, polite as ever.

The older girl grinned.

“Not at all, Tachi-kun. Just in time for taste-testing duty.”

Itachi’s lips quirked—a smile, small but genuine. Since Tsunade had taken him under her wing, he was much healthier.

No ANBU. No massacre. Just a prodigy with a talent for healing and a fondness for dango.

Naruto, however, gasped dramatically.

“ITACHI-NII! You gotta try this! Hikari-nee says it’ll fix me!”

“I said it’ll help,” Hikari corrected, ruffling his hair. “Especially after you somehow managed to fall off the Hokage Monument—”

“Allegedly,” the blonde muttered, crossing his arms.

The Uchiha heir hid a laugh behind his sleeve as he slid onto the stool beside Naruto.

“I’ll supervise,” he said solemnly.

“Medic’s orders.”

Hikari ladled out three bowls, steam curling into the air like a promise.

Somewhere, in another life, a different Itachi would have been drowning in the blood of his family.

But here?

Here, he simply blew on his ramen and took a bite—and for the first time in any timeline, Uchiha Itachi let himself enjoy something as simple as a meal with friends.

A lone figure watched from the rooftops, silver hair catching the moonlight.

Kakashi’s eye crinkled.

“Huh,” he mused.

“Maybe this world isn’t doomed.”

Then—because he was still Kakashi—he vanished in a swirl of leaves, off to find the nearest hot springs novel.

Some things never changed.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion. '' - Sylvia Plath

The final stone was set, the last seal activated.

Konoha’s engineers stepped back, wiping sweat from their brows as they admired their masterpiece—a sprawling aqueduct system, its channels reinforced with fuinjutsu to prevent erosion and evaporation, stretching from the Naka River’s diverted overflow to Sunagakure’s parched borders.

"It’s done," one engineer murmured, awe in his voice.

"Not just done—legendary," another corrected, grinning.

For years, Suna had struggled with droughts, their people rationing every drop. But now, thanks to this joint project—spearheaded by joint diplomacy, Hikari's meddling, and Konoha’s ingenuity—clean water would flow freely between the two nations.

No more shortages. No more desperation.

A new era of cooperation had begun.

The world was about to change—and it all started with a stack of stolen, ehmm-- copied, sealing scrolls from the Himura clan library, a fuinjutsu brush, and Hikari’s sheer, unbridled spite for slow messenger hawks.

"You’re telling me," she muttered, ink smudged on her cheek, "that we can teleport people across continents, but we still rely on birds to send memos? Unacceptable."

And so, the "Seal-Phone" was born.

Chakra-Conductive Glass Screens – Etched with microscopic storage seals to display text and images.

Voice Transmission Arrays – Paired sending/receiver seals that carried sound vibrations across vast distances (like a mini–Flying Thunder God, but for gossip).

Chakra Batteries – Tiny, reusable seals that absorbed ambient nature energy to power the device.

The first prototype?

A clunky brick of a thing, but it worked.

Hikari slammed the device onto the conference table where Sarutobi and Rasa, their guards, and the Sannin were gathered.

"Behold," she declared, "the future."

Then she tapped the screen.

A second later— Jiraiya personal Seal-Phone (hidden in his sleeve) buzzed. He blinked, pulling it out to see a pixelated, yet unmistakable image of Hikari flipping him off with the caption:

"Stop stealing my ramen, you old toad."

Silence.

Then—

Tsunade burst out laughing.

"We’re funding this."

A lone messenger hawk, mid-flight, received a Seal-Phone notification from its handler.

"You’re fired. 🐦☠️"

It squawked indignantly.

Hikari grinned.

Mission accomplished.

Senju Yamato—formerly Tenzo, the lone survivor of Orochimaru’s early experiments—sat cross-legged on the engawa, a cup of tea steaming beside him. His adoptive mother, Tsunade, lounged nearby, idly flipping through a ledger.

"You’re staring," she remarked without looking up.

Tenzō blinked.

"Ah—sorry. It’s just… still hard to believe sometimes."

"What? That I took in a stray?" The Slug Sannin smirked.

"Please. You’re less trouble than half the idiots in this village."

He huffed a laugh, but his fingers traced the edge of his Hokage’s Guard Platoon insignia—no longer ANBU, but something better.

A protector. A son.

Orochimaru had apologized, of course. But Tenzō had long since made peace with his past.

"Think Suna’s gonna throw a festival for the aqueduct?" he asked, changing the subject.

Tsunade snorted.

"If Hikari has anything to do with it, there would be a holiday."

The moment the water reached the village, a cheer erupted through the streets.

Gaara, now a young genin under Baki’s tutelage, watched as children splashed in the newly filled canals. His sand stirred protectively, but for once—there was no malice in it.

"Konoha kept their word," Baki mused.

The child nodded slowly.

"…Hikari-nee probably had something to do with it."

Somewhere in the Suna Administration Tower, Rasa allowed himself a rare smile.

The desert had bloomed.

The Sandaime stood before his three former students, his pipe clenched between his teeth and a mountain of paperwork looming behind him like a vengeful spirit. He sighed deeply, the weight of decades of leadership pressing down on his shoulders.

"My dear students," he began, voice gravelly with exhaustion, "it is time. I am old. I am tired. And I refuse to die buried under another stack of tax reform scrolls."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Jiraiya crossed his arms, shaking his head.

"No way, old man. I’ve got a spy network to run, a novel to finish, and approximately zero patience for bureaucratic nonsense."

Tsunade snorted, swirling her sake cup.

"Absolutely not. I’ve got a hospital to run, free clinics to open, and a very strict ‘no-hats’ policy."

Orochimaru, who had once dreamed of the position, now looked at the Hokage’s desk like it was a live explosive.

"…I’d rather dissect my own spleen than deal with trade negotiations with the Daimyo."

Hiruzen’s eye twitched.

"You three are literally the most powerful shinobi in the village. One of you has to take it."

Another shared glance between the Sannin. A silent conversation passed in the span of a breath—memories of war, of loss, of promises made long ago.

Then—

"Fine," The medic grumbled.

"But only on a rotating schedule."

"And only until Itachi’s old enough to take over," the Toad Sannin added.

"…And only if we never speak of this agreement again," Orochimaru finished, already regretting every life choice that led him here.

The Sandaime blinked.

"Itachi? Uchiha Itachi? The eight-year-old medic?"

Tsunade smirked.

"Give him a decade. He’ll be ready."

Konoha had never been more efficiently unhinged.

During Jiraiya's term.

The "Toad Sage Research Fund" was officially approved, despite its vague description ("For the betterment of Konoha’s… cultural arts.").

When the council demanded receipts, Jiraiya submitted a single scroll titled "Expenses: Classified" with a wink.

They never asked again.

He also introduced "Casual Fridays", which quickly devolved into "Flak Jackets Optional Fridays" after Guy misinterpreted the dress code. (The sight of Might Dai in a Hawaiian shirt still haunted the ANBU.)

In Tsunade's, the Konoha shinobi held their breath.

She had made having a medic per team mandatory. 

Followed by post-mission therapy, which gave the Yamanaka clan a workout.

However, the "Sake Report Submission Policy" had an unintended side effect: enemy nations started sending spies to infiltrate Konoha’s admin offices… only to get blackout drunk during debriefings.

Shizune, permanently exhausted, began pre-stamping forms with "Approved (Probably)" just to keep up.

The Hospital’s Free Clinics flourished, though patients were strongly encouraged to bring "donations of high-quality alcohol" for priority service.

In Orochimaru's, things were questionable at best.

His "One Snake Clone Bureaucracy System" was technically flawless—if you ignored the fact that the clone kept hissing at civilians who asked for permits.

He also abolished meetings, declaring them "inefficient human rituals", and replaced them with scrolls delivered by summoned snakes.

The first time one slithered into the Daimyo’s court, the man fainted.

Anko, purely for her amusement, started feeding the clone spicy dango. The resulting fire-breathing paperwork incident was still under investigation.

Kakashi had meant it as a joke.

Really.

But the moment he handed Itachi that "So You Want to Be Hokage?" pamphlet, the air itself seemed to freeze.

Itachi stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Then, in a voice colder than a Hyūga’s glare.

"I’m telling Hikari-nee."

Kakashi’s non-covered eye widened.

"Wait, no—"

"She’ll make you babysit Naruto."

"Itachi, please—"

"For a month."

The ANBU Captain's soul left his body.

Hikari did find out.

Kakashi was indeed sentenced to Naruto-sitting duty, which involved:

Being used as a climbing frame.

Enduring "Shadow Clone Prank Ambushes" at 3 AM.

And worst of all… attending "Ramen Taste-Testing Marathons".

His stomach would never recover.

Itachi, now hyper-aware of the Sannin’s scheme, began preemptively training Shisui as his "successor candidate".

Shisui, oblivious, just thought they were sparring more.

The Sannin, meanwhile, celebrated their successful avoidance of permanent responsibility by getting blackout drunk at Ichiraku’s, where Tsunade bet Jiraiya he couldn’t seal a toad into a shot glass.

He could.

Regrettably.

Somewhere in the Hokage Tower, Hiruzen sipped tea on his porch, listening to the distant sounds of Orochimaru’s snake clone setting something on fire and Guy’s booming laughter echoing through the streets.

He sighed.

Content.

"Best. Retirement. Ever."

Hikari had only meant to stop in Iwa for some rare fire-pepper mushrooms, essential for her latest ramen broth experiment. But fate—and her inability to resist stray children—had other plans.

There, crouched in the alley behind a dingy market stall, was a tiny, dirt-smudged, explosively angry blond boy.

"…The hell?" She blinked.

"Naruto, did you learn the Shadow Clone jutsu and teleportation?"

The boy snarled, clutching a half-formed lump of clay.

"I’m not Naruto, yeah! My name’s Deidara!"

Hikari’s eyes narrowed.

Oh no. Another blond orphan with terrible life prospects and clearly no adult supervision.

"Right," she said, snapping into action.

"You’re coming with me."

"Like hell I am—UNH—"

Too late.

Hikari had already slung him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Attempt #1: Deidara tried to blow up her backpack.

Hikari countered by eating one of his clay bombs ("Huh. Tastes like soy sauce.").

Attempt #2: He screamed for Iwa-nin.

The responding team took one look at Hikari’s "I Will Adopt This Child" expression and noped out.

Attempt #3: He bit her. She retaliated by tickling him until he cried. (Psychological warfare.)

By the time they crossed the border, Deidara was strapped to her back with sealing tags, pouting like a wet cat.

Naruto, vibrating with excitement, latched onto Deidara like an overenthusiastic octopus.

"WE’RE GONNA BE BEST BROTHERS! WE CAN TRAIN TOGETHER! EAT RAMEN TOGETHER! PRANK KAKASHI-NII TOGETHER—"

Deidara, his tiny face scrunched in outrage, shoved a wad of explosive clay toward Naruto’s nostril.

"I’LL BLOW YOUR FACE OFF, YEAH!"

Hikari sighed, plucking the clay from Deidara’s fingers and popping it into her own mouth.

"Mmm. Needs salt."

The older blonde looked betrayed.

"THAT WAS MY LAST BATCH—"

Kakashi pinched the bridge of his nose, his lone visible eye twitching.

"Hikari. Why."

Hikari shrugged, adjusting the squirming blond gremlin under her arm.

"He looked lonely."

"He’s an Iwa-nin."

"He’s five."

"He tried to blow up your legs on the way here."

His girlfriend grinned.

"And? Naruto set your pants on fire last week."

The ANBU Captain opened his mouth—then closed it.

Damn it.

She had a point.

The Godaime Hokage leaned against the wall, smirking as she watched the chaos unfold.

"So, Hikari," she drawled, "is that an Iwa-nin alert in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Hikari rolled her eyes, tossing the crumpled bounty poster at Tsunade.

"They put a five-year-old on the wanted list. That’s just sad."

Tsunade skimmed the notice and snorted.

"‘Wanted for property destruction and unauthorized art installations.’ Kid’s got style."

Deidara, still upside-down in Hikari’s grip, perked up.

"SEE? SHE GETS IT, YEAH!"

By sundown, the explosive artist had:

Attempted to rig the Hokage Monument with clay mines (stopped by Kakashi).

Been bribed into temporary submission with ramen (Naruto’s idea).

Accidentally bonded with Anko over "Things We’ve Thrown at Orochimaru."

As Hikari tucked him into bed (a shockingly normal act of parenting), Deidara muttered, "…I still hate you, yeah."

She ruffled his hair.

"Sure you do, kiddo."

And thus, another future villain was derailed by the sheer, unstoppable force of Hikari’s adoption instincts.

Mission accomplished.

Deidara had always thought his guardian was just a ramen chef with annoyingly good knife skills.

Sure, she could dice onions faster than he could blink, but that didn’t make her strong.

Then he saw her sneak out in the dead of night, dressed head-to-toe in black, her wild curls tucked away under a tight hood.

What the hell?

Curiosity (and a stubborn refusal to admit he cared) made him follow her.

Hikari stopped in a moonlit clearing, stretching her arms like she was preparing for a fight.

Then—Kakashi Hatake stepped out of the shadows, already unsheathing his white chakra sabre, its glow cutting through the dark.

"Took you long enough," he drawled.

His guardian smirked, pressing fingers to her palm, pulling out a reverse-edged sword from her seal, its blade gleaming under the stars.

Deidara’s jaw dropped.

What.

What followed was three hours of brutal, beautiful combat.

Their swords clashed like lightning, neither giving an inch. Hikari’s footwork was fluid, her strikes precise—nothing like the woman who playfully flicked noodles at Naruto.

When they switched to ninjutsu, Deidara nearly choked.

Wind met lightning, earth swallowed fire.

Hikari wasn’t just good—she was elite.

At one point, she flipped Kakashi over her shoulder, and he retaliated by vanishing mid-air, reappearing behind her—only for her to predict it and elbow him in the ribs.

His heart pounded.

She could’ve killed me anytime.

…Why didn’t she?

Finally, breathless and grinning, they stopped.

Kakashi pulled down his mask just enough to press a kiss to Hikari’s lips. "I’ll see you later, okay?"

Then he was gone in a swirl of leaves.

Silence.

Then—

"Come out, Dei-chan."

Deidara froze.

She knew.

Slowly, he stepped out from behind the tree, fists clenched, face burning with embarrassment and something else—awe? Fear? Respect?

Hikari crouched in front of him, ruffling his hair like she always did.

"I know you’re shocked," she said softly.

"But know this—I’ll always protect you. And Naruto. And all my precious people."

The blonde swallowed hard.

"…You’re not just a ramen lady, yeah?"

She laughed, standing and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"Nope. And you’re not just some explosive brat. So what do you say? Wanna learn how to really fight?"

Deidara’s eyes gleamed.

"HELL YEAH."

The next morning, Naruto, mouth full of eggs, squinted at Deidara.

"Why’re you starin’ at Hikari-nee like she grew a third arm?"

Deidara didn’t answer, too busy watching as Hikari—still in her apron, humming while she chopped scallions—flipped a knife mid-air and impaled a fly to the wall without looking.

"…No reason, yeah."

Maybe Konoha wasn’t so weak after all.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''We do things for good reasons that are bad.'' - Francis Ford Coppola

The culinary world was sent into a frenzy this week as Hikari’s Five Nations of Ramen—a revolutionary cookbook blending medicinal herb-infused broths, cross-cultural flavor techniques, and anecdotes from her travels—completely sold out its first print run in less than three weeks.

A triumphant (and slightly smug) press conference was held at Ichiraku Ramen, where:

Tsubaki (Hikari’s ever-suffering editor) waved sales charts like victory flags.

Jiraiya, looking visibly betrayed, muttered about "ramen stealing his novel’s spotlight."

Hikari’s publicist announced plans for a second edition, including a special section on explosive spice blends (courtesy of Deidara’s "contributions").

The Godaime Hokage, nursing a sake bottle, smirked at her former teammate's despair.

"Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?" she drawled.

"All those years of ‘research’ novels, and she out-sells you with soup."

Jiraiya’s eye twitched.

"It’s not just soup—"

"It’s ramen," Tsunade corrected. "The people’s true literature."

Saiyuki Ruu, the Water Daimyo’s ever-composed secretary, burst into the main chamber with uncharacteristic urgency, her usually immaculate robes fluttering behind her. In her hand, she clutched a scroll—its wax seal bearing the unmistakable whirlpool crest of Uzushiogakure.

"My lord!" she called out, her voice cutting through the dry murmur of tax discussions.

Lord Yoshi Hinoba, the Water Daimyo, glanced up from his tea, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"Ruu, my dear, you look as if you’ve just seen a tidal wave."

"A political one, perhaps," she replied, striding forward before presenting the scroll with both hands. "A letter of gratitude from the Uzukage. They formally thank you for restoring the Uzumaki clan’s noble status and recognizing Uzushio’s sovereignty."

The chamber fell silent.

Hinoba set down his cup, his lazy smirk fading into something sharper.

"Ah. So they did receive my decree."

One of his advisors, a wiry man with a perpetual frown, scoffed.

"A symbolic gesture, nothing more. That island is still in ruins."

Ruu’s gaze flicked to him, cold.

"Symbols have power, Councilman. And the Uzumaki were never a people to forget their debts—or their grudges."

The Daimyo chuckled, unfurling the scroll with deliberate slowness.

"Oh, I’m counting on it."

The missive was polite.

Flattering, even. But between the lines, the Uzukage’s words carried a promise.

"Your recognition honors us. And rest assured—Uzushio remembers her allies."

Hinoba’s fingers traced the ink, lingering over the whirlpool seal.

"Tell me, Ruu… do you think they’ve rebuilt their archives yet?"

She knew what he was really asking.

Do they still have their seals? Their weapons? Their teeth?

"I think," she said carefully, "that it would be unwise to test them."

The Daimyo grinned.

"Perfect."

As Ruu left the chamber, she glanced back—just in time to see Hinoba toss the Uzukage’s scroll into the hearth, its edges curling into ash.

But the whirlpool seal?

It refused to burn.

Some things, she mused, even fire couldn’t erase.

A shadowy underground operation has been supplying Kumo ninja with illegal, chakra-infused ramen bowls—sealed for maximum flavor and energy boost. The culprit? 12-year-old genin Iruka Umino.

After Hikari’s Five Nations of Ramen took the shinobi world by storm, demand for her chakra-enhanced broth skyrocketed.

Kumo nin, notorious for their lack of access to premium ramen (and their willingness to pay triple), became desperate.

Iruka, a budding fuinjutsu enthusiast, realized he could reverse-engineer Hikari’s storage seals to preserve and smuggle her ramen.

The orphaned teenager would "borrow" leftover broth from Ichiraku (with Teuchi’s suspiciously blind eye). Using basic fuinjutsu, he’d compress the ramen into portable, heat-activated orbs (instant cup noodles, but with explosive flavor).

The underground black ramen market consisted of Konoha Academy upperclassmen (and one very bribable Nara kid) who smuggled it to Kumo via "training missions."

When she finally caught Iruka red-handed, the kid was mid-transaction with a sweating Kumo chūnin behind Ichiraku’s dumpster.

She just sighed.

"Iruka. Kid. You’re twelve."

He pouted in protest.

"I’ll be thirteen next month!" 

She sighed, ruffled his hair, and dropped the bombshell.

"Next time, charge more. And use better seals—these leak broth."

Iruka’s eyes sparkled. "…Can you teach me?"

He was "punished" with an apprenticeship under Hikari, where his profits tripled.

Kumo tried to reverse-engineer the ramen seals, resulting in a broth explosion in their intelligence office.

With the Five Nations of Ramen craze still sweeping the continent, Hikari dropped her next bombshell: Seal-Phone Apps—digitized fuinjutsu programs that mimicked the technology of her past life.

The App Lineup With a Shinobi Twist:

"Flame" (Tinder Clone)

"Swipe right if you survive my jutsu."

Jiraiya was immediately banned for "inappropriate summoning animal photos."

"ScrollMaps" (Google Maps)

Live-updating maps with ANBU patrol routes marked (for "avoidance purposes").

Deidara used it to tag "Best Explosion Testing Sites" (which Tsunade may have bookmarked).

"InkPost" (GMail)

Self-destructing messages (unless you paid for "InkPost Premium").

Orochimaru accidentally locked himself out after forgetting his password again.

"ShadowPlay" (YouTube)

Ninjutsu tutorials, mission fails, and Guy’s "Youthful Workout Challenges."

Kakashi monetized his "Icha Icha Reaction Videos" (much to Tsunade’s horror).

"ShinobiGram" (Instagram)

Filters included: "Sharingan Glow," "Byakugan Mist," and "Explosion Aftermath."

Ino and Sakura started a rivalry over who could get more "likes" on their flower arrangements.

Hikari plopped Naruto in front of a Seal-Phone, dialed Suna, and—

"WHOAAAA! YOU’RE THE SAND DUDE!" Naruto yelled, nose pressed to the screen.

Gaara, initially bewildered, slowly leaned closer. "…You have ramen on your face."

"Oh. Oops—HEY! YOUR HAIR’S LIKE A CACTUS!"

The redhead blinked.

Then, for the first time in his life… he giggled.

By the end of the call, they were:

Comparing jinchūriki notes (Naruto: "So your guy’s a raccoon? Mine’s a fox! We should make ‘em play!").

Planning a prank war (Gaara: "I can bury people up to their necks." Naruto: "DUDE. YES.").

Scheduling a "playdate" (Hikari and Baki, in the background, shared a look of impending doom).

Uzumaki Yuto stood over his worktable, fingers tracing the intricate diagrams of chakra coil degradation—a side effect of forcibly separating a jinchūriki from their tailed beast.

"If war comes... if they start weaponizing extraction..."

He clenched his fist.

He needed a solution.

Jinchūriki who lost their beasts died—their coils shredded by the violent separation.

Even if they survived, their chakra systems never fully recovered, leaving them as hollowed-out husks.

Hikari’s warnings about Zetsu's plans made this research urgent.

Yuto’s notes detailed:

Chakra-Suppression Seals (to stabilize the body during extraction).

Coil Reconstruction (using Uzumaki vitality to rewrite the damaged pathways).

Artificial Chakra Anchors (temporary vessels to prevent system collapse).

But the key? A living sample.

A faded scroll from the Whirlpool Archives mentioned "Soul-Binding Anchors"—a forbidden Uzumaki technique that could tether a host’s life force to an external seal.

"If we can’t prevent the damage... we could redirect it."

He snapped the scroll shut.

"Hikari won’t like this... but if war comes, we’ll need it."

When Hikari eventually discovered his research, her reaction was purely Uzumaki:

"Yuto. What the hell."

He met her glare, unflinching.

"Would you rather let them die?"

Silence.

Then—she grabbed a pen and started correcting his formulas.

Kisame Hoshigaki had spent years wandering as a rogue shinobi, a monster in the eyes of many. But rumors of change in Kiri—of a new Mizukage who had ended the era of bloodshed—drew him back.

When he stepped into the mist-laden streets of his former village, he expected suspicion, hostility… perhaps even a fight.

Instead, he was greeted by Mei Terumī, leaning against the Mizukage tower with a smirk.

"Took you long enough, Sharkface," she said, tossing him a bottle of sake.

"We’ve got work to do."

The former rogue-nin grinned, all teeth.

"Heh. This might be fun."

Zabuza Momochi had never been one for sentimentality. But when he stumbled upon a small child - Haku Yuki—living alone in the wilderness, his ice mirrors glinting like ghosts in the fog—something in the Demon of Kiri itched.

"Kid," Zabuza grunted.

"You’re coming with me."

The little boy, ever serene, tilted his head.

"And if I refuse?"

The teenager's sword glinted.

"Then I drag you."

Haku sighed.

"...Fair enough."

When Zabuza shoved Haku into Mei’s office, the Mizukage blinked.

"Zabuza. Why is there a child in my war room?"

"He’s got ice kekkei genkai," Zabuza said, as if that explained everything.

The redhead studied Haku—his calm demeanor, the quiet strength in his stance.

Then she smirked.

"Welcome back to Kiri, kid. You’re my problem now."

Haku bowed gracefully.

"I’ll try not to disappoint, Mei-sama."

The desert wind howled as Hikari trekked back from Suna, the fading heat of the day licking at her heels. One moment, the dunes stretched endlessly before her—the next, the air warped, and a masked figure materialized like a nightmare given form.

Obito Uchiha.

"You’re in my way," he intoned, voice hollow behind the orange swirl of his mask.

Hikari didn’t waste words.

Her sword was already in her hand, the steel singing as it cleared its sheath.

Obito’s Kamui made him a phantom—phasing through strikes, vanishing and reappearing with infuriating precision. But Hikari had studied space-time fuinjutsu for years.

She slapped a chakra-disruption seal onto the sand beneath them. When the Uchiha next phased, his re-materialization stuttered—just long enough for her to slice a shallow cut across his arm.

He retaliated with a Fire Release: Blast Wave, but she unsealed a gust of wind from her palm, scattering the flames.

The raven-haired teen realized too late that his movements were off.

Too aggressive, too reckless. Something was influencing him.

Her eyes blared emerald gold for a second, scanning his body.

Then she saw it—a blackened seal pulsing beneath his cloak, nestled over his heart.

'A corruption seal. Of course.'

Hikari feinted left, then unleashed a five-point barrier seal mid-air. The glowing symbols latched onto Obito’s limbs, yanking him into a paralysis array.

"Sleep," she muttered, driving a final chakra-suppression tag into his sternum.

His Sharingan flared—resisting—before his body went slack.

She hauled Obito’s unconscious form over her shoulder, grimacing.

"Tsunade’s gonna love this."

The hospital hallway was too bright, too quiet—a stark contrast to the storm raging in Kakashi’s chest. The moment he’d heard "Hikari brought back an Uchiha", his body had moved before his mind could catch up.

And now here she was, standing between him and the door, her hand pressed firmly against his chest.

"Kakashi," she said, voice low. "Stop."

His Sharingan spun wildly behind his hitai-ate.

"That’s Obito in there."

"I know."

A beat of silence. The air between them crackled with unsaid things.

Then—

Hikari took a deep breath.

"There’s something you need to know. About me. About why I knew how to stop him."

She grabbed him to Tsunade's office, which was secure with hidden seals, before she told him everything.

The other world she came from.

The stories she’d grown up with—his story, Obito’s, the war that hadn’t happened yet.

The seals she’d developed not just from Uzushio’s texts, but from memories of technology this world had never seen.

Kakashi listened, his breath steadying, his posture rigid.

When she finished, he exhaled sharply.

"...So you’ve been playing prophet this whole time?"

Hikari winced.

'I deserve that.'

"No. Just... trying to fix what I knew was broken."

He stared at Hikari for a long moment.

Then—

"You should’ve told me sooner."

"Would you have believed me?"

A pause.

"...No."

She smirked. "Exactly."

As Kakashi finally stepped into the hospital room, his gaze locked onto Obito’s unconscious form, Hikari’s words echoed in his mind:

"Some truths don’t change. He’s still your friend."

And for the first time in years—Kakashi let himself hope.

The hospital room was quiet when Obito woke.

No voices. No whispers. No gnawing, endless hatred.

Just… silence.

And then—

Hikari’s voice.

"So," she said, sitting beside his bed, arms crossed.

"I'm going to tell you a story."

And she did.

She told him everything.

How Rin’s death wasn’t Kakashi’s fault—how she had thrown herself onto his Chidori to protect the village.

How Madara had twisted his grief, fed him lies, made him a puppet in a war that was never his.

How Zetsu, a parasite older than nations, had been pulling the strings all along.

How Kakashi—stoic, grieving Kakashi—had spent years haunted by Obito’s ghost, always arriving just too late because he couldn’t stop seeing his face in every failure.

Obito listened.

And for the first time since the cave, since the boulder, since everything—

He cried.

Not the furious, broken sobs of a boy who had lost himself to madness. But the quiet, shuddering tears of someone who had just realized he’d been wrong about the world.

The door swung open.

"Alright, emotional breakdown over," Tsunade announced, striding in with a clipboard.

"Uchiha, have you ever considered plastic surgery? Skin grafts? Because let me tell you, half your face looks like a melted candle."

Obito froze, tears still wet on his cheeks.

"…What?"

Hikari facepalmed. "Tsunade-sama, read the room—"

"I am," The Sannin snapped.

"And the room is saying this man needs a dermatologist."

The Uchiha touched his scarred face—really touched it—for the first time in years.

"I…" He swallowed.

"I thought it didn’t matter."

Tsunade snorted.

"Well, now it does. So? You in or not?"

Kakashi and Obito stared at each other—two halves of a broken team, two ghosts who had haunted each other for too long.

Then—

"You’re an idiot," Kakashi said.

"Yeah," Obito rasped.

"I know."

And just like that—the weight of a decade of grief cracked open.

The Uchiha compound had never been so quiet—until it wasn’t.

Shisui had been mid-training when the news hit him like a kunai to the chest.

"Obito’s alive."

His breath caught.

Obito.

The cousin who had practically raised him after his parents died.

The one who had vanished, leaving behind only whispers of a tragic end.

And now—he was back.

Shisui didn’t bother with the front door. He shunshin’d straight into the hospital room, skidding to a halt just inside the threshold.

There he was.

Obito—older, scarred, but alive—sat on the edge of the bed, looking as stunned as Shisui felt.

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Then—

"You little brat," Obito choked out, voice thick.

"You got tall."

Shisui didn’t answer. He just crossed the room in two strides and hugged him.

The door burst open again—this time revealing Mikoto, dragging a squirming Sasuke behind her, with Fugaku and Itachi following.

The Uchiha Matriarch took one look at Obito and burst into tears.

"You idiot," she sobbed, yanking him into a crushing embrace.

"We mourned you!"

Obito froze, then slowly—so slowly—wrapped his arms around her.

"…Sorry, Mikoto-ba."

Sasuke, still trapped in his mother's grip, scowled.

"Who is this guy—OW!"

Mikoto had pinched him for disrespect.

Fugaku stood rigid, his face unreadable.

Then—

"You were presumed dead," he said, voice clipped.

"Your name was on the Memorial Stone."

Obito flinched.

"I know."

A beat.

Then Fugaku exhaled sharply.

"…Welcome home."

Itachi, ever observant, simply nodded.

"We’ve missed you."

As members of his family gathered around him, Obito realized something.

He hadn’t just been saved from Madara’s lies.

He’d been brought back to the people who never stopped loving him.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.'' - Helen Keller

The soft scratch of brushes against parchment filled the cozy room as Hikari guided Naruto’s small hand across the paper.

"Slow, steady strokes," she murmured, adjusting his grip.

"Fuinjutsu isn’t just about power—it’s about precision."

Naruto stuck his tongue out in concentration, his normally wild energy subdued for once.

"Like… drawing but with explosions?"

Hikari chuckled.

"Exactly. But first, you master the brush."

Beside them, Iruka—her ever-diligent apprentice—scribbled notes furiously, his calligraphy already leagues ahead.

As the ink dried, the older girl unrolled an ancient scroll—the Uzumaki Clan’s emblem, a vibrant crimson spiral, stared back at them.

"This," she said, tracing the symbol, "is your heritage. The Uzumaki didn’t just use seals—they breathed them."

Naruto’s eyes widened.

"Wait, my clan did this stuff?!"

"Yours and mine," Hikari nodded. "We were artists. Inventors. Warriors. And family."

She flicked his forehead lightly.

"Which means you don’t get to slack off."

Deidara, eavesdropping from the doorway, scoffed.

"Calligraphy’s boring, yeah. Where’s the fireworks?"

The samurai smirked.

"Next lesson: Explosive Tag Art. Happy?"

Deidara’s grin was manic.

The marketplace was bustling with midday activity when three-year-old Naruto waddled off, drawn by the colorful stalls and the scent of fresh apples. He didn’t notice the small, pale-eyed girl—Hinata Hyūga—standing alone, her lower lip trembling as she clutched her sleeve.

Until two drunk men staggered from a nearby alley, their cruel laughter cutting through the air.

"Lookie here—ain’t that the demon brat?" one sneered, looming over Naruto.

Hinata, despite her fear, stepped forward, her tiny voice shaking.

"P-Please leave him alone!"

The man shoved her down, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

Naruto’s blue eyes burned.

"HEY! DON’T HURT HER!" He lunged, sinking his teeth into the man’s arm like a feral kitten.

The drunk roared, raising his fist—

CRACK.

A hand—Hikari’s hand—snapped around his wrist, breaking it with a single twist.

"Don’t. Touch. My. Kid."

Her voice was deathly calm, but her emerald eyes glowed like poisoned blades. The man paled, scrambling back as his companion fled without a second glance.

She scooped up both children, brushing the dirt off Hinata’s kimono.

"You okay, little one?"

Hinata sniffled but nodded, her pale eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Naruto, still fuming, puffed out his chest.

"I bit him! Like a shark!"

Hikari chuckled, ruffling his spiky hair.

"Yeah, you did. Good job."

She carried the young heiress to the Hyūga compound, where Hizashi Hyūga nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of his niece.

"Hinata-sama! Where were—?" He cut himself off, bowing deeply to Hikari.

"Thank you."

She waved it off, then knelt to Hinata’s level.

"Hey. Be safe, okay?"

Before the ramen chef turned, she felt a tug on her dress.

''Ano....'' the young child started.

Hinata took a deep breath before turning to Naruto, ''D-Do you want to come to my birthday party?''

The blonde grinned.

''Sure, dattebayo.''

The elevator descended with a quiet hum, the LED lights flickering as Hikari leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The Kumo situation was a farce—a thinly veiled attempt to steal the Byakugan under the guise of diplomacy. And if history repeated itself, Hizashi Hyūga would pay the price with his life.

Not this time.

The doors slid open, revealing the basement headquarters of her spy network—a labyrinth of maps, coded messages, and chakra-powered monitors displaying real-time intel.

Her network wasn’t made of shinobi. It was bathhouse workers who overheard drunken confessions, maids who dusted the desks of high-ranking officials, and women of the night who knew secrets whispered in the dark.

"Kumo’s delegation moves tomorrow," said Mari, a former courtesan turned informant, tapping a file. "Their ‘escort’ includes two jōnin with sealed scrolls—likely for transporting a ‘package.’"

Hikari’s jaw tightened.

"Of course it does."

She tossed a pouch of ryo onto the table.

"Double the watch on the Hyūga compound. If Kumo so much as blinks wrong, I want to know."

Hiashi Hyūga stood at the head of the Konoha Clan Council, his expression as unreadable as the moon. The other clan heads—Tsunade, Fugaku, Shikaku, Inoichi, Choza, Shibi, Tsume—watched him with varying degrees of curiosity.

Then, without preamble, he dropped his bombshell.

"My daughter Hinata will be celebrating her birthday tomorrow. All clan heirs are invited."

A beat of stunned silence.

Fugaku’s eyebrow nearly vanished into his hairline.

Hyūga and Uchiha heirs at the same event? Unprecedented.

Shikaku sighed, already calculating the political ramifications.

''Troublesome.''

Inoichi grinned.

"Ino-chan has been begging to meet Hinata-chan. This’ll make her day."

Choza rubbed his chin.

"Should I bring extra snacks?"

Hiashi ignored them all, his gaze lingering on Fugaku.

"This includes your sons, Uchiha."

The Uchiha clan head narrowed his eyes.

"…Why?"

Hiashi’s lips thinned.

"Because Himura Hikari will be there."

A ripple of understanding passed through the room.

No one questioned it further.

That night, as she helped Naruto wrap a pair of soft lavender gloves (a gift for Hinata’s upcoming birthday), she glanced at Kakashi, who was lounging on her couch reading Icha Icha.

"Hey," she said casually. "You on ANBU patrol tomorrow?"

"Mm."

Translation: Yes, but I’d rather not be.

She tossed him a rice cracker.

"Swing by the Hyūga district. Call it… a hunch."

Kakashi’s eye narrowed.

He knew her "hunches" were never just hunches.

"…Anything I should specifically look for?"

Hikari smiled sweetly.

"Oh, you’ll know."

The Hyūga compound had never seen so much chaos.

Hinata stood nervously in the center of her room, hands folded as the first guests arrived. The sleepover—an unprecedented event for the usually reserved Hyūga clan—had been her father’s idea, though she suspected someone else’s influence.

The door slid open.

"Happy birthday, Hinata!"

Naruto barreled in first, arms full of clumsily wrapped presents—a handmade ramen coupon book and soft lavender gloves.

"So you don’t get cold!"

Behind him, Deidara tossed her a clay figurine of a dove.

"It won’t explode, yeah."

Then came the others.

Ino handed her a delicate tulip hairpin.

"To match your eyes!".

Shikamaru gave her a delicately carved shogi set.

"Troublesome, but you’ll like it."

Choji presented her with a family-sized bag of BBQ chips.

"For midnight snacks!".

Kiba, with a small Akamaru in tow, gave her a dog whistle.

"For emergencies!".

Shino, ever mysterious, handed her a jar of rare dragon fireflies.

"They glow blue in the dark."

Sakura, blushing, offered a book of basic healing.

''Ino-chan said you were delicate!"

Sasuke, arms crossed, begrudgingly passed her a new kunai holster.

"…It’s practical."

Itachi, smiling faintly, gave her a book on flower pressing. "I thought you might like this."

Hinata’s eyes shimmered.

"T-Thank you, everyone…"

Just as the chaos settled, a familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

"Man, you kids are loud."

All heads turned.

There, leaning against the frame with a lazy smirk, was Hikari—Shikamaru’s former nanny, the young girl who had once taught him how to cheat at shogi and taken him flying on a carpet when he was barely two.

Then—

Sakura stepped forward, emerald eyes shining.

"You—you saved my tou-chan on that supply run last year!" she blurted.

"Thank you!"

Hikari blinked, then ruffled her pink hair.

"Hey, no problem. You must be Sakura-chan—Ino-chan told me all about you."

Sakura looked like she might explode from happiness.

Shikamaru’s eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"You came."

Hikari ruffled his hair.

"Wouldn’t miss it."

The other kids stared in awe.

Naruto gasped.

"Hikari-nee, you were Shika’s nanny?!"

Kiba pointed.

"YOU’RE THE FLYING CARPET LADY?!"

Hikari sighed.

"Yep. And since it’s Hinata-chan's birthday…"

She unsealed the Flying Carpet 3.1—bigger, safer, and now with snack holders.

Hinata clutched Naruto’s sleeve, her Byakugan wide as she took in the village lights below.

Shikamaru smirked, leaning back like this was just another Tuesday.

Sasuke pretended he wasn’t impressed (he was).

Deidara demanded "more speed, yeah!"

Choji happily crunched chips mid-air. Ino grinned at Sakura. 

And Hikari?

She watched them all—future leaders, rivals, friends—laughing together under the stars, and thought:

This was worth every bit of trouble.

The moonless night was silent—until it wasn’t.

Three figures clad in Kumo’s dark infiltration gear scaled the Hyūga compound walls with practiced precision.

Their mission? Steal the Byakugan heir.

Their mistake? Underestimating the children sleeping inside.

The Kumo ambassador, cloaked in a genjutsu of shadows, slid open the door to Hinata’s room.

Inside, the heirs of Konoha’s greatest clans slept in a chaotic pile of blankets and limbs:

Hinata, curled between Naruto and Shikamaru, her small fingers clutching Naruto’s sleeve.

Deidara sprawled half-off the carpet, muttering about "bigger explosions" in his sleep.

Sasuke, back-to-back with Itachi, as if even unconscious, he refused to be far from his brother.

The ambassador reached for Hinata—

"HEY! GET AWAY FROM HER!"

Naruto’s voice, loud and furious, shattered the silence.

The blonde launched himself at the intruder, teeth bared like a feral fox.

Shikamaru rolled to his feet, already calculating escape routes.

"Troublesome."

Hinata’s Byakugan flared awake, her breath sharp with fear.

Itachi was already moving, a kunai in hand before his Sharingan blazed, fully alert.

Deidara sat up, blinking.

"Huh? Fight time, yeah?"

The Kumo-nin hesitated—this was not part of the plan.

The ambassador bolted for the window, only for a kunai to embed itself in the wall beside his fingers.

"Tut-tut," Kakashi’s voice drifted from the darkness.

"Visiting hours are over."

The man turned and found himself face-to-face with.

The ANBU Captain leaned casually against the windowsill.

His ANBU team, their masks gleaming in the dim light.

And Hiashi Hyūga, standing in the doorway, Byakugan veins pulsing with fury.

The Kumo "diplomats" were dragged away in chakra-suppression cuffs, their mission a humiliating failure.

Hinata, still shaking, was tucked back into bed by Naruto.

"Don’t worry, Hikari-nee’ll beat ‘em up later!".

Kakashi gave Itachi a nod.

''Good reflexes, kid.''

Deidara yawned.

"Man, and I didn’t even get to blow anything up."

The Kumo ambassador slumped in the chair, his wrists bound in chakra-suppression cuffs, his face pale under the flickering interrogation lights.

Then the door opened.

Inoichi Yamanaka stepped inside, his brown cloak draped over his shoulders, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by cold, controlled fury.

"Let’s make this simple," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

"You’re going to tell me everything you know. Or I’m going to peel apart your mind layer by layer until you forget your own name."

The prisoner swallowed hard.

Meanwhile, in the Hokage’s office, the Sannin convened—Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru—each radiating displeasure in their way.

Tsunade cracked her knuckles.

"We should send Kumo’s Raikage his operative’s head in a gift box."

Jiraiya stroked his chin.

"Or we could demand reparations. Say… their Lightning Blade technique scrolls?"

Orochimaru smirked.

"Or we could publicly expose their espionage attempt. Humiliation is a sharper weapon than steel."

After a heated debate, they settled on a three-pronged approach.

A strongly worded missive would be sent to the Raikage, detailing Konoha’s displeasure.

Kumo would hand over five of their prized lightning-based jutsu scrolls as compensation.

A Public Apology would be delivered by the Kumo ambassador himself, on his knees, in front of the Daimyo’s court.

When the message reached Kumo, the Raikage nearly shattered his desk in rage.

But he had no choice.

Konoha had proof, leverage, and—most dangerously—the moral high ground.

"Fine," he growled.

"But this isn’t over."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''We are learning, too, that the love of beauty is one of Nature's greatest healers.'' -Ellsworth Huntington

Hiashi stood before them, his Byakugan glowing faintly in the well lit chamber, his voice leaving no room for debate.

"The Caged Bird Seal ends today."

A murmur of shock rippled through the elders. One of the oldest, Elder Higumo, slammed his cane against the floor.

"Preposterous! The seal is our tradition—our protection!"

His gaze didn’t waver.

"It is a chain. And it nearly got my daughter kidnapped."

The room fell deathly still.

They all knew why Kumo had targeted Hinata—because she was the Main House heir, unmarked by the seal. If the Branch Family had been seen as equals from the start, the enemy wouldn’t have known who to take.

"A divided clan is a weak clan," Hiashi said coldly.

"We will remove the seals. We will stand as one."

The elders exchanged glances.

None dared argue further.

Removing the Caged Bird Seal was no simple feat—it was designed to be inescapable, lethal if tampered with. Only two people in Konoha had the skill to safely dismantle it:

Jiraiya of the Sannin – A fuinjutsu master who had studied under the Uzumaki and written seals for tailed beasts.

Hikari Himura – The woman who had reinvented chakra tech and whose knowledge of soul-binding seals rivaled the Uzumaki archives.

Hiashi sought them out immediately.

The Toad Sage nearly spat out his sake when Hiashi explained his request.

"You want me to what?"

"Remove the Caged Bird Seal. Permanently."

Jiraiya rubbed his temples.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? One wrong move and—"

"I trust your skill," Hiashi said simply.

The Sannin exhaled sharply.

"Fine. But I’m bringing Hikari. And she’s handling the hard part."

Hikari studied the seal’s structure, her fingers tracing the intricate markings. "This thing’s a monster," she muttered. "But… we can do it."

Her plan:

Jiraiya would suppress the backlash with a barrier seal.

Hikari would rewrite the seal’s core, turning its self-destruct function into a harmless release.

Hiashi would channel his Byakugan’s precision to guide the chakra flow.

It would take days of painstaking work—but it was possible.

The air in the Hyūga sealing chamber was thick with tension as Neji knelt in the center of the intricate fuinjutsu array, his jaw clenched. Around him, Hikari, Jiraiya, and Hiashi stood ready—each playing a critical role in dismantling the Caged Bird Seal that had dictated his fate since birth.

"This will hurt," Hikari warned, her fingers already glowing with chakra.

Neji didn’t flinch.

"Do it."

The Toad Sage knelt at the northern point of the triangular sealing array, his hands moving through a series of rapid hand seals. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pressed his palms to the floor.

"Barrier Seal: Eight Trigrams Suppression Dome!"

A golden lattice of chakra erupted around Neji, its hexagonal patterns shimmering like a honeycomb. This wasn’t just any barrier—it was a modified version of the Uzumaki’s Forbidden Seal of Shackling, designed to absorb and disperse backlash without harming the subject.

"This’ll hold the explosion if we screw up," Jiraiya grunted.

"Which we won’t."

At the eastern point, Hikari’s fingers danced just above Neji’s forehead, her emerald chakra threads weaving into the cursed mark like a surgeon’s sutures.

The Caged Bird Seal was a masterwork of cruelty—its core function wasn’t just to brand, but to pulverize the brain upon tampering. To disable it, she had to:

Isolate the kill switch (a coiled serpent of fuinjutsu hidden in the seal’s third layer).

Replace it with a release valve (her own design, inspired by Uzumaki soul anchors).

Stitch the new pathways without triggering the Hyūga’s automatic defensive pulses.

Her hands didn’t shake.

"Neji, if you feel a sharp pain, scream. If it’s dull, endure it."

The child's jaw tightened.

"Just get it over with."

At the western point, Hiashi’s veins bulged as he mapped every chakra pathway in Neji’s skull.

"The seal’s roots are embedded in the occipital lobe," he reported, voice clipped.

"Hikari, adjust left by 0.3 degrees."

His role was critical—one misaligned thread, and Neji’s vision could be permanently damaged.

The seal on Neji’s forehead burned white, fighting back—but Hikari’s strokes were precise, surgical.

Then—

SNAP.

A sound like a chain breaking echoed through the room as the seal shattered, dissolving into motes of fading light.

Hizashi stepped forward next, his posture rigid but his eyes alight with something long-buried: hope.

The process repeated.

When Hizashi’s seal broke, he pulled his child into a fierce embrace, whispering, "No more cages.''

The Toad Sage submerged himself in the hottest onsen in Konoha, a bottle of sake floating beside him as he groaned into the steam.

"I’m too old for this shit," he announced to no one in particular.

"Next time, Tsunade can handle the brain-exploding seals. I’m writing erotica full-time."

Day 1: He slept underwater twice (prompting lifeguard intervention).

Day 2: He attempted to dictate his memoirs to a very confused attendant.

Day 3: He emerged, rejuvenated, and immediately got roped into fixing the ANBU’s barrier seals (Tsunade’s orders).

His final verdict? "Retirement’s overrated anyway."

The Hokage’s vault gained a new scroll, sealed with Uzumaki-grade locks and a very specific label:

"Caged Bird Seal Modification: RELEASE-ONLY PROTOCOL.''

For use in extreme humanitarian crises (or if Orochimaru tries to reinvent it).

WARNING: Attempting to reverse-engineer the self-destruct function will result in:

Immediate chakra backflow.

Mild-to-severe humiliation.

Hikari kicking your ass personally.
–H.H."

Orochimaru, upon reading it, sulked for a week (but didn’t touch the scroll).

Tsunade added a postscript: "Violators will also owe me 10 million ryo. –T.S."

At the next Clan Council meeting, Hiashi dropped a reform edict so radical it stunned the room into silence:

The Branch House was abolished. All Hyūga were equal.

The Caged Bird Seal was forbidden. Any attempt to recreate it would be punished as treason, per Konoha's laws, not the Clan's.

Training regimens are unified. Main and Branch techniques are now shared knowledge.

The Elders protested—until Hiashi’s Byakugan flared, and he said, "You allowed Kumo to target us because we were divided. Never again."

The training grounds were silent save for the soft tap-tap of small feet against the packed earth.

Four-year-old Neji stood across from his cousin Hinata, their tiny fists raised in perfect Hyūga stance. The morning sun cast long shadows behind them as the clan watched—Hiashi, Hizashi, and a handful of elders observing this first, historic spar between the heir and the prodigy.

Neji moved first—fluid, precise, his Gentle Fist strikes already carrying the sharpness of a seasoned fighter.

Hinata, though smaller, held her ground, her Byakugan flickering to life as she tried to predict his movements.

For a moment, it seemed even.

Then—

Neji saw the opening.

A slight imbalance in Hinata’s stance, her left foot turned just a fraction too far inward.

Tap.

A single, controlled strike to her shoulder sent her tumbling backward into the dirt.

The elders inhaled sharply—this was the moment they’d feared. Would the Branch child humiliate the Main House heir?

But Neji didn’t gloat.

He knelt beside Hinata, his stern expression softening as he offered his hand.

"Are you okay, Hinata-chan?"

Hinata blinked up at him, her lip wobbling for just a second before a sunbeam-bright smile split her face.

"Yes, Neji-nii-san!"

The lunch rush at Ichiraku Ramen was in full swing, the air thick with the savory aroma of simmering broth and the lively chatter of customers. Behind the counter, Hikari moved with practiced efficiency—her hands a blur as she assembled bowls, garnished toppings, and barked orders with the precision of a seasoned chef.

"Order up! One miso with narutomaki, quail eggs, and umeboshi!" she called out, sliding the steaming bowl across the counter.

Deidara, now sporting a proud Konoha headband (though he still grumbled about it), snatched the dish mid-slide with a smirk. Without a word, he dropped it in front of a wide-eyed genin, who blinked at the artistically arranged narutomaki swirl—which, upon closer inspection, was shaped like a tiny explosive tag.

"Uh… thanks?" the genin said cautiously.

The blonde shrugged.

"Eat it fast, yeah. The eggs are timed."

The genin choked.

The genin's chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth as the quail eggs began emitting faint, ominous pops. Before he could react, the curtain parted again to reveal Shibi Aburame with three-year-old Shino clinging to his leg and Shino's cousin Torune hovering silently behind them, the boy's face half-hidden beneath a large hood.

From his perch near the window, Neji suddenly straightened, his Byakugan activating instinctively as he sensed the Aburame clan's distinctive chakra.

"Father," he said in that eerily mature voice of his, "There are insects in their—"

Hizashi placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.

"That's their kekkei genkai, Neji. Remember what we discussed about clan techniques?"

The four-year-old's brow furrowed as he processed this, his tiny features set in perfect imitation of Hizashi's thoughtful expression. Meanwhile, Shino peeked out from behind his father's coat, his oversized sunglasses sliding down his nose as he stared at Neji with equal curiosity.

The standoff between the two prodigies was interrupted when Naruto came barreling out from the kitchen, soap suds still clinging to his elbows.

"Neji! Shino! You gotta try the new—whoa!" His foot caught on a loose floorboard, sending him careening toward the Aburames.

In a move that would make any Hyūga proud, four-year-old Neji fluidly intercepted the blonde whirlwind, using just enough Gentle Fist technique to redirect Naruto's momentum without hurting him—though both boys still ended up in a heap on the floor.

Hikari was already vaulting over the counter when Neji spoke first, his voice calm despite being buried under a squirming Naruto.

"You should watch your step, Naruto-san." There was no malice in the words, only the straightforward honesty of a child who'd been raised on discipline.

From his spot behind the counter, Deidara snickered as he plated another bowl.

"Nice catch, eyeball kid. Maybe I'll make you my next art project, yeah."

Hizashi's warning glare was immediate, but his son simply extracted himself from the tangle of limbs and bowed perfectly to Naruto.

"Hinata-chan says you're teaching her how to make proper ramen. I would like to learn too."

The entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath at the unprecedented sight of a Hyūga—even a four-year-old one—showing interest in something as common as cooking. Hikari recovered first, her grin widening as she helped Naruto up.

"Well then, looks like we've got ourselves two new kitchen apprentices."

As Naruto whooped and dragged Neji toward the kitchen, Shino finally spoke from his father's side, his tiny voice barely audible over the commotion: "I would prefer to observe the broth first."

Torune, silent until now, nodded solemnly in agreement while Shibi sighed and adjusted his glasses. The lunch rush at Ichiraku, it seemed, was about to get much more interesting.

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees as three-year-old Sakura skipped down the path from Yuu Sweet Bakery, her tiny hands clutching a paper bag of still-warm purple yam buns. The scent of sweet potato and honey filled the air around her as she hummed a nonsense tune, her pink hair bouncing with each step.

She nearly collided with someone at the corner of the Aburame compound. Looking up, she found herself staring at Shino, the Aburame heir, standing perfectly still with his hands in his pockets. His oversized sunglasses slid down his nose as he regarded her silently, the faint buzzing of his kikaichū barely audible in the quiet afternoon.

"You're bugs are cool," Sakura blurted out before she could stop herself, pointing at the small swarm that had emerged from Shino's collar.

The effect was instantaneous.

Shino's cheeks turned bright red beneath his glasses, his normally stoic expression crumbling into childlike surprise. His kikaichū swirled in an uncharacteristically erratic pattern before he managed to mumble, "T-They're not pets. They're symbiotic—"

But the pinkette was already rushing off, her tiny sandals slapping against the cobblestones as she disappeared around the corner, leaving Shino standing frozen on the path, his insects buzzing in confused circles around his head.

The next morning found Sakura determinedly marching toward the forest's edge with a glass jar clutched in both hands. She'd stayed up half the night drawing pictures of every bug she could remember seeing, and now she was going to find the coolest one to show that quiet boy with the neat glasses.

She wandered deeper into the Forest than she'd intended, following the trail of colorful butterflies until she stumbled upon a clearing she'd never seen before. There, growing in a perfect patch of sunlight, was the most beautiful flower Sakura had ever seen - its petals shimmered with an iridescent purple hue, and perched delicately on its stem was a dragonfly with wings like stained glass.

"Perfect!" Sakura whispered, carefully creeping forward with her jar at the ready. In one swift motion, she trapped both the flower and the insect beneath the glass. The dragonfly's wings beat against its new prison with a sound like tiny wind chimes.

It was only when she stood up to leave that Sakura realized she had no idea which way she'd come from. The trees all looked the same, and the sunlight no longer seemed to point the way home. Her lower lip began to tremble as she clutched her precious find to her chest.

In his study, Shikaku Nara's head snapped up as a silent alarm triggered along the western edge of his family's lands. He sighed dramatically, setting aside his shogi strategy book.

"Another lost civilian," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Third time this month."

What he didn't expect to find was a tiny pink-haired girl curled up against the side of Rikomaru, the massive stag who led the Nara deer herd. The large animal stood perfectly still, allowing the child to use its flank as a pillow while she slept, her jar of treasures held securely in her lap.

Shikaku crouched down, examining the flower in the jar with growing surprise.

"That's a Moonlit Orchid," he murmured. "Only blooms once every ten years." The purple dragonfly inside pulsed with faint chakra - clearly no ordinary insect.

The Nara clan head sighed again, though this time with considerably more amusement. He carefully extracted the jar from Sakura's grip, replacing it with a carved wooden deer figurine from his pocket. The little girl mumbled in her sleep but didn't wake.

"Come on, Rikomaru," the Jounin Commander said, gently gathering the sleeping child in his arms. "Let's get this one back to her parents before Mebuki starts burning down the village looking for her."

As they walked, Shikaku couldn't help but glance at the unusual flower in the jar. Perhaps this accidental intruder had just proven herself more perceptive than most grown shinobi. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the Haruno girl - anyone who could find the Nara clan's most carefully hidden medicinal plants might be worth watching.

Sakura stirred as the steady rhythm of Shikaku’s footsteps lulled her awake. Blinking sleepily, she found herself nestled against the Nara clan head’s flak jacket, his familiar scent of ink and forest lingering around her.

"Nara-sama…?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Shikaku glanced down, one eyebrow raised.

"Ah. Sakura-chan. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Instead of answering, the three-year-old simply snuggled deeper into his chest, her tiny fingers gripping his vest.

He sighed, amused.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you home before your mom burns down the village."

Mebuki Haruno was frantic.

"SAKURA?! SAKURA, WHERE ARE YOU?!" Her voice echoed through the streets as she searched, her face pale with worry.

Then she turned a corner—and froze.

There, standing before her with all the calm of a man who had faced far worse than a missing toddler, was Shikaku Nara, holding a sleepy, pink-haired lump against his chest.

Her knees nearly gave out.

"Nara-sama! Thank you—!"

Shikaku waved her off.

"She’s fine. Just went bug hunting in our woods."

Mebuki scooped her daughter into her arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You scared me half to death!"

Sakura, still half-asleep, mumbled.

"Found a cool bug… for the glasses boy…"

The next day as Shikaku was in the middle of a clan budget meeting with Inoichi and Choza when the office door burst open.

A tiny pink hurricane stormed in, her head barely reaching the desk. Ignoring the two clan heads entirely, Sakura dragged a chair over, stepped onto it, and planted her hands on her hips.

"Where’s my jar?"

Choza choked on his tea.

Inoichi blinked.

Shikaku didn’t even look up from his paperwork.

"Good morning to you too, Sakura-chan."

She huffed.

"Jar. Now."

With a long-suffering sigh, Shikaku reached into his desk and produced the glass jar—now containing only the purple dragonfly, its wings shimmering faintly.

"You can’t have the plant. It’s clan property. But the bug’s yours."

Sakura’s face lit up.

"Thank you!" She snatched the jar, then turned to Inoichi, who was watching the exchange with amused fascination.

"Hello, Ino-jiji!" she chirped before hugging his pant leg and darting out of the office, her mission clear.

Inoichi stared after her.

"Did she just call me ‘jiji’?"

Shikaku smirked.

"Be grateful she didn’t ask you for candy."

Sakura, three years old and full of purpose, stomped up to the Aburame clan gates with all the authority a tiny pink-haired child could muster. In her hands, she clutched the glass jar containing the rare Violet Stormwing dragonfly, its iridescent wings fluttering against the glass.

Behind her, Ino—her best friend and partner in chaos—skipped along, already planning how they would "convince" Shino to come out and play.

"Shino’s dad is super scary," Ino whispered, though she didn’t sound scared at all.

"Pfft. My dad says he’s just quiet," Sakura declared, before pounding her tiny fist against the Aburame door.

The door slid open, revealing Shibi Aburame, his dark glasses reflecting the sunlight as he looked down at the two girls.

"Yes?" he intoned, his voice as calm as ever.

Sakura didn’t even blink.

"I need to see Shino. Now. Aburame-sama."

Ino gasped, elbowing her.

"Sakura-chan! You gotta say please!"

The pinkette huffed.

"Fine. Please let me see Shino. Aburame-sama. It’s urgent."

For a long moment, Shibi simply stared. Then—the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Very well." He stepped aside.

"He’s in his room."

Shino sat cross-legged on his floor, a thick entomology book open in front of him, his kikaichū humming quietly around him.

Then—his door burst open.

"SHINO!" Sakura yelled, marching in like she owned the place.

"LOOK WHAT I FOUND!"

She shoved the jar into his face, the dragonfly inside flaring its wings in protest.

Shino adjusted his glasses, his usual stoicism cracking for just a second.

"…A Violet Stormwing."

"YEP!" Sakura plopped down beside him.

"It’s cool, right? Like your bugs?"

Shino’s kikaichū buzzed in what might have been approval.

"…They are not comparable," he said finally.

"But… yes. It is… acceptable."

Sakura beamed.

"Great! Now we’re all friends!"

Ino clapped her hands.

"This calls for a celebration! Let’s go get dango!"

Shino opened his mouth to protest—but Sakura was already dragging him up by the sleeve.

"No excuses! You’re coming!"

The following day, Shikaku was mid-sentence in a budget discussion with his friends when the door burst open for the second time in as many days.

This time, however, instead of demands, a tiny pink-haired hurricane marched in carrying a basket nearly half her size, packed with steamed buns, onigiri, and a single, slightly squashed dango skewer.

"Here," Sakura declared, dropping the basket onto Shikaku’s desk with a thump.

"For yesterday."

Shikaku blinked.

"…Is this a bribe?"

The little girl tilted her head.

"It’s a sorry basket. Ino-ji-san says you like snacks."

Inoichi choked on his tea.

"I—when did I—"

Choza, already reaching for an onigiri, grinned.

"Kid’s got good instincts."

Shikaku sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Apology accepted. Now scram."

Sakura gave a sharp nod, spun on her heel—then paused.

"Oh! And I’m going to Ichiraku now. Bye!"

And just like that, she was gone.

At the ramen stand, Sakura climbed onto her usual stool, kicking her feet as she proudly announced to Hikari.

"I fixed things with Nara-sama! Now he won’t be mad when I barge in next time!"

Hikari, who had been mid-pour, nearly dropped the broth pot.

"Sakura. What."

Naruto, from the kitchen, yelled, "SAKURA-CHAN’S GONNA BE A GREAT NINJA! SHE EVEN KNOWS HOW TO SAY SORRY WITH FOOD!"

Deidara, plating a bowl, snorted.

"Diplomacy through snacks. Maybe I should try that, yeah."

Hikari facepalmed.

"No. No one is taking lessons from Sakura-chan.''

At Shikamaru’s house, the Nara heir sat across from his father, tiny brow furrowed as he contemplated the shogi board. Sakura and Ino were supposed to be playing with paper dolls, but Sakura kept glancing over.

Then—she saw it.

"Shika, your dad’s gonna trap your gold general in three moves," she said absently.

Shikaku’s head snapped up.

"Oh? And how do you figure?"

The pinkette crawled over, studied the board for two seconds, then moved Shikamaru’s bishop.

Checkmate.

Silence.

Shikamaru’s mouth hung open.

"…What."

Sakura, already back to braiding Ino’s hair, shrugged.

"It was obvious."

Shikaku stared at his son. "…We’re keeping her."

The Nara heir had faced many troubles in his four years of life—naps interrupted by his father’s lectures, the troublesome effort of chewing tough meats, and now… this.

He flopped onto his back in the grass, staring at the clouds as if they held answers.

"Why’s it gotta be her?"

Nearby, Choji crunched on a rice cracker.

"Who?"

"Sakura-chan," Shikamaru muttered, cheeks flushing.

"She beat my dad at shogi in one move."

Choji blinked.

"So?"

"So now she's interesting," Shikamaru groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

"And she’s scary."

His best friend, wise beyond his years, offered the only solution he knew.

"Give her snacks?"

A month later, Hikari stood at Konoha’s gates, Ryoko’s letter burning in her pocket.

"The time has come. Uzushio rises again."

Kakashi leaned against the wall beside her, eyeing the packed scroll case at her hip.

"You sure about this?"

She smirked.

"Someone’s gotta remind the world why they feared the Whirlpool."

Naruto, clinging to her leg, sniffled.

"You’ll be back for my birthday, right?"

Hikari ruffled his hair.

"Wouldn’t miss it, sunshine."

Then—with a flash of seals—she was gone.

In Uzushio’s rebuilt council hall, Ryoko Uzumaki stood before a map of the elemental nations, her crimson hair like a war banner.

"The Daimyo recognizes us. Kiri and Ame have allied. Now?" Her grin was all teeth.

"We remind the rest why you don’t drown a nation of seal masters."

Behind her, the tide roared in agreement.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Man is a genius when he is dreaming.'' - Akira Kurosawa

In the heart of reclaimed Uzushio, Ryoko Uzumaki stood atop the ancient Tidecaller’s Altar, her crimson hair whipping in the salt-laced wind. The ocean roared beneath her, waves crashing against the restored stone pillars as if answering her presence.

With a slash of her palm, she let her blood drip onto the seal-carved dais, the droplets sizzling as they touched the sacred markings.

"By blood and brine, by storm and seal," she intoned, her voice resonating with the power of her ancestors.

"Let the scattered children of Uzushio hear their home’s call!"

The ritual flared to life—a pulse of crimson chakra rippling across the world, invisible to all but those who carried Uzumaki blood in their veins.

Naruto bolted upright in bed, his small hands clutching his chest. His heart pounded like a drum, his skin prickling with an energy he didn’t understand.

"Hikari-nee…?" he mumbled, looking around his dark room. But she wasn’t there.

The call tugged at him, a whisper in his blood.

"Come home."

In a cramped, dimly lit hut on the outskirts of Kusa, Ameryu Uzumaki froze mid-motion, her daughter Karin’s tiny hand clutched in hers.

The call hit her like a tidal wave—a pull so strong it stole her breath.

"Mama?" Karin blinked up at her, sensing her sudden tension.

Ameryu didn’t hesitate.

She yanked open their meager cupboard, shoving supplies into a worn pack.

"We’re leaving. Now."

Karin, though confused, nodded. She’d never seen her mother move like this—like hope had set her on fire.

The bustling marketplace in Tea Country froze as a red-haired merchant suddenly dropped his basket of spices. The clay jars shattered against the cobblestones, releasing clouds of turmeric and saffron into the air.

His customers gasped, but the man didn’t seem to notice. His violet eyes—usually sharp with bartering cunning—were distant, glazed with something deeper than memory.

"Uzushio…" he breathed, as if the word had been ripped from his soul.

Without another word, he abandoned his stall, his feet carrying him eastward, toward the sea.

Toward home.

In a quiet monastery nestled in the forests of the Land of Fire, an elderly nun collapsed to her knees in the middle of vespers. Her gnarled hands clutched at the faded whirlpool tattoo hidden beneath her robes—a mark she had not acknowledged in fifty years.

The other sisters rushed to her side, but she waved them off, tears streaming down her wrinkled face.

"The Tide Mother calls," she whispered, her voice trembling with a hope she thought long dead.

"After all this time… she remembers us."

Rain pounded against the tower window as Nagato jolted upright, his Rinnegan flaring to life without his command.

A sensation—warm, relentless, aching—flooded his chest.

It felt like…

Yahiko’s hand on his shoulder.

Konan’s laughter in the damp hideout.

His mother’s voice, singing an Uzumaki lullaby.

"No…" he rasped, his skeletal fingers digging into his cloak.

"This is a trick."

But the call didn’t fade. It pulled, insistent as the tide.

Konan stepped into the room, her paper wings rustling.

"Nagato? What’s wrong?"

He didn’t answer.

For the first time in years, Uzumaki Nagato was speechless.

Tsunade Senju was halfway through a bottle of sake when the call hit.

The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor of her office.

"Shizune," she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Get me a map of the coastline."

Meanwhile, in the Haruno household, Kizashi Haruno—a man who had never once questioned his civilian lineage—suddenly found himself at the window, staring at the horizon with an inexplicable longing.

His wife frowned.

"Kizashi? What is it?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"I… don’t know."

Behind him, Sakura—too young to understand the weight of bloodlines—simply clutched her stuffed toy tighter, her dreams filling with the sound of crashing waves.

The docks of Uzushiogakure had not seen such life in decades.

One by one, they came—ships, rafts, even lone travelers on foot—drawn by the call of blood and the promise of a home they had only ever heard of in whispers.

The eight surviving Uzumaki who had clung to each other in the ruins of the Second War stood at the shore, their breaths stolen by the sight before them.

Redheads.

Not just a few—dozens. Some with hair as bright as fresh blood, others with auburn waves like autumn leaves. There were blondes with sharp green eyes, brunettes with whirlpool-shaped birthmarks, even raven-haired strangers who carried the unmistakable chakra pulse of Uzumaki lineage.

A woman with wild crimson curls and a merchant’s robes stepped forward first, her hands trembling as she touched the rebuilt stone of the wharf.

"It’s real," she whispered.

Then—she screamed.

A raw, ragged sound of grief and joy, echoed by others as they fell to their knees in the sand, clutching the earth of their ancestors.

Ameryu and Karin arrived on a rickety fishing boat, the little girl’s eyes wide as she took in the towering spiral towers of her true home.

The red-haired merchant from Tea Country staggered onto the shore, laughing through tears as he pressed his forehead to the ground.

The elderly nun from the Land of Fire let her habit fall away, revealing the faded whirlpool tattoo on her shoulder.

"I kept my vow," she told the sea. "I lived."

Even those who hadn’t known their own lineage felt it—the rightness in their bones, the hum of seals and saltwater in their blood.

Tsunade slammed the Uzushio missive onto the desk, making the inkwell rattle. "Well, shit."

Orochimaru, lounging in the co-Hokage chair, smirked as he examined the elegant whirlpool wax seal. "I do love a good resurrection story."

Shizune, already drafting three different contingency plans, groaned. "Do we send a delegation? Gifts? A strongly worded congratulations?"

The Slug Sannin snorted.

"Knowing Ryoko? She’d prefer a shipment of decent sake."

He tapped the letter.

"More importantly—this means Naruto-kun has options now."

A beat of silence.

Tsunade paled.

"Oh, hell no. That knucklehead isn’t going anywhere."

Mei stood on Kiri’s docks, overseeing the loading of a merchant vessel packed to the brim with fresh fish, rice, and citrus fruits—all wrapped in watertight storage scrolls.

Zabuza, leaning against a crate, raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do we gift food to strangers?"

The Mizukage's smile was all teeth.

"Since those ‘strangers’ can seal away tidal waves and rewrite coastlines. Call it… investing in good neighbors."

Chōjūrō, struggling with a crate of persimmons, piped up.

"Also, Hikari-san did help us with the food shortage—"

"Also that," Mei agreed, tossing a mango at Zabuza’s head.

Rasa stared at the intelligence report, his sand swirling agitatedly.

"Uzushio rebuilt. With Ryoko Uzumaki at the helm."

Baki, ever pragmatic, cleared his throat.

"They’ll want alliances. And… they have Naruto."

A pause.

The Kazekage sighed.

Ōnoki’s teacup shattered in his grip.

"Uzushio what?!"

His aides cowered as the old man’s dust release flickered dangerously.

"First the Himura brat, now this? Those damn seals—"

Kurotsuchi, leaning in the doorway, smirked.

"Grandpa, maybe stop pissing off people who can unmake mountains?"

Ōnoki’s eye twitched.

Ryoko stood on the newly constructed Tidecaller’s Pier, watching the first Kiri ship approach.

Beside her, Hikari grinned.

"Told you they’d come crawling."

The older woman chuckled.

"Let’s see who brings the best peace offering… and who needs a reminder of what happens when you cross the Whirlpool."

The ocean roared in agreement.

The roads to the Land of Iron were lined with curious onlookers as the Uzumaki delegation made their way toward the historic summit. A procession of purple-clad warriors, seal masters, and strategists moved with quiet confidence, their presence alone enough to make even seasoned shinobi step back.

Inside the lead carriage, Hikari lounged beside Ryoko Uzukage, while Kikiyo, the clan’s sharpest barrier master, studied a scroll with a critical eye.

"You think they’ll actually give us a seat at the table?" Kikiyo mused, rolling the parchment shut.

Ryoko smirked, her amethyst eyes glinting.

"They don’t have a choice."

Hikari stretched, cracking her knuckles.

"And if they argue? I brought explosive negotiation tools."

Kikiyo sighed.

"You mean seals?"

"I mean what I said."

The great hall of the Land of Iron’s fortress was silent as the Five Kage took their seats—only to freeze when Ryoko Uzumaki strode in, flanked by her retinue.

Tsunade smirked into her sake cup.

About damn time.

Mei arched a brow, intrigued.

A woman after my own heart.

Ōnoki looked like he was about to dust-release the ceiling in frustration.

First the samurai brat, now this?

Rasa remained stone-faced, though his sand stirred uneasily.

This changes everything.

Ay sat rigid in his seat, his massive arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack. The Raikage had only come because the Daimyo had ordered it—and even then, he’d nearly sent Darui in his place. The sight of the Uzumaki, proud and unbroken, made his skin prickle with old grudges.

"Tch," he muttered under his breath.

"Should’ve finished the job when we had the chance."

The words were quiet, but in the dead silence of the hall, they carried.

Ryoko’s gaze snapped to him, her amethyst eyes glowing faintly—a silent promise.

The Samurai General cleared his throat.

"Let the record show that the Land of Whirlpools has been formally recognized. Uzukage Ryoko, you may take your seat."

Ay’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing else.

For now.

The tension in the hall was thick enough to choke on as Ryoko took her seat at the hexagonal table - the first Uzumaki leader to sit among the Kage in living memory. The polished steel surface reflected the flickering torchlight, casting eerie shadows across the faces of the world's most powerful leaders.

Tsunade raised her cup in a mock toast.

"Took you long enough, Uzukage. Was starting to think you'd rather hide on your island forever."

Ryoko's answering smile was all teeth.

"We Uzumaki have always believed in making an entrance, Senju. Though I'm touched you were waiting for me."

Ōnoki's floating chair dipped dangerously low as he leaned forward.

"Enough pleasantries. What exactly does Uzumaki's... resurrection mean for the balance of power?"

Before Ryoko could respond, Ay's fist slammed against the table, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the steel surface. "It means nothing. A nation of seal-weavers and ghosts has no place dictating terms to the great villages."

Kikiyo's hand twitched toward her scroll pouch, but Ryoko raised a single finger - a subtle command to stand down.

"Tell me, Raikage," she purred, "do your people still tell stories about the day Uzushio fell? How the waves themselves fought for us? How your fathers' fathers barely escaped with their lives?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Mei fanned herself dramatically.

"My my, and here I thought we were discussing diplomacy, not ancient history."

Rasa finally spoke, his voice dry as the desert.

"History has a way of repeating itself. Uzushio's return will inevitably affect trade routes, military alliances-"

"Which is precisely why we're here," interrupted the Samurai General, his armor clanking as he stepped between the gathering storm of Kage. "To establish boundaries before they need to be enforced."

Hikari, leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness, caught Tsunade's eye and mouthed 'told you so'.

The Hokage rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide her smirk.

Outside, the first snows of Iron Country began to fall, blanketing the fortress in hushed silence. But within the council chamber, the game of nations had just gained a dangerous new player.

 Ay's chakra flared violently, blue lightning crackling across his massive frame.

His chair exploded into splinters as he rose to his full height, veins bulging along his neck.

"You think you can just waltz in here and demand a seat at this table?" he roared, his voice shaking the steel rafters. "Your people are dead, Uzumaki. Your village is a graveyard. What gives you the right—"

Before he could finish, Orochimaru and Jiraiya materialized at Tsunade's sides in an instant, their postures deceptively relaxed but their eyes sharp.

"Now, now, Raikage," Jiraiya drawled, though his hand hovered near a scroll pouch. "Is that any way to talk to our newest ally?"

Orochimaru's smile was knife-edged.

"I do so love a family reunion. Though I'd hate for this one to turn... messy."

Across the room, Mei's guards—Chōjūrō and Ao—stepped forward, their weapons still sheathed but their stances ready. Rasa's sand coiled protectively around him, his expression unreadable.

The Iron Samurai commander pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his teeth.

"Must we do this every summit?"

Ryoko hadn't moved from her seat, her fingers steepled calmly in front of her. But the air around her warped, the faintest hum of barrier seals activating in the walls, the floor, the very air itself—Uzushio's silent warning.

Hikari flicked her gaze toward Ay.

"You gonna throw the first punch, big guy? Or just keep growling?"

For a heartbeat, no one breathed.

Then—

"ENOUGH."

The Samurai General's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"The next person who so much as twitches aggressively will be escorted out by my steel. Are we clear?"

A heavy silence followed.

Ay's lightning dissipated, though his glare remained.

"...Tch."

He turned sharply and stormed out, his retinue scrambling after him.

Mei fanned herself.

"Well. That was exciting."

Tsunade snorted, taking another swig of sake.

"Same old Kumo."

Ryoko finally stood, smoothing her robes.

"Now that we've established that I'm not leaving... shall we discuss actual politics?"

The remaining Kage exchanged glances.

The Iron Samurai sighed again.

"...Fine. But if anyone else breaks the furniture, you're paying for it."

The peace only last for a few minutes before the Raikage who had re-entered the room, pissed off Tsunade. 

Tsunade's sake cup shattered in her grip as she stood, golden eyes blazing with decades of suppressed fury.

"You want to talk about demand, Ay?" Her voice was dangerously calm. "Let's talk about how Kumo demanded the Byakugan—how your men tried to snatch a three-year-old girl from her bed like common thieves."

The Raikage's face darkened, lightning flickering at his fingertips again.

"Ancient history, Senju. Or are you still nursing grudges from the Third War?"

"Ancient?" The Slug Sannin's laugh was razor-sharp.

"Your current diplomatic envoy was caught last year in the act. Don't pretend Kumo's changed."

The Mizukage cleared her throat, her tone sweet as poisoned honey.

"While this is fascinating, perhaps we should focus on the trade routes Uzushio's revival opens up? The whirlpool currents could cut shipping time between Kiri and Tea Country in half."

Ōnoki scoffed.

"Unless Ryoko here plans to tax every ship passing through."

Ryoko leaned back, her smile serene.

"Oh, we'll tax them. Just not as much as you would, Ōnoki."

Hikari grinned darkly at the Raikage.

"Here's a thought—Kumo stops trying to steal bloodlines, and in return, we don't seal your entire coastline into a vortex. Fair?"

The Iron Samurai commander groaned, rubbing his temples.

"I need a drink."

Ōnoki's beady eyes narrowed at Hikari, his floating chair bobbing slightly as he jabbed a finger in her direction.

"Where's the kid?" he demanded, voice cracking with irritation.

The samurai blinked, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense.

"What kid? I only have my two little brothers at home—Naruto and Deidara."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

"You—!" Ōnoki’s face turned an impressive shade of purple.

"That’s exactly who I’m talking about! You stole Iwa’s most promising explosive art prodigy!"

Hikari gasped, clutching imaginary pearls.

"I would never kidnap a child!"

Across the table, Tsunade rubbed her temples, while Ryoko suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. Even Mei had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

The Iron Samurai General had finally had enough. "BREAK!" he bellowed, slamming his armored fist onto the table. "Everyone, take five minutes—no assassinations, no political maneuvering, and no more kidnapping confessions!"

Before anyone could argue, Hikari vanished in a swirl of seals—only to reappear moments later with a steaming cart of ramen bowls, the rich, spicy aroma cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Introducing Three-Spice Explosion Ramen!" she announced cheerfully, setting bowls in front of each Kage. "Guaranteed to blow your mind—but not, y’know, literally."

Tsunade took one sniff and immediately reached for the sake to dilute the heat.

Mei, ever the thrill-seeker, took a big bite—and instantly regretted it, fanning her mouth dramatically.

Ōnoki glared at his bowl suspiciously before begrudgingly sipping the broth.

His eyebrows shot up.

"Hmph. Not bad."

Rasa, ever stoic, ate without complaint—though his gold sand subtly inched toward a water pitcher.

The Iron General took one bite, coughed, and muttered, "I said no assassinations."

Hikari grinned.

"What? It’s just a little heat!"

Ryoko sighed, rubbing her temples.

"You are impossible."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Faith makes all things possible... love makes all things easy.'' - Dwight L. Moody

The sun hung low over the winding mountain pass as the Sannin and Hikari made their way back from the summit, their business concluded—until two familiar figures blocked their path.

Hidan leaned on his massive triple-bladed scythe, grinning like a madman.

"Well, well, if it ain’t the ramen lady who thinks she’s hot shit."

'The Zombie twins, of course, Kami.'

Beside him, Kakuzu cracked his knuckles, his emerald eyes glinting with greed.

"The bounty on your head just doubled after that stunt at the summit. Hand yourself over, and maybe I’ll make it quick."

Hikari sighed, rolling her shoulders.

"Ugh. I just got this kimono cleaned."

With a flick of her wrist, she unsealed her reverse-edged sword, the blade gleaming in the fading light.

"Let’s dance, boys."

Hidan lunged first, his scythe whirling in a deadly arc. The samurai dodged low, her sword flashing as she deflected the strike and countered with a seal-laced kick that sent him skidding back.

"Tch. Fast bitch," the Jashinist spat, licking his blade.

"But all I need is one drop—"

"Yeah, yeah," Hikari interrupted, already weaving hand signs.

"You’re immortal, blah blah. Boring."

Kakuzu surged forward, his Earth Grudge Fear tendrils lashing out like whips. She flipped backward, landing lightly on a tree branch as the ground where she’d stood exploded into rubble.

"Five hearts, huh?" she mused, watching Kakuzu’s mask-covered entities emerge.

"Let’s see how many you’ve got left when I’m done."

The battlefield became a symphony of chaos as Hikari moved with lethal precision, her reverse-blade sword carving arcs of silver through the dusk air. The Sannin's commentary continued like a morbid sports broadcast.

Jiraiya winced as Hidan's scythe grazed the brunette woman's sleeve.

"That was a 500-ryo kimono! I helped pick it out!"

Orochimaru's tongue slithered out in amusement as Kakuzu's lightning mask charged up.

"Ah, the Earth Grudge Fear technique. Such a... pedestrian approach to immortality."

The blonde Hokage's countdown proved prophetic when the samurai suddenly feinted left, planted a cluster of explosive tags between Hidan's knees, and backflipped away with a detonator seal already glowing. The resulting blast sent bone fragments raining down around them.

"Told you," Tsunade said smugly, catching a stray tibia that nearly hit her sake gourd.

"Three seconds. She's getting faster."

The Jashinist's upper torso landed face-first in the dirt, his curses muffled by soil.

"Fuck you! Fuck your stupid sword! Fuck your—"

The rogue Taki-nin, now down to his final heart, made the wise decision to retreat.

The moment the zombie duo disappeared, Hikari turned to find all three Sannin holding up scorecards. Jiraiya's read '9.5 - Needs More Flair', Orochimaru's '10 - Delightfully Brutal', and Tsunade's simply said 'I Want My Sake Back'.

She lured his Wind and Fire masks into close range, then sealed their mouths shut with a fuinjutsu tag.

The resulting internal chakra backlash made them implode.

Two down.

When he finally nicked her arm, she let him start his ritual—then detonated the explosive tag she’d palmed onto his robe mid-chant.

Cue flying zombie parts.

With Kakuzu down to one heart, he finally retreated, dragging Hidan’s still-cursing torso behind him.

Hikari wiped her blade clean, sighing.

"And that’s why I carry disinfectant seals."

Jiraiya clapped.

"Bravo! Encore!"

Tsunade had already started healing her artificial wounds.

"Next time, dodge the scythe before it hits you."

The Snake Sannin examined the leftover tendrils of Kakuzu’s Earth Grudge Fear.

"Fascinating. I should collect him sometime."

As the group resumed their journey, the ramen chef glanced back at the smoldering crater where Hidan had been standing.

"You think they’ll try again?" the Toad Sannin asked.

She grinned.

"I hope so. I’ve got a new ramen recipe to test on live targets."

Three-year-old Sakura Haruno stood in front of the Hyūga Compound, clutching a carefully pressed pink peony in her tiny hands. Beside her, Ino grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"She’s super shy," the Yamanaka heiress whispered, nudging Sakura.

"But if you give her that flower, she’ll definitely like you!"

The pinkette nodded seriously, adjusting the ribbon in her hair before marching up to the gates. A stern Hyūga guard looked down at her, his Byakugan veins twitching in surprise.

"Uh… can I help you?"

Sakura squared her shoulders.

"I’m here to see Hinata-chan."

The guard blinked. "Hinata-sama is—"

"LET THEM IN."

The voice came from behind the gate—Neji stood with his arms crossed.

"Hinata-chan needs more friends who aren’t afraid to befriend her."

The guard sighed but stepped aside.

Hinata sat in the garden, carefully arranging pressed flowers in a book. When she saw Sakura and Ino approaching, her pale lavender eyes widened, and she instinctively shrank back.

"H-Hello…" she murmured, fingers fidgeting.

Sakura, never one for subtlety, thrust the peony at her.

"This is for you! Ino says you like flowers, and I like them too, so we should be friends!"

The Hyuuga heiress stared at the perfect pink bloom, her cheeks turning the same shade.

"I… I…"

Ino plopped down beside her.

"She doesn’t bite, Hinata-chan! Unless you’re Naruto. Then she might."

The Byakugan user giggled—a soft, surprised sound—before gently taking the flower.

"T-Thank you… Sakura-chan."

Neji watched from a distance, smug.

Finally, someone with backbone.

Shisui Uchiha, the infamous "Shunshin no Shisui", had been dodging medical treatment for days. A minor mission injury? No big deal. A stubborn infection? Eh, it’ll clear up. But his little cousin Itachi—now an 8-year-old medic-nin prodigy—was done playing games.

Itachi stood in the center of the courtyard, his tiny face the picture of Uchiha calm.

But his dark eyes burned with the quiet intensity of a healer who had reached his limit.

The ANBU, perched on the engawa with a cocky grin, waved.

"Come on, Tachi-kun! I’m fine—"

CRACK.

His cousin's palm slammed into the ground, his chakra control so precise it vaporized a three-foot section of the courtyard without touching the surrounding trees. Dust billowed, tiles shattered, and Shisui’s grin froze in place.

His eyes widened.

"Ano… Tachi-kun…" He slowly raised his hands.

"I surrender. Peacefully."

Itachi’s serene smile could’ve chilled the sun.

"Good."

Fugaku, peering out the window, sighed.

"That’s the third courtyard this month."

His wife handed him some warm tea.

"At least he’s healing people and not assassinating them."

Shisui, now strapped to a bed in the Uchiha infirmary, pouted as the medic-nin applied salve with ruthless efficiency.

"You’re scarier than Tsunade-sama."

Itachi replied without looking up.

"Take your medicine."

The gates of Konoha loomed ahead as Hikari and the Sannin approached, the evening sun casting long shadows across the path. The first person she spotted was Naruto, bouncing on his toes at the entrance, his bright blue eyes locked onto her. Beside him, Kakashi leaned against the wall—unusually still, his usual Icha Icha book nowhere in sight.

Then—

"KAA-SAN!"

The word hit her like a sealing tag to the chest.

Hikari froze, her emerald eyes widening in shock.

Mom. He’d never called her that before.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Naruto’s face faltered, uncertainty creeping in—did he mess up?—

But before he could second-guess himself, the samurai dropped to one knee and caught him mid-sprint, sweeping him into her arms with a fierceness that left no room for doubt.

"Yeah," she murmured into his wild blonde hair, her voice thick.

"I’m here, sunshine."

The young child buried his face in her shoulder, tiny fingers clutching her kimono as if he’d never let go.

"You came back."

"Always."

Kakashi pretended to examine the clouds, though his visible eye crinkled in something suspiciously like approval.

The Toad Sage sniffled dramatically.

"Damn… must be the pollen."

Tsunade rolled her eyes but didn’t comment on the way her own throat tightened.

Orochimaru, for once, had nothing sarcastic to say.

As Hikari carried Naruto home—his weight familiar and right in her arms—she realized something:

She hadn’t just saved him.

She’d chosen him. And he’d chosen her right back.

The first rays of sunlight had barely touched the windows of the Hokage’s office when Hikari strode in, a formal adoption petition clutched in her hand.

Tsunade, still nursing her morning sake, blinked blearily at the paperwork shoved under her nose.

"The hell? It’s not even—"

"Sign it," the ramen chef said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

The blonde squinted at the document—then snorted.

"Damn. Took you long enough." She scrawled her name with a flourish.

Jiraiya, who had been napping on the couch, startled awake at the commotion.

"Wha—? Oh. Oh." He took the pen without hesitation.

"Kid’s basically yours already anyway."

The Snake Sannin, lurking near the bookshelves, examined the paperwork with mild interest before adding his signature.

"How… sentimental." His smirk said he approved.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''We must not allow other people's limited perceptions to define us.'' - Virginia Satir

Naruto, now officially Hikari’s son, had wandered off during their shopping trip, chasing a vibrant blue butterfly that flitted just out of reach. Unbeknownst to him, Deidara—ever the reluctant but fiercely protective older brother—had been trailing him at a distance, hands stuffed in his pockets, pretending he wasn’t keeping an eye on the little blonde.

Then the whispers started.

"That’s the demon brat…"

"Why does he get to be adopted? Should’ve left him in the orphanage…"

"Disgusting. That woman must be desperate—"

Deidara’s fingers twitched.

Clay. He needed clay.

The younger blonde, oblivious at first, finally noticed the harsh glares, the way vendors snatched their goods away when he got too close.

His lower lip trembled.

"…Dei-nii?" he whispered, turning to his brother.

"Why’re they lookin’ at me like that?"

Deidara’s eye twitched.

"Because they’re idiots, yeah." His hands were already digging into his pouch, molding a tiny explosive sparrow. "Wanna see ‘em jump?"

Naruto sniffled.

"But… Kaasan said no explosions in the market…"

"Tch. Fine."

Just as Deidara was debating whether a non-lethal detonation would still count, a shadow fell over them.

"Problem here?"

Hikari stood with her arms crossed, her emerald eyes sharp enough to cut stone. The crowd immediately scattered, suddenly very interested in their own business.

Naruto launched himself at her, burying his face in her leg.

 "They were mean!"

Deidara scowled.

"I was gonna handle it, yeah."

She sighed, ruffling both their heads.

"I know. But my way’s more fun."

She turned to the nearest stall—the one whose owner had yanked away a toy Naruto had been eyeing—and smiled.

"How much for the entire stock?"

The man paled.

"I—I don’t sell to—"

"Wrong answer." She dropped a hefty bag of ryo on the counter, then leaned in.

"Try again."

Five minutes later, Naruto was loaded down with sweets, toys, and a ridiculously oversized plush fox, while Deidara cackled, tossing a clay frog at the fleeing vendor’s back. (It croaked ominously.)

The Konoha playground was usually a place of laughter and games—until today, when Deidara found himself inexplicably annoyed by Itachi Uchiha sitting calmly under a tree, reading a medical scroll.

"Tch. What’s he doing here, yeah?" Deidara muttered, glaring at the serene eight-year-old medic-nin.

Nearby, Naruto and Sasuke were engaged in a heated debate over a glitter-infused sealing tag the blonde had been working on.

"Glitter’s dumb," Sasuke declared, arms crossed.

"Real ninja don’t use sparkles."

Naruto stuck his tongue out.

"You’re just mad ‘cause mine’s prettier than yours!"

"Prettier doesn’t mean better!"

"Does too!"

"Does not!"

Meanwhile, Deidara stomped over to Itachi, pointing accusingly.

"Why’re you so calm, yeah? It’s weird."

Itachi glanced up from his scroll, unbothered.

"Meditation improves focus. You should try it."

Deidara’s eye twitched.

"I’ll meditate your face into the dirt."

The Uchiha medic-nin merely smiled.

"That sounds troublesome."

"GAH! STOP BEING SO—!"

Before Deidara could finish, Hikari appeared, arms crossed, looking between the two pairs of bickering children.

"Alright, break it up." She plucked the glitter seal from Naruto’s hands before he could stick it to Sasuke’s forehead. "No glitter bombs. No threats. And definitely no medical scroll sabotage."

Deidara crossed his arms. "He started it, yeah."

Itachi blinked. "Did I?"

Sasuke and Naruto, now distracted, simultaneously pointed at each other.

"HE DID!"

Hikari sighed.

"I’m surrounded by gremlins."

Uchiha Compound – Main House

Fugaku Uchiha sat rigidly in his study, the missive from Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru resting on the table before him. The words "Itachi Uchiha – Rokudaime Candidate" seemed to burn into the parchment.

For a long moment, he simply stared.

Then—his mind erupted into motion.

Sasuke would now be Clan Heir.

His youngest son, still so small, would need to be trained twice as hard—not just for the Uchiha’s sake, but for Konoha’s.

The Elders -- Those stubborn old fossils who had spent years doubting the Uchiha’s loyalty would finally have to swallow their tongues.

The next Hokage would bear the Sharingan.

Then he thought about the Clan’s Future, no more whispers in the shadows. No more sidelined patrols. The Uchiha would stand at the center of Konoha’s power, not as suspects, but as leaders.

Later that evening he found Sasuke in the courtyard, practicing his shuriken throws with the fierce determination of a child who refused to be outdone—especially by Naruto.

"Sasuke," Fugaku called, his voice firm.

The boy turned, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Tou-san?"

The Clan head knelt, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Your brother has been chosen as the next Hokage candidate. That means you will one day lead this clan."

Sasuke’s eyes widened—then narrowed with resolve.

"…I won’t lose to Nii-san."

Fugaku almost smiled.

"Good."

When Fugaku announced the news at the next clan meeting, the elders’ faces twisted between shock, pride, and sheer disbelief.

"A-An Uchiha… Hokage?" one stammered.

Fugaku’s Sharingan gleamed. "Do you have something to say?"

Silence.

"No? Good."

As Fugaku stood on the engawa that night, watching Sasuke train under the moonlight, he allowed himself a rare moment of pride.

The Uchiha would no longer kneel at Konoha’s edges.

They would shape its future.

Shino Aburame stood at the edge of the sandbox, his oversized sunglasses hiding the way his gaze lingered on Sakura Haruno.

She was... different.

While other children recoiled when his kikaichū buzzed too close, or whispered behind their hands about the "creepy bug clan," Sakura had simply turned to him one day and asked:

"Can your bugs do backflips?"

No fear. No disgust. Just genuine curiosity.

One day, the pinkette finally turned to him, hands on her hips.

"Shino. Are you following me?"

Shino’s bugs swirled nervously.

"...No."

She squinted. "Liar." Then—she grinned. "Wanna help me find more cool bugs?"

The Aburame heri adjusted his glasses, hiding his smile.

"...Yes."

Her grin widened into something triumphant as she grabbed Shino’s wrist, her small fingers surprisingly strong.

"Then let’s go! I saw a huge stag beetle near the Nara forest yesterday!"

Shino’s kikaichū buzzed in excited patterns around them—something that would’ve sent most kids running. But Sakura just laughed as one landed on her nose.

"Your bugs are way cooler than Ino-pig’s dumb flowers," she declared, marching toward the trees with the confidence of a seasoned tracker.

He followed, his usual stoicism softened by something dangerously close to enthusiasm. "That specimen is likely a Dorcus hopei binodulosus," he offered quietly. "They prefer decaying logs near water sources."

Sakura blinked.

"Woah. You know everything about bugs, huh?"

Shino’s cheeks warmed beneath his collar.

"...I have studied."

Deep in the forest, Sakura suddenly dropped to her knees, pointing dramatically.

"THERE! Under that log!"

Shino crouched beside her, his movements precise. With a subtle gesture, his kikaichū gently lifted the rotting wood, revealing a massive, iridescent stag beetle—its pincers gleaming like polished onyx.

Sakura’s breath caught. "It’s beautiful," she whispered, as if afraid to scare it.

He watched her instead of the insect—the way her emerald eyes sparkled, the way she bit her lip to contain her excitement.

"...Yes," he agreed quietly.

"Beautiful."

Ino, spying on them from behind a bush, nearly combusted from suppressed squealing.

(This is SO going in my diary!)

Kiba, who’d been trailing them (purely to "prove" bugs were lame), found himself weirdly impressed.

("Okay, that beetle is kinda cool…")

Shibi, observing from the shadows, noted the way his son’s kikaichū moved in unusually playful patterns around the pink-haired girl. Interesting.

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''The secret of getting ahead is getting started.'' - Mark Twain

Three-year-old Shikamaru sat cross-legged on the floor, pouting as he fiddled with a wooden shogi piece. His mother, Yoshino, watched him with amusement while his father, Shikaku, lounged nearby, lazily observing his son’s rare display of emotion.

"What’s wrong, Shika?" Yoshino asks, leaning down to ruffle his hair.

Shikamaru’s lower lip jutted out further.

"Shino gets to play with Sakura-chan all the time," he mumbled, his tiny brows furrowing.

"I like Sakura-chan too."

The Jounin Commander chuckled, resting his chin on his palm.

"Oh? Is someone jealous?"

Shikamaru’s face scrunched up in frustration.

"It’s troublesome."

His mother stifled a laugh.

"Well, why don’t you ask Sakura-chan to play with you too?"

Shika sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back.

"But Shino’s always there first. And he has bugs. Sakura-chan likes the bugs."

Shikaku exchanged an amused glance with his wife before turning back to his son.

"You know, Shikamaru, if you want Sakura-chan’s attention, you could always outsmart Shino."

Shikamaru blinked, then sat up slowly, his little mind working.

"...Outsmart him?"

"Mm. Find something Sakura-chan likes more than bugs," Shikaku suggests with a smirk.

Shikamaru’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded, a determined glint in them.

"...I’ll think of something."

Yoshino grinned.

"That’s my boy."

And with that, the Nara heir began plotting his first (and most troublesome) mission yet: winning Sakura-chan’s attention.

Meanwhile, in the distance, Shino sneezed, his kikaichū buzzing in confusion.

The three tiny kunoichi-in-training—Ino, Sakura, and Hinata—gathered around fourteen-year-old Anko Mitarashi, their eyes wide with fascination as she proudly presented her newest companion: a small, teal-colored snake coiled lazily around her wrist.

"This is Mizuchi," Anko grinned, stroking the serpent’s head.

"One of Manda’s great-great-grandkids. Still a baby, but already feisty!"

Hinata tilted her head, her pale lavender eyes filled with concern.

"I-Is it warm enough? Snakes need heat, right…?" She hesitantly reached out a tiny finger, then pulled back, blushing.

The tokubatsu jounin chuckled.

"Don’t worry, squirt. Orochimaru-sensei made sure all his snakes have special heat-sealing scrolls if they need ‘em."

Ino, ever the fashionista, even at three, gasped.

"Wow! Its scales are so pretty! Like the color of my mom’s favorite dress!" She puffed out her cheeks. "I wanna snake like this when I grow up!"

Sakura, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Anko-nee, can we visit Orochimaru-sama? I wanna ask him about snake summoning contracts!"

The teenager blinked.

"Uh… you want to talk to him? Most kids run screaming."

The pinkette nodded firmly.

"He’s cool! And he’s the Snake Sannin! And he’s co-Hokage now, so he has to be nice!"

Anko snorted.

"Tell that to the remaining council members who still piss themselves when he smiles."

Orochimaru sat at his desk, golden eyes scanning a mountain of paperwork, his expression one of deep suffering. Across from him, Tsunade smirked as she sipped her sake, while Jiraiya snored loudly on the couch.

"This is torture," Orochimaru hissed, slamming down a document.

"I didn’t agree to this to push papers about road repairs."

Tsunade rolled her eyes.

"Blame Hikari. Ever since she showed up and convinced Sarutobi-sensei that paperwork was a ‘scam,’ he dumped it all on us."

Jiraiya snorted awake mid-snore.

"Mmm… scam… sexy scam…"

Orochimaru pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I should have stayed a missing-nin."

Just then, a tiny voice piped up from the doorway.

"Orochimaru-sama! Can I have a snake?!"

The three Sannin turned to see Sakura standing there, hands on her hips, determination burning in her big green eyes. Behind her, Anko gave a sheepish wave.

The Snake Sannin stared.

Then, for the first time in years, he laughed.

"Well, well… perhaps this job does have its perks."

Tsunade groaned.

"Great. Now we’re running a daycare."

At the tender age of three, Haruno Sakura had already carved out her own little legend in Konoha—unofficial apprentice to the infamous Orochimaru, the Snake Sannin and Co-Hokage.

It started innocently enough. After her bold declaration in the Hokage’s office, Orochimaru—part amused, part intrigued—decided to humor the pink-haired toddler. He handed her a basic scroll on chakra theory, expecting her to lose interest within minutes.

Instead, Sakura read it.

And remembered every word.

"You recall all of this?" Orochimaru asked, his golden eyes glinting as Sakura flawlessly recited the scroll’s contents back to him.

"Mhm!" Sakura nodded, swinging her legs from where she sat atop a stack of books (because she was too small for the chair).

"I don’t forget things. Ever."

A slow, intrigued smile spread across Orochimaru’s face.

"Fascinating."

From that day forward, Sakura became his unofficial shadow, following him around the lab (under strict supervision, much to Tsunade’s insistence), asking endless questions, and absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

While Orochimaru specialized in less… ethical sciences, Sakura’s interests were clear:

Healing – After watching Tsunade heal a scraped knee with a flick of green chakra, Sakura decided medical ninjutsu was the coolest thing ever.

Animals – Specifically, snakes. (And maybe cats. And dogs. But mostly snakes.)

"Can I learn to fix snakes if they get hurt?" Sakura asked one day, watching as Orochimaru examined a newly summoned serpent.

"You want to be a veterinarian?" The Sannin raised an eyebrow.

"A snake veterinarian," Sakura corrected.

Jiraiya, who had been eavesdropping, burst out laughing.

"Oh, this is perfect. Oro, you’ve created a monster."

Orochimaru sighed.

"At least she’s not asking to dissect things yet."

Sakura blinked. "Can I?"

"No."

A while back

Tsunade Senju stood with her arms crossed, watching as eight-year-old Uchiha Itachi performed the last set of chakra control exercises she had assigned. His movements were precise, his breathing steady—unnervingly so for a child. The Hashirama necklace rested against his small frame, its beads gleaming in the sunlight, a symbol of the burden already placed upon him.

He’s too young for this.

But the village didn’t have the luxury of time.

"Again," Tsunade said.

Itachi didn’t complain.

He simply reset his stance, channeling chakra to his fingertips, the glow of medical ninjutsu flickering to life.

"Your control is flawless," she admitted.

"But healing isn’t just about precision. It’s about understanding life."

The young medic-nin paused, his dark eyes lifting to hers.

"How do I learn that?"

Tsunade smirked. "By making mistakes. By feeling it." She tossed him a kunai. "Cut your palm."

For the first time, Itachi hesitated.

"A Hokage must know the cost of pain," she said softly. "You can’t heal what you’ve never felt."

Slowly, Itachi drew the blade across his skin. Blood welled up.

And then—green light. His own chakra stitched the wound shut.

The Slug Sannin nodded.

"Good. Now you understand."

After the Kyuubi attack, the Sandaime had stepped down, leaving the Sannin to rule as Tri-Hokage—a temporary solution until a proper successor could be chosen. But the council, the clans, even the villagers, had all whispered the same name:

Uchiha Itachi.

A prodigy. A genius. The boy who had mastered the Sharingan at five, who could outthink seasoned jounin, who carried himself with a quiet wisdom beyond his years.

And so, the Sannin had taken it upon themselves to forge him into the Rokudaime.

Orochimaru taught him strategy, fuinjutsu, and the cold calculus of leadership.

Jiraiya drilled him in diplomacy, espionage, and the weight of history.

Tsunade molded him into a healer—because a Hokage who could not mend his people was no Hokage at all.

And now, here they were.

Present

Hikari leaned against a splintered tree stump, arms crossed, watching as Kakashi and Obito tried to outdo each other in the most unnecessarily destructive spar possible. Training Ground Three looked like a natural disaster had hit it—craters from explosive tags, scorch marks from fireballs, and a suspiciously Kamui-shaped hole in the air where Obito had clearly cheated.

"You guys are idiots," she deadpanned.

Kakashi, mid-dodge, flashed her his signature eye-smile.

"Aw, come on, Hikari. This is just how we bond."

Obito, panting but grinning, wiped sweat off his forehead.

"Yeah! We’re reconnecting!"

"By turning the training grounds into a warzone?"

"It’s therapeutic," Obito insisted, stretching his arms behind his head.

Hikari rolled her eyes.

"Right. Because nothing says ‘reformed villain’ like property damage."

It had taken months of work—chakra therapy, psychological deprogramming, and an embarrassing amount of Uchiha emotional constipation breakdowns—but Hikari had managed to pull Obito back from the edge. No more Madara’s influence. No more "world of dreams" nonsense.

Just a very confused, very guilty seventeen-year-old trying to figure out how to exist again.

And, of course, relearning how to be Kakashi’s rival.

She turned to Kakashi, eyebrow raised.

"I’m trying a new eggplant recipe tonight. If you’re late on purpose again, I’m giving your portion to Deidara."

Her boyfriend gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

"You wouldn’t."

"I would," she said sweetly.

"And you know he’ll actually appreciate it."

Obito snickered.

"Damn, Hikari. Cold."

Kakashi sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine, fine. I’ll be there."

"On time."

"...I’ll try."

Hikari gave him a flat look before turning on her heel.

"See you at six, Hatake."

As she walked away, Obito elbowed Kakashi.

"Man, she’s scary when she’s mad."

Kakashi sighed again, this time with a tiny, fond smile under his mask. "Yeah. Lucky me."

The air in the Uchiha training grounds crackled with tension as Itachi Uchiha, the future Rokudaime, faced off against his cousin—Shisui Uchiha, the famed Shunshin no Shisui.

Shisui’s Sharingan spun lazily, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, Itachi. You’ve been training with Tsunade-sama. Show me what the Hokage’s heir can really do."

Itachi said nothing.

He simply moved.

Shisui was fast—blindingly fast. His nickname wasn’t just for show.

But Itachi?

Itachi was something else.

One moment, he was standing still.

The next—

BOOM.

Shisui barely had time to widen his eyes before Itachi’s fist met the earth, and the entire Uchiha compound trembled. Dust exploded upward, trees shuddered, and the ground split in a jagged fissure beneath the force of the impact. Somewhere in the distance, a lantern toppled over.

Shisui, who had barely dodged by a hair’s breadth, let out a low whistle.

"…Okay. Damn."

Fugaku Uchiha, mid-sip of tea inside the main house, choked as the tremor rattled the table.

"What in the—?!"

Mikoto, unfazed, sighed.

"Itachi must be training again."

Sasuke, who had been napping, jolted awake and immediately sprinted outside, eyes shining.

"NII-SAN IS SO COOL!"

The Uchiha elders collectively clutched their chests, torn between pride and existential dread.

Shisui landed lightly on a nearby boulder, rubbing his jaw where the shockwave had grazed him.

"You’ve been holding back on me, cousin."

He straightened, his expression as calm as ever.

"Tsunade-sama said I should measure my strength."

The ANBU burst out laughing.

"And you missed on purpose?!"

Itachi’s lips twitched—the closest thing to a smirk he ever showed.

"Maybe."

Shisui shook his head, grinning.

"You’re gonna be a monster when you grow up."

The medic-nin's gaze flickered toward the Hokage Mountain in the distance.

"That’s the idea."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Every man is a volume if you know how to read him.'' - William Ellery Channing

The sun warmed the newly green grass of Uzushio, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and earth across the island. Uzumaki Ameryu carefully spread a red-checked blanket near a cluster of young trees, laying out rice balls, pickled vegetables, and sweet dumplings. Beside her, four-year-old Uzumaki Karin toddled, clutching a bright red pinwheel that spun merrily in the air.

Karin plopped down onto the blanket with a happy sigh, immediately reaching for a rice ball. Her face, still round with the remnants of baby fat, held an expression of utter contentment. Here, on this rebuilt island, she was simply safe, a small, precious entity in a world that finally felt solid beneath her feet. The scattered fragments of their clan were slowly, carefully, knitting back together in the sturdy, new buildings rising around them.

Ameryu watched her daughter, a soft smile on her face.

As the older Uzumaki bit into a dumpling, she felt it – a familiar, comforting sensation that was woven into the very fabric of this island. It was the pulse of the barrier sea, a powerful, intricate network of chakra that surrounded Uzushio, designed to repel and conceal. To anyone else, it might just be a powerful jutsu, an invisible wall. But to the Uzumaki, with their deep chakra reserves and innate sensitivity, it was something else entirely.

It was a feeling that vibrated through the earth, through the air, and settled deep within their bones. A warm, gentle pressure, constantly present, constantly vigilant. It wasn't just protection; it was acknowledgement. Recognition. After years of hiding, of being hunted, of feeling exposed and vulnerable, this pulse was the opposite.

Ameryu glanced around.

Other Uzumaki families were scattered across the grassy areas, some laughing, others simply sitting in quiet reflection.

She knew they felt it too.

The older ones, who remembered the destruction and the long, lean years that followed, often had tears in their eyes when they spoke of it. The younger generation, like Karin, felt it as naturally as breathing, a constant, reassuring presence.

For Ameryu, and for all the returned, it was more than just a barrier. It was the island itself, alive with their collective will and chakra, wrapping around them. It was the promise of safety, the echo of their ancestors' strength, the shared heartbeat of a reborn clan.

Karin, smeared with rice and looking utterly peaceful, leaned against Ameryu's side, letting the pinwheel drop onto the blanket. Ameryu wrapped an arm around her daughter, holding her close.

Yes, the island was fortified.

Yes, they were returned. But the true strength, the real peace, came from that feeling – the constant, warm hug of their home, felt by every chakra-sensitive soul on Uzushio. And right now, under the sun, with her daughter safe beside her, Ameryu felt utterly, completely held.

"Mama," her daughter mumbled between bites of her rice ball, her voice soft against Ameryu's side, "why does the ocean hum?"

The redheaded woman smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s face, the familiar red a vibrant contrast to the green grass. "That’s not just the ocean, my little tide. That’s home."

And it was.

It was the ancient, powerful heart of Uzushio, beating just for them.

The monthly physicals mandated for ANBU operatives were a necessary evil Kakashi Hatake loathed with a passion bordering on artistic dedication. At seventeen, the prodigious Captain of Team Ro had refined the art of vanishing when the clipboard-wielding medical ninja came looking. He could blend into shadows, merge with walls, or simply be 'unavoidably detained' on a high-priority mission (even if that mission was staring at clouds).

Unfortunately for Kakashi, the one tasked with tracking down the elusive Captain wasn't just any medical ninja.

It was Uchiha Itachi.

Eight years old, eyes already holding a depth that belied his age, Itachi was a prodigy wrapped in a child's frame. Apprenticed to the legendary Senju Tsunade, whispered about as a potential future Hokage candidate (though Itachi found the title ponderous), he possessed a relentless focus that Kakashi's evasive maneuvers seemed only to sharpen. Their monthly encounter had become a spectacle – a village-wide game of cat and mouse where the mouse was a jōnin-level phantom and the cat was a tiny, utterly determined genius with a mandate from the Slug Princess herself.

Today's chase had led Itachi to the heart of the beast: ANBU Headquarters.

The air inside was typically tense and silent, broken only by the soft thud of boots or hushed commands. Itachi, however, navigated it with the quiet confidence of a predator. He didn't need loud footfalls; he tracked chakra signatures, felt the subtle shifts in atmosphere that indicated high-level ninja trying, and failing, to be completely invisible.

He found the seventeen-year-old ANBU Captain attempting a particularly audacious disappearing act within the main briefing room, trying to phase into the shadows near a ceiling vent. His team – Yōji Aburame, Kō, Yūgao Uzuki, and Yamato Senju – were also present, either observing their taicho's antics with masked impassivity or preparing for their own tasks.

They knew the routine.

Without a word, moving with the silent, impossible speed he was already mastering, Itachi didn't leap or charge. He simply appeared directly beneath Kakashi's intended escape route. His small hand shot out with blinding speed and latched onto the back of Kakashi's flak jacket collar.

Kakashi froze mid-phase, dangling awkwardly for a second like a caught kitten. A sigh, barely audible beneath his mask, escaped him.

"Captain," Itachi said, his voice clear and devoid of negotiation, pulling gently but firmly downwards.

"Tsunade-sama requires your presence for your physical. You're late."

The silver-haired teenager dropped back to the floor with a soft thud, adjusting his mask with a hand that twitched slightly. He cast a glance towards his team.

Yōji's masked face was still, but the faint, almost imperceptible buzz of his insects seemed to heighten slightly, a silent commentary on the situation. Kō stood with arms crossed, his posture stiff and professional, conveying disapproval solely through stillness. Yūgao's visible eye above her mask held a flicker of weary understanding. Yamato sighed, a quiet puff of air that barely disturbed the silence, his shoulders slumping just a fraction beneath his own flak jacket. None of them offered a rescue. This was Captain Hatake's self-inflicted fate.

They had placed bets. Most were on Itachi.

"Itachi-kun," Kakashi sighed again, trying a different tactic. "High-priority mission parameters have shifted. I'm indispensable here—"

Itachi didn't argue.

He simply maintained his grip on the collar, his dark eyes fixed on Kakashi with unwavering patience. It was the gaze of someone who had all the time in the world and the absolute certainty of victory.

With another, longer sigh that conveyed millennia of suffering, Kakashi finally relented. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, letting Itachi lead him.

As the eight-year-old Hokage candidate/medical apprentice confidently steered the reluctant seventeen-year-old ANBU Captain towards the exit, Kakashi's team, Team Ro, watched them go. A collective, almost silent groan rose from them, a mixture of disbelief, exasperation, and grudging respect for the sheer, relentless efficiency of the tiny Uchiha. Their Captain, the Ghost of the Leaf, had been captured not by an enemy Kage, but by an eight-year-old with a stethoscope and a schedule.

The chagrin was palpable.

Three-year-old Shikamaru Nara lay sprawled under the broad shade of a village tree, hands tucked behind his head, already cultivating his signature look of profound laziness. But beneath the placid exterior, his small mind was, for once, working diligently. His target: three-year-old Haruno Sakura.

He had considered his parents' advice, to find something that would interest Sakura, but he figured it would be too troublesome to be too elaborate, so his planning went into a complete overhaul.

Sakura was, frankly, troublesome. Not in a bad way, just... busy. Way too busy for a three-year-old, in Shikamaru's considered opinion. She loved bugs, which meant she spent what felt like hours solemn-faced with Shino Aburame, watching beetles crawl. She also seemed to split her time between the Hokage Tower – yes, the actual tower – where she sat quietly and memorized medical scrolls under the terrifyingly watchful eyes of the tri-co-Hokage, Orochimaru, Tsunade, and Jiraiya. (How a three-year-old memorized scrolls was a mystery, but the Sannin vouched for it, and no one argued). And then there were Ino and Hinata, giggling and playing games that required far too much energy.

All this meant very little time for just... sitting. Or observing clouds. Or, more importantly, spending time with Shikamaru. He had a crush. A big, inconvenient, troublesome crush that made his chest feel weird and prompted actual thinking when he'd much rather nap.

He needed a plot. A way to intercept the whirlwind of Sakura's interests and redirect it towards him. He scanned the immediate area, his eyes tracing patterns on the ground. Bugs. The prompt was clear. She loved bugs. Shino had the cool bugs, the ones that lived in your skin. Shikamaru wasn't going there. The medical scrolls were a non-starter; his brain hurt just thinking about the tower. Ino and Hinata were a package deal, too much noise.

But a simple bug... that he could manage.

He spotted it – a rhinoceros beetle, small but impressive, lumbering slowly across a sun-dappled leaf near his foot. Perfect. Not too fast, interesting shape.

Carefully, painstakingly (which felt like a monumental effort for his three-year-old self), Shikamaru nudged the leaf gently until the beetle was positioned in the most visible spot from the nearby path Sakura was likely to take after her bug time with Shino. He settled back down, returning his hands behind his head, affecting an air of pure, accidental discovery.

His plot: passive observation lure. High Nara efficiency.

He waited.

The beetle crawled. A cloud shaped vaguely like a rabbit drifted overhead. The sun felt warm.

Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt... No! Focus! Sakura!

Just as his eyelids began to feel heavy, he saw her. She was walking with Shino, who was, as always, surrounded by a low hum of insects. Sakura's bright pink hair was unmistakable, her face earnest as she pointed at something Shino was showing her.

Then, her gaze swept towards the tree. Her green eyes, large and curious, landed on Shikamaru. And then, more importantly, on the leaf near him. On the rhinoceros beetle.

Her steps faltered. She said something quick to Shino, who gave a brief, masked nod that might have been an assent or simply insect-like acknowledgment. Sakura's path deviated. She trotted towards the tree.

Shikamaru felt that troublesome chest feeling intensify.

Act natural. Be lazy. Don't look too eager.

Sakura stopped a foot away, peering at the beetle on the leaf. "Wow," she breathed, her voice quiet with fascination.

"It's a big one!"

The Nara heir gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah," he mumbled, trying for casual.

She carefully knelt beside the leaf, her pink hair falling forward. She didn't touch the beetle, just watched its slow, deliberate movement. Shikamaru shifted slightly, making space on the edge of his blanket-sized shaded area.

After a moment, Sakura seemed to get the hint. She carefully sat down near the leaf, cross-legged, leaving a comfortable space between them. They didn't talk. They just watched the beetle. The sun was warm. The shade was cool. The beetle kept walking.

It wasn't playing.

It wasn't memorizing. It wasn't even talking much. It was just... sitting. Being quiet. Near him.

Shikamaru, master strategist of age three, allowed himself a small, internal sigh of relief. His plot had worked. The troublesome feeling in his chest felt a little less bothersome, replaced by a quiet, simple contentment.

Yeah.

He definitely had a crush.

The scent of growing tea was thick and sweet in the air as Hikari traversed a winding path through the rolling hills of Tea Country. The mission was simple: acquire a rare, regional herb needed for a new ramen recipe she was developing.

A nice, peaceful trip, for once.

Peace, however, was a luxury Zetsu seemed intent on denying her.

The ground ahead rippled, not with wind, but with malicious chakra. Dark, leafy appendages rose from the earth, coalescing into the familiar form of the carnivorous plant-like being.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you," Hikari said, halting her steps but showing no surprise.

Her grin was dark, humorless. "You overgrown plant."

Immediately, without breaking eye contact, she brought her right palm up. A swirl of chakra briefly bloomed on the skin, and with a faint shink, a reverse-edged sakabatō, beautifully crafted, extended fully into her hand. She gripped it, the familiar weight grounding her.

"Let's dance."

Her body shifted, muscles coiling, feet finding their ancient, balanced placement. The stance of the Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū. Fluid, deadly, inviting an attack.

Zetsu's visible eye narrowed within his maw.

"You think you can challenge me? You've messed up my plans. Every major piece on the board... gone." His voice, a strange duality of tones, deepened with palpable malice. "You took away that fool Obito, and Madara. Nagato was mine to manipulate. You've prevented me from resurrecting mother."

Hikari's grin widened, losing the darkness and gaining a healthy dose of cheekiness. She twirled the reverse-edged sword once, the movement deceptively relaxed.

"Oh, did I?" she purred, her voice sweet as poison. "Well, excuse me. I'd rather not have a rabbit goddess messing with my family or my friends." Her stance tightened subtly, the invitation now laced with explicit threat. "You can never manipulate the Uchihas again, nor Nagato. Their choices are their own, free from your slimy influence."

Her green eyes, sharp and challenging, locked onto his unnatural form. The tea fields seemed to hold their breath.

"So you," The samurai finished, her voice dropping to a cold, hard edge, the pleasant scent of tea suddenly sharper, almost metallic in the charged air. "Can go kindly fuck yourself."

The air crackled. The dance was about to begin.

Chapter Text

''-talking

'- thoughts

''Attitude determines the altitude of life.'' - Edwin Louis Cole

The confrontation in the Tea Country shifted instantly from verbal warfare to blinding, brutal combat. Zetsu had split, Black Zetsu surging forward to engage, while White Zetsu melted back, becoming one with the deep shadows cast by the tea bushes and ancient trees, a silent observer.

But Black Zetsu was not engaging in a balanced fight. He was enduring a merciless beating.

Hikari was a whirlwind.

The Hiten Mitsurugi-ryū was a base, her reverse-edged sakabatō a silver blur moving with impossible speed, each strike aimed not just to cut, but to deliver concussive force that sent amorphous chunks of Black Zetsu splattering against the earth and trees. But she didn't stop there.

As her sword swept low, she channeled Wind Release, sending razor-sharp gusts that sliced through his form, preventing him from fully reforming. When he tried to sink into the ground or extend tendrils, she slammed a palm down, activating Earth Release, causing sharp stone spikes or heavy, dense soil to erupt and trap him, pinning him in place.

And layered within these elemental and physical attacks were flashes of Yin Release and potent Sealing Techniques. As she struck, sealing tags would appear on her blade or fist, transferring potent seals directly onto Black Zetsu's mass, attempting to suppress his regenerative will, bind his essence, or disrupt his very nature as Kaguya's will. Sometimes, a surge of dark, almost visible Yin chakra would precede a strike, seeming to momentarily solidify or disorient Black Zetsu, making him vulnerable to the subsequent physical blow or sealing application.

He was thrown, impaled by earth spikes, shredded by wind, slammed by the blunt force of her sword, and constantly branded by seals that burned into his chakra. His pained, guttural roars were a stark contrast to Hikari's focused, almost serene intensity, punctuated only by the sharp sounds of her sword work and the crackle of her jutsu. His physical form, usually so resilient, was being dismantled faster than it could knit itself back together, a grotesque, flailing mass of dark chakra and plant matter suffering under the relentless, multi-faceted assault.

From the deep, verdant shadows at the edge of the clearing, White Zetsu watched.

His single eye, visible above the line of his maw, was wide, not with fear, but with intense, cold analysis. He observed the blinding speed of the swordsmanship, recognized the seamless integration of elemental ninjutsu – Wind and Earth, elements not typically associated with the same user, let alone combined with such fluidity. He noted with particular interest the intricate, high-level Sealing Techniques being applied on contact, and the strange, disruptive quality of the Yin chakra woven into her attacks.

This wasn't just a fighter; this was an anomaly. A blend of skills that defied conventional ninja training. He processed every hit, every seal, every gust of wind and surge of earth, assessing the damage and the techniques with detached efficiency. He made no move to intervene, no attempt to help his counterpart. This was data. This was information on a threat far more complex than their initial assessment.

Hikari landed another brutal, seal-infused strike, sending a large segment of Black Zetsu flying. White Zetsu remained motionless in the shadows, a silent, calculating witness to the merciless dismantling of his other half. The fight was far from over, but the initial engagement had revealed a power that was both terrifying and, to White Zetsu's cold logic, fascinating.

The merciless barrage ceased.

With a final, almost dismissive flick, Hikari sealed her reverse-edged sword, the silver vanishing in a puff of smoke and a faint chakra shimmer on her palm. Black Zetsu, reduced to a mangled, struggling mass, lay momentarily pinned by earthen spikes, his form flickering as regeneration fought a losing battle against the residual effects of her diverse assault.

But Hikari wasn't finished. Her hands, freed from the sword, began to move. They were a blur, weaving through a complex series of handseals with incredible speed and precision. Flicker, flicker, intertwine, twist – the movements were too fast for the eye to easily follow, demonstrating a mastery of sealing arts rarely seen outside of specialist clans or Konoha's top jōnin.

Chakra surged around her, dark and deep, gathering not just from her own reserves but seemingly drawing from the very air, the very frustration and despair Zetsu embodied. The light in the clearing seemed to subtly dim, the shadows lengthening unnaturally as the intricate patterns of the seals formed under her rapid-fire weaving.

She slammed her hands together for the final seal.

" Nisshoku Rōgoku Fūin!'' Eclipse Prison Seal!

A ripple of distorted space emanated from Hikari, centered on the struggling form of Black Zetsu. It wasn't just darkness; it was an absence of light, a pocket of absolute void that began to expand, drawing him in. Black Zetsu shrieked – a sound of pure, ancient terror and rage – thrashing violently against the earthen bonds.

His form, already broken, began to shrink, not just collapsing but visibly draining. The dark, viscous substance that made him seemed to be siphoned away, pulled into the expanding sphere of nothingness generated by the seal. His power, his very connection to Kaguya, was being stripped, absorbed, locked away. The perpetual darkness of the seal began to consume him, promising an eternity of impotent isolation.

Within moments, the thrashing subsided, the shrieks cut off. The void snapped shut, leaving nothing behind where Black Zetsu had been but disturbed earth and the lingering, unnatural chill of the void. The light returned to the clearing, though the air felt heavy, as if something profound had just been removed from existence.

From the shadows at the edge of the trees, White Zetsu remained motionless. He had watched the entirety of the sealing process: the impossible speed of the handseals, the complex formation of the technique, the dramatic, absolute effect. His eye was fixed on the spot where Black Zetsu had vanished, assessing the implications, analyzing the nature of the seal. There was no emotion on his masked face, only cold, calculated observation. His counterpart, Kaguya's will manifested, the being responsible for millennia of manipulation, had been defeated, not by brute force alone, but by a unique, powerful sealing technique wielded by an anomaly.

He did not react. He merely observed, filing away the new data on the threat that was Himura Hikari. His mission was information and survival. Black Zetsu's defeat was regrettable, but informative. He would report back. Or rather, decide if and when reporting was strategically advantageous. For now, the shadows remained his sanctuary, and observation his only action.

Uchiha Compound

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the neatly-maintained Uchiha training ground. Three-year-old Sasuke Uchiha, serious beyond his years, was diligently practicing his stance, attempting (and mostly succeeding) to balance a small stone on his head while mimicking the simple taijutsu forms his father had shown him. As the new heir, even at this age, he felt the weight of expectation, the quiet drive to be strong. He trained hard, tiny brows furrowed in concentration.

He wasn't prepared for the blur of orange that suddenly erupted from the edge of the training area.

"SASUKE!"

A small, blonde torpedo, fuelled by pure, unadulterated joy, barrelled directly towards him. Uzumaki-Himura Naruto, his self-proclaimed rival and undeniable best friend, was a force of nature. And he was grinning wide enough to split his face.

Naruto didn't stop. He collided with Sasuke in a tangle of small limbs, simultaneously slapping a crudely drawn seal – likely scribbled with a crayon and stuck with paste – onto Sasuke's chest.

Pop!

The seal didn't explode with chakra or smoke. It burst in a dazzling, overwhelming shower of bright orange glitter. It coated Sasuke's face, his carefully styled black hair, his shoulders, sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight.

Sasuke stumbled back, sputtering, black eyes wide behind the shimmering veil of glitter. He swiped a hand instinctively at his face, only managing to smear the sparkles further. His look was one of utter, unadulterated shock, quickly followed by a puff-cheeked indignation.

Nearby, sitting on the steps of a veranda overlooking the training ground, Mikoto Uchiha merely grinned. She watched her son, covered head to toe in obnoxious, sparkling orange, staring bewilderedly at the giggling source of the chaos.

And she saw it.

The look on Sasuke's face – that particular mix of exasperation, surprise, and a flicker of something that wasn't quite annoyance, not when it came from Naruto. It was a look she had seen countless times, years ago, on her best friend, Kushina Uzumaki. Usually when Minato or Jiraiya had just done something spectacularly foolish.

A warmth spread through Mikoto's chest, tinged with a familiar bittersweet ache.

I hope you're happy, Kushi-chan, she thought, her gaze soft on the two messy, laughing boys. Your boy is certainly happy. And he's making mine feel things other than just focus.

The dust motes danced in the shafts of light piercing the gloom of the abandoned Hatake Compound. It wasn't a place Kakashi visited often; the quiet stillness held too many ghosts, too many echoes of a life cut tragically short. But today, sorting through the remnants of his father's belongings, locked away for years, felt necessary.

He knelt by a scarred wooden chest, carefully lifting out items - old scrolls, a worn training gi, a faded photograph. His fingers brushed against something hard wrapped in brittle, yellowed cloth. He pulled it out, unwrapping it slowly.

Nestled in his palm was a ring.

It was simple, elegant. Silver, slightly tarnished with age, holding three small, modest diamonds that caught the weak light. It wasn't grand, but there was an understated beauty to it.

This, he realized with a quiet certainty, was his mother's. Found among his father's things, tucked away with his most personal effects.

The engagement ring.

Kakashi held it, turning it over. His visible eye, usually sharp and alert, softened just slightly, reflecting the sparkle of the tiny stones. He thought of his mother's face, a warmth he barely remembered, a scent he could almost recall on the edge of memory. He thought of his father, the legendary White Fang, choosing this symbol of their bond. A life that was, a future that wasn't.

A sudden thought struck him, and with a quiet puff of smoke, he summoned his most reliable companions. Eight small, furry bodies materialized around him on the dusty floor – the ninken.

They sniffed the air, then looked to Kakashi, waiting for his command. Pakkun, the smallest but most astute, padded closer, his expressive brow furrowed slightly under his doggy mask. He followed Kakashi's gaze down to the ring in his hand.

Pakkun tilted his head, looking from the silver band back up at Kakashi's thoughtful expression. A slow, knowing realization dawned in the pug's dark eyes.

"Oh..." Pakkun's voice was a low, gravelly rumble. He looked at the ring again, then back at Kakashi, a distinct air of anticipation settling around him.

"...this is gonna be good."

The dust of the abandoned compound was hours behind them.

Kakashi sat beneath a large oak on a quiet training ground, the air cooler here, smelling of leaves and damp earth. The ninken were sprawled around him, resting after a brief exercise.

He held the silver ring on the pad of his thumb, turning it slowly. The three diamonds glinted.

Pakkun, curled comfortably near Kakashi's knee, lifted his head, his dark eyes fixed on the ring, then on Kakashi's masked face. "Still mulling that over, huh?" he rumbled. His tail gave a slow, deliberate thump against the grass. "Told you it was gonna be good."

Kakashi sighed, the sound soft. "Good... or complicated." He looked from the ring to the tree canopy above.

"It was Mom's. Dad... kept it."

Bulldog, nearby, gave a low, sympathetic whine.

"It's... heavy," The jounin admitted, not physically, but in its implication. A symbol of a life together. A future planned. Things he hadn't allowed himself to seriously consider for a long time. "Marriage. A family. It's... not exactly a path conducive to the ninja life. Especially mine."

"Your life hasn't exactly been 'conducive' to anything normal since you were five, kid," Pakkun countered dryly. "Danger is part of the package. Doesn't mean you live in a box."

"A box is predictable," Kakashi murmured. "Safe. For others, at least."

"Safe for others by making yourself miserable and alone?" Pakkun challenged gently. "That argument wore thin about a decade ago. You think she doesn't know the risks? Hikari? Please." Pakkun snorted softly. "She runs headfirst into danger, argues with old fossils like Madara, and collects ramen ingredients in places criminals hang out. She knows what she signed up for, dating you."

Kakashi chuckled, a low sound that held genuine amusement.

"Point is," Pakkun pressed, his tone serious now, "she's not some fragile blossom who needs to be shielded from the 'big, bad Kakashi's' dangerous life. She's a force of nature herself. And she makes you... less like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The ANBU Captain was silent for a long moment, still turning the ring. He thought of Hikari's bright, green eyes, her easy laugh, the way she could argue about obscure manga plot points or suddenly unleash a devastating sword technique. She was unexpected. Vibrant. She made the grey edges of his world seem brighter.

"It's... proposing," Kakashi finally said, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "It's... making a promise. A public promise."

"Yep. That's what rings are for," Pakkun said matter-of-factly.

"Symbolic. Gets the point across. Less likely she'll just pat your head and offer you dango if you do it right."

The seventeen-year-old rubbed the back of his neck.

"Right. Doing it right." His mind, so adept at strategizing against S-rank threats, felt surprisingly blank on the particulars of proposing.

Pakkun watched him, his gaze steady. "Forget 'right' for a second. Do you want to? Want to tie your life to hers? Want to build something that isn't just missions and memories of loss?"

The question hung in the air. Kakashi looked at the ring again, then closed his fingers around it. It felt warm against his skin. A legacy. A possibility.

He didn't answer immediately, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. The silence that followed wasn't heavy or troubled. It was just the quiet understanding between a ninja and his oldest, most trusted companion. The discussion had begun. And Pakkun was right.

This was definitely going to be... something.

The low, constant hum of the kikaichu was the normal soundtrack to life within the Aburame compound. Shibi and his son, Shino, stood near a large, enclosed breeding ground, observing the intricate dance of their insect colonies. The air was calm, measured, like most things in the Aburame clan.

"Shino," Shibi began, his voice quiet and steady, his face obscured by his high collar and dark glasses, much like his son's.

Shino turned his head, his own dark glasses reflecting the dim light. "Father."

"I have observed," Shibi continued, his tone purely observational, "a deviation in the typical behavior of your kikaichu. Specifically, their increased activity and... erratic excitement levels... when in proximity to Haruno Sakura."

Shino adjusted his glasses with a pale hand. The insects clustered around his arms seemed to buzz just a fraction louder. "Sakura's interest in insects is... significant," The child stated factually, as if this explained everything. "My kikaichu respond to genuine curiosity and respect for their nature."

"That is true," The Aburame Clan head acknowledged, with a subtle nod of his head. "Her affinity for the arthropod world is indeed noteworthy, especially for one outside the clan. However," he paused, choosing his words with the precision of an entomologist classifying a new species, "the data indicates this reaction extends beyond mere professional appreciation."

Shino remained silent, his posture stiffening almost imperceptibly. His kikaichu shifted beneath his clothes.

Shibi turned slightly to face his son more fully, though their faces remained obscured. "It is a complex interaction. A... physiological and emotional response pattern triggered by the presence of a specific individual. In other species, this is often categorized as... attraction." He used the word carefully, framing it almost as a scientific term. "Among humans, it is commonly referred to as a 'crush'."

Shino's hand went back to his glasses, adjusting them again. The buzzing of his insects was now distinctly agitated, a low, pulsing chorus of tiny wings. "A crush," Shino repeated, testing the word like a foreign specimen. He considered it for a moment. "Her mind is... logical, yet also capable of significant data absorption regarding medical ninjutsu. A unique combination."

"Indeed," Shibi said, understanding his son's attempt to intellectualize the feeling. "Her characteristics are... robust. Her enthusiasm for your kikaichu is a variable that is clearly... compatible with your own inherent biological and psychological parameters." He paused, letting the Aburame-speak settle. "These interactions, while complex, are a natural part of human development, akin to the behavioral stages in a colony's growth cycle."

The child looked back at the breeding grounds, then towards the distant edge of the compound, perhaps imagining Sakura there. His insects quieted slightly, settling into a low, steady thrum.

"The data... suggests... interest," Shino conceded finally, the admission quiet, delivered with the same factual tone he might use to describe a bug's molting process.

His father offered another subtle nod. "Understanding the nature of the interaction is the first step. Like observing a new species, one must gather data before formulating a strategy." He didn't press further, didn't ask about intentions or feelings in flowery language. That wasn't their way.

The conversation ended as it began, with the quiet hum of insects and the unspoken understanding between father and son. Shino had a "crush" on Sakura Haruno. It was a fact, observed and acknowledged, a new variable in the complex ecosystem of his young life. And like any good Aburame, he would process the data.

Three-year-old Ino Yamanaka had never met anyone like Gaara of the Desert before.

He was quiet.

He had red hair (which was so cool).

And most importantly—he didn’t immediately run away when she talked to him.

That was basically true love, as far as Ino was concerned.

Hikari’s extended family had come to Konoha for a rare visit—Temari, Kankuro, and little Gaara, the children of the Fourth Kazekage. Thanks to Hikari’s chakra-sealing expertise, Gaara no longer had Shukaku whispering in his mind, and for the first time in his life…

He slept peacefully.

He was still shy—years of isolation didn’t fade overnight—but around Naruto (his loud, sunshine cousin) and now Ino (who had declared herself his "new best friend" within five minutes of meeting him), he was starting to blossom.

Ino’s Grand Romantic Plan (Age 3 Edition)

Step One: Offer Gaara a flower. ("It matches your hair!")

Step Two: Teach him how to make a flower crown. ("You’re really good at this!")

Step Three: Hold his hand. ("So you don’t get lost!")

Gaara, who had never been given a flower before, stared at the daisy in his palm like it was made of gold.

"…Thank you," he mumbled, his cheeks turning pink.

Ino beamed.

"You’re welcome!"

Nearby, Temari and Kankuro exchanged glances.

"Is our little brother getting adopted by a Yamanaka?" Kankuro whispered.

Temari smirked.

"I think it’s worse. I think he’s getting a girlfriend."

"GAARA! YOU GOTTA MARRY HER NOW!" Naruto yelled, throwing his arms up. "THAT’S HOW IT WORKS!"

The redhead blinked. "…What?"

Ino nodded sagely.

"Yeah! We’ll get married when we’re big!"

Gaara, who had only just learned how to make friends, was now being proposed to.

He looked at Hikari for help.

Hikari, sipping tea, gave him a thumbs-up.

"Good luck, kid."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''If you're walking down the right path and you're willing to keep walking, eventually you'll make progress.'' - Barack Obama

The Nara clan compound, usually a haven of quiet contemplation and strategically placed shadows, hummed with a different kind of tension. Three-year-old Shikamaru, nestled comfortably on a low cushion across a polished shogi board, puffed out his cheeks. He'd just captured Sakura's Rook, a move he considered particularly brilliant for someone his age.

"Check," he announced, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. This was his territory. This was where his prodigious mind, even in its nascent stages, truly shone. 

Sakura, also three, with her bright pink hair tied back with a simple red ribbon, didn't even blink. Her green eyes, sharp and focused, stared at the board. Unlike his casual slouch, she sat upright, a tiny bundle of earnest concentration. She'd been coming to the compound for weeks, sometimes watching him play, sometimes just asking about the pieces. He'd secretly enjoyed her presence, even as he feigned indifference. This, he thought, was a far more acceptable way to spend time with her than chasing bugs or trying to decipher ancient scrolls.

She reached out a small hand, her fingers surprisingly precise as she moved a Pawn.

"Mate," she stated, her voice clear and decisive.

Shikamaru blinked. Then he leaned closer, his brow furrowing. His King was trapped. Completely. Utterly. With a Pawn. He traced the lines, his mind, usually so quick to spot patterns, scrambling to comprehend. He'd been so focused on his brilliant Rook capture, on his subtle psychological warfare with her. He hadn't seen it.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. His jaw hung open just slightly, the very picture of stunned disbelief.

He, Shikamaru Nara, had just been beaten. By Sakura. At shogi.

Sakura, seeing his shocked expression, allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. She leaned forward, her eyes bright. "I like you, Shikamaru!" she declared, the words bursting forth with the same confident directness she'd used to deliver checkmate.

Before the Nara heir could even process her words, she leaned in, swift as a hummingbird, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. She pulled back just as quickly, her cheeks a faint rose.

"Mummy usually kisses Daddy when she's happy," Sakura explained, her eyes earnest, "so..."

Shikamaru just stared, completely blindsided by Sakura's strategic brilliance, her direct confession, and this unexpected, warm sensation on his mouth. His mind, for perhaps the first time, was utterly, wonderfully, blank.

This was... troublesome. And amazing.

With Black Zetsu finally sealed, his screams extinguished by the encroaching darkness of the Eclipse Prison Seal, Hikari didn't linger. The chakra of her formidable jutsu faded, leaving only a lingering chill in the Tea Country air. She turned her back on the now-empty space where her foe had been, adjusting the still-present smirk on her lips.

She didn't need to see him. She knew White Zetsu was still there, lurking in the verdant shadows, observing. He was an analyst, a survivor, and utterly predictable in his caution.

As she began to walk away, her steps light and purposeful, she didn't turn her head. Her voice, clear and cutting, echoed through the quiet groves, carrying just enough bite to pierce the stillness and reach the hidden stalker.

"Tell your clones," Hikari called out, a new, cold edge to her tone, "that they better be ready for some herbicide."

Four-year-old Neji Hyuuga rapidly moved through his katas, his small fists cutting through the air in perfect harmony with Hinata’s softer but no less determined movements. The morning sun painted the training ground in gold, and for the first time in generations, the Hyuuga clan stood united—no cages, no seals, no fear.

"Again, Hinata-chan?" Neji asked, glancing at his cousin.

Hinata nodded, a rare confidence in her lavender eyes.

"Hai, Neji-nii-san."

No more "Hinata-sama."

No more "Branch" and "Main."

Just family.

Neji would never forget the moment the pain lifted—the moment he realized he could look at the sky without feeling its vastness mock him.

After training, Neji sat beside his cousin beneath the old oak tree, catching his breath.

"Hikari-san saved us," Hinata murmured, playing with a fallen leaf.

Neji nodded.

"She did."

A pause.

Then—

"I won’t waste it," he said quietly, fists clenching. "I’ll get so strong… that no one can ever take this away again."

Hinata smiled.

"We’ll get strong together."

The older child looked at her—his cousin, his equal—and for the first time in his life, he felt the future stretch before him, limitless.

Rasa walked the familiar, sand-dusted streets of Sunagakure, but today, a strange sense of unfamiliarity settled over him. It wasn't the shifting dunes or the ochre-colored buildings; it was the hum. A low, persistent hum that wasn't the wind. It was the sound of water. Water, flowing freely through new channels, filling cisterns, feeding the very air with a cool, almost miraculous dampness.

Since the joint project with Konoha had truly taken hold, Suna was transforming. The colossal aqueduct, a marvel of engineering and sealing, arced gracefully across the skyline, a testament to the ingenuity of Konoha and, more personally, to his niece, Hikari – his late wife Karura’s niece. Her mastery of seals had been the linchpin, bringing this impossible abundance to their thirsty village.

His youngest, Gaara, was no longer tormented by the vengeful sand. The monstrous influence of Shukaku, the chakra beast, had been quelled, allowing his son to finally begin healing, to finally be free. The boy, along with his siblings, was currently visiting Hikari in Konoha under the watchful eye of Baki, a trip Rasa would have once deemed unthinkable.

His stroll eventually led him to the unassuming shop of Hiko, his father-in-law. The air inside smelled of exotic spices, dried fruits, and the faint, comforting scent of old paper. Hiko, a man etched with the lines of desert wisdom and silent judgment, looked up from a stack of scrolls. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, fixed on Rasa.

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant murmur of the newly flowing water outside. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Hiko pushed aside a pile of woven baskets, making space on the worn floor for Rasa to sit. He reached for a clay pot, pouring two cups of steaming, aromatic tea.

The Kazekage accepted his, the warmth seeping into his hands.

He braced himself.

Hiko took a sip of his own tea, his eyes still holding Rasa's. "You're an idiot," he stated, his voice raspy but clear, devoid of malice, simply stating a fact. "But my daughter loved you." He took another sip, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "Next time, don't try to do things by yourself, Rasa. Families fight, yes, but they always find themselves back to each other."

The words hung in the spice-scented air, a quiet absolution and a profound truth. Rasa looked down at his tea, the steam blurring his vision. The hum of water outside seemed to amplify, a song of reunion.

The evening deepened over Uzushio, painting the newly rebuilt village in hues of twilight. From the observation window of the Uzukage Tower, Ryoko, the late Uzukage’s sister and current leader, gazed out at the protective seals guarding their home. Spirals of vibrant, glowing blue chakra pulsed around the island, a warm, reassuring pulse against the encroaching night. They felt like a constant, living hug – a stark contrast to the scattered, fearful lives her people had once known.

Just hours ago, Hikari's calm voice had come through her shinobi-enhanced cellphone: Black Zetsu was sealed. A victory, yes, but one that brought forth a fresh wave of concern. White Zetsu remained an insidious threat capable of replicating into thousands of clones. Ryoko knew that preparing for that inevitable wave was paramount.

A soft knock announced the arrival of her clan's key figures, each a vital cog in Uzushio's resurgence.

First were the Academy instructors: Ren, Sota, and Yuto. "Uzukage-sama," Ren began, ever the most outwardly expressive, "the new children are adapting remarkably. Their chakra sensitivity is exceptional, as expected, and they're taking to the basics of sealing theory with a natural aptitude." Sota nodded, adding, "We're laying strong foundations. The curriculum is proving highly effective for even the youngest Uzumaki." Yuto, quieter, simply showed a detailed scroll outlining individual progress charts, demonstrating the steady growth of the returning clan's new generation.

Next, Akira, the former Uzukage guard and specialist in space-time ninjutsu, stepped forward. "The older children, those past Academy age, are showing immense interest in advanced combat sealing. Their natural affinity for the arts, combined with their experiences from their time scattered, makes them eager to master practical applications." He handed Ryoko a list of names, clearly marking those with particular talent in the field.

"Kenjutsu training is in full swing," Yuna reported, her voice carrying the crisp clarity of a blade. The Tidal Cleaver, her water-manipulating blade, rested easily on her back. "Many of the Uzumaki who returned from around Kiri are especially keen. They've seen what a truly skilled sword can do, and they're eager to learn to wield chakra-infused blades."

Finally, Kikiyo, the seasoned seal master and former sailor, delivered her update. "The fleet is progressing, Uzukage-sama. We’re integrating barrier navigation seals directly into the hulls. These ships won't just protect our waters; they'll become an extension of our very defenses, capable of withstanding threats and navigating any storm." She gestured towards a blueprint unfurled on a nearby table, detailing the intricate array of seals on the vessels.

Ryoko listened, a quiet satisfaction settling over her. Each report was a thread, weaving together the fabric of their rebuilt home. The glow of the protective spirals outside the window felt stronger, not just a barrier, but a beacon for a future they were actively crafting.

The late afternoon sun beat down on the training ground, illuminating the swirling dust kicked up by two figures locked in a sparring match. Kakashi moved with his usual efficient grace, parrying a forceful jab from Obito. The newly reformed Uchiha, his grin back in place despite the intensity of their spar, lunged again.

It was during a particularly swift exchange, a feint from Obito followed by a rapid counter from Kakashi, that it happened. A glint of silver caught the light as something slipped from Kakashi's pocket and landed with a soft clink on the hard-packed earth.

Obito paused mid-strike, his Sharingan blazing, drawn by the unexpected object. He looked from Kakashi’s suddenly wide eye to the small, shining circle. "Bakakashi... is that...?" he breathed, his voice thick with surprise.

Kakashi, his face flushing faintly even under his mask, lunged for it.

"Hey! Give that back!"

"No way!" Obito grinned, more mischief than malice in his eyes as he scooped up the ring. "What's this? Planning something secret, huh?"

Their scuffle for the ring, a far cry from their usual sparring intensity, was a comical tangle of quick dodges and snatched grabs. It was at precisely that moment that Hikari, having just returned from Tea Country and still smelling faintly of exotic herbs and recently vanquished darkness, stumbled onto the scene.

She watched, bewildered, as the two former rivals wrestled over a tiny, sparkling object. Kakashi, distracted by her sudden appearance, made a desperate lunge for the ring. His foot caught on a loose rock, sending him sprawling.

As he fell, the silver ring, still clutched in Obito's hand, went flying. It spun through the air, catching the sun's last rays, a dazzling glint of light. Hikari, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness, didn't see it coming until it landed with an impossibly soft plink directly onto her left ring finger.

It fit perfectly.

She looked from the ring, shimmering on her hand, to Kakashi, sprawled on the ground, then back to the ring. Her green eyes widened. "Kakashi-kun..." she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Is this... an engagement ring?"

Kakashi scrambled to his feet, pulling nervously at his flak jacket, his visible eye darting between her face and the ring. Obito, meanwhile, had frozen, wide-eyed, the gravity of the situation suddenly dawning on him.

"Hikari-chan," Kakashi stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, "it was my mother's... I found it in the compound, and I thought it would be lucky for us... I mean, it's just a ring, it's not like—"

"Wait..." Hikari interrupted, her mind racing. "Your mom's...? You... but... you... me..." Her voice caught, a blush creeping up her neck.

Kakashi saw the emotion welling in her eyes, and all his carefully constructed composure shattered. He dropped to one knee before her, the dusty ground somehow irrelevant. His voice, usually so casual, was thick with earnestness.

"Hikari Himura," he began, his gaze unwavering, "you're crazy, you're reckless, but you're also brilliant, kind, loving, spontaneous, and strong. You are just enough of a crazy and reckless for me... I love you... will you marry me?"

Tears welled in her green eyes, blurring his earnest face. "Kakashi," she said, biting her lip, "you're seventeen. I'm sixteen. We're young..."

"Hi-chan," he interrupted softly, reaching for her hand, "in our world, we don't know what tomorrow brings. But I know I want my day, my present, to end with you."

A choked laugh escaped her. "You softie..." She bent down, her hands gently reaching for his mask. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered it, revealing his full face, the faint scar under his Sharingan eye, the slight flush on his cheeks. Then, she leaned in and kissed him, a deep, tender kiss that spoke volumes of acceptance and love.

When she pulled back, a radiant smile lit her face, tears still shimmering in her eyes. "I will marry you, Kakashi Hatake," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I love you too."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are. '' - Bertolt Brecht

The ANBU special ward of Konoha Hospital, usually a hushed testament to its occupants' severe injuries, thrummed with an urgent, grim energy. A top-tier S-Rank mission had gone sideways, leaving Team Ro — Kakashi, Yōji Aburame, Kō, Yūgao Uzuki, and Yamato — gravely injured from a poison attack. Their opponent: Sasori of the Red Sand, an infamous S-Rank missing-nin from Sunagakure, whose puppets and toxins were legendary.

Every available, high-level medic was deployed. Tsunade, her brow furrowed in fierce concentration, worked tirelessly, her chakra glowing with fierce intensity as she channeled healing energy. Beside her, Shizune, her movements swift and precise, managed supplies and assisted with complex procedures. Even the ever-composed Nonou, with her vast medical knowledge, moved with an uncharacteristic urgency.

Among them, a surprising figure commanded respect: now nine-year-old Itachi Uchiha. The medic prodigy, apprentice to Tsunade herself, moved with a solemn focus that belied his tender age. His small hands, usually weaving lightning-fast hand seals for combat, now expertly applied healing chakra, sutured wounds, and administered antidotes with a detached, methodical precision that was both chilling and awe-inspiring. He was a silent, unyielding force against the insidious toxins coursing through Team Ro's veins.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, the sterile scent of antiseptics, and the faint, unsettling sweetness of Sasori's deadly poisons. Each medic worked in their own desperate rhythm, a silent battle against the clock and the pervasive effects of the S-Rank threat. The fate of Konoha's elite ANBU hung in the balance, a stark reminder of the brutal realities of the ninja world.

The ANBU special ward's tense, urgent atmosphere was shattered by a sudden burst of frantic energy. Hikari practically materialized through the doors, panting, her eyes frantically scanning the chaotic scene. Her gaze locked onto Kakashi, whose masked face was drawn, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow as Itachi's small, precise hands worked over him. Nearby, Yamato lay pale and still, with Kabuto, barely eleven years old, meticulously drawing a pulsating bubble of noxious liquid from his body with the Delicate Illness Extraction Technique.

Hikari's breath hitched. Her green eyes widened in shock as they landed on the familiar, virulent swirl of purple and black within the white chakra bubble. It was the exact, tell-tale signature of the poison she'd seen Sakura extract from Kankuro during the Kazekage Rescue Arc in her original world.

"Was it Sasori?" she choked out, her voice tight with dread.

Tsunade, her concentration unwavering as she healed another ANBU, merely gave a grim nod, not even looking up. But the brief, sharp glance she shot Hikari was a clear warning: Stay out of the way. Don't interfere.

Hikari didn't need to be told twice. A fierce resolve hardened her features. With a flash of complex, spiraling seals erupting around her, she vanished – a revised Uzumaki version of the Flying Thunder God Technique, faster and more chaotic than Minato's perfected version, but just as effective.

She reappeared near the towering gates of Sunagakure, startling the sand guards, who barely registered a blur of brown before she was gone again, a streak across the desert. In mere moments, the very air in Rasa's office shifted, and Hikari stood before him, panting, sand still clinging to her clothes.

"I need your help," she blurted out, her voice strained but direct. She quickly explained the situation, the poisoning, Sasori's involvement, and her frantic realization of the specific toxins at play.

Rasa, having seen her urgency and understanding the gravity of Sasori's poisons better than anyone, simply nodded.

"The greenhouses are open to you."

The Samurai didn't waste another second.

She knew which plants Sasori favored, and precisely which ones held the neutralizing properties to his insidious concoctions. She moved through Suna's specialized greenhouses like a force of nature, gathering the rare flora. With her arms laden with vibrant, unusual plants, she pressed a quick, grateful kiss to her uncle's cheek before vanishing once more.

She reappeared directly in the ANBU ward, a whirlwind of wind-swept hair and green eyes fixed on the medics. "Here!" she exclaimed, unsealing the vast array of plants from her person in a cascade of green and leafy matter onto the floor. "Is this enough?"

The Slug Sannin's honey-colored eyes, already wide with exhaustion, widened further at the sudden, unexpected bounty.

"Hikari... what the fuck...?"

A weary but triumphant grin stretched across Hikari's face. "Don't ask," she countered, pointing towards the still-struggling ANBU. "Just... make the damn antidote. I can't have my groom dying before we go to the altar." The chaotic demand hung in the air, a beacon of defiant hope amidst the crisis.

Tsunade's eyes, already wide with surprise at the sudden influx of rare plants, widened further as her gaze fell upon the silver ring now gracing Hikari's left hand. For a fleeting instant, her formidable mind flashed back, not to the current crisis, but to a ghost of her past.

Dan. Her Dan.

The desperate, agonizing need to save him, to reach for a cure that had been beyond her grasp then. The memory fueled a fresh surge of grim determination.

The Hokage gave a curt, decisive nod. Without a word, her movements swift and methodical, she began gathering the various plants Hikari had unsealed. Her feet pounded down the hospital corridor, carrying the precious cargo not back to the ward, but to her specialized lab. There, amidst the hum of medical equipment and the faint scent of sterile chemicals, she worked with an almost terrifying intensity. Her hands, usually so destructive in battle, moved with the delicate precision of a master alchemist, crushing, distilling, and combining the potent flora.

An hour later, her face still grim but with a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Tsunade emerged. In her hand, a single syringe gleamed, filled with a viscous, light blue liquid—the anti-venom.

She moved from bed to bed, a force of nature. First to Kakashi, then to Yōji, Kō, Yūgao, and finally Yamato. With each injection, the blue liquid disappearing into their veins, a tiny breath of hope filled the ward. The faint, sickly pallor on their faces seemed to lessen, their breathing grew a fraction steadier.

Hikari, never leaving Kakashi's side, held onto his uninjured hand throughout the ordeal. Her fingers were intertwined with his, a silent promise, a desperate prayer. As Tsunade injected the anti-venom into Kakashi, Hikari squeezed his hand gently, her eyes fixed on his pale face, willing him to recover. The crisis wasn't fully over, but the tide had definitively turned.

With the light blue anti-venom flowing through their veins, the swift recovery was almost miraculous. One by one, as Tsunade completed each injection, the grim signs of Sasori's poison began to recede. The sickly pallor on their faces started to fade, replaced by the faint flush of returning vitality. The taut lines of pain and distress around their eyes and mouths, grimly etched just moments before, gradually began to smoothen out.

Deep, shuddering breaths, once labored and shallow, now came with increasing ease, filling their lungs with the fresh, clean air of the ward. The frantic struggle for survival was over. They were no longer fighting for each gasp; they were simply breathing, recovering, their bodies finally purging the insidious toxins. A quiet wave of relief, potent as any jutsu, washed over the ward, leaving the remaining medics to begin the process of restorative healing. The worst, at last, was over.

Naruto Uzumaki-Himura had a Very Important Mission™.

Step 1: Ditch Deidara (who was busy trying to convince a stray cat that "clay explosions are art, hnn").
Step 2: Sneak into the Forbidden Forest (because that’s where the best flowers grew).
Step 3: Find the prettiest flower for his very best friend, Hinata!

Easy, right?

The forest was dark, creepy, and full of "DO NOT ENTER" signs—which, to a four-year-old Naruto, basically meant "PLEASE ENTER, ADVENTURE AWAITS."

He tromped through the underbrush, blue eyes scanning for the perfect bloom—until he saw it.

A single, delicate white flower, glowing faintly in a patch of sunlight.

"Hinata-chan’s gonna love this!" he whispered, carefully plucking it.

(Unbeknownst to him, it was a Moonveil Lily—a rare, mildly poisonous plant that only grew in chakra-rich soil. Oops.)

Naruto had only ever been to the Hyuuga compound a few times, before...but he was on a mission to give Hinata this flower. So, without his Kaa-san...he decided other methods were needed.

But how hard could it be?

Very.

The walls were tall. The gates were guarded. And the Hyuuga elders had a strict "no hyperactive blondes" policy.

So Naruto did what any self-respecting future Hokage would do.

He climbed a tree and jumped over the wall.

Hinata was sitting in the garden, carefully pressing flowers into a book, when—

"HINATA-CHAN! I GOTCHA SOMETHIN’!"

"N-Naruto-kun?!" She nearly dropped her book as Naruto cannonballed out of a bush, grinning like a maniac, holding out the slightly crumpled (definitely illegal) flower.

"It’s super pretty! Just like you!"

The four-year-old's face turned approximately the same shade as her cousin Neji’s rage veins.

"I-I… th-thank you…" she stammered, taking the flower with trembling hands.

The blonde beamed.

"Now we gotta press it so it lasts forever!"

Hiashi, upon seeing a small Uzumaki-Himura in his garden, nearly activated his Byakugan out of sheer shock.

Neji, who had been meditating, opened one eye, sighed, and went back to ignoring the chaos.

Hanabi, age two, immediately decided Naruto was her new favorite person.

Deidara, now covered in cat scratches, was still yelling about "UNGRATEFUL MUSE-REJECTING VERMIN, HNN."

That night, Hinata carefully pressed the Moonveil Lily into her book—right next to the other flowers Naruto had given her (a dandelion, a clover, and a suspiciously radioactive-looking mushroom).

She traced the petals with one finger, smiling softly.

"…Pretty."

In the harsh, wind-swept silence of Sunagakure, where the only colors were often the relentless ochre of sand and sky, a tiny, vibrant spark began to bloom in four-year-old Gaara's life. It came in the form of thin, folded paper and delicate, unexpected beauty.

He didn't quite understand the world yet, or the complex emotions that rippled around him. His days, which had once been solitary, were marked by the constant, watchful presence of the sand and the distant, fearful glances of adults; now, there was a new rhythm: the arrival of letters from Konoha.

His new best friend, a bright, bubbly girl named Ino, had started sending them. After he visited Konoha to visit his older cousin, Hikari-nee, and his cousin, Naruto, he met the other blonde.

Each time his sensei, Baki, handed him an envelope, Gaara's wide, unusual eyes would fix on it with an intensity that made the sand around him almost tremble with anticipation. He couldn't read the intricate kanji yet, but Baki would read them to him, his gruff voice softening just a fraction.

Ino's letters were full of the everyday wonders of Konoha: tales of chasing butterflies in meadows, the taste of dango from the market, or silly games with her friends. Simple, joyful things utterly alien to Gaara's existence. But the true treasures were nestled within the folds of the paper.

With each letter, Ino sent a pressed flower. Tiny, vibrant petals, carefully flattened and dried, carried the scent of a different world. A brilliant crimson poppy, a sunny yellow daisy, a delicate purple violet. The redhead would trace the fragile outlines with a small, careful finger, utterly captivated by the unexpected bursts of color.

These weren't just flowers; they were whispers from a friend, promises of a world beyond the sand, delivered by a cheerful girl who saw him not as a monster, but simply as Gaara. And for the little jinchūriki, each pressed bloom was a precious, tangible proof of a friendship that was slowly, beautifully, changing everything.

The first time four-year-old Ino, Sakura, and Hinata met five-year-old Tenten, it was love at first sight.

Well, more accurately—it was "awe" at first sight.

Because Tenten was holding a kunai twice the size of her hand, and she looked extremely comfortable with it.

Ino immediately starstruck, pointed at the weapon, "OHMYGOSH YOU HAVE A KNIFE!"

Sakura's green eyes sparkled with intensity,  "Can I TOUCH IT?!"

Hinata whispered in awe, "S-So cool…"

Tenten, used to adults freaking out when she played with sharp objects, blinked at the trio of tiny girls staring at her like she’d just descended from the heavens.

"Uh… yeah?" She flipped the kunai effortlessly. "I’ve got lots."

The three gasped in unison.

"WE KEEP HER," Ino declared.

Neji, who had been supposed to be watching his cousin, sighed.

"This is too much."

Lee, who was also five, burst onto the scene.

"TENTEN! TEACH ME HOW TO BE COOL TOO!"

Sakura immediately decided weapons were her new obsession (much to Orochimaru’s delight and Tsunade’s horror).

Hinata shyly asked if Tenten could show her how to "hold it right" (and nearly passed out when Tenten held her hand to adjust her grip).

Ino declared herself "Tenten’s Best Friend (First Place)" and demanded matching headbands.

By the end of the day.

Tenten had three new apprentices (whether she wanted them or not).

The Hyuuga compound’s weapon racks had been lightly pilfered.

And the Konoha daycare staff had officially labeled the quartet "The Tiny Terror Squad."

As the sun set, Tenten—now with Ino clinging to her left arm, Sakura to her right, and Hinata trailing behind like an adoring shadow—glanced at Neji.

"…I think I’m a sensei now."

Neji, face in his hands, moaned in resignation, "We’re five.''

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Genius ain't anything more than elegant common sense. '' - Josh Billings

Training ground 3, typically reserved for shuriken practice and taijutsu drills, had become an unlikely arena for a battle of hearts. Four-year-old Shikamaru Nara, still stinging from his recent shogi defeat and subsequent surprising kiss, stood with his hands in his pockets, affecting a practiced air of nonchalance. Across from him, Shino Aburame, equally four, was a statue of quiet intent, the low hum of his kikaichu a barely perceptible buzz of anticipation. The prize, though unspoken, was clear: the affections of Sakura Haruno.

Sakura, for her part, seemed oblivious to the underlying tension. She stood patiently beside her imposing teacher, Orochimaru, who watched the scene with an amused, serpentine smile playing on his lips. Near him, Shibi Aburame, stoic and observant as ever, stood beside Shikaku Nara, the Jōnin Commander, whose weary sigh suggested he already knew how troublesome this was about to become.

Shikamaru spoke first, his tone calculated for maximum laziness.

"This is too much effort for a troublesome girl." He subtly weaved a single hand sign.

"Shadow Jutsu: Binding Glimmer!"

A thin, barely visible shadow tendril snaked across the ground, aiming to snag a stray leaf near Shino's foot and make it dance. It was rudimentary, but undeniably a clan technique.

The Aburame heir merely adjusted his dark glasses.

"My kikaichu inform me that 'effort' is a subjective variable. Optimal efficiency is achieved through precise execution." He extended a gloved hand, and a single, unusually large and iridescent beetle, shimmering with a rainbow of colors, crawled slowly onto his palm, drawing the eye. It was magnificent. Then, with a silent command, a swarm of tiny kikaichu, no bigger than specks of dust, swirled from his sleeve, creating a barely visible cloud that subtly interfered with Shikamaru's shadow.

"Bug Jutsu: Chakra Static!"

Shikamaru's eyes widened ever so slightly. That was a good bug. And the static was annoying. He retaliated with a quick burst of chakra, creating a fleeting, intricate silhouette of a dancing cat before letting it dissolve back into the ambient light, a silent challenge of artistry over nature.

"Shadow Jutsu: Fleet Flicker!"

The Jōnin Commander rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture.

"This is going to be a long afternoon, isn't it, Shibi?"

Shibi's only response was a minute shift of his shoulders. "Insect behavior, when observed closely, reveals much about intent. These particular insects appear to be engaged in a display of... competitive resource acquisition."

Orochimaru merely chuckled, a low, dry sound. His gaze drifted to Sakura, who, distracted by the beautiful beetle on Shino's hand, took a tentative step closer, her green eyes wide with fascination. Then, her attention was caught by the lingering shimmer of Shikamaru's shadow cat, and she tilted her head in curiosity.

The "battle" had begun, not with fists or grand jutsu, but with the quiet, cunning rivalry of two four-year-old prodigies, each using low-level, instinctively applied clan techniques to vie for the attention of the bright pinkette who was, in her own right, already a force of nature. Their teachers, masters themselves, watched the subtle display unfold, understanding that the roots of a lifetime rivalry, and perhaps a unique friendship, were being sown right before their eyes.

The subtle clash of low-level jutsu stretched on for thirty minutes, a quiet, intense war of miniature shadows and buzzing insects. Shikamaru, despite his feigned laziness, was relentless. His "Shadow Jutsu: Binding Glimmer" became more precise, his "Fleet Flicker" more elusive, subtly forcing Shino into positions where his kikaichu couldn't operate with optimal efficiency. Shino's "Chakra Static" buzzed constantly, a persistent annoyance, and his carefully deployed "Bug Jutsu: Sticky Web" caught a few of Shikamaru's shadow manipulations, but eventually, the Nara prodigy found his opening.

With a final, almost imperceptible shift of chakra, Shikamaru executed a "Shadow Jutsu: Pinning Net" – a wide, transparent web of shadow that, while too weak to truly bind a person, subtly grounded Shino's most agile kikaichu, disrupting their coordinated movements. Shino, ever the pragmatist, saw his opening vanish, his swarm's tactical advantage neutralized.

"Too troublesome," Shikamaru drawled, a small, triumphant smirk touching his lips. He hadn't explicitly said "I win," but the conclusion was clear.

A soft, bright smile bloomed on Sakura's face. She clapped her hands together once, a quick, joyful sound. Before Shikamaru could even register the victory, before his mind could process his satisfaction, she leaned forward. Swiftly, decisively, she placed another kiss on his lips, a soft, fleeting press that stole his breath.

This time, the audience was much larger. His father, who had been watching with a long-suffering sigh, froze mid-rub of his neck. Shibi, ever stoic, showed the faintest tremor in the kikaichu swirling around his high collar. Shino, still processing his defeat, stiffened, his head tilting minutely as if recording this new, unexpected data point. Even Orochimaru, usually so composed, raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine amusement crossing his serpentine features.

The pinkette pulled back, her cheeks a faint rose, but her green eyes sparkling with delight. She then looked directly at Orochimaru. "We can leave now, Oro-sensei," she announced, her grin wide and triumphant, as if her victory over Shikamaru was merely the prelude to their next grand adventure.

Orochimaru's eye twitched. The silent, almost imperceptible reaction spoke volumes. He slowly bent down, bringing himself eye-level with his new, precocious student. "Sakura-chan," he began, his voice a low, sibilant murmur that still held a hint of his usual amusement, "try not to scar the boy before you even enter the Academy."

Sakura simply smiled, a sweet, innocent, yet utterly knowing curve of her lips. "Mmm..." she hummed, the sound noncommittal, leaving just enough room for future troublemaking.

With a barely perceptible shake of his head, Orochimaru placed a hand on her shoulder. They disappeared in a swirl of leaves, leaving behind a bewildered Shikamaru, a subtly agitated Shino, a stoic Shibi, and a deeply sighing Shikaku, all standing in the quiet aftermath of the pinkette's latest, most surprising strategic victory. Their destination: back to the Hokage Tower, and presumably, more medical scrolls.

The silence descended back upon the training ground, heavy with the scent of dust and lingering chakra. Shikamaru was still frozen, his mind scrambling to process the twin shocks of defeat and an unexpected kiss. But beside him, Shino felt a different kind of quiet. It was the hum of his kikaichu, now a low, insistent murmur of data being processed, of variables being re-evaluated.

He adjusted his dark glasses, the slight movement habitual.

He had observed.

He had strategized.

He had deployed his insects with precision. Yet, the outcome was undeniable. Sakura-chan had outmaneuvered him, not just with her unexpected directness, but with an intelligence that had pinpointed the exact moment for a decisive strike. She had beaten Shikamaru at his own game, and in doing so, had subtly outmaneuvered Shino himself.

His mind, ever analytical, began dissecting the engagement. His "Chakra Static" had been effective, but not disruptive enough against Shikamaru's rapid shadow shifts. His "Sticky Web" had been too slow, its deployment too predictable. The iridescent beetle, while visually impressive, had ultimately been a distraction rather than a tactical advantage. He had relied on observation, on controlled deployment. Shikamaru had relied on adaptability, on exploiting an opponent's blind spots.

And Sakura... Sakura had simply acted. No complex jutsus, no intricate plans. Just a straightforward move, followed by an equally straightforward, bewilderingly effective display of affection. She was a variable he hadn't fully accounted for. Her chakra sensitivity, her rapid learning, her directness... she was a fascinating specimen. And she had kissed Shikamaru.

In front of him.

The kikaichu around his ears buzzed with a renewed fervor. The data was conclusive: his current level of strength, his mastery of his clan's low-level jutsu, hand is strategic analyses, while competent, were insufficient. It hadn't secured the desired outcome. He had aimed for affections, and instead, found himself on the sidelines of another of Sakura's bewildering victories.

A new objective solidified in Shino's young, logical mind. If he was to truly understand, to truly compete in this complex ecosystem of human interaction and rivalry, his current parameters were insufficient.

He had to get stronger. Not just in controlling his kikaichu, but in adapting, in anticipating the truly unpredictable. He had to evolve. The quiet buzzing of his insects became a silent, determined resolve.

Shikamaru was frozen.

Shino was stiff.

Even Orochimaru had momentarily paused his usual serpentine calm. But Shikaku Nara, the Jōnin Commander, had merely sagged. His hand, already rubbing the back of his neck, slid lower, massaging his shoulders as if suddenly burdened by the weight of the heavens.

He had witnessed the meticulous, subtle "battle" between his son and the Aburame heir. He had recognized Shikamaru's genius in securing the victory, a fine, troublesome display of Nara strategy. But then, Sakura. That kiss. That utterly unpredictable, utterly direct, utterly Sakura move. Followed by another, just now, a confirmation of her audacious affection. And her grinning pronouncement about leaving with Orochimaru.

Shikaku let out a low, drawn-out groan that vibrated with generations of Nara weariness. It wasn't loud, barely audible above the lingering silence. It was the sound of a man who suddenly saw his entire peaceful future, filled with quiet shogi games and cloud-watching, dissolve into a shimmering, pink, affectionate chaos.

He looked at his son, still wide-eyed and stunned, a fine sheen of glitter likely still clinging to him somewhere. He looked at Shibi, whose own obscured expression probably mirrored a similar, if more insect-based, profound realization of trouble.

"How troublesome," Shikaku muttered, the phrase imbued with an entirely new, deeply personal, and universally applicable meaning. His four-year-old son, a budding genius, had just been checkmated not by intellect, but by sheer, unadulterated, four-year-old female directness. This wasn't just a tactical problem; this was a problem for life. He could already feel the headaches brewing.

That night, the quiet of Kakashi's apartment was a welcome contrast to the day's chaos. Hikari, despite the whirlwind of rescuing Team Ro and Kakashi himself, was already in the small kitchen, expertly preparing his favorite: eggplant ramen with miso broth. The aroma, rich and comforting, filled the air, promising warmth and normalcy after a day of poison and proposals.

Kakashi, still feeling a bit wobbly from Sasori's toxins (and perhaps the emotional whiplash of the day), sat at his low table, watching her. His visible eye held a fondness that was no longer quite so guarded.

Hikari slid a steaming bowl across to him, the purple of the eggplant a vibrant counterpoint to the golden broth. "Here you go, future husband," she chirped, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she sat opposite him.

Kakashi picked up his chopsticks, a small smile playing under his mask. "Thanks, Hi-chan."

She took a bite of her own ramen, humming contentedly. Then, she fixed him with a teasing gaze.

"So, about that proposal..."

His hand, halfway to his mouth with a mouthful of noodles, froze. He could feel a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"What about it?" he mumbled, his eye darting away.

"Well," Hikari began, stifling a giggle behind her hand, "it was certainly... unconventional." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, a playful glint in her eyes. "Tripping over a rock? Right at the crucial moment? You, the Copy Ninja, known for your lightning reflexes?"

The ANBU Captain sighed, a sound that was half exasperation, half amusement.

"It was... unforeseen circumstances."

"Oh, it was unforeseen, alright," she chuckled, "and quite dramatic. The ring, sailing through the air, landing perfectly on my finger..." She wiggled her left hand, letting the simple silver band with its three small diamonds catch the light. "Almost makes me think you planned the whole clumsy hero routine."

He finally took his bite of ramen, chewing slowly. "It was not a routine."

"Mmm-hmm," Hikari hummed, a knowing smile curving her lips. "Sure it wasn't. Just a coincidence that the most powerful ninja in Konoha suddenly developed two left feet precisely when he needed to propose." She leaned back, satisfied, watching his attempt to maintain his composure. "You know, for someone who usually has a plan for everything, you really wing it when it comes to romance."

The silver-haired man swallowed his ramen, meeting her gaze. His visible eye crinkled at the corner.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Hikari laughed, a clear, joyous sound that warmed the small apartment more effectively than any heater. "It absolutely did, Bakakashi. It absolutely did."

The rest of their dinner was filled with comfortable silence, punctuated by the clinking of chopsticks and the occasional soft chuckle from Hikari, leaving Kakashi to wonder if he'd ever live down his perfectly imperfect proposal.

Naruto and Sasuke were in the middle of their fifth screaming match of the week—this time about whose older sibling was cooler—when Sakura suddenly froze.

"Wait," she said, eyes widening. 

"I don’t have an older sibling."

This was unacceptable.

So she did what any logical, determined four-year-old kunoichi-in-training would do.

She snuck into ANBU Headquarters.

Sneaking past the guards was easy (they didn’t expect a tiny pink-haired child to be a threat).

Finding Yamato Senju (aka Tenzo) was even easier (he was the only one in the break room watering a potted plant).

Sakura marched right up to him, hands on her hips.

"You. Be my older brother."

Yamato, mid-sip of tea, choked.

"I have perfect chakra control," Sakura declared, as if this was a normal conversation. "Watch!"

Before Yamato could react, she pressed her hands together—focusing her Water and Earth natures—and right there, in the middle of ANBU HQ, a tiny flower sprouted from her palm.

The room went dead silent.

Even Kakashi, who had been nosing through an Icha Icha book in the corner, slowly lowered it.

"…Huh."

Yamato stared at the flower. Then, at Sakura’s big, hopeful green eyes.

"I—uh—"

"PLEASE?" Sakura added, shoving the flower toward him.

"I’LL WATER YOUR PLANTS!"

The thirteen-year-old year, who had faced S-rank missing-nin, deadly missions, and Danzo’s wrath, had no defense against this.

He sighed.

"…Fine."

Sakura squealed and immediately latched onto his leg. "I’M TELLING EVERYONE!"

By the next morning, Sakura had drawn a family portrait (Yamato, her, and all his plants).

Her parents simply shrugged when she brought him, Tsunade and Shizune for dinner that evening. She wanted the Senju's to feel integrated like plants.

She had assigned him "Big Brother Duty" (which included helping her train, reading bedtime stories, and scaring off bullies).

And she had informed Naruto and Sasuke that her ANBU brother could beat up their siblings. Though she knew Itachi-kun probably could match her Yama-nii-sama.

Yamato, now permanently stuck with a tiny pink shadow, sighed.

"…I regret everything."

(He didn’t.)

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Those who have knowledge, don't predict. Those who predict, don't have knowledge.'' - Lao Tzu

The air inside Ichiraku Ramen hummed with the familiar symphony of clattering bowls, sizzling noodles, and the comforting aroma of simmering broth. Hikari leaned against the counter, a quiet smile on her face as her father, Teuchi, stirred a large pot, a furrow of concentration on his brow as he perfected a new broth, a new ramen recipe that he swore would "change the game."

"Two miso, one shoyu—extra narutomaki for the birthday boy!" she announced, flashing a grin at the blushing genin at the far end.

Behind her, Deidara, an eight-year-old bundle of controlled chaos and her affectionate "little menace," skillfully chopped vegetables. Next to him, her younger sister, Ayame, now a pre-teen, nodded sagely at his every eccentric comment, utterly engrossed in his unique worldview.

"No explosions in my kitchen, hnn," Ayame warned, pointing a ladle at him.

Deidara sighed, holding up a perfectly sliced mushroom.

"I’m reformed, yeah."

The real spectacle, though, was out front, where Naruto, his little legs a blur, was captivating the ninja patrons. His golden hair, grown out significantly, framed a face that was an uncanny replica of the Fourth Hokage, Minato Namikaze. The adult Ino-Shika-Cho trio—Inoichi, Shikaku, and Choza—were utterly charmed, putty in the tiny blonde's hands.

Naruto, cerulean blue eyes wide and sparkling with infectious enthusiasm, was in the middle of trying to explain a complex seal.

"And then—BOOM!—the glitter goes everywhere!" the tiny blonde exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he explained his latest "prank seal" design. "But it’s not just glitter! It’s sticky glitter! So it’s art, dattebayo!"

Shikaku, nursing his sake, smirked. "Kid’s got his old man’s brains and his mother’s… enthusiasm."

Inoichi chuckled. "And his sister’s flair for chaos."

Choza, already on his third bowl, nodded solemnly. "Future Hokage material."

The blonde chibi, oblivious to the nostalgia he was stirring, scrambled onto the counter (ignoring Hikari’s half-hearted "Naru, down—") and proudly unrolled a scroll covered in lopsided seals and orange doodles.

"Look! This one makes frog noises when you open it!" He tapped the paper, and suddenly—

"RIBBIT. RIBBIT. RIBBIT."

The entire ramen stand burst into laughter as the seal looped endlessly, much to Naruto’s delight.

Deidara, wiping tears from his eyes, grinned.

"Okay, that’s art, hnn."

Hikari watched the scene unfold, her heart full.

Her father was inventing "Ramen 2.0."

Her little sister had somehow tamed a bomb-loving artist.

And her son—her son—was charming the village one glitter bomb at a time.

She leaned against the counter, shaking her head.

"This family is ridiculous," she muttered.

Ayame, passing by with a fresh pot of broth, smirked. "And it’s all your fault."

The samurai grinned.

"Damn right."

The afternoon sun, now a lazier, warmer gold, dappled through the leaves of the Nara clan's ancient trees, painting shifting patterns on the engawa. Four-year-old Shikamaru, true to his nature, was sprawled out on the wooden veranda, hands tucked behind his head, his gaze fixed on a solitary cloud drifting by.

Usually, this was his sanctuary, his thinking spot, where the world's complexities could unravel with minimum effort. But today, even the clouds seemed to mock his peace, their fluffy forms vaguely resembling a certain troublesome pinkette.

Sakura Haruno.

The name itself felt like a jolt of static in his carefully calibrated, low-effort existence. He replayed yesterday's events in his mind. The shogi match, where she'd not only beaten him—a Nara—but had done so with a Pawn. The utter, mind-numbing shock of checkmate.

And then, the kisses. Not one, but two. Swift, unexpected, and undeniably…warm. Right there. In front of his dad, who probably now expected him to start solving world peace before he hit puberty. And Shino, who was probably already devising complex entomological strategies to win her over.

A groan, tiny and filled with profound weariness, escaped Shikamaru. He'd thought getting her attention would be the troublesome part. He'd even plotted for it. But now that he had it, now that she'd declared her affections and sealed them with those bewilderingly effective gestures, the true trouble had begun.

This wasn't just about winning a game or charming a girl. This was… feelings. And those, his nascent genius brain already deduced, were far more complex, unpredictable, and energy-consuming than any shadow jutsu or shogi strategy. He could almost feel the weight of future headaches settling on his small shoulders.

"How troublesome," he mumbled, watching the cloud morph into something that distinctly resembled Sakura's determined grin. He supposed he was stuck with her. And somehow, despite all the bother, a tiny, almost imperceptible warmth settled in his chest.

The air in Orochimaru's Hokage office, usually filled with the scent of old parchment and the faint, sterile tang of medical experiments, now carried a faint, earthy sweetness. Four-year-old Sakura stood before him, her small brow furrowed in intense concentration. Her little hands were pressed together, chakra swirling visibly around them.

"Oro-sensei," she murmured, her voice tight with effort. "Look."

A tiny, green stem slowly pushed its way out of her palm, followed by two delicate leaves. Then, with a gentle pop, a perfect, miniature pink cherry blossom unfurled. It vibrated with a soft, warm chakra, unmistakably a testament to a unique blend of Earth and Water chakra, a testament to an innate affinity for Wood Release. The blossom was exquisite, fragile yet undeniably real, a living thing birthed from her small hands. It was startling, reminiscent of the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, who had shaped entire landscapes with his unparalleled Wood Style.

Orochimaru, for once, was utterly still. His serpentine eyes, usually so calculating, widened fractionally. A slow, almost imperceptible smile stretched across his face, not one of amusement, but of profound, unsettling satisfaction.

Just then, the office door slid open. Tsunade, the Second Co-Hokage, stepped in, a scroll in her hand. Her honey-brown eyes, sharp and perceptive, swept across the room. They landed on the tiny, chakra-infused flower blooming in Sakura's palm.

Tsunade froze.

Her own eyes, usually so composed, widened to an astonishing degree, the scroll clattering unnoticed to the floor. The scent of wood and flower, subtle yet unmistakable, hung in the air. For a woman who had trained directly under the First Hokage, and who held his legacy so deeply, the sight was nothing short of astonishing.

The Slug Sannin stood frozen, the clatter of the dropped scroll echoing in the sudden, profound silence of the office. Her honey-brown eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were stretched wide, unblinking, fixed on the delicate pink blossom blooming in Sakura's tiny palm. The faint, sweet scent of wood and flower, that impossible, unmistakable aroma, filled her nostrils, a ghost of her childhood, a whisper of a power that should have been unique to one man.

No. It couldn't be.

She trained under him. She knew his chakra signature, his methods, his unique ability to manipulate Earth and Water chakra into life itself. This was not merely a subtle chakra control exercise; this was the raw, undeniable essence of Wood Release, wielded by a four-year-old. Her own chakra flared instinctively, a defensive spike of pure disbelief.

Her gaze snapped from the flower to Sakura's earnest, focused face, then to Orochimaru, who was watching his student with a look of predatory satisfaction that sent a shiver down Tsunade's spine. The implications hit her like a physical blow: the power of the Shodai Hokage, reborn in a civilian child, and already under the tutelage of one of the Sannin's most dangerous minds.

A myriad of emotions warred within her: awe at the sheer prodigy before her, a bittersweet pang of nostalgia for her legendary grandfather, and a sudden, bone-deep dread. This was a power capable of creating entire forests, of subduing Bijuu, of shaping the very landscape. In innocent hands, it was miraculous. In the wrong hands, or without unimaginable control, it could be catastrophic.

The blonde swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Sakura-chan..." she breathed, the name barely a whisper, filled with a complex mix of wonder and burgeoning fear. This was far, far more than just "troublesome." This was a monumental shift in the balance of power, a living legacy.

Tsunade's eyes, still wide with shock and a dawning, complex understanding, fixed on Sakura. "Is this how you managed to get Yama-kun to be your brother?" she asked, her voice hushed, the question more a statement of revelation than inquiry.

Sakura, unfazed by Tsunade's intensity, nodded with a bright, innocent earnestness. "Mm... Yama-nii-sama grows pretty flowers and it was really easy sneaking into ANBU HQ to ask him to be my brother," she explained, her logic simple and direct. "Since Sasuke-kun and Naruto-kun have brothers, I didn't want to be left out."

As she spoke, a delicate pink rose, perfect in every petal, bloomed from her tiny palm, radiating that same faint, earthy chakra. She held it out to Tsunade. "Here you go, Tsuna-obaa-kage-sama."

After leaving the office, Tsunade had made a rapid detour through the hospital, the little pink rose clutched in her hand. She found Shizune dutifully managing the charts in the main ward, offering a strained smile and a brief update on the Team Ro prognosis. Then, she sought out Itachi, who, despite his tender age, was meticulously reviewing medical scrolls in a quiet corner, his focus absolute. A gentle touch on his shoulder, a silent affirmation of his incredible skill during the crisis. She needed a moment to ground herself, to confirm the world still made sense, before facing the one person who probably understood exactly what she'd just witnessed.

Returning to the Hokage office, the door slid shut behind her with a soft thud. Orochimaru was still there, perched on the edge of the desk, his back to the window, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He turned as she entered, his golden eyes observing her, no doubt noting the rose in her hand.

"A rather unique specimen, wouldn't you agree, Tsunade-hime?" Orochimaru's voice was a low, sibilant murmur, filled with a satisfaction that made her skin crawl.

Tsunade's knuckles whitened around the rose stem. She walked directly to his desk, her voice dangerously calm.

"What have you done, Orochimaru?"

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Done? I merely observe, Tsunade-hime. Much like yourself, I witnessed a truly remarkable phenomenon. A civilian child, with no known lineage to the First Hokage, demonstrating a perfect, innate command over Wood Release. It's truly... fascinating."

"Don't play coy," she snapped, her frustration flaring. "This is Sakura. A four-year-old girl. This isn't some experiment for you to dissect. Did you... did you do something to her? Is this another of your abominable creations?" Her mind flashed to the stories of his past, the horrific human experimentation.

Orochimaru let out a soft, dry chuckle.

"Hardly. If I could create such a perfect genetic anomaly, don't you think I would have done so already? No, Tsunade-hime, Sakura-chan is entirely... natural. A delightful surprise, one might say. Her aptitude for healing is matched only by her talent for life manipulation." He eyed the rose. "She is, indeed, very much like your grandfather. A true child of the forest, despite her pink hair."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Tsunade demanded, slamming the rose down on the desk, though carefully. "This kind of power... it needs to be understood, protected. Controlled. She's just a child!"

"And I have been understanding, protecting, and guiding her," Orochimaru replied smoothly, his tone laced with a subtle challenge. "Or do you believe a mere medical scroll could prepare one for such a divine intervention? I have been observing her unique connection to nature for some time. Her affinity for chakra control, her thirst for knowledge. It only became clear what truly lay beneath that facade recently."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air, a clear implication that he was ahead of her, that he knew more. "She is a blank canvas, Tsunade-hime. A potential beyond anything we have seen since Hashirama-sama himself. The question is, what shall she paint?" His gaze, sharp and unsettling, locked onto hers.

"And who will hold the brush?"

Tsunade stared back, her jaw clenched. He wasn't denying his involvement in nurturing this power, only his direct creation of it. And he was right, in a twisted way. This was a force to be reckoned with. But it would be her brush, her protection, not his.

"She will be protected," Tsunade stated, her voice low and resonant with unwavering resolve. "And she will learn to control it. For Konoha. Not for any... personal ambition." Her eyes narrowed, a silent warning passing between the two Sannin. The fight for Sakura's future, and perhaps the future of Konoha, had just begun.

The Nara forest was a place of quiet shadows and whispered secrets—until four-year-old Sakura Haruno decided it needed more pink.

With her tiny hands pressed into the earth, chakra humming through her fingertips like a song, she poured every bit of her Water and Earth nature into the soil.

"Grow big," she whispered.

And the earth listened.

Branches burst forth, twisting skyward in a shower of petals. Roots wove deep into the forest floor, tangling with ancient deer trails. And by the time Sakura sat back, grinning, a full-grown cherry blossom tree stood proudly in the heart of the Nara woods—its flowers glowing faintly with residual chakra.

The great stag, leader of the Nara herd, stepped forward, his antlers crowned in falling petals. He lowered his head, nuzzling Sakura’s cheek.

She giggled, patting his muzzle. "Don’t you love it? It’s for Shika-chan!"

The stag huffed, as if to say, "Foolish child. But sweet."

Shikaku Nara felt the seals tremble the moment the tree took root.

"Again?" he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"That pink tornado is in my forest again."

When he arrived, the scene before him was equal parts infuriating and awe-inspiring:

Sakura, curled against Rikomaru's side, covered in petals.

A massive cherry blossom tree that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

And the entire Nara herd lounging beneath it, looking absurdly pleased.

"…Kid," the Nara Clan head said flatly.

"What did you do?"

The pinkette blinked up at him, utterly unrepentant. "I planted it! Now Shika-chan can nap here! It’s comfy!"

Shikaku opened his mouth—then closed it.

Because, well.

She wasn’t wrong.

Shikamaru, when dragged to the scene, took one look at the tree, the deer, and Sakura’s proud smile—and flopped down beneath it immediately.

("Troublesome. But… nice.")

Yoshino nearly cried at the sheer romantic implications (and started planning a wedding in her head).

The Nara elders grumbled about "unapproved landscaping"—until the stag glared at them, and they suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.

Chapter Text

-thoughts

''-talking

''We aim above the mark to hit the mark.'' -Ralph Waldo Emerson

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Konoha's training fields, where Jiraiya found himself in an unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome situation: attempting to bond with his four-year-old godson, Naruto. Usually, his visits were brief, marked by a quick check-in before he disappeared on another "research" trip or his co-hokage duties. But with more peace in the village, and the subtle nudging of Tsunade, he was making an effort.

Naruto, a whirlwind of boundless energy and bright golden blonde hair, was currently trying to explain the finer points of a glitter-seal prank to a passing squirrel. Jiraiya watched him, a fond, weary smile on his face. The kid was pure Minato, with a dash of Kushina's fiery spirit.

"Hey, squirt!" Jiraiya called, catching Naruto's attention. "Come here for a second."

The child, abandoning his squirrel lecture, bounded over, his large blue eyes full of curiosity.

"What is it, Jiraiya-sensei?"

Jiraiya ruffled Naruto's already messy hair. "Sensei, huh? You got that right. Now, as your esteemed godfather and future sensei..." He reached into his frog-themed haori pocket, pulling out a small, green frog coin purse. It wasn't flashy, just a simple frog pouch with its mouth like the opening, but it felt solid, weighty. "Here. For your... allowance. Or for ramen. Or for whatever mischief you get into that requires funds."

The blonde's eyes lit up like the sun. He took the frog coin purse, turning it over in his small hands, a wide grin spreading across his face. He shook it, hearing the faint jingle of coins.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, then hugged it close. He looked up at Jiraiya, his expression beaming.

"Thank you, Jiraiya-sensei! I'm gonna call it... Gama-chan!"

The Sannin blinked.

Gama-chan? 

But seeing the pure joy on Naruto's face, the unadulterated happiness radiating from his godson, a warmth spread through Jiraiya's chest.

He sighed, a long-suffering sound, but there was no real complaint in it. "Alright, kid. Gama-chan it is." He watched Naruto run off, the green coin purse clutched tightly in his hand, already planning his next ramen feast or glitter bomb purchase. This "godfather" thing, Jiraiya mused, was certainly more troublesome than he expected. But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad after all.

The scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the quiet hum of the Nara compound. Yoshino Nara, hands firmly planted on her hips, surveyed the serene garden with a determined glint in her eye. Her son, Shikamaru, had been acting particularly… troublesome lately, a state she now directly attributed to the effervescent pinkette who had so thoroughly upended his quiet world. A shogi defeat and two public kisses from Sakura Haruno had provided all the proof Yoshino needed. Sakura was clearly the only one capable of truly challenging and, more importantly, motivating her brilliant, lazy son.

The decision was made: Sakura Haruno would be her daughter-in-law.

But Yoshino Nara was no amateur when it came to strategy, even domestic ones. For a task of this magnitude, she needed allies.

Soon, a more boisterous hum filled the garden as Akimichi Yumi and Yamanaka Juri arrived, the wives of Shikaku's teammates, Chōza and Inoichi. Yumi, with her kind eyes and a basket of freshly baked sweet buns, settled onto a cushion with a comfortable sigh. Juri, elegant and observant, her purple eyes missing nothing, poured herself a cup of tea.

"Thanks for coming, ladies," Yoshino began, her voice deceptively calm. "I've gathered you here today for a matter of utmost importance regarding the future of Konoha... and our sons."

Yumi blinked, a sweet bun halfway to her mouth.

"Oh? Is there a new training regimen Shikaku wants to put them through?"

The platinum blonde, however, already sensed the shift in the air. "Or perhaps," she drawled, a knowing glint in her eye, "it concerns a certain highly intelligent, yet surprisingly assertive, pink-haired kunoichi-in-training?"

Yoshino's lips curved into a rare, triumphant smile. "Precisely, Juri. Our little Sakura-chan." She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "I've decided. She's the one. The only one capable of keeping my Shikamaru on his toes, and perhaps, even getting him to try." She picked up a shogi piece from the nearby board, turning it thoughtfully in her fingers. "A girl who can beat a Nara at shogi at four years old, and then kiss him senseless... that's the kind of woman our clan needs. And more importantly, that's the kind of woman he needs."

Yumi giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Yoshino! You mean... a marriage proposal? Already?"

"Not yet," Yoshino corrected, her eyes sparkling with strategic fervor. "But the groundwork must be laid. She's strong, smart, and doesn't take any of his nonsense. She's perfect. And," she added, her gaze sweeping over her friends, "we, as their mothers, must ensure this alliance blossoms beautifully. For the good of the clan, of course."

Juri took a slow sip of her tea, a thoughtful expression on her face. "A Nara-Haruno alliance, spearheaded by the future matriarch's formidable will... I admit, the strategic implications are rather fascinating."

"Precisely!" The Nara matriarch beamed.

"Now, I have a few ideas on how we can subtly encourage this development..."

As Yoshino began to outline her intricate, long-term matchmaking plot, the garden filled with the soft clinking of teacups, the rustle of leaves, and the quiet, collective hum of three mothers plotting the inevitable future of their children.

The air around the Memorial Stone was as still as a held breath, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint, sweet scent of incense. Hikari stood before the names carved into the cool stone, her expression solemn. She carefully placed two vibrant bouquets at the base, their colors a stark contrast to the grey granite, before lighting a stick of incense, watching the thin curl of smoke ascend.

"Hello... Minato-san, Kushina-san," she began, her voice soft, almost a whisper, yet firm with conviction. "My name is Himura Hikari, and I'm the new mother to your son, Naruto." A faint smile touched her lips. "I just want to tell you a few things. He looks a little like you, Yondaime-sama. It's uncanny."

Her gaze lingered on the names. "I removed Danzo from the Leaf's path," she continued, a steel thread in her tone. "And I made sure that the Sannin were put in charge of running things. Sarutobi-sama is enjoying his retirement, while his students co-Hokage the village." Her voice softened again, laced with warmth. "I know you're watching him from the Undying Lands, especially you, Kushina. He's happy. He has friends. Naru is very loved, and I swore the moment that I came into this world, I'd make things better."

She fiddled with the engagement ring on her left hand, a small, private gesture. "Kakashi is happy, too. We're young and engaged to be married. I love him, he's my person... even if he only eats miso ramen with eggplant." A playful sigh escaped her. "I have another blonde ward, Deidara. He's still a bit shifty, but he's given up trying to make things go boom all the time. He only saves it for special occasions. I figure I can introduce him to Anko and the T&I division at some point." She paused, her smile growing. "I just wanted to tell you both my news."

Hikari paused, then extended a hand, gently tracing the name of Hatake Sakumo on the stone. Just as her fingers brushed the inscription, Kakashi entered the clearing, his footsteps silent. He saw her, stopped, and listened, his visible eye widening slightly as he registered her words.

The samurai bowed lowly, her voice respectful and deeply sincere.

"Gifu. I'll take care of Kakashi. Thank you for your service to the village. You brought back your teammates, you did your job. Danzo may have poisoned the village against you back then, but know this: he's gone now. So I hope you live in peace, and know Kakashi... is happier now. And I think... he's forgiven you, just as he's forgiven himself, thinking he couldn't save Obito. But Obito's alive and those idiots every day...."

She got up and turned around, freezing mid-sentence as her eyes met his.

"Kakashi-kun."

The last word, "Kakashi-kun," hung in the still air between them, a fragile thread woven with surprise and affection. Kakashi's visible eye was wide, fixed on Hikari. He hadn't meant for her to hear, not like this. His usual cool composure, already tested by her proposal stunt, now threatened to completely unravel.

He took a slow step forward, then another, closing the distance until he stood directly before her. The Memorial Stone, his father's name, their shared grief and complicated past, loomed silently behind her. He saw the faint flush on her cheeks, the hint of fresh tears in her eyes, and the lingering tenderness on her face from what she'd just said.

"Hi-chan," he began, his voice a low rumble, uncharacteristically thick with emotion. He reached out, his hand gently covering the one still resting on his father's name, then sliding down to intertwine with hers, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring. "You... you didn't have to say all that."

His gaze softened, a rare vulnerability in his single, visible eye.

"But I'm glad you did."

A small, genuine smile, unmasked by anything but the raw emotion of the moment, curved his lips. "It... means a lot. To me. To him." He looked past her, at the stone, a silent communication passing between father, son, and the woman who now bridged their worlds.

He turned his full attention back to her, squeezing her hand.

"As for Obito... 'those idiots," he chuckled, the sound a soft, fond scoff, "they're alive because you barged into my life and turned everything upside down. In the best possible way."

His eye softened further. "And as for the ramen... I suppose I can broaden my horizons. Maybe." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his breath warm against her ear. "Though only if you keep finding ways to surprise me like this."

His words, soft and raw with emotion, hung in the air. As he finished speaking, Hikari didn't reply verbally. Instead, with a tender certainty that mirrored his own vulnerability, her hands reached up. Gently, she pulled down his mask, revealing his full face—the faint scar that bisected his left eye, the subtle flush that now colored his cheeks. Her green eyes, brimming with love and understanding, met his exposed gaze. Then, she leaned in and kissed him, a silent, profound promise exchanged between them at the base of the Memorial Stone.

The air within the Hyūga compound hummed with focused energy, a stark contrast to the rigid silence of past generations. For four-year-old Hinata, there were no longer any invisible barriers, no subtle chasms of resentment or division between the Main and Branch Houses. Her clan was whole, unified by the impossible, paradigm-shifting presence of Naruto's okaa-san, Hikari-nee-san. It was a different Hyūga, and Hinata thrived in its newfound openness.

Today, her training was fierce. She moved with a fluid grace that belied her age, her small fists delivering precise, chakra-infused strikes. Training dummy after training dummy splintered under the force of her Gentle Fist. She aimed for pressure points, her Byakugan eyes seeing the internal chakra pathways with crystal clarity. Each destruction was met with a quiet satisfaction, a small triumph in her rigorous pursuit of strength.

She spun, delivering a powerful palm strike to a particularly stubborn dummy. The wood groaned, then cracked. But as her hand connected, something unexpected happened. A brilliant, sapphire crackling sparked around her palm, momentarily illuminating the training ground. A sharp, almost painful jolt ran up her arm. The dummy didn't just break; it exploded outwards in a shower of scorched splinters, the air left smelling faintly of ozone.

Hinata blinked, her Byakugan eyes wide.

Her small hand tingled. She looked at the smoldering remains of the dummy, then back at her palm. She had accidentally channeled her lightning affinity. It was raw, untamed, and utterly surprising. A silent, potent testament to the hidden depths of her burgeoning power.

The initial shock of Sakura's accidental Wood Release had barely faded, but Orochimaru, ever the pragmatist and insatiable seeker of knowledge, wasted no time. With the confirmation of her unique genetic affinity and her prodigious chakra control, his pedagogical focus shifted, intensifying her curriculum in a direction only he would consider appropriate for a four-year-old: poison studies.

The Hokage office now frequently smelled less of old parchment and more of acrid, sweet, or earthy fumes as Orochimaru guided Sakura through vials and samples. He didn't just teach her the names of toxins; he taught her their molecular structures, their effects on various chakra pathways, and their subtle differences in potency.

Sakura, with her formidable intellect and startlingly precise chakra control, adapted to the grim subject matter with alarming ease. She'd peer intently into beakers, her green eyes wide but unflinching, as Orochimaru demonstrated. He'd present her with a diluted, neutralized sample, and she'd use her emerging chakra senses, combined with a sharp sense of smell and observation, to identify its properties.

"This one causes cellular necrosis, Oro-sensei," she'd announce, pointing with a tiny finger at a diagram, "derived from the petals of the nightshade family."

He'd nod, a flicker of his unsettling satisfaction in his golden eyes. "Excellent, Sakura-chan. Now, what antidote would you propose for a mild exposure?"

She quickly learned to differentiate between neurotoxins and cytotoxins, inhaled agents and contact poisons. She absorbed information like a sponge, not merely memorizing, but understanding the intricate dance of life and death. Her natural affinity for flora, evident in her Wood Release, unexpectedly gave her an edge. She quickly began identifying poison types by the specific flowers, roots, or fungi they were derived from, categorizing them by scent, subtle color variations, and even minute chakra signatures.

Orochimaru observed her progress with growing delight. The delicate flower-growing prodigy was quickly becoming a master of fatal botany. For a four-year-old, Sakura was not just learning; she was mastering a craft that would make seasoned ANBU shudder.

The sprawling, sun-dappled expanse of the Nara clan lands had always been Shikamaru's sanctuary for quiet contemplation. Now, however, it had an additional, and distinctly pink, fixture. Every day, with a regularity that even the most dedicated ninja couldn't match, Sakura would join Shikamaru beneath the sprawling cherry blossom tree.

He'd be there first, of course, already stretched out on his back, hands behind his head, watching the clouds drift by. She'd arrive, often with a small bag of scrolls or a handful of new, interesting plants she was studying with Orochimaru, her presence a bright burst of energy.

Their routine had evolved with a quiet, natural rhythm. Shikamaru, despite his initial protests about the "troublesome" intrusion on his laziness, would subtly adjust his position. Sakura would then settle herself with her back against the sturdy trunk of the cherry blossom tree, her presence a warm, reassuring weight. And then, without a word, Shikamaru's head would find its familiar resting place in her lap.

Above them, the cherry blossoms formed a delicate, shifting canopy, showering them with soft pink petals that contrasted against Shikamaru's dark hair. Around them, the Nara deer herd grazed peacefully, their large, soulful eyes occasionally glancing at the unusual pair. They seemed to accept Sakura as naturally as they accepted the shadows and the quiet.

In this peaceful tableau, the world of ninja missions, clan politics, and surprising proposals faded. There was just the gentle breeze, the rustle of leaves, the soft, grounding presence of the deer, and the quiet comfort of Shikamaru's head resting in Sakura's lap, a testament to a bond that was, against all odds, perfectly, wonderfully in sync.

Hikari walked into Torture & Interrogation with a six-year-old Deidara perched on her hip, his blond hair tied back in a messy ponytail and his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Alright, brat," she said, setting him down. "This is where we politely ask people to share their secrets."

Deidara tilted his head. "By politely, you mean explosively, yeah?"

Anko Mitarashi, leaning against a wall with a senbon between her teeth, barked out a laugh. "Oh, I like this one."

Inoichi Yamanaka, head of T&I, raised an eyebrow as the tiny would-be terrorist inspected a set of chakra-suppression cuffs with far too much interest.

"Hikari," he sighed. "Why is there a child in my interrogation room?"

"Educational field trip," Hikari said cheerfully. "Deidara’s got potential—thought he should see how real professionals handle things."

Deidara nodded sagely. "I also make people talk, hnn. But with art."

Anko grinned.

"Kid’s got spirit."

The young snake summoner crouched down to Deidara’s level, her grin sharp. "Wanna see how we do it here?"

Deidara’s eyes lit up.

"Hell yes, hnn!"

The ramen chef facepalmed. "Language."

Ignoring her, Anko led Deidara to a bound prisoner—some poor missing-nin who’d picked the wrong day to resist Konoha’s forces.

"Watch and learn, squirt," Anko purred, holding up a vial of something suspiciously glowing. "This? This makes you itch in places you didn’t know you had."

Deidara gasped.

"That’s genius!"

Inoichi pinched the bridge of his nose. "We are not teaching a six-year-old enhanced interrogation techniques."

"Too late," Hikari muttered.

By the end of the visit, Deidara had:

Attempted to "help" by offering his own "artistic" interrogation suggestions (all of which involved clay spiders crawling into ears).

Bonded with Anko over a mutual love of "creative persuasion."

And declared T&I his "new favorite place," much to Inoichi’s horror.

As they left, Deidara waved enthusiastically.

"I’ll be back, yeah! With improvements!"

Anko cackled.

"Looking forward to it, brat!"

Inoichi turned to Hikari.

"You realize you’ve doomed us all."

Hikari shrugged. "Eh. He’ll either be a legendary interrogator or burn the place down. Win-win."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''My father always used to say that when you die, if you've got five real friends, then you've had a great life.'' - Lee Iacocca

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Konoha as Naruto, a vibrant flash of gold, spotted Shino through the bustling streets. Shino, as usual, was a quiet, observant presence, but today, his gaze was fixed intently on a pink-haired figure up ahead: Sakura, who had just emerged from the Hokage Tower, presumably finishing her lessons with Orochimaru.

A mischievous glint in his blue eyes, four-year-old Naruto, his curiosity piqued by Shino's focused attention, subtly shifted his trajectory and began to follow the Aburame heir. Shino, for his part, remained a silent shadow behind Sakura as she eventually turned off the main path and entered the quiet, dappled light of the Nara Forest.

Unbeknownst to Naruto, he was now being observed. Hidden behind a large oak, Hinata, also four, watched him with wide, Byakugan-enhanced eyes. She'd been practicing her soft steps, her presence almost as imperceptible as Shino's.

A few dozen yards behind Hinata, Kiba—a whirlwind of restless energy, who had been with his older sister, Hana—suddenly ditched her, his nose twitching. He'd caught a scent, an interesting trail, and bolted after Hinata.

Ino, who had been amiably searching for a unique flower to press and send in her next letter to Gaara, instinctively followed Kiba. Her competitive spirit, even at four, recognized the chase.

And bringing up the rear, Choji, ever loyal and ever hungry, followed Ino. He'd been looking for Shikamaru, knowing his best friend preferred the solitude of the Nara lands to the noisy compound sometimes. Seeing Ino head towards the forest, he hoped she'd lead him to his quiet companion.

The last person to join this impromptu procession was Sasuke. He had been strolling back to the Uchiha compound after running an errand for his mother, his usual cool demeanor unruffled. He spotted the string of children disappearing into the forest. Shino, then Naruto, then Hinata, Kiba, Ino, and Choji. His dark eyes narrowed. What the hell was going on?

The Nara Forest, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was about to host a very unexpected, and very crowded, gathering.

The rustling of leaves and the soft murmur of the Nara Forest parted, and the seven small figures emerged, one by one, into the heart of the clearing. Naruto was the first to break the tree line, his eyes wide with curiosity. Behind him, Shino's stoic form appeared, followed by Hinata, Kiba, Ino, Choji, and finally, Sasuke, his expression a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.

At the center of the clearing stood a sight that stole their breath: a new cherry blossom tree, its delicate pink petals a stark, beautiful contrast to the ancient, gnarled trunks of the surrounding forest. It glowed with a faint, almost ethereal chakra. The Nara deer herd, usually shy and elusive, didn't scamper away. Instead, they stood still, their large, dark eyes observing the sudden influx of "chibis" with a quiet, almost knowing gaze.

The Nara heir, still sprawled on Sakura's lap beneath the existing, larger cherry tree, lifted his head slightly. He watched as his friends spilled into the clearing, one by one. His lips pursed into a familiar line. He let out a long, weary sigh.

"How troublesome," he mumbled, though a faint, almost imperceptible warmth touched his cheeks.

Sakura, feeling his sigh, simply giggled. She had seen them too, this unexpected audience. She beamed, her green eyes sparkling with pride as she gestured towards the luminous, newly sprouted tree.

"Hey, you guys... look at the tree I made!"

A collective gasp rippled through the clearing, quickly followed by a cacophony of reactions.

Naruto was the first to react, his jaw dropping so wide a fly could have flown in.

"WHOA! That's so cool, Sakura-chan! You made a tree?! Like, a real one?!" His eyes sparkled, already imagining the possibilities for new pranks involving instant foliage.

Shino adjusted his glasses, a barely perceptible tremor running through the kikaichu under his clothes. "The energy signature is consistent with spontaneous cellular generation," he stated, his voice flat, but a subtle buzz from his insects betrayed his profound surprise. "A rapid acceleration of botanical processes. Fascinating."

Hinata, her Byakugan already activated from observing Naruto, now focused on the glowing tree. Her hands instinctively came up, pressing together in a sign of awe.

"It's... it's so beautiful, Sakura-chan," she whispered, her cheeks flushing faintly, a quiet reverence in her tone.

Kiba, ever boisterous, let out a loud whistle.

"No way! You can grow trees now, Sakura?! That's awesome! Does it mean you can make, like, a giant bone for Akamaru?" He nudged his phantom dog, already envisioning oversized chew toys.

Ino, her quest for pressed flowers momentarily forgotten, gasped dramatically.

"Oh my gosh, Sakura! That's incredible! It's even prettier than the ones in the main garden of my house!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, already thinking of how many perfect blossoms she could pluck for Gaara's letters.

Choji, who had been quietly chewing on a potato chip, paused, his eyes wide. He slowly lowered the chip.

"Sugoi... Did you make it so it grows snacks too?" he asked, ever practical, his gaze fixed on the blossoms with hopeful anticipation.

Sasuke, who had simply wondered what the hell was going on, felt his cool façade crack. His dark eyes widened, momentarily losing their usual aloofness. He knew about the First Hokage's Wood Style, had heard the legends. To see it, even in miniature, from her... it was unexpected.

"Hn. You did that, Usuratonkachi?" he muttered, an almost imperceptible hint of curiosity in his voice.

The Nara deer herd, meanwhile, continued their calm observation, their silent acceptance amplifying the profound moment of wonder for the seven young ninjas.

Sakura poked out her tongue at the raven-haired boy, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. "Yes, I did, Sasuke-chan," she declared, emphasizing the "chan" with a triumphant smirk. "And you better not make fun of me, because I'll tell future-Hokage-Itachi-sama!"

The young Uchiha's nascent cool facade crumbled instantly. His dark eyes widened at the mention of his older brother, then he let out a frustrated "Hmph!" and whipped his head away, pouting. 

The afternoon sun, now a gentle, warm caress, filtered through the delicate pink canopy of the new cherry blossom tree. One by one, drawn by the vibrant spectacle and Sakura's infectious pride, the seven children settled down around its base.

Naruto plopped down first, cross-legged, his gaze darting between the glowing tree and Sakura, already brimming with new questions. Shino sat a little apart, observant as ever, his kikaichu buzzing softly as they explored the new flora. Hinata settled quietly beside Naruto, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the wood, a faint blush on her cheeks. Kiba flopped dramatically onto his back, kicking his legs up, while Ino carefully knelt, her fingers already reaching out to gently touch a petal. Choji, ever content, found a comfortable spot, pulling out a small bag of chips he'd been saving. And Sasuke, after a moment of internal debate, sat too, though with a deliberate air of casual detachment, still occasionally glancing at the tree with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect.

Shikamaru, still resting his head in Sakura's lap beneath the older tree, simply sighed, a sound of profound resignation that was now thoroughly mixed with a strange, undeniable contentment. The Nara deer herd grazed peacefully around them, their presence a soft, living backdrop to the quiet camaraderie.

From the shaded concealment of the treeline, Shikaku Nara watched the scene unfold. Beside him, Choza and Inoichi stood in comfortable silence, their gazes also fixed on the clearing.

The sight of the seven children gathered around the newly bloomed cherry blossom tree, was something straight out of a painting. His son, Shikamaru, was there, head in Sakura's lap, a picture of rare, utter contentment. Naruto, a golden beacon of energy, was pointing excitedly at the tree. Shino, contemplative as ever. Hinata, gentle and watchful. Kiba, loud even from a distance. Ino, already picking petals. And Sasuke, aloof but undeniably present.

Shikaku let out a long, slow sigh, but for once, it wasn't one of weariness. It was a sigh of profound, unexpected peace.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, "I spent most of my life trying to avoid troublesome things." He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "And then I had him." He gestured vaguely towards Shikamaru.

"And now... now he's got them."

Choza chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that spoke of contentment.

"He's got a good group, Shika. Strong, bright kids."

Inoichi nodded, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought, perhaps sensing the complex chakra signatures of the blossoming tree. "And a very... forceful one, it seems," he added, a wry glint in his eye, referring to Sakura's rambunctious attitude.

The  Jōnin Commander only grunted in agreement, his gaze returning to the clearing. Sakura, surrounded by their children and her miraculous tree, was a whirlwind of energy and charm. His son, the lazy genius, was utterly, irrevocably entangled.

"Troublesome," Shikaku finally mumbled, but the word now carried a new inflection, almost a fondness. It was a pleasant kind of troublesome, a beautiful, chaotic promise of a future he hadn't dared to imagine for his son. And watching them, all of them, gathered around that impossible tree, Shikaku knew, deep down, that it was exactly as it should be.

The grand Hatake Clan Compound, freshly restored and meticulously remodelled, buzzed with an energy it hadn't known in decades. Sunlight streamed into the spacious courtyards and through the newly polished shoji screens, illuminating vibrant decorations. Today, the compound was alive, not with quiet shadows, but with the joyous chaos of a fifth birthday party for Naruto.

Kakashi, standing tall amidst the cheerful mayhem, surveyed the scene with a quiet satisfaction. This had been his vision: to fill these once-empty halls with laughter, to create a true home for the family he was building. And now, seeing Naruto's face alight with happiness, surrounded by his friends, it was clear his gamble had paid off. The compound was now home to himself, Hikari, Naruto, and Deidara, along with his ever-faithful nin-ken.

The birthday boy, Naruto, a blur of sun-kissed hair and boundless enthusiasm, was at the center of it all. His infectious grin was wider than usual as he chased his friends around the sprawling grounds. Sasuke, still a touch reserved but visibly enjoying himself, traded playful shoves with Naruto. Sakura, already a force to be reckoned with, giggled as she playfully dodged Kiba's lunges.

Shikamaru, ever the strategist, had found a comfortable spot under a newly planted tree, watching the "troublesome" fun unfold, while Choji happily munched on a stack of birthday treats. Ino, her bright eyes sparkling, was braiding a small flower crown for Hinata, who, despite her shyness, wore a shy, happy smile as she observed Naruto. Even Shino, ever observant, allowed a rare, subtle shift in his glasses that indicated amusement as he watched the boisterous play.

Deidara, now eight, too, was surprisingly engaged, showing a few of the children how to craft miniature, harmless clay figures that puffed smoke when tapped. Hikari, radiant and beaming, moved effortlessly among them, ensuring every child had cake, every game was fair, and every moment was filled with joy.

Konoha’s Ninja Academy had seen many generations of shinobi, but none quite like Class 5-A—a group of five-year-olds who were already shaping up to be the most unpredictable, terrifyingly talented batch in history.

And their 14-year-old Chunin instructor, Iruka Umino, was already questioning his life choices.

Naruto Uzumaki-Himura – The hyperactive, seal-obsessed ball of sunshine who had just tried to "improve" the chalkboard with an explosive glitter tag. (Sasuke was currently sitting on him to prevent further incidents.)

Sakura Haruno – Already unlocking Wood Release under Tsunade and Orochimaru’s very questionable mentorship. (The potted plant in the corner had tripled in size since class started.)

Sasuke Uchiha – The "responsible" one (by default), had switched to holding Naruto in a headlock while pretending he wasn’t amused.

Hinata Hyuga – Quietly zapping a fly out of the air with a tiny spark of Lightning Release. (The fly survived. Barely.)

Ino Yamanaka – Writing a detailed letter to Gaara about everything, including Shikamaru’s "stupid face" when he was annoyed.

Kiba Inuzuka – Trying to convince Akamaru (still a puppy) to chew on Naruto’s homework.

Shino Aburame – Silently observing Sakura (because someone had to document her terrifying growth).

Shikamaru Nara – Pretending to listen while actually plotting Shino’s demise for staring at Sakura.

Choji Akimichi – Munching on ramen-flavored chips (courtesy of Hikari) and ignoring all drama.

Iruka, who had spent the last year training under Hikari to master advanced sealing techniques (mostly so he could contain Naruto’s chaos), sighed deeply.

"Naruto. Why is there glitter on the ceiling?"

Naruto, upside-down in Sasuke’s grip, shouted, "IT’S ART, DATTEBAYO!"

Sasuke's right eye twitched.

"He’s lying. It was supposed to explode."

Hinata looked at the blonde, "I-I think it’s p-pretty…"

Iruka’s eye twitched.

Then there was Sakura.

"Sakura-chan, why is there a tree growing in the back of the classroom?"

Sakura looked at him innocently, her cheeks puffed out, "I was practicing."

Orochimaru’s voice echoed from the open window.

"Her chakra control is exquisite."

Iruka developed a nervous twitch before he yelled, "GET OUT OF MY ACADEMY, HOKAGE-SAMA."

Iruka collapsed into the teacher’s lounge, where Hikari was waiting with a cup of tea and a sympathetic smirk at the end of the day.

"They’re monsters," he groaned.

The ramen chef patted his shoulder.

"And you’re the only one brave enough to teach them."

He glared at her.

"This is your fault."

Hikari grinned.

"Yep."

Chapter Text

'-thoughts

''-talking

''Between stimulus and response, there is a space where we choose our response.'' - Stephen Covey

The quiet, focused hum of Uzushio's training grounds was a testament to the village's revitalization. Two years had passed since its establishment as the sixth great nation, a period marked by quiet growth and strategic alliances. While the village remained closed to outsiders, its influence was spreading through new trade agreements with the Land of Waves, Kirigakure, Konoha, and Sunagakure.

Under the watchful gaze of Ryoko Uzumaki, the formidable female Uzukage, a six-year-old Karin trained with fierce determination. The older woman was a master of chakra suppression and political strategy, her presence a silent, powerful anchor for the rebuilding clan. Ryoko demonstrated a complex seal, her hands a blur of motion. The air around them grew heavy with chakra, then fell into a dead, silent stillness as the seal took hold. Karin watched, her concentration absolute, a quiet promise in her gaze to one day reach that same level of mastery.

Ryoko's political acumen had been key to Uzushio's success. Over the past two years, she had met with the Kage of the allied nations—Rasa, Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Mei Terumi. Each meeting was a strategic masterclass, with Ryoko patiently outlining the immense benefits of trading with a nation populated by seal masters. The promise of advanced sealing techniques, from barriers and defenses to medical and combat seals, was a powerful incentive, and the results were now a tangible reality for all involved.

In the heart of Konoha’s training fields, a small, but ferocious figure trained with a ferocity that defied his six years. Rock Lee, newly adopted into the Maito family, was a whirlwind of punches and kicks, each move a testament to his sheer will. His adoptive father, Maito Gai, watched with pride and a heavy heart. Despite Lee’s incredible taijutsu, he was a prisoner of his own body; his chakra system was hopelessly crippled, a flaw that meant he could never use ninjutsu or genjutsu.

From the shadows, Itachi Uchiha, all of nine years old and already a Hokage apprentice, observed with his Sharingan active. He had been sent by Orochimaru to quietly assess the young taijutsu specialist. He didn't just see Lee's movements; he saw the internal, chaotic struggle of his chakra. Where a normal shinobi's pathways were like flowing rivers, Lee's were a maze of dead ends and calcified blockages. It was not an absence of chakra, but an inability to properly circulate it.

Itachi's mind, a razor-sharp instrument of analysis, processed the data in an instant. This wasn't a defect that could be healed with standard medical ninjutsu. It was a structural problem. Itachi's solution, however, was as audacious as it was brilliant.

He stepped out of the trees, his demeanor calm and his voice quiet, drawing the attention of both Lee and Gai. "Lee-kun's chakra system is not nonexistent," Itachi began, his tone purely factual.

"It is malformed. Like a river with no clear path to the ocean."

Gai’s perpetual grin faltered, replaced by a look of bewildered hope.

"What are you saying, Itachi-kun?"

"I am saying it can be fixed," Itachi stated, his Sharingan still faintly glowing.

"I have devised a sealing technique with help from Hikari-nee-san. A long, delicate procedure to permanently restructure his chakra pathways. It will be painful, and it will require months of rehabilitation. But it will give him the ability to mold chakra for ninjutsu." He looked at Lee, whose eyes were wide with a silent, desperate question. "It will give you the edge you need to graduate."

Tears of pure joy streamed down Gai’s face. He embraced a stunned Lee, shouting about the power of youth. Lee, though speechless, clenched his fists, his determination now fortified with a chance at his dream. Itachi, watching the scene, simply nodded. For him, it was a logical solution to a fascinating problem, a quiet gift from one prodigy to another.

The rustle of leaves was the only sound in the Forbidden Forest, a playground for a spirited game of hide-and-seek. But the silence was shattered by a sudden, jarring presence. Two figures, shrouded in long, dark cloaks, moved with a predatory grace that set every ninja instinct on high alert. It was the zombie duo, Hidan and Kakuzu, former members of the Akatsuki, who had slipped past ANBU patrols. Their target: Naruto.

The group of five-year-olds, their game forgotten, sprang to action. They were angry, their youthful outrage a tangible force against the two rogue-nin. They tried to protect Naruto, but their efforts were swiftly dismissed. The two men simply swatted the children aside like annoying insects. Soon, Sakura, Sasuke, Shino, and Shikamaru were the only ones left standing, their friends—Ino, Choji, Kiba, and Hinata—unconscious and scattered on the forest floor.

Sakura, her face a mask of furious determination, screamed, "LEAVE NARU ALONE, YOU BULLIES!" The forest seemed to react to her rage. Trees groaned, and thick, thorny branches whipped out, lashing at the two ninjas. Hidan and Kakuzu simply dodged the attacks, their movements a blur of effortless grace.

Hidan, an unsettlingly wide smile on his face, glanced at Kakuzu. "Oh... something useful, you old bastard. We can sell the pink one."

Kakuzu sighed, a sound of profound weariness. "Hidan, please shut up."

Shikamaru, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp and calculating despite his fear, said, "You leave our friend alone."

Beside him, Sasuke’s Sharingan blazed to life, two tomoe spinning in his crimson eyes. The cold fury in his voice was a promise. "If you come near my best friend, I’ll kill you."

Naruto, who had been watching the scene with a mix of terror and awe, felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes snapped to the back of Sasuke's head, the words echoing in his mind: 'best friend.' It was the one detail that cut through the chaos, a small, unexpected warmth in the middle of a terrifying encounter.

The anger coursing through Sakura was a palpable, living thing. She looked from the unconscious forms of her friends to the cold, predatory smiles of the rogue ninja. A ferocious snarl twisted her features. She flinched as a torrent of raw, green chakra erupted from her, a wave of power so immense and primal it seemed to warp the very air. The sound was not a roar, but a deep, earthy hum, like a forest waking from a long slumber.

Kakuzu and Hidan, momentarily caught off guard, stumbled. They had faced powerful jutsu, but this was different—it felt like the land itself was a living weapon, and they were the targets.

In a flash of movement, the clearing was no longer a stage for a childish fight. A dozen figures, all of them top-tier shinobi, materialized in a ring around the children. It was a sight of absolute, terrifying power.

Shikaku stood with Inoichi and Choza, their expressions grim. Tsume snarled, her scent hounds already growling low in their throats. Shibi's kikaichu swarmed in an ominous, protective cloud. Hiashi's Byakugan blazed with fierce intensity. Hikari and Kakashi appeared together, their faces a mask of barely contained fury. The ever-composed Fugaku stood with his Sharingan active, his presence a silent threat. And finally, a very pissed-off Tsunade and a coldly furious Orochimaru completed the circle.

Hidan and Kakuzu were trapped. The air crackled with a suffocating, lethal intent. The zombie duo instinctively took a step back, now facing a small army of Konoha's finest.

"Well, shit," The jashinist muttered, his smile faltering.

"Looks like we're not getting this one, old man."

Kakuzu, ever the pragmatist, simply let out a weary sigh.

"We're not getting any of them."

Sakura, her chakra still thrumming with power, looked from Tsunade to Orochimaru, her small hands balled into fists. The primal anger began to recede, replaced by the profound relief of seeing her mentors.

"Sensei," she said, her voice small but clear, a direct appeal that sealed the fate of the two rogue ninja.

Hikari's voice, though low, carried a lethal edge that cut through the tense silence of the clearing. She traded a look with Tsunade and Orochimaru, a silent, shared understanding passing between her and the two co-Hokage. Then, her focus hardened, her gaze like a sharpened blade as she stared down the two rogue ninja.

With a flick of her wrist, she unsealed her katana from a palm seal, the sword appearing with a sharp shing of metal. She cracked her neck, a predatory smile playing on her lips. "So... we meet again, you pieces of shit," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "Not only do you harm the chibis, but you're attempting to take my child."

Her green eyes glinted with murderous intent, a reflection of the cold fury of the Sannin and the ANBU surrounding the clearing. She pointed the tip of her katana at Kakuzu, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "I'm gonna remove every single heart of yours and give it to Orochimaru to dissect." Then, she shifted her gaze to Hidan, her sword now aimed squarely at his chest.

"Then I'm going to cut your fucking head off. You can forget Jashin. You two signed your death warrants the moment you touched our kids."

The battle was over before it could truly begin. A collective roar of chakra and fury erupted from the trio, a wave of power that swept over the clearing. The rest of the shinobi, sensing the absolute dominance of their leaders, had already pulled the children to safety.

Kakashi, his heart pounding with a mixture of terror and fierce pride, had Naruto clutched tightly against his chest, his visible eye never leaving the unfolding chaos. Beside him, Tsume snarled, her scent hounds growling as she held Kiba by the scruff of his collar. Fugaku held Sasuke, his eyes wide with a rare shock that broke through his usual composure. Shikaku, Inoichi, and Choza had their children in their arms, watching the terrifying spectacle.

Hikari was a blur of motion and raw power, an exquisite blend of medical knowledge and lethal precision. She engaged Kakuzu first, a flurry of lightning-fast Gentle Fist strikes, targeting his chakra pathways with pinpoint accuracy. This wasn't a fight; it was a surgical dissection. As Kakuzu's heart-masks emerged, she deftly dodged his elemental attacks, weaving intricate seals with her free hand.

"Fūinjutsu: Chakra Nullification Chain!" she roared, and glowing chains erupted from her palms, wrapping around his element-infused hearts, rendering them inert.

Tsunade, meanwhile, was a force of pure destruction. With a single, earth-shattering stomp, she shattered the ground beneath Hidan, sending him flying. Before he could recover, she unleashed a devastating "Shōsen Jutsu: Ranshinshō!"—a technique that scrambled Hidan's nervous system, making it impossible for him to control his own body. He stumbled and twitched, a puppet with severed strings, his cursed prayers dying on his lips.

Orochimaru, with his unsettling grace, took the opportunity to strike. He extended his arm in a chilling blur, unleashing the "Hidden Shadow Snake Hands," a swarm of vipers that wrapped around Hidan's thrashing form, holding him fast.

Hikari, her green eyes cold and hard, delivered the final, merciless blow. She used a single, powerful Wood Style technique, not for a flower, but for a swift, sharp wooden blade that erupted from the ground and pierced Kakuzu's chest, targeting the last of his hearts. It wasn't a kill strike, but it was the final, brutal declaration.

As Kakuzu’s body slumped, lifeless, Hikari walked towards Hidan, her sword raised. The zombie duo, who had once terrorized nations, were now utterly defeated, broken, and helpless. The battle was over, a terrifying, one-sided testament to what happens when you threaten the children of Konoha.

A week later

A wave of pure, unadulterated chakra surged outward from the Land of Whirlpools, so potent and unrestrained it rattled the air. The final protective Barrier that had shielded Uzushiogakure for decades had been released, not as a sign of weakness, but of triumph. The Uzumaki clan was once again whole, their collective power radiating with a vibrant, renewed strength.

Miles away in Konoha, the village's sensory division went into a state of high alert. A powerful surge of Yin chakra, unlike anything they had ever detected, washed over the Leaf, causing alarms to blare and patrols to scramble.

As the commotion settled, the source became clear. A tear in space-time shimmered in the sky above Konoha, and from it descended an entire elite entourage. At their head stood Ryoko, the formidable Uzukage, a woman whose mere presence exuded authority and a mastery of chakra suppression that was now, for the first time, unfurled.

The group's arrival was a silent, powerful statement. Beside Ryoko stood Kikiyo, the stoic seal master, and Yuna, the kenjutsu specialist, her blade, the Tidal Cleaver, sheathed and humming with dormant power. Asami, the poison mistress, and Akira, the specialist in space-time jutsu, completed the vanguard. Behind them were the foundational pillars of the new Uzumaki generation: Ren, Sota, and Yuto, the Academy instructors, along with a host of other clan members dressed in dark purple, the Uzumaki whirpool sigil on the back of their clothes, their faces a mix of pride and fierce determination.

Hikari felt the intricate precision of a barrier master, the raw power of a formidable Uzukage, the cutting edge of a kenjutsu specialist. Tears welled in her eyes, a rush of relief and joy so intense it stole her breath. She knelt, wrapping her arms around a confused Naruto, who was looking up at her with wide, worried eyes.

"Okaa-san, what's wrong?" he asked, a hint of fear in his small voice.

The ramen chef just shook her head, a smile brighter than the sun breaking through her tears. "Nothing, Naru," she whispered, pulling him up. "Nothing's wrong. Come on. I want you to meet your family."

Naruto, his little hand clutched tightly in hers, watched as the powerful group descended, their arrival a quiet display of authority that commanded the attention of the entire village. At their head, Ryoko, the Uzukage, locked eyes with Hikari. The older woman's stern composure cracked, a look of profound reverence and overwhelming gratitude on her face.

Ryoko stepped forward, her gaze softening as she took in Hikari and the small, blonde boy at her side. She knelt, her imposing height suddenly reduced, bringing her face level with Naruto's.

"You must be Naruto-kun," she said, her voice a deep, comforting rumble.

"My name is Ryoko. I am your aunt. We are your family."

The child blinked, his gaze darting from the fierce-looking woman with the long red hair to the equally red-haired man, the blonde girl, the dark-haired men and women who were now gathering around them, their expressions all showing a mix of awe and unadulterated joy. For the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who looked and felt like him, their chakra signatures a mirror of his vibrant energy.

His cerulean blue eyes, so like his father's, welled up. He looked at Ryoko, at Hikari, and then back at the sea of red hair and warm smiles. A simple, joyous truth dawned on him. "I found my family," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face, a beautiful, innocent acknowledgment that his heart, too, had come home.