Chapter Text
January 1st, year 5
Her first day at the ninja academy was entirely uneventful.
It was a bright, sunny day, much to Hermione's chagrin, where the sun burned her skin as she stood waiting for her name to be called. They couldn't have done the roll call inside the building, could they? Seriously, it was like they were already conditioning the children into the harsh reality of becoming ninja. The grass rubbed against her bare toes, and she had to stop herself from bending over to itch herself. She thought maybe an ant or two crawled into her sandals; she might have stomped her left foot once or twice to amend this.
There was an impossibly large list of names to get through. They didn’t do those without last names until last—and many of the children were orphans thanks to the war and so had to enrol into the ninja academy.
By the time the presenter rasped “Rei,” she practically sighed as she zipped towards the massive, wooden structure that would be her school for next few years, thankful to be away from the unforgiving sun and itchy grass.
It was just as humid inside as it was outside, but she finally had shade and for that she was thankful.
She sat down at the front of the half-filled classroom, more out of old habit than anything. Children the same age as her were chatting without a care to the bad state the room was in: peeling, pale yellow walls sporting holes with spider webs, a chalkboard with white and pink chalk wiped carelessly, graffiti decorating the long wooden desks spanning across the three rows (left, centre and right). Even as she let her body weight drop onto the timber seating, she heard the tittle tattle sign that this too had been unkempt as it whined loud enough that she heard it over all excited chatter.
You would think that with how important raising the next generation of ninja was to the village, they would put just a little bit more funding into the building that the next generation is supposed to frequent everyday until graduation.
Before she could unpack her things in her bag—an exercise book and a pen (not quite the same as parchment, quill and ink), her second-hand set of highlighters that she brought with last year’s birthday money and an apple to sedate her appetite before lunch came—the boy seated beside her introduced himself.
Or, well, something like that.
“I like your hair,” he said, grinning at her as she twisted around to look at him, startled that her row mate wanted to speak to her.
Unconsciously, she reached to her hair, grabbing a curl that had been loosened and made frizzy by the humidity. She’s been here before, hasn’t she? People commenting on her hair. Usually snarky remarks or bewildered comments but never anything good.
You need to brush your hair, Hermione. It’s important to look presentable. I know it’s hard, but do put in the effort.
In another life, her previous and only other life to be exact, her mother had told her this over and over, and she had brushed and brushed until her hairbrush had enough hair to make a wig for a small animal.
She would have thought that it was a nasty, sarcastic remark, if not for the genuine smile and the fact that he, like her (but also not really like her) , was five.
“Oh,” she mumbled, offering him a small smile as she tucked a curl behind her ear. “Thank you.”
He looked happy at her response, as though he was glad he could make her smile. Or maybe he was just happy because it was his first day at the ninja academy. That was probably it.
“When I grow up, I want to be the Hokage,” he said. “Do you also wanna become the Hokage?”
She knew what a Hokage was—it was impossible not to when living in Konoha. It was their leader. A supposedly all powerful and wise being to lead the people of Konoha. She spent days pouring over the many feats of the three Hokages in history books.
But did she want to be one?
No one has ever asked her that before. And why would they? She was five.
“Ah,” she said. “I’m not sure.”
He huffed, apparently unsatisfied with her answer.
“Well, that’s stupid. Why wouldn’t you want to be the Hokage? That’s like, the greatest thing to be.”
“I know,” she said tersely, annoyed that her classmate was insulting her intelligence now.
He stayed silent for a few moments, as if sensing that he had offended her, before speaking again.
“Well, anyway—”
The door slammed closed after their sensei strolled into the room. He had long, silky, dark hair pulled back by a forehead protector, and she was close enough that she could see gloomy, purple eyes without pupils. This was unusual, but she had seen many unusual things in her two years in the Wizarding World, as well as her five here, like ninja jumping from rooftop to rooftop with seemingly super human strength and speed or citizens with naturally purple hair. So she accepted the fact with a metaphorical shrug. That’s that.
“Welcome, students. Today marks the beginning of your instruction. I am Jin Hyuuga. I am very pleased to be your sensei. I will do my very best to teach you the curriculum so that you all become ready able ninjas. All that I ask of you is to put in the work, and the results will show.”
Despite the sense of gentility behind his words, his voice remained monotone and quiet. It was hard for her to hear him—and she was sitting at the front. She wondered how the students at the back were fairing, and then she thought it wouldn’t have mattered too much anyway because they would have just slacked off soon enough anyway. Only people that didn’t care about their studies sat at the back, she thought with a sniff.
“Please introduce yourself to your seating partners. They will stay your seating partners until the end of the year as you all are not to change seating arrangements. Thank you.”
Shisui looked even more excited when she looked at him, and she was glad he wasn’t disappointed that he would be her partner until the end of the year. She had been in that position one too many times, and it hurt, and it wasn’t like there was anything she could do about. Their sensei’s word is law.
“Well, my name is Rei. Just Rei. I'm an orphan. The orphanage named me. And you are?” she tried not to sound too bossy, but the snotty infliction in her voice followed her even to this life.
“I’m Shisui Uchiha,” he declared, and then waited with a bated breath. She realised he was expecting her to react to his name—to his last name. Uchiha was probably the most famous clan in Konoha for their visual prowess.
“Oh,” she said.
Well, good for him. He had wealth, innate powers, social standing and a clan to back him up.
She had nothing.
Nothing but a past life of twelve years.
“Let’s help each other out and be friends, yeah?” he continued, apparently finding her response adequate.
She had never been good at making friends, and she didn't think she did anything particularly to deserve his offer of friendship, but she thought it would be nice to have a friend in the ninja academy, even though she had never expected to have any when Madam Ikeda first told her she would need to enrol.
“Alright,” she agreed.
When it was time to leave, Shisui shot to her his feet, spared a single moment to bid her goodbye and then raced to the door, beating every other classmate to it. She wondered where he was off to in such a hurry, and she thought to ask him the next day. Meanwhile, she took her time packing away her things, until she was the second last student in the room. By the time she got to the door, she was the last. Everyone was in such a hurry.
It was only half a day today, class having started after lunch, and so she needed to get back to the orphanage by five pm. It was only a ten-minute walk, and it was four pm, so she wasn’t hassled. She supposed the other orphans in her class wanted to leave early so they will have some free time before they had to return to the orphanage partake in their nightly chores.
She stopped by the park on the way, watching the sunset, until she had five minutes until curfew.
All in all, for such a new routine, the day was pretty uneventful. She hoped the ninja academy would prove to be more interesting than droning about basic grammar and mathematics that she already knew from her past life, or else she would simply continue her old routine of reading thick textbooks in the classroom.
January 17th, year 5
Taro was a plump boy who more often than not had some kind of snack he had stolen from the kitchen in hand. It was against the rules. It wasn’t fair that he should get more food because he was fat and the rest were not. It wasn’t right. She was getting tired of reminding him, and he was likely getting tired of hearing about it.
“Just leave me alone Rei! You’re not even one of Matron Ikeda’s stars.”
She knew she wasn’t—only because that spot was reserved for high achievers among the older kids and teenagers. She knew her time would come soon enough, though.
“No—” she snapped, her frown deepening as she watched him shove his hand into the chip bag to get another handful. “That is reserved for kids who successfully completed all their chores. You have completed none of yours, and so others miss out because you’re too selfish—”
“Oh, kami. You’re so annoying. Shut up.”
This silenced her.
Before she could gather up the courage to speak again, he left the hallway to slam his room door shut.
January 18th, Year 5
It wasn’t like she had never been called annoying before.
When she corrected Shisui on his grammar for his paper on his aspirations and goals, she expected him to call her annoying as well.
He didn’t.
He only grinned at her and thanked her.
She sniffed, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks.
January 20th, year 5
“It’s clearly a mouse. Look, it has a tail and claws.”
She didn’t even know why this was up for debate. She didn’t know why she was debating a illustration that clearly depicted a mouse, but here she was, hunched over a zoology textbook, pointing and fussing over a black and white drawing with Shisui.
“It’s not really claws. And the curve of the back makes it look like a tail but it’s actually a toad. Just look at its head—there’s no ears.”
Hermione squinted, noting with a deflated ego that he was indeed correct. There were no ears. Still, she refused to be wrong. It must have been a mistake on the illustration’s end. The shading was drawn with many lines so maybe it was simply underneath it all.
“Well, it can’t possibly be a toad; there would be holes where the ears should be. So it must be a mouse. The artist just forgot to add in the ears. I have seen many toads before, and they certainly have never looked like that. I’m telling you—it could only be a mouse.”
Hermione spoke at her usual speedy pace, as though she wanted to be done with talking altogether and was rushing through her sentences, but the truth was she wanted to talk fast enough that there would be no room for argument. Still, before she could continue rambling, Shisui interrupted, unafraid of her fast speech.
“Well, you’re just wrong,” he said in a matter of fact tone, grating on her nerves. “It’s a toad. The artist could never forget something as important as ears. But tiny holes, on the other hand—”
“Why would they depict toads in a section to do with mammals?” she exploded, angry and frustrated, and her voice raised a few octaves in volume. Some students stopped what they were doing to look at them. “How can you be so stupid, honestly—”
“There are no sections. Although there have been a few mammals listed before, we have seen in this textbook amphibians and the like thrown in randomly,” Shisui explained patiently, but she didn’t want to hear it.
Why was he being so stubborn about this? Why was she even arguing?
“It’s a mouse!” she snapped, harsh now, and slammed the textbook shut in her next breath.
Shisui looked startled.
She was glaring at him.
“I’m right, and you know it,” she said triumphantly when he still didn’t speak, staring at her instead.
A long moment passed.
“Okay,” he said, and then returned to his classwork, leaving her in silence.
She tried to ignore the way her gut twisted as she too went back to her essay.
It was his fault.
He shouldn’t have argued with her.
She had done nothing wrong.
January 21st, year 5
She was supposed to be the best. She was several years older than everyone else—mentally, at least—so it was only natural that she would come in first in everything. So why was kunai training giving her so much trouble?
It wouldn’t be so bad, if Shisui was having half as much trouble as her.
“You need to add spin to it before you throw it, see. Like this.”
Thump.
He was trying to be helpful. Probably.
She didn’t want to hear it.
“I can do it on my own!” she snapped and then threw a kunai that landed several metres away from the target dummy.
Shisui didn’t look smug, not really. It only grated her nerves even more.
“Go help someone else—someone who will appreciate it.” With that, she huffed, before moving to fetch her kunai.
When she returned, Shisui was gone.
January 25th, year 5
She spent the weekends in the library, just as she had spent every single free hour in the library before her enrolment at the ninja academy. It was tranquil—the repetitive flipping of paper every minute or so, the tick tick tick of the large clock, the low humming from the librarian at the front that carried all the way to the back where she sat. It would have been peaceful, if not for emerging realisation that she needed more than just thick and heavy books to be the top of the class.
She just about read all the books on chakra theory that was available to citizens of Konoha. It had taken her a year—but she had burned through everything, and now she was just rereading old content that she had already memorised.
It wasn’t the same. Clans had their own libraries, filled with knowledge and techniques only available to their clansmen, as well as senior clansmen that knew things that weren’t written down anywhere and have been passed down from generation to generation. The clansmen oversaw training, knowing when to correct and what, providing essential tips that helped the journey become significantly easier as well as preventing bad habits from forming by snipping them at the root before they had a chance to grow.
There was a reason that Shisui had consistently outperformed in the first two weeks of the academy, and that was because while she spent the past year reading books in preparation for the ninja academy, he spent the past year practising what he read with seasoned ninja well versed in the material. Professionals, if you would.
It wasn’t fair.
How was she supposed to catch up? How was she supposed to find someone to train her—she, an orphan with nothing good going for her but a thirst for knowledge and an ambition to be on the top?
She messaged her temples.
If she wanted to get better, she needed to figure something out—and fast. Before she got left behind.
January 26th, year 5
Akira was a quiet girl who never said much, but Hermione liked her well enough. Much more than she liked loud mouthed Taro, anyway.
“Matron Ikeda said to be careful with the radio—she said it’s the most expensive thing in the orphanage,” Akira said tonelessly as the other children poked and prodded at the device, changing the channel every few seconds, as though she were announcing a warning out of orders rather than any personal desire to see the new technology well looked after.
“Madam Ikeda also spends most of the orphanage's money on jewellery and clothes, so I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy if we damaged what could have gone to her precious collection instead.”
Taro smirked, like the idea appealed to him.
Akira simply stared at him, her pretty blue eyes that added to the likeness of her red hair and round face fixed on his standing form.
Static sounds buzzed into something coherent.
Hermione shushed her peers as she grabbed the radio, ignoring the icy sneer Taro sent her way.
“The fire lord daimyo has announced that all clan techniques and bloodlines to be regulated. All clans are to submit monthly reports on their clansmen’s abilities. Additionally, possible reform of the Hokage system ahead as the daimyo remains unimpressed with capital money spent on war with other nina villages, violating the Ninja Act II. It seems that—”
The signal became lost as the station went static. She placed the radio back onto the table with a sigh.
Everyone stared at her.
“What?” she said defensively.
“What does that mean?” Lee asked.
“How would I know?” flustered, red in the face that they thought she would know the state politics.
Well, she did know the state politics, but she didn’t know that. It was a new update.
“Because you know everything,” Hikari said.
Now she was really blushing.
“No, I don’t!” she protested.
“Yes—”
“It means that we may no longer have a Hokage if this war goes on for any longer,” Akira interrupted, quiet as her nature.
“Even an idiot would be able to figure out that much,” Taro agreed, probably to lessen the praise she was receiving.
“So, we don’t have a Hokage. What then?” Lee asked, still looking at her.
She looked away.
“Nothing good,” she answered, leaving her own theories to herself.
Privately, she thought it meant that the Capital hoped to undermine the village and control the village’s finances by assigning missions and ranks to ninja based off a new system controlled by civilians and a small council of selected ninja; this council would most likely not consist of the Hokage, experienced ninja that make up the elders and clan representatives and heads, but ninja that have proven their loyalty and worth to the daimyo.
Additionally, the monitoring of techniques and bloodlines would mean close surveillance of any notable ninja, and any practice of unauthorised and unlicensed techniques could come with swift reprisal, both of the financial and prison means, allowing the capital to funnel funds from the village to the capital and control the ninja of Konoha.
Perhaps the daimyo thought that the village had been given too much freedom and now that Ninja Act II—a pact of peace between ninja nations, if you would—had been violated (from the war between ninja villages that sprung up several months ago), he thought to take control of the village’s finances and influence on the state in the case that the village devastated food supplies and other natural resources in the wake of war as had happened previously to sustain wars.
“Anyway,” she continued, frowning heavily at the static sound, “this war needs to end soon—or else the village will eventually lose all power and won’t be able to keep up with other villages. Then we won’t have the funding for training ninja, and the ninja we do have won’t be able to get the pay they need for the risk their job entails, and we won’t be able to look after our civilians. Then the surrounding nations will see our inability to fund ourselves and invent and maintain techniques and bloodlines because of strict regulation and invade to steal our resources, which we have plenty of ore that is essential during this great revolution we are seeing where everything is becoming industrialised. By that time, we will have a pile of dead bodies and even more refugees. The capital is completely stupid for implementing this.”
They stared at her. Even Taro was staring at her, mouth agape, and it made her fold her arms over herself self-consciously.
Had she said nothing wrong?
She had used her past knowledge on economics and history to gather this, as well as her reading on current state politics in the village library.
“What?” she asked.
Lee grinned at her.
“See? I knew you would know.”
She blushed, looking down at her feet.
“So, we need to make sure the daimyo profits from this war, or at least maintain our current financial state, or else the daimyo will take control of everything?” Akira confirmed.
She nodded.
“Yes—but so far we have been losing. I just think—”
“We’re all in the academy,” Taro interrupted. “Not like we had any choice. But, anyway, we can’t do anything more than that—dedicating our lives to becoming good ninja. We’re in wartime academy, so we will probably graduate soon. I’m a year older than all of you—well, except for Hikari—so I’ll graduate in a year or two probably. I’m the best in my year, you know.”
“Even if you were the worst, you would still graduate then,” Hikari said, rolling her eyes. “They need ninja. It doesn’t matter if they’re practically babies.”
He looked offended.
“I’m not a baby!” he said.
She cooed at him.
“Are you sure, Taro? You sure look like one to me, what with those big cheeks and your short height. Goo-goo-baa-baa, Taro.”
His cheeks were nearly as red as hers had likely been earlier.
“Shut up, Hikari, You’re only two years older than me. And I’ll get tall—you’ll see. Then I will be skinny and handsome.”
“Wishful thinking,” she snorted.
“Well, I think Rei will be best the ninja out of all us,” Lee interjected.
Hermione really wished Lee would stop complimenting her like this. While she appreciated the sentiment, it made her uneasy, like she was expected to always make Lee think highly of her, and she didn’t think she was capable of that because she didn’t know what she did in the first place to make him think like that. She just wanted him to stop and admire someone else. She just wasn’t used to it.
“Really? Taro is the top of his class. What has Rei done that made you think that?” Akira commented mildly, looking bored with the conversation now.
Lee looked like she personally insulted him.
“What do you—”
“What are you children doing standing around?” It was Madam Ikeda, rushing into the room with a severe look that would have made her look more intimidating if not for the many pearls and diamonds she was wearing. They were all fake, despite spending the orphanage’s funds on them. She preferred quantity over quality, having her entire room filled with jewellery. Honestly, Hermione thought it was hoarder behaviour—and over something that just made her look silly. “Oh—you’re using that blasted radio. Don’t tell me it’s still not working.”
“It started working—” Hikari started.
“It’s six o clock,” she said as though she hadn’t heard Hikari, most likely not wanting to hear anything positive about an expensive purchase that could have gone to herself. “You should be preparing dinner and the table and doing chores. Well, hurry now. Go on. We don’t have all day.”
They shuffled around, scattering as they went to their designated jobs.
February 28th, year 5
In her opinion, Hina Yamanaka was very pretty, but any beauty she might have had was dispelled by her sour disposition. She always had a sneer twisting her lips, looking as though she smelled something particularly unpleasant. When she scoffed loudly after Jin Sensei placed them on a team together for a survival exercise, along with Shisui, she tried not be offended; but this was made difficult by her excessive complaining as she spoke in a furious whisper to her friends (sidekicks) that made it all the way to where she was sitting about her apparently awful situation.
She wondered if she was angry about being placed on a team with Shisui as well, but listening to her rant about the ‘class know-it-all’—a reputation that had followed her into this life it seemed from her hand raising every time their sensei asked a question—made her think it was mainly just her that she was unhappy about being placed on a team with.
Well, Hermione wasn’t particularly happy about her team placement either, but at least she wasn’t complaining loudly.
Once their sensei had finished speaking, the classroom erupted into noise, the sounds of chairs squealing and excited chatter filling the air. Hina dropped into the free chair beside Shisui, even though there was one free beside her that she walked past.
“Hello,” she said moodily.
Shisui, of course, grinned at her.
“Hello,” he returned.
Hina stared at him and then glanced her way, waiting for her to speak. And so she did.
“We need to bring our own camping gear,” she announced, bringing up her first concern with the task. “I’m an orphan, so—”
“You’re an orphan?” Hina interrupted, her thin eyebrows raised. If they were any older, Hermione would have thought they were plucked.
She raised her own eyebrows in return.
“Yes. Is that an issue?” She tried not to make her voice sound too sharp.
Hina reduced her to a small bug as she stared at her, before huffing.
“No, just makes a lot of sense, is all,” she muttered offhandedly.
Shisui was glancing between them, apparently nervous at the back and forth, and he leaned back in his seat.
“I should have some camping gear. What else—” he tried to change the topic.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Hermione cut in, unbothered to hide her sharp tone this time.
“Oh, nothing,” she said, inspecting her nails. They were painted in pink nail polish, just as her jacket with the fur collar was pink. “Just that it makes sense that the girl who always needs to be right and have the answer to everything is an orphan. Got an agenda to prove and all.”
Hermione felt her pulse quicken as she released a slow breath. So, that’s the angle Hina wanted to play at? Well, fine—she could be just as nasty.
“At least I don't buy my grades. I’m smart enough to be able to do the classwork on my own and get good grades.”
She raised her chin, triumphant and satisfied at the anger furrowing Hina’s brows.
“Hey guys,” Shisui started, but they both ignored him.
“Buy? There is no buying; I’m only...convincing—”
Hermione snorted.
“Manipulating, you mean,” she said under her breath.
“—that they will have my support as a friend if they help me by doing what they do best. Really, it’s a no brainer. Why would I, the most popular girl in the academy, do something that’s beneath me when I have...friends that can do it for me?”
“We’ve only been at the academy for a month now,” Shisui deadpanned, and Hermione glanced at him, wondering why he was coming to her defence by pointing out an obvious flaw in her argument. She didn’t question him aloud, instead choosing to be grateful. “Just like how our grades only reflect one months of work. A lot can change between now and the end of the year.”
Hermione glared at him. Well, never mind then. She supposed he hadn’t come to her defence. He was just being logical, no matter who that sided him with; which, it seemed, was against both.
“So, what?” Hina flicked her high ponytail over her shoulder. “People don’t just change their minds about choosing the popular girl that easily. I will stay the most popular because I became the most popular. Simple.”
“Why does being popular even matter?” Hermione snapped. “I think that—”
“And I think that we should get back to the task at hand, before I call our sensei,” Shisui interrupted, giving her a stern look when she opened her mouth to say more, effectively silencing her.
Hermione leaned back in her seat to look at Shisui; at the corner of her eye she could see Hina doing the same. She had never heard him tell her off before, even though she knew she had been uncooperative and difficult on numerous occasions, and yet he had told her off twice today. Why? Was it because he liked Hina and didn’t want to see Hermione win the argument? No—that wasn’t right. He had told Hina off in the same breath. Perhaps he liked Hina, but not enough to side with her.
Just as he didn’t like Hermione enough to side with her.
Then she wondered why she felt so wounded about a five-year-old not taking her side and felt very silly indeed.
“Whatever,” Hina scoffed, returning her attention to her nails.
Before Hermione could speak, their sensei made an announcement.
“I hope you have all discussed what is needed for Monday’s training exercise. Remember to be up bright and early. Class dismissed.”
Shisui looked more annoyed than she had ever seen him; him mouth was curved downwards like a crescent moon, and his eyes were narrowed. He stood up, abrupt and aggressive, his chair squealing underneath him, and looked at her.
“Now we’re unprepared because you two couldn’t put your differences aside and get along.”
Hermione didn’t know why he was looking at her—it was Hina who put up the fuss. She couldn’t see Hina’s expression because Shisui was blocking her line of sight, but she guessed that Hina would appear satisfied that Hermione was being told off for something she started. She clicked her tongue, preparing to speak, but Shisui continued, untamed by her indignant air.
“Both of you come to entrance of the Uchiha clan tomorrow at one pm. I’ll show you to my house and we can discuss ideas.”
“I would love to, but I already have plans—” Hina, petulant.
Shisui swerved to look at her.
“You’re going, or else I’m telling sensei.”
There was an exaggerated pause.
“Fine,” she said.
When he looked back at her, she nodded.
“Okay,” she agreed.
He sighed, then moved around her seat and left them with a final, “see you both tomorrow.”
Hina, obviously not wanting to be left alone with her, was quick to leave, not even bothering to say goodbye. Not that Hermione expected her to.
She hoped that dinner would be pleasant enough that it would make up for a day quickly turned dreadful.
1st March, year 5
It was a quiet, Saturday morning, and Hikari was complaining loudly about the state of her hair. Hermione didn’t see what was wrong with it—thin and wavy, it’s tangles could be stubborn but were manageable. Her hair, on the other hand, was thick, curly and blonde, and it seemed that the only difference between her hair in this life and her past life was its colour. This meant it took an hour every morning to fight to untangle her curls—if she could be bothered—and by then it was a poufy nest on the top of her head. It was mildly disappointing that her hair was just as difficult in this life as the last.
If only she had magic.
She had chakra—but it wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t as selective for one; everyone had chakra. It was like everyone had a skeleton and network of blood vessels running throughout their body, just as they had a chakra system. The only difference between ninja and civilians being that ninja trained to expand and exercise their chakra levels while civilians maintained minimal levels.
Magic could make certain items fly towards you with a simple “Accio” spell. Typical ninjutsu could do no such thing; withstanding bloodline limits, which made chakra behave in funny and unique ways.
Although she would need a wand to channel her magic, she thought it would make for a much more interesting morning than this boring one. She could “Accio” Hikari’s hairbrush and watch as she fretted and wondered why her hairbrush kept flying towards Hermione no matter how far she went in the room.
But no—her wild, frizzy hair had followed her into this life while her magic did not. What a terrible compromise.
Just as she was contemplating her circumstance with gloom, the doorbell rung, playing a tune far too happy for this place. She startled from her seat at the table in the far right corner, neglecting her sowing (which she had been tasked to do every Saturday morning, mending tiny holes and tears in orphanage clothing) as she looked up. In many bandages stood an old, gravelly man; he must have been a cripple, though he could stand and walk, because he leaned heavily on his wooden walking cane.
Madam Ikeda had been sorting through books (a chore Hermione would have much preferred and would have done if not for the matron’s knowledge of her sowing skills) at the other side of the room when she stopped and stood at his entrance. She looked pale and troubled, as she did every other time the man visited the orphanage, which was a grand total of seven times; once a month since the war started seven months ago.
She hurried to greet him, and the other children in the room went silent and still, forgetting their chores and watching the exchange. Because they knew just as well as she did that one of them would be leaving today with the man—for good. They never heard back from them.
Lee speculated it was to join an army to fight space aliens, while Taro said it was to work in the mines and looked grim at the thought. He hated the man and would lose his usual vivacious appetite until the following day. Hikari told him to stop being so overdramatic and that he was only adopting since he wanted a large family of his own and his wife couldn’t bear children of her own. When questioned as to why said wife never appeared on his day trips to the orphanage, she only shrugged and answered she was too busy running charity events.
It was a far too optimistic view to Hermione, and Lee’s was a far too whacky view, so as much as she hated to admit it, she had to agree with Taro. The orphans were being stolen and taken to the mines, since they didn’t cost anything and were small enough to fit into small holes to dig out ore valuable to the war effort. Though she wondered if it really was stealing if the matron knew and agreed to it. It was stealing their opportunity, since there was no real opportunity digging rocks and withdrawing from an education and a career.
“Good morning, Mister Danzou,” Madam Ikeda said, bowing lowly in front of him.
“Good morning, Ikeda. I trust you have a suitable candidate for me to take.”
She nodded slowly.
“Yes,” she confirmed. Then, in a louder, more commanding voice, she announced, “Sara, please get the children we discussed.”
Sara, the second eldest child among them and Madam Ikeda’s most trusted star, stopped folding clothes and moved to the hallway. A few minutes later she returned with several other orphans, all of them of varying ages and some of them stars, and ordered them to form a line. They did so with varying degrees of curiosity and annoyance. Some even wore looks of fear when faced with the man in bandages. They knew just as well as Hermione did that children chosen by Danzou could never be a good thing.
He went to the line, making beeline for the boy in the middle. Sometimes he inquired about the children, other times he just ripped the band aid and took the first one that appealed to him. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what may have made a child appeal to him, since they seemed to be chosen at random—tall or short, skinny or fat, girl or boy, high achiever or dead last, it didn’t seem to matter based off past applicants—but this time it would be timid, cowardly Haruto, a boy three years her senior and someone close to graduating now that the academy was following wartime curriculum.
“Come, boy,” he said, and even though he hadn’t said his name, everyone knew who was talking to by his eagle-eyed gaze on the boy.
Haruto stepped forward.
“O-okay. Where to?”
Hermione thought it was brave of him to ask the question.
“Don’t ask silly questions,” Madam Ikeda interjected sharply, looking annoyed by the question.
Danzou’s expression hadn’t changed at all from his usual stern exhaustion.
“To your new home,” he answered, and it was the first hint they had gotten to the approved kidnappings since this all began.
A new home? So perhaps Hikari had been right all along about Danzou adopting the children to expand his family. And likely paying a handsome amount due to taking future ninja from the training pool.
But it was still too suspicious to Hermione. Why hadn’t they heard from the children after they were adopted? It wasn’t like the ones that were chosen weren’t closely integrated into the orphanage community. They all were. So why wouldn’t they reach out if all was well and good? There was more to it—Hermione was sure of it.
At least Haruto looked less pale at his response. It was clear that the sentiment had chased away some of his worries, because he followed Danzou out the door without so much of a fuss.
Hermione knew that would be the last time she would see Haruto.
Several minutes later, even Madam Ikeda seemed to release an uneasy breath at his leave. Hermione could hear it from where she was standing in the dead of the silence. The children still held theirs, including Hermione.
“Well,” Madam Ikeda snapped several moments later. “What are you waiting for? Get back to your chores!”
The children in the line dispersed, while everyone else went back to their chores.
Privately, Hermione wondered when it would be her standing in anxiousness, awaiting the elderly’s man verdict to decide her fate, and promptly stopped that train of thought when she realised that worrying about it won’t do her any good.
She would just have to scheme her way out of being chosen to stand in that line.
1st March, year 5
The Uchiha clan district reminded Hermione of a nursing home; it was quiet, peaceful and mostly elderly people wandered the streets. She thought that was because all the ninja were out on missions. As to where the very young was, that was anybody’s guess. Perhaps indoors, away from the brutal sun. Or perhaps the Uchiha clan had an aging population, where they had more middle aged and elderly than young to replace them. That would be a concern, since it meant that old ideals and prejudices would remain prevalent, without anyone to challenge them, and that those that maintained such a mindset would be the ones running the show.
Misfortunate thoughts about the Uchiha aside, Hermione was bored. She had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed time—much better to be early than late, as her mother would say—and she checked her watch a fourth time.
She owned a green, wooden watch, and after finding it on a pathway two days after her fourth birthday, it had become the most expensive thing she owned. Madam Ikeda had demanded to know where she had gotten it from the first time she had seen it and then had told Hermione stealing was wrong when she had answered with “I found it,” and that Hermione was to hand it in by early next morning. Hermione had shared that she saw the ledger that kept a record of orphanage expenses the previous week when she had been ordered to mop the floors and the Hokage would be none too pleased to learn his precious coin was being spent on personal items than the orphanage. Madam Ikeda had grumpily informed her that she may keep the watch and had given her three times the chore load over the next month—as well as much more difficult chores. It had been worth the trouble, because now she owned something to call her own that the other children were infinitely jealous of and had tried stealing on more than one occasion.
In any case, her watch told her it was now five minutes past the designated time. They were both late.
Stuck between not wanting to waste her time and fulfilling her promise to meet her classmates, she was going back and forth in indecision. Just as she was about to leave, she spotted a head of dark, curly, short hair. It bobbed up and down in the crowd, below everything else, telling of the person’s short height. It could only belong to a child or a midget.
Shisui wore a grin like he wore dark grey shirts; always. Hermione felt simultaneously relieved that she didn’t have to cancel on her classmates and possibly get in trouble and disappointed that she would not be reading on farming customs during the Warring States Era.
“Hey, Rei,” he said, and then looked over her shoulder. “Good to see you, Hina.”
Hermione spun around on the spot, startled to see the girl that had acted as though their presence was so beneath her. Well, she had been told she had to come—but that didn’t mean Hermione expected her to. She really thought Hina would ditch and it would just be her and Shisui preparing for tomorrow's survival activity. It was a surprise, although perhaps not a pleasant one.
Hina was not a pleasant girl, after all.
“Why is everything so dull and gloomy here?” she complained, and Hermione had to agree. There wasn’t single splash colour in sight. “Where are the trees? The flowers?”
Hina was right—there was no nature in the compound, not as far as Hermione could tell from the entrance. There was only cement and wooden buildings.
Hermione didn’t voice any of this. For one, she thought it was rude. There were people around them that didn’t include just Shisui, and one didn’t just walk into someone’s home to complain about the state of its decor. And for two, she didn’t want to be caught in agreement with Hina Yamanaka; a fate that surely would cause Hina similar embarrassment.
“We used to have cherry blossoms, but they were damaged in a storm last year.” He didn’t sound offended in the least. He turned on the spot, waving at an elderly woman passing by. “Come on, this way. I’ll show you to my house.”
“Soooo,” Hina dragged out the word, “how long is this thing going to take? Because a girl like me is busy.”
“I have no idea,” Shisui supplied unhelpfully.
“I know a thing or two about surviving in the forest. I camped before, and learnt things like filtering water, making a fire and what plants to eat. I think we will be fine on that avenue,” Hermione said.
It was true—before she had gone to Hogwarts, she had camped many times with her parents. She had also been part of the girl scouts. While the plants in the Land of the Fire, specifically Konoha, were vastly different to the plants in her past life, having those skills as well as her knowledge on plants from the library was fundamental in her survival abilities. The only problem was identifying the plants; while she knew what their description entailed, often books did an injustice to the real deal, as her past experiences would suggest. She knew how to identify plants—just the ones back in England.
“Argh.” Hina, making a face.
Hermione was already looking at her, expecting some kind of dismissal.
“What?” she asked.
“Guys, let’s not get into this again,” Shisui warned. “We have work to do, and I’m also busy. Let’s not delay by arguing.”
“I’m not the one that starts it,” Hina defended.
“Really?” Hermione, sarcastic.
“Yes, you cavewoman—”
Hermione scowled.
“Excuse me—”
“Shut up,” Shisui said, and Hermione turned her head towards him, wounded that he would say such a thing to her. Also shocked that he could swear so easily.
“We’re here,” he continued, and shot Hermione an easy grin to likely tell her he didn’t mean it.
Hermione accepted his silent apology by looking away; now her view was on the small, modest house. It looked just the same as every other house they passed. Only it was painted a dark blue.
“I’m home,” Shisui shouted as they entered the building, making Hermione wince at the volume.
Did he have to shout so loud, while standing right next to her?
Inside was every minimalists dream: there was a single Konoha’s Weekly magazine on a marble table against the wall, a cabinet showcasing mini figurines of what she guessed were samurai, a cat’s bowls of biscuits and water and a dark blue sofa to match the exterior of the house. There was absolutely no more furniture than necessary, and no details to clutter the furniture that was there. She tried not to gawk at the pink Katana showcased on the wall as Shisui led them through a hallway. Even Hina was silent. Hermione silently wondered if her home was the opposite—a rip, roaring mess, and was made silent by the change of scenery.
Maybe that was why she was so nasty, Hermione thought. She had such a terrible home life living in a mess.
As they began to sit down amongst a wooden table, a man with dark, curly hair a lot like Shisui—but peppered in grey—popped his head from around the corner. He didn’t look surprised to see them and wore a tired, but friendly smile.
“Ah, Shisui said he will have guests over. I’m Kagami, Shisui’s father. Welcome,” he said.
“Thanks for having me,” Hina said after a short moment.
“Thank you,” Hermione quickly said, not wanting to come across rude when Hina had been so quick to be polite.
“Um, Dad. The cat escaped again.”
A long sigh.
“Guess I know what I will be doing for the rest of the afternoon. Enjoy your stay, kids.”
With that, he left.
Shisui looked at Hina, then he looked at her.
“You said you know how to filter water and make camp-fires?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Yes, but I’m a bit out of practice. Should be fine though.”
“Great. And what do you know, Hina?”
Hina shrugged.
“I never had to camp before. But I did have to learn the academy three from my dad: the henge, clone and replacement jutsu. So you can say this will give us a leg up over the other teams, since I’m sure if we encounter another team they might try to sabotage us.”
“That’s good news—I also know the academy three. My dad taught me too. I also been working my own technique—I call it the body flicker technique. I haven’t perfected it, but it should come as a surprise to other students. It basically lets me move at high speeds, nearly invisible to the naked eye when I move like this.” He grinned, obviously proud about his work. “Do you also know the academy three, Rei?”
Hermione’s flushed, embarrassed that she was the only one out of the three who didn’t know how to perform the academy three. She knew what they were, of course. But she had never seen it in practice or knew how to channel her chakra to perform the technique. Again, her practical fundamentals were lacking, being an orphan with no one to teach her and all.
“No, I don’t,” she said nervously. “But I can still help! I will—”
“Of course you can still help,” Shisui said kindly. “Your survival skills in the forest will be invaluable to us.”
Hermione looked away.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Anyway, it will probably take a week to get to the destination. There are eighteen teams, all starting at different locations near the mountain. Whoever hikes to the top of the mountain first wins the prize and gets given five-hundred dollars to share among their team. As we already guessed, other teams might try to sabotage us if we encounter them, so we need to stay vigilant.”
He tapped on the scrolls on the table.
“I prepared sealing scrolls to store nonperishable foods, like canned fruit and beans, as well as camping material like tents and bedrolls, and hunting gear to maintain a balanced diet and weapons. Rei, you’re an orphan—so don’t worry about supplies. Hina, if you want to contribute, give me the supplies on the day and I’ll bring an extra sealing scrolls to store it in.”
“You can already use sealing jutsu?” Hina murmured.
“That’s advanced,” Hermione agreed.
Too advanced for the academy. Usually one had to apprentice under another sealing master to learn sealing skills.
“I had a great tutor,” he grinned, cheeks red. “Anyway, I think that’s all for today. Anything else to add?”
“No,” Hina huffed.
“I think that’s everything,” Hermione said.
“Great. See you all Monday. We got this team. I got to go, so I’ll show you to the front door.”
He led them to the main entrance, and then they dispersed.
2nd March, year 5
Hermione often wondered how it happened; how she died.
Had she been slain by Voldemort in another mad adventure at the end of the school year with Harry and Ron? Or had it been by something silly, like a spell gone wrong or a potions incident? Or something by muggle means, like a car accident?
She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had been in second year at Hogwarts, and then she had died and awoke as Rei as a new-born baby.
It didn’t matter, she thought, stirring the soup and nibbling on the bread. She had more important things to worry about—like getting up to speed on the academy three and winning the survival exercise. There was a lot she could do with that money, but mainly it was good to have savings in the case that something went wrong. Being an orphan, Hermione had none.
Bedtime had come quickly after dinner, and she vowed that she would catch up quickly.