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Shisui Uchiha is tired.
He has been tired for a long time, actually.
Perhaps since the time his clan had tasked him with spying on Itachi Uchiha, his notorious, little cousin who has been at odds with the clan for a while now, even since he joined the ANBU and went from the Uchiha clan’s prized pony to a dangerous anomaly to be kept under careful watch. Perhaps since his father died, leaving him with the burden of looking after his depressed, schizophrenic mother. Perhaps since the title of “Shisui of the Body Flicker” was bestowed on him, after the Third Great Ninja War had left his hands forever stained in red at the sins he committed to protect his village and he learned just how far he will go to protect those he loves. Perhaps since his best friend and team mate died because he had been too cocky and proud to make a retreat and he earned a dead comrade and the mangekyou sharingan as a bitter-sweet reward for his bravery.
Perhaps it goes beyond that. Perhaps it has been since he was a child, when he first saw a drunken civilian berate a member of the Konoha Military Police Force. A member of his clan. And watched as he went from feeling indignant at the disrespect for his clan’s organisation to feeling horrified at the display of brutality that his clans member had responded with at the act of defiance. When his father had sat him down after and explained to him the tension between Konoha, his home, and the Uchiha, his family, with a grave voice.
He may have been young, but he knew that he loved them both—loved both his home and his family—and didn’t understand why they couldn’t simply co-exist without resentment and trauma.
As he grew older and the childish hope faded, he begun to understand why.
In any case, he is tired.
And now the Hokage wants him to watch over the jinchuriki. Just one more thing to make him more tired.
Still, because he is nothing but a good little solider, he agrees with a nod.
.
Shisui knows what it means to be lonely. Because he has been lonely, he also knows loneliness is a drug that one can easily get addicted to if they are not careful.
It’s easy to become content in his sporadic moments of isolation and forget about the world and its problems. While the isolation may not be self-inflicted to begin with, soon it starts to become comfortable—too comfortable. And then he never wants to leave the house again.
Naruto Uzumaki is lonely. He sees it in the way she sits on the swing, watching the other children smile and chat with their parents. The academy day is over, and for some reason, she has decided to wait in the courtyard, as though she too has someone coming to get her. It occurs to him as he leans against the academy building that that may very well be the reason why she waits there for so long—some kind of make pretend fantasy that she is acting out where she isn’t an orphan and she has parents coming to get her. It’s rather sad.
She doesn’t notice him. It’s a good thing, since he wouldn’t be very good at his job if she did.
Then, when he is deep in thought about how is he going to tell his cousin that he has been tasked with spying on him, she stands, the seat wobbling behind her at the sudden burst of motion. He straightens, hoping she will go to the orphanage despite her still having over an hour before curfew. Once she returns to the orphanage, he is free for the rest of the day. Until the next, when he has to make sure she gets to the academy and back safely.
She goes to a restaurant instead.
He watches from the rooftop as she flashes a smile at the owner, whose frown only deepens. When she says something that he is too far away to hear, his face turns red and Shisui tenses. He is prepared to defend the girl should he need to. Except—
“Get out! I don’t have time to waste on good for nothing rats!”
He cannot defend her from verbal attacks. He was ordered to only step in unless absolutely necessary in physical attacks. He cannot protect her self esteem, fragile and vulnerable at her young age.
He feels regretful as he watches her smile fall. She stands there for a long moment, before shaking her head and running into the crowd, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her orange shirt.
She soon goes back to the orphanage, and he is free of his assignment.
And yet the weight on his shoulders is just as heavy as he travels to meet his cousin on a training ground.
.
He has been watching her for a week now. He watches her hide her pain and loneliness behind bright, wide grins and loud, constant chatter. She doesn’t do anything wrong—if anything, she is very well behaved and does exactly what she is told without complaint—and yet her supervisors never seem pleased with her.
He watches the way she blinks away the tears that come every so often and braves that too with a sunny disposition.
And he realises with a sinking stomach that Naruto Uzumaki, despite being a hero of Konoha for the sacrifice she unknowingly made as a jinchuriki, is an outcast.
She doesn’t let that defeat her, and he admires her for it.
.
.
.
She may only be six years old, but she knows what is expected of her. The matron has told often enough that she could recite it, and that is no small feat, considering she is absolutely terrible when it comes to memorisation. She will be a ninja. She will be a kunoichi. She will marry. She will retire. She will give birth to many babies, because that is what is demanded of her, being the last of a once powerful clan renowned for their plethora of chakra reserves and sealing abilities.
There is no room for hopeful dreams and ambitious goals. No, she is a girl—and girls do what they are told.
So she doesn’t dare to dream. She doesn’t dare to hope to accomplish anything.
If she were born a boy, she supposes things would be different. Boys do what they like. Taro was supposed to have become a ninja like her, but he shrugged off the responsibility as though it were merely a heavy coat and declared he would be blacksmith instead. Nobody batted an eye. Lucky him.
She isn’t given the same leeway. She must become a ninja—there is no other option.
And she is fine with that.
She can do what she is told.
Well, most of the time.
Kaito and Haruto are talking to her, and she can’t believe it. Nobody speaks to her. Nobody likes her. She doesn’t know why, but she thinks it goes beyond petty classroom politics, since none of the adults in Konoha seem to like her either. If she is lucky, their dislike manifests itself in icy glares, tense silence and obvious avoidance; most of the time she faces a harsher approach, with hissed insults, overpriced groceries and flat out refusal to allow her entry into a premise. Only the matron speaks with her in a civil manner, and even then, she can tell that the matron doesn’t like her.
It’s lonely—she is lonely. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t argue when she is told her lot in life, eager to please whoever would look her way. Maybe that’s why she offers to venture into the forest on the outskirts of the village, in a known venue for a recent skirmish between Konoha ninja and bandits and consequently declared off limits, all to collect a lost heirloom that Hanto’s dad had left behind in his haste to retreat.
He looks at her with a small quirk to his mouth that she doesn’t think that hard about. A smile, a smirk. It doesn’t seem right, given the severity of what he just told her.
But what does it matter?
She has an opportunity to make a friend if she can just pull this off, and that is all she can think about.
“Sure,” she says, her heart beating fast as she thinks finally. “I will do it.”
He shares a look with Kaito, who looks to be suppressing his own expression by thinning his mouth.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” she promises.
And even though she isn’t allowed to go beyond the perimeter of the village without telling anyone, she thinks that a one time exception should be alright, so long as she doesn’t make a habit of it.
After the bell rings, she makes her move.
It isn’t hard to get pass the guard by the main gate, considering that he is sleeping. As she steps onto the winding dirt path, she can feel her anxiety rising, but she breathes in the musky, lavender air and exhales. She will be fine.
So she wanders further into the forest, looking for any sign of a silver necklace, and pretends that the looming shadows that the tall, ancient trees make that seem to play tag with her own shadow don’t scare her.
It is night time when she finally gives up. She doesn’t know how she will tell Hanto that she couldn’t find his family heirloom, and she hopes he will still accept her regardless of her inability to turn up with the prize. She did go all this way.
That’s when she hears it—a terrible thud behind her that raises the hairs on her arms. By the time she is craning her neck to glimpse at her company, a hand wraps around her wrist and hurls her, making her slam against a tree trunk. Metal clashes against metal. She is too busy gasping to scrutinise the not one but two ninja, for some reason battling each other. She knows that if not for the adrenaline coursing through her body, she would be shrivelling in pain right now, given the loud sound as her body impacted. She can still feel white hot pain in her wrist. It must be from that ninja throwing her, she thinks.
It seems like only moments later when the sounds of metal crashing against metal stop. Then there is a blur of ringing in her ears, and she realises that the ninja is upon her now, having done with the other one. She thinks whatever he has done to the other ninja—killed him, probably—he will do to her. Her breaths come, quick and uneven, and she hastily goes to her feet, raising her fists, but her arms are shaking. Or is it her body that is shaking? She isn’t sure. She just doesn’t want to die.
“It’s okay,” he says shortly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She doesn’t lower her fists. She doesn’t stop shaking either.
She thinks that’s exactly what someone would say before they did just that.
When she doesn’t say anything and continues to just stand there, he takes a step closer. She takes a step back. He seems to think better of whatever he planned to do, because he runs a hand through his dark, curly hair and sighs, his eyes closing briefly in exasperation. That’s when she takes a better look at him—and promptly makes note of the green vest that marks him as at least chunin of Konoha; an elite ninja that has earned his stripes. She glances behind him, analysing the teenager in foreign ninja clothing, and remembers the thud that exploded behind her before she was shoved out of the way. He was going to attack her, and this ninja before her had saved her. He was the bad guy, and this ninja was the good guy.
Her posture slackens from its rigid, upright posture and she slouches. She isn’t going to die. She is safe.
“Who are you?” she asks tentatively.
If he is surprised by her sudden change of heart, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he grins at her, and it is the sort of smile that touches every part of his face, crinkling his eyes and wrinkling his nose. She feels her own smile tugging at the corners of her mouth in response.
“I’m Shisui,” he tells her.
And because it only seems polite, she tells him her name also.
“I’m Naruto Uzumaki,” she says proudly, and she waits with a sinking sensation in her stomach for his cold dismissal, as everyone usually reacts with upon hearing her name.
It never comes.
Only—
“You need to go home now. It isn’t safe out here. You should have never ventured here in the first place. Why did you come here, anyway?”
Not wanting to snitch on Hanto and Kaito, she shrugs.
“I dunno. Because I thought it would be fun?” It’s as good as any excuse she could come up with.
“Well, don’t do it again.”
“Alright,” she says easily, just happy that someone is talking to her without a gleam of animosity in their gaze.
He nods, and she hesitates.
“Will I see you again?”
This time he looks surprised.
“Maybe.”
“Good.” And it was good, for she might have not have made a friend of Hanto, but she made a cooler, better one: an elite ninja who fought off the enemy to save her.
At that, she turns and leaves, sneaking into the village just as easily as she snuck out. Everyone is asleep at the orphanage by the time she arrives, and she knows she will be hearing about it tomorrow from the matron. She isn’t supposed to be at the orphanage later than seven pm.
Yet, as she tosses and turns in her small, uncomfortable bed, she smiles, thinking of the new friend she made, and falls asleep.
.
.
.
Sasuke isn’t sure why everyone dislikes the blonde idiot, but it’s not as though he cares. Sure, she is annoying—but so is everyone else.
Yesterday, he overheard Hanto and Kaito telling her about a lost heirloom in a recent battleground. They were obviously lying, but of course she had taken them at face value and agreed to their insane proposal. He may not care about her, but he doesn’t want her to die. He isn’t a psychopath. He would have told Iruka sensei, if the man hadn’t already been standing there, a dark look of contemplation blanketing his features as he too overheard their conversation. So, he thought he didn’t need to say anything. Iruka Sensei would take care of it and put some sense into that moron for being so trusting.
He wasn’t surprised to see her the next day. He just thought it strange that she was wearing a grin so big he thought it might crack her face into two. Wasn’t she disappointed that she had been lured into a trap because she so desperately wanted friends? If it had been Sasuke, he would be embarrassed.
She sits at her usual spot in the row just in front of him, fiddling with a doll that looks to be bald. He has seen her with the toy more often than not, and he wonders if it is a hand-me-down that has been bald from the start or if it has slowly lost hair since being in her care. Then he wonders when he started thinking about such inane things, about the blonde idiot no less, and pointedly turns his gaze to his sensei. Who is looking at her with such a strange expression that Sasuke frowns.
Wouldn’t they be on good terms, given he just played hero and saved her life?
Iruka Sensei begins his lecture with a clap of his hands, causing the excited chatter to cease. He talks about chakra theory, and it’s all very much a bore to Sasuke, who knows the content inside and out thanks to late nights spent in the library, studying to attempt to close the impossible distance between him and his older brother. He makes a show of listening, though. It is more than what she can say, who appears to be falling asleep, drool glistening at the corner of her mouth. Gross. And, knowing the idiot, she definitely doesn’t know the material.
When Iruka-sensei announces they are to do a class assignment in pairs, he resists expelling a scoff. Great. Just what he needs—someone to drag him down with their annoying daftness.
He announces the names of the pairings one by one, and he waits as students move to sit beside their two partners.
“Sasuke Uchiha, Shikamaru Nara and Naruto Uzumaki.”
This time he scoffs. So he has the sluggard and the class clown. He couldn’t have done worse. By the time sensei has fallen silent and finished explaining their assignment, everyone is seated beside their partners except for his team. He can see Naruto glancing between him and Shikamaru. Well, he isn’t going to move—if they want to work with him, then they have to move.
Naruto stands abruptly, goes to Shikamaru, who looks half asleep as he blinks at her, and then she all but drags him towards him.
“Hi,” she says brightly as she drops in the seat beside him with Shikamaru falling into the seat beside her with a grunt. “My name is Naruto Uzumaki.”
“I know,” he says in a tone that implies he thinks she is stupid.
They have been classmates for over half a year now. Of course he knows her name.
Why would she introduce herself?
She doesn’t seem to notice his derision.
“Well, I guess we are partners now, huh?”
He doesn’t say anything.
She looks at Shikamaru and frowns.
“Hey, have you fallen asleep? That’s not cool, believe it. Hey! Hello—”
“What,” he grumbles, and he can barely hear him with spiky-ponytail resting his head in his folded arms on the table.
“Oh,” she mutters after a moment. “I thought you were asleep.”
Nobody says anything. She turns to him with a grin.
“So, what do you think about the three laws of catra—”
“Chakra,” he corrects without thinking.
“Yeah,” she continues, “chakra. What do you think?”
Because his mother has raised him to be polite to girls, he doesn’t say the insult that is at the tip of his tongue.
“We have to write an essay analysing the three fundamental laws of chakra.”
“Right.” She nods.
“I can write about the first law, you can write the second and Shikamaru can write the third. We will write the introduction and conclusion together.”
She places the stupid doll in her shorts’ pockets and grabs a pen.
“Yeah, alright.”
Fifteen minutes later, and Sasuke is happy with what he wrote. He turns to Naruto and tries to glimpse at what she wrote but cannot because her arm is in the way. He wonders if she is hiding it from him on purpose—but why would she? Shikamaru must already be done, given that he is in the exact same resting position as before. That was fast—faster than him. Maybe his classmates wouldn’t be so useless, after all.
He clears his throat.
“Are you done?”
“Ah, a little more time, believe it,” she says, not looking at him, which is odd because she had been all but staring and grinning at him before.
He waits. And waits.
And waits.
He tries not to show his annoyance at waiting, but he clenches his jaw and glances her way. It isn't fair that he and Shikamaru should wait when she is too lazy to come up with a response in time.
“Give it to me,” he demands at long last, attempting to grab the paper. “I will finish it.”
“No,” she says quickly, moving so that she is hunched over the paper. “I will do it.”
“Quit taking so long then.”
“I will take however long as I like,” she retorts, and he feels that familiar flare of annoyance.
“Look, everyone is already done and gone to lunch,” he points out. It is true—the classroom is empty, even Iruka-sensei having left with the announcement that any students that are still not finished to put their essays on his desk when they are done. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. So hurry up or let me do it.”
She looks at him then. Her face is red and her eyes are swollen. As though she has been crying.
Um.
“Fine,” she hisses. “You do it.”
She shoves the paper towards him, and his face goes blank as he looks at the empty lines. Nothing. All that time, and she has written nothing.
“You—why—”
“I’m sorry, okay?” she says harshly. “I tried, but I—I’m sorry. I’m not good at catra theory.”
“Chakra,” he corrects again, and then stares at her in disbelief.
Why didn't she just ask him for help?
Why did she agree to write about it in the first place if she didn’t know anything about it?
She stands, her chair squealing as it goes backwards.
“You would have failed anyway. Iruka Sensei always fails me, even when I know I got the answer right.”
She doesn’t sound bitter. She just sounds resigned and looks embarrassed.
“Why would he? Maybe you did get it wrong. You’re a idiot that doesn’t even know about the fundamental laws of chakra theory—how would you know?”
Okay, he hadn’t meant to insult her, but now that he said it, he isn’t going to take it back.
She stares at him for a long moment, and he can only hear their rhythmic breaths and—
Snoring?
“Because I cheated,” she says finally. “And I might be a idiot, but at least I’m not the teacher’s pet.”
She thinks that he is a teacher’s pet?
“I’m not the one that got saved by Iruka-sensei yesterday.”
“What are you talking about?”
Seriously, she is playing stupid? He doesn’t need her to play stupid—he already knows she is stupid.
“You know, when you listened to Hanto about his heirloom. He was lying to you—he never wanted to be your friend. He just wanted to see you gone. I figured Iruka-sensei would step in and stop you from marching into your death because you’re so pathetic that you can’t make friends the normal way.”
Surprise flickers across her face and dissolves into disbelief and then hurt. He almost feels bad as she stares at him with big, aqua eyes, as if she might discern the truth from him if she stares hard enough. Almost. When he remembers the way she made him wait for over thirty minutes, he feels vindicated.
He watches her swallow thickly. Blinks, fast and hard, turn her head so he can’t see her. Then release a shuddering breath before facing him again.
“He never came,” she says, her voice coming out ragged. “I don’t know why you would think he would.”
It’s his turn to lose his voice.
What?
She had gone alone, with nobody to stop her? Even though he was sure that Iruka sensei had heard the interaction.
“Because he is our sensei?” he asks, his voice shaky.
“So what? That doesn’t mean he has to care. Nobody cares about me.”
She shrugs, as if she doesn’t care, and he feels his heart stutter. He isn’t sure why, but it’s so damning to hear her confession. Because even if he doesn’t like her, even if nobody in their class likes her, she should still have someone. She should still have Iruka Sensei, who has a duty of care to all his students.
“Sorry,” she mumbles when she realises he isn’t going to say anything, even though he is the one that insulted her. “By the way, I’m pretty sure our partner is asleep. Good luck, I guess.”
And with that, she leaves.
He falls into silence. He turns to his other partner.
“Well? Are you?”
A snore answers him, and he sighs.
.
.
.
If loneliness is a drug, then his mother is an addict.
She rarely leaves her room, only when he makes her. At least when his father was alive, she would wander about the house, do chores and cook for herself. Now she just lays in bed all day and does nothing. If Shisui didn’t cook for her, she would probably just starve to death.
Sometimes he wants to scream at her. It isn’t like his father’s death was easy on him either, but he doesn’t have the luxury of rolling over and letting his mental health have its way with him. He has to be strong, for his cousin and for his clan and for his village and for her, and it isn’t fair. Why couldn’t she be the one that is strong enough for the two of them? Why does it have to be him?
“Hello, sweetie,” she says in greeting as he enters her room with a plate of food. “It’s a nice day today.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, handing her the plate of food.
“Thank you,” she says as she takes the plate. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He stares at the old, leather diary on her bedside table; his father’s diary, and his mother’s favourite reading material. “How was yours?”
“Oh, it was nice. A crow came to visit me today, curious thing. Read a little bit. Was feeling sleepy though, so I mostly slept.”
“Isn’t that all you do?”
The words escape him before he can stop them, and regret immediately tightens his chest.
At his mother’s hurt look, he swallows. He shouldn’t have said that.
She looks at the wall and stares for the longest time. He tries to think of something to say for once, but he can’t come up with anything. She usually does most of the talking for the two of them.
Then, she looks at him. Her face is blank.
“I’m feeling tired. I think I will eat this later. Thank you for the food, sweetie. I hope you had a good day.”
He nods, ignoring the pit in his stomach at her words, and leaves.
.
Itachi is probably quietest kid he knows, but that’s alright, because he talks enough for the two of them. With itty bitty Sasuke there, it’s a party.
He swings an arm around Sasuke, who is pouting because his big brother Itachi has once again refused to teach Sasuke the kunai technique.
“Tell you what, little cousin, I will teach you,” he says, out of the generosity of his heart and definitely not to make Itachi jealous of him stealing his impossibly high throne that Sasuke has appointed him with.
He twists around to look at him with a scowl.
“I don’t want you to teach me,” he says with his nose in the air.
Bloody brat.
He makes a sound of fake offence.
“Oh, little cousin, why must you wound my heart so? I only come to you with good intentions and you make a mockery of it. I will never recover from this.”
“You always say that.”
His little cousin is heartless.
“I see where I’m not wanted.” He stands and rolls his shoulder. “Time to go stalk a schoolgirl. See you, Itachi. Until next time, Sasuke.”
Sasuke stares at him as though he is trying to figure out if there is hidden meaning in his words. He nearly snorts—riling up his little cousin is just too easy.
“He is kidding, right?” he hears Sasuke ask Itachi just before he body flickers in the distance.
He doesn’t bother to withhold his snort.
.
Her form is all wrong.
She has been at it for hours, but her form is all wrong, so it doesn’t matter.
Shisui can feel his annoyance building as he watches her throw a hail of punches and kicks down on the wooden training dummy.
After a hour passes, he thinks screw it. He has already revealed himself once. A second time couldn’t hurt, especially when it is benefiting everyone that the jinchuriki knows how to protect herself with proper taijutsu. So he jumps down from the tree that he has been hiding in and watches as her head whips around to face him.
Her surprise curls into delight at the sight of him.
“You—” she starts, then falls silent for a moment before speaking again with a wide grin. “I missed you, Shisui!”
He flashes her his own grin, pleased that her reaction is to welcome him.
“I would miss me too,” he jokes. “It’s good to see you, Naruto.”
“I thought you ditched me when you didn’t show up for days after, believe it. Where did you go?”
He shrugs, unable to tell her that he has been watching over her this whole time due to the secrecy of his mission.
“Been busy. Sorry, Naruto,” he says apologetically.
“It’s okay. You’re here now.”
“Hey, that form you were working on? It's good, but it could use some work. Do you want me to show you?”
He tries to lay it on her gently. Somehow he doesn’t think she would accept ‘your form is garbage’ without complaint.
She squints at him, and his heart drops. Oh, no—was he too offensive? He hopes she will let him help her.
“How did you know I was doing that? Were you watching me? Because that’s kind of weird, believe it!”
Her accusation takes him by surprise, and he splutters a laugh that he covers with a cough. Because he had been doing just that.
She seems to take his response as a yes.
“It’s okay,” she says, her eyes shining as she grins at him. “You can still be my friend, even if you are a little weird.”
He smiles at her.
“Thanks Naruto.”
Then he steps forward, going in front of her, and faces the wooden dummy. He raises his fists and gets into a battle stance; not an Uchiha form, not his own original form, but one taught in the academy that she should know. Then he twists his body and swings, letting gravity and his weight dictate his motion. The wooden dummy shudders at the impact. When he turns to face Naruto, she is looking at him like he is the answer to all her questions, with practically stars shining in her eyes.
“That’s the form you should be using,” he says unnecessarily. “Do you see the difference?”
“Yes, Shisui sensei,” she says solemnly, and he blinks at the title.
Because sensei? He has never been called that before—and he is sure that is for good reason. He isn’t a teacher. He doesn’t think he will ever be one, despite his classmates and comrades insisting that he is a good tutor and should consider it as a career change. He is too much of a weapon now, sharp and deadly, and likely to cause injury without meaning to.
But he likes hearing her say it. Shisui Sensei.
Yes, he supposes he can be her sensei, if no one else is willing to step up to the task. Clearly none of the current senseis are any good.
She attempts to throw a punch, and, predictably, her form is still all wrong.
He adjusts her form, ignoring her indignant squeak as he rearranges her limps like pieces of a puzzle. Then he steps back and nods.
“Try again.”
She looks doubtful as she squints up at him, but in the end she listens him. This time there is loud smack and the wooden dummy bounces back at the assault.
“Better,” he says, grinning at her, and she returns it with her own eager grin.
And it is—better.
But there is still much room for improvement, and now that Shisui has decided to be her sensei, he isn’t going to accept anything less than the best from her.
“Every afternoon, at four pm after the academy. We train here.”
She salutes him, her grin growing wider at his declaration.
“Aye, aye, Shisui Sensei,” she says.
And that’s how he found himself with a student.
.
.
.
While most girls her age are starting to notice Sasuke Uchiha, she is starting to notice Sakura Haruno.
She is just so pretty. And smart. And kind. And well spoken.
She has pink hair—that is probably her favourite thing about the girl. Pink is her favourite colour, but if anyone were to ask, it would be orange, because pink is too girly.
Naruto is going to make her her girlfriend.
(Because while the matron said she will marry a ninja one day, she never said who.)
Except. Well. She doesn’t know how to talk to her, much less walk up to her to start a conversation.
One afternoon she laments about it to Shisui, her new sensei and only friend.
“There is the girl I like...” she trails off.
Shisui perks up and grins at her.
“Go on.”
She flushes, unsure of how to describe the love of her life when the words come tumbling out.
“And, well, she is the most beautiful girl you will ever meet. I want to make her my girlfriend.”
“Then make her your girlfriend,” he says easily.
“But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know I exist. And if she did, then she doesn’t like me.”
He seems to contemplate her words with a frown, and she wipes a bead of sweat on forehead with the back of her hand.
“Then go up to her and make it known that you exist. And if she doesn’t like you, than that’s her loss,” he says simply.
He doesn’t say much more about it, but he doesn’t need to. He has given her the confidence to speak to the pink-haired beauty while also boosting her self-esteem with those short words.
So the next day sees her waking bright and early, excited to speak to her to be girlfriend. Even Taro’s insults as they eat breakfast don’t get to her, the sensation of the words crawling beneath her skin like a persistent pest abnormally absent. Madam Ikeda’s hawklike gaze rests on her, as though she can sense the sudden shift in her mood. When she snaps at her that she is to do the dishes, Naruto feels her grin momentarily fall before coming back. Nothing is going to get her down.
Not a bird attacking her as she makes her way to the academy.
Not the sudden sense of demise at remembering her forgotten homework.
Not stupid Sasuke Uchiha stealing Sakura’s attention by just sitting there.
Nothing.
So, when she makes her way to Sakura, who is sitting in the row behind Sasuke, she is full of elation and excitement. Her first relationship—with the prettiest girl in school no less. Maybe she will invite Shisui to the wedding. She might even invite Sasuke, just to rub it his pretty boy face that in the end she is the one that got the girl.
“Hey, Sakura,” she starts, twiddling her thumbs as she stares at her hands.
“What is it, Naruto?”
She knows her name. They are already off to a splendid start. With that knowledge, she gets the courage to look up—
And deflates at the look of annoyance twisting Sakura’s features, when before they had been so peaceful when she had been gazing at Sasuke.
But no. She isn’t going to give up.
“I was just thinking, um—you see—”
“Yes?” she says impatiently.
“I really like you, believe it! I think you are totally awesome, you know, and really pretty—and I was wondering if you wanted to be—”
“What,” she mutters, staring at her in a very different way than she had been before, and Naruto feels her nerves grow. She is looking at her like she grew a second head.
“I like you,” she starts again after a moment, “and I was wondering if you wanted to be my girlfriend.”
Sakura blinks at her. And stares. And—
“But—but—” she splutters.
“No need for buts, just a yes,” Naruto grins at her.
“You’re a girl!” she exclaims.
“I am,” she agrees.
“And—and I’m a girl too!”
“You are,” she says kindly.
Naruto doesn’t know why they are pointing out the obvious, but she thinks everyone has their daft moments. The least she can do is be non-judgemental about it.
“Girls can’t ask other girls to be their girlfriend!”
At that, Naruto tilts her head, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“Why not?”
“Because—because—”
She seems to be at a loss for words.
“Since you haven’t said no, does that mean it’s a yes?” she asks hopefully.
“No,” she snaps. “It’s a no.”
Naruto crumbles. Just one word, and her confidence has vanished.
“Why?” she asks, small and soft.
“Because I don’t want to. And because I already like someone.”
With those words, she looks at the boy seated in front of them. Naruto understands—she isn’t that stupid. Sakura likes Sasuke Uchiha, and she isn’t good enough for her to change her mind. But Naruto is nothing but determined.
She will change her mind. She will show she is better than Sasuke.
She nods.
“Okay,” she says, and Sakura’s gaze flickers to hers.
She leaves to her own seat without another word.
.
When she tells Shisui how her proposal to the pink haired girl went, he responds with a sympathetic grimace.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and she doesn’t know why he is apologising. It isn’t like he is the one who rejected her.
“It’s fine,” she says, because it is. She isn’t going to cry over it. Sakura is entitled to like who she wants. All Naruto can do is convince her that she is the one who she should like. “I will just have to show why I’m better than him.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He doesn’t sound convinced of her nonchalance.
“Anyway, I was thinking that we should get ramen together after training, believe it,” she says it quickly, before she can chicken out.
He hesitates. She continues, as though she doesn’t notice the tension gripping his body at her words.
“I’ll even pay for you. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Silence thickens the air between them, and she feels her stomach twist as she waits for his response.
“I—” he pauses, frowns, before speaking again. “I don’t think that is such a great idea.”
In a cruel twist of events, Shisui is now the one rejecting her, and she thinks about the irony of her earlier thoughts. She tries to smile, pretend that his refusal doesn’t affect her. Doesn’t make her want to stomp her feet and demand to know why.
Except she knows why.
He doesn’t want to be seen with her, because nobody likes her, and if he is seen with her, then nobody will like him either by extension. It’s completely understandable, and she doesn’t want to push her social isolation onto her only friend. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have to hurt.
“Alright.” Her voice sounds too wobbly.
He doesn’t say anything.
It’s for the best, because she thinks she might burst into tears if she is forced to speak again.
They train for the rest of the hour in silence, only the sounds of birds chirping and leaves crunching underneath her feet as she runs and attempts to beat her best score reach her ears. They say their goodbyes, and Naruto is almost too exhausted to forget about her earlier heartache. At the very least, his words don’t hurt nearly as much, and she is back to being numb to the shadow curling around her heart. It is a familiar feeling, the numbness, the hurt and loneliness, and there is comfort in that familiarity.
She has grown used to being alone and numb—why should she ever change her ways when she is comfortable?
She thinks she should have never asked him to begin with.
.
Naruto hates wearing dresses.
She isn’t sure why.
Every time they are made to participate in church, she is forced to wear a black dress, along with the rest of the girls. Madam Ikeda will not accept any other attire.
It is difficult to sit still and listen to the bible readings. Her right leg bobs up and down as she clenches and unclenches her hands in her lap. She wants to be on the training grounds with Shisui, running and punching and exerting her body, but instead she is forced into a different kind of training ground; one where she must play the role of a puppet and Madam Ikeda her puppeteer, dangling her by thin, unbreakable strings that restrict her movement and make her go through the necessary ritual of church.
It is awful.
When the religious ceremony is over and they are beckoned out of the church, Hikari bullies her and Taro joins in.
“That dress is too pretty for you,” he sneers, looking down at her. He is intimidating, with his age and height, but she refuses to be cowered into submission.
And she knows that she isn’t pretty. She knows that a dress is meant for girls like Sakura Haruno, who have long, silky hair and perfect, ivory skin unmarked by scars and dirt. She knows that her own frizzy, untamed hair and tanned, dirty skin will not do. She knows that the whisker-like birthmarks on her cheeks are a stain on her non-existent beauty. Just as she knows beauty is everything for a girl—the older girls fuss over their looks as if it is the single most important thing about them, spending hours doing their makeup and hair and still finding their appearance inadequate. But it’s not like she can change the body and face she has been given, and she certainly won’t change herself for the likes of Hikari.
“Why do you have those strange markings on your face?” Taro joins in, eager to taunt her as well. “Get rid of them.”
She glares up at the two boys.
“Go away.”
“Go away,” Hikari mocks. “Is that really the best you can do?”
Taro takes a sharp, shiny knife from the pockets of his pants, and she pales.
Why is he carrying around a knife?
“I don’t want to look at them anymore—those markings are hideous. Cut them out.”
He extends his hand, holding out the knife to her. She stares at it, and she is distantly aware of the thundering of her heart as she feels her mouth go dry.
“Well? Are you going to do it or do you need me to do it for you?”
He doesn’t wait for her answer, doesn’t even wait until after he has finished speaking, and he advances on her, creeping towards her like a monster. She thinks that’s what he is—a monster. The kind that haunts her nightmares and stalks her at night, with his wide grin, height and sharp, shiny knife. He is a monster, and she is his prey.
He is just before her frozen body now, and he is leaning closer, the sunlight catching on the metal of the knife as it looms closer, closer to her face, closer—
Suddenly, she feels her stomach twist, as though that very same knife has plunged into her insides.
And she is no longer paralysed by fear. No, she is sprinting. Her dress is flapping wildly against her legs, exposing her skin to the cool breeze; there is little thought or direction in the way she runs. She just wants to escape, to get as far away as possible from Taro and the sharp, shiny knife.
Her eyes are squeezed shut as she runs, and that is probably why she collides head first into something.
She falls onto the ground and grimaces.
“What the—”
“Naruto?”
At her name, she perks up and glances at her new company.
Sasuke Uchiha is on the ground, scowling at her. Beside him is a tall boy with long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and beside him is an even a taller boy with curly, dark hair sticking out in all directions, wild and untamed. Her heart leaps in her chest, because she knows him, because he is—her friend. Her one and only friend.
Because he is Shisui.
“Watch where you are going, idiot,” Sasuke snaps and goes to his feet, drawing her attention, and she wonders what a great ninja like Shisui is doing off with a show off like Sasuke.
She is about to snap something back, when she remembers why she had been running in the first place. She scrambles to her feet, throwing looks over her shoulder to see if the two boys are there, when she looks back at her company. Naruto is a good person. Well, she tries to be, anyway. And if that means warning her rival of an incoming threat, then so be it. Sasuke may be good in class with wooden shiruken and kunai, may be the best even, though she loathe to admit it, but he is no match for a real weapon.
“You have to run—you have to leave,” she tells them quickly. “Hikari has a knife, and he means business, you know! He tried to use it on me—but I ran. He will use it on you two, believe it. You need to—”
“Someone threatened you?” Shisui interrupts, his eyes widening as he removes his hand from his pocket.
“Yeah,” she says.
“Who is he?” he demands.
“A boy around my age—an orphan—” she watches Shisui relax at her words, as if him being an orphan around her age makes him less of a threat “—but he has a knife, and—”
Sasuke snorts.
“What did you do to make him try to use a knife on you?” he asks, derision colouring his voice.
She turns to glare at him.
“I didn’t do anything! He just—”
“Are you wearing a dress?” Sasuke asks, and the incredulity in his tone makes her tense.
“Yes,” she says tersely. “Problem?”
He is looking at her strangely, like one might gawk at a new species, like a lion crossed with a bear.
“Don’t mind him, Naruto,” Shisui is grinning down at Sasuke, who looks grumpy at his voice, as if he has already said something that has offended his sensibilities. “He isn’t very good at talking to girls—starts blurting out stuff, like—”
Sasuke scowls.
“Why would you wear a dress?” he asks snottily, ignoring Shisui.
“—that. Just like that.”
She crosses her arms.
“Because I want to,” she lies, raising her chin.
“Didn’t you say someone was chasing you?” This time it’s the other boy, with a deep, serious voice.
“Oh—we need to run, before they hurt us—” she cries out, before she is interrupted again.
“Don’t worry, Naruto,” Shisui says with a wink. “I will protect you.”
She considers this. She supposes that Shisui is an elite ninja, while Hikari is just an orphan a few years older than her but with no training whatsoever. She relaxes—yes, she can trust that Shisui will protect her, just as he protected her when that foreign ninja attacked her.
“Alright,” she says easily, smiling up at him. “Thanks Shisui.”
He opens his mouth, and—
“How do you know Shisui?” Sasuke demands.
She looks at him, her smile turned condescending.
“Well, you see, he is my sensei. My friend. How do you know him?”
He looks disbelieving at her words, and it takes him a moment to speak.
“He is my cousin,” he says shortly.
This time it’s her turn to be disbelieving. When Sasuke doesn’t burst into laughter and say ‘Gotcha’, she looks at Shisui in betrayal.
“Are you?” she asks.
He looks amused.
Then, he shrugs.
“Guess so.”
“How come you didn’t say you’re related to the Uchiha?”
“Didn’t seem important,” he says nonchalantly.
She turns to Sasuke.
“He is still my friend and Sensei. You can’t steal him away from me.”
She isn’t going to let Sasuke steal Shisui like he stole Sakura away from her.
“He was my cousin first,” he shoots back.
“Children, children. Please. There is enough of me to go around.”
He sounds very amused now.
“Shut up, Shisui,” Sasuke says.
“This doesn’t involve you,” she agrees absent-mindedly, refusing to move her glare from Sasuke. “I bet he hasn’t taught you what he has taught me.”
“So?” he says flippantly. “He is still my cousin.”
“Yeah, well—”
“I believe that we should get going. We have to be home in time for dinner so we don't make mother sad, Sasuke.” It’s the quiet, serious one speaking.
Sasuke deflates.
“Okay,” he says.
She turns to him and finds him looking at her.
“It was nice to meet you, Naruto,” he says kindly. Or, well. She thinks there may have been kindness in his tone, and the words were kind, but it is honestly hard to tell with his stoic face.
“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like those boys are chasing you any longer. If they hassle you again, let me know, okay?” Shisui says seriously. “Turning a weapon to a comrade is unforgivable, even if you are just a kid.”
She nods, feeling warmth spread inside her chest at his words. He cares about her.
“Alright.”
Sasuke says nothing as they turn to leave, but the scowl on his face says everything his words don’t. He is not happy she knows his family.
In a considerably better mood, she heads back to the orphanage.
As she changes out of her dress and into a orange shirt and shorts, she feels the last of her anxiety melt away, as though the very act of changing clothes has evaporated the expectations placed on her as a girl. She can pretend this way—pretend that she isn’t a girl and her voice isn't subdued. (Pretend that it doesn’t matter that she isn’t pretty enough to wear a dress.)
One thing she has noticed in her six years of life is that girls are never heard. No matter how loud they shout, it’s only ever the boys that are heard. Nobody listens to them.
Perhaps it’s because all the girls she knows speak about trivial things, like dolls and their looks and their crushes, while the boys talk about important things, like their career and politics and ambition. Perhaps it’s because when a girl speaks like a boy, the adults give her an amused smile, as though they are merely humouring her, while when a boy speaks like a boy, they take him seriously and say things like, “You will go far in life.” And so, a girl learns to speak about inconsequential things, and a boy learns to speak about power and influence. Naruto knows this well—she has seen it, as well as lived through it.
Naruto never says that she wants to be Hokage.
But, when it’s late at night, she sits on the rooftop of the orphanage and stares at the four figureheads engraved into the mountainside. She stares at one in particular; the Fourth Hokage. She thinks of his bravery and power at facing the Nine Tails Fox that had wrecked Konoha six years ago, and she thinks she want to be like that.
She wants to be like the Fourth Hokage.
She wants people to whisper her name in awe and reverence, because she had the strength to protect them.
She wants to be the Hokage.
She doesn’t dare to say it aloud.
When she introduces herself to the new orphan the next day and the orphan shares with Naruto her dream to open her own tea house, she still doesn’t say share her secret ambition.
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
“I want to be a good kunochi,” she recites, not wanting to mess this up. This is a golden opportunity to make a friend, and she will not screw it up. “One that is both kind and beautiful. And to meet the love of my life and have a beautiful family.”
The red-haired girl smiles at her.
“That sounds wonderful,” she says wistfully.
And it does sound wonderful—but isn’t enough.
Naruto wants more.
But she is a girl, and as such, she knows her place. She knows better than to push against the role life has appointed her with—has seen what happens to those that do. At best, they are labelled with words like “bossy” and “annoying” for behaving in ways that would have them labelled with “assertive” and “spirited” if they were a boy. At worst, if they grow up without learning a lesson that would have been taught to them countless times, they are turned into an outcast, ostracised and silenced for good because they cannot conform, and made to suffer poor health, poverty and starvation. It has happened to Jen—and it can happen to her, if she is not careful.
Being a girl has taught her caution. Being a girl has taught her to be agreeable.
And so she doesn’t say her aspiration to be Hokage.
It doesn’t matter.
For soon Aiko learns that nobody likes her, and she too begins to avoid her like most of the children. The only ones that talk to her do so to antagonise her.
(Hikari and Taro have already made her promise not to mention the knife to the matron, and she readily agreed at the threat that they will cut her birthmark up for good should she do just that.)
Before she goes to sleep at night, she wonders what her life would be like if she had been born a boy, if she were free to shout her dreams with the entirety of her lungs—and promptly rolls over and dismisses the thought, realising that it doesn’t do her any good to wish for things that cannot happen.
She is a girl, and that means more than anything.
.
Naruto doesn’t like ghosts.
In her opinion, what is dead should stay dead.
And yet, as she sits in the corner of the classroom, she can’t help but feel as though she is one—a ghost. She may not be a transparent entity, but she haunts her classmates all the same, and they refuse to look or speak to her. It used to make her cry. But now there is ice in her heart, freezing the blood vessels and making her apathetic to it all.
So what does it matter that they hate her?
So what does it matter if she is all alone?
She is Naruto Uzumaki, and she will continue to sit there everyday, regardless of whether she is welcome or not.
They will just have to suffer through her company, because she isn’t going anywhere.
(She will become the Hokage, and it starts with getting through the ninja academy.)
.
.
.
Shisui wears a stoic mask as he explains how the villagers treat Naruto Uzumaki.
The Hokage looks every bit the disappointed, but unsurprised grandfather he is to the village. He leans back in his chair and takes a puff of his cigar.
“Shisui, tell me, do you know what happens to a child that is not embraced by their home?” he asks.
He shakes his head.
The Hokage exhales, blowing fumes of smoke.
“They burn it down.”
He feels something stir inside him at the words. Remembers the hurt and rage in girl’s eyes as she is turned away again and again. He feels nausea creep up his throat.
“You mean to say Naruto Uzumaki is a threat?”
He is watching her not for the girl’s protection, but for the village’s protection?
“According to her overseers, she has never expressed any desire but to become a kunochi and have a family. She is not close to anyone. She doesn’t perform well at the academy. She is reported to always be alone.”
Shisui swallows.
“Isn’t that...well, isn’t that normal? She may be a little isolated, but—”
“She has no attachment to this village. She could easily become threat.”
“What should we do, then?”
“I would like you to attempt to integrate her with the village. Or else will Danzo will take her.”
He pales at this. Children going to Danzo could never be a good thing.
Eventually, he nods.
“Understood.”