Chapter Text
You have been reincarnated.
The good news: you are not an only child. The bad news: you feel like you are suffocating.
You beat desperately against your mother's endometrial lining. You can feel the joyful tremors radiating from her, the loving strokes she offers her belly, the heavy pressure of your father's face pressing close. Your younger sister tries to kick your father's face with her foot, drawing startled, spring-breeze gasps from your mother.
Your sister senses your distress. She begins to pull outward at the cord tangled tightly around your neck.
—Regrettably, she fails.
You must save yourself.
Holding your breath, you swim downward. At last, you sense the weakest point. In your heart, you offer a heavy apology to your mother—you have no choice—and ram your soft skull against it.
Thump.
Splash. Another.
Your mother clutches her belly, looking blankly at her husband. Dazedly, she mutters that she thinks she's going into labor. Your foolish father startles out of his wits, scoops her up, and races for the hospital. After a flurry of chaotic panic, your mother ends up lying safely on a white hospital bed.
You are pulled out by a pair of hands. You release your first cry into this world. The creases of your body are packed with vernix caseosa; your skin is bleached pale from the amniotic sea; you shiver from the biting cold; you are cyanotic from prolonged oxygen deprivation.
Your mother hears your faint, reedy cry, but before joy can surface, the grim expression of the medic-nin freezes her. The next wave of contractions tears her words apart. Through her blurred vision, she sees your hair is black.
Black hair. It seems the flower names we prepared are useless now, she thinks with a twinge of regret.
The medic-nin holds you, wholly focused on restoring your breathing. You can sense their desperate efforts to save your life, yet you can only manage the weakest of whimpers.
Summoning every ounce of strength, you pry your eyes open. The overhead lights halo into a rainbow of hair colors. You earnestly hope this world is free from medical disputes—and that you yourself were born with the base-model configuration.
Exhausted, you let your eyes, which were begging to shut anyway, drift closed.
"MATSU—!"
Resigned, you sit up in the grass and expertly open your arms to catch your sister, who flings herself at you like a swallow returning to the nest. You rest your chin atop her pink head, rubbing gently. Sakura wraps her arms around your waist, burying her face into your soft belly.
"My, my, still so close!" The old lady next door passes by, chuckling behind her hand. "Even though little Matsu and little Sakura look nothing alike."
You breathe a quiet sigh of relief in your heart. Thank goodness Haruno Matsu and Haruno Sakura don't resemble each other. At least no one will assume you're blood-related just by passing you on the street.
Sakura looks up, glaring daggers at the wide-mouthed old woman. Though furious, she knows any outburst will only feed the neighborhood gossip. So she forces the tide of her anger to recede, summoning a cute, winsome smile.
"We look super alike! It's just that my hair is pink, and my big sister's is black." Sakura strains to widen her round, emerald cat-eyes. You glance down and find yourself caught, transfixed by the vibrant green pools of her gaze.
The next second, Sakura uses her fingers to pry your eyelids open, forcing you to reveal irises that almost match her own.
Yes, yes. You can feel it—the pads of her fingers resting with unyielding insistence upon your trembling eyelids. You suddenly recall a former colleague's grumble from your past life: Pressing on someone's eyeball through the eyelid is basically just trying to feel a phantom fetal movement.
"Matsu's eyes are the same color as mine!" Sakura tugs your head downward, triumphantly announcing this to Yamanaka Ino, who has stopped nearby. She declares it to the whole world with unequivocal certainty.
"Even though Ino's are similar, they're still not as pretty as Matsu's."
Beside you, Nara Shikamaru props his head on his hand, lying sideways. He idly plucks a blade of grass and lets the breeze carry it away. "Aren't they all just green?" he drawls. "Girls are such a drag."
"They are not!" Sakura and Ino roar at him in unison.
"Shikamaru, you have absolutely zero shinobi observation skills!" Ino plops down beside you all and vigorously squishes Shikamaru's chubby cheeks.
"Main problem is, Shikamaru won't even open his eyes properly," Chōji says contentedly, ripping open a bag of chips and squinting with pleasure.
"Exactly! We've known each other forever, and Shikamaru still can't tell the difference between our three eye colors!" Sakura releases her grip on you, plants her hands on her hips beside Ino, and stomps her foot.
"You kids sure get along well!" The old lady bustles off, still chuckling.
The moment her presence fades, the three beside you collapse in unison, exhaling in relief and sinking back into the lush grass.
"Women are a drag." Shikamaru covers his face, which is starting to redden and sting, and casts a resentful glance at Ino. He outright refuses to even imagine the teasing his bastard old man will dish out when he gets home.
"Say that again!" A cross-popping vein bulges on Ino's forehead.
You watch them, relaxed. These are perhaps your favorite moments—your beloved sister laughing with friends. It soothes you, especially now, on the cusp of entering the Ninja Academy. You don't know if you have the aptitude to get in. But if you can't be with Sakura…
Haha. As if that could happen.
Your body is weak.
The prolonged suffocation during birth irreparably damaged its fundamental functions. You cannot run fast. Your strength is pitiful. To a shinobi's eyes, you are a pale porcelain doll that would shatter at the merest touch.
Dr. Yamamoto, the medic-nin who delivered you, has persisted in treating and regulating your condition for years. But you had unilaterally issued a rejection notice long ago.
"Mrs. Haruno," Dr. Yamamoto paused, "your daughter… suffered irreversible systemic damage from the oxygen deprivation at birth. Her physical stamina, strength, and endurance will always fall far below normal levels."
Your mother's eyes instantly reddened.
You sat on the tatami mat, holding the rabbit plushie your sister had handed you, and accepted the verdict with equanimity. Dr. Yamamoto caught your expression, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
"Aren't you sad, little Matsu?"
—You have no talent for becoming a kunoichi.
Your mother once asked your father, weeping, if it was because of the difficult labor. If it was because the umbilical cord had been wrapped around your neck for too long.
Your father was silent for a long while. Then he said that no matter what, Matsu is our daughter. You stood outside the door and listened to the whole conversation, then crept quietly back to your room, pretending you had never left.
Sakura knows none of this.
She only knows her older sister is frail. She gets winded after a few steps. She catches fevers when the seasons change. She can't run wild like the other kids. So Sakura makes herself your shield, standing between you and the casually cruel taunts of "that broad-forehead's sister is gonna die young," her round face scrunched into the fiercest scowl she can muster.
Shikamaru notices the restlessness radiating from you. He scratches his head and speaks. "Hey, Matsu." Once you look up, he fixes his gaze on a passing cloud. "Are you interested in shadows?" Then he makes his shadow bite and hold yours.
Illogical. Nonsensical.
But it feels like being nudged by a fawn, you think.
"Shikamaru," you say, your eyes curving gently, "if you're going to coax a girl in the future, you really should look her in the eyes."
"So noisy," he mutters, scratching his jaw and avoiding your gaze. Inwardly he groans—What a pain!
There is no particular reason. Looking someone in the eye risks falling into a genjutsu. Not everyone is an Uchiha, but a shinobi is always better off cautious.
Shikamaru sighs, then silently screams inside.
And yet, and yet…
Shikamaru shifts his gaze back, meeting your patiently waiting green eyes, then immediately looks away again. But eyes are like vines, wanting to enclose everything, airtight. And a young deer wants to walk into the forest.
From the corner of his eye, Shikamaru watches Sakura and Ino braiding each other's hair. He lets out his final, world-weary sigh of the day. He turns sideways, reaches out to pat your shoulder, and gives you a look of profound exasperation.
From your perspective, Shikamaru's features seem to cave inward, wrinkle up, collapse. He pats your shoulder as if trying to draw attention. You hesitate, then speak.
"Um, Shikamaru looks like he ate something bad. We should take him to the hospital."
At this, Shikamaru's expression becomes even more despairing.
Ino wrenches Shikamaru's face back toward her, inspects him, then orders you and Sakura to lift his lower half while Chōji hoists his upper half. She cradles his head, and you all charge toward the hospital in a dead sprint.
Shikamaru's rear end dangles in midair, bobbing with the rhythm of the run. His face remains utterly blank, staring at the clouds rushing backward with an "I am already dead" expression.
"Hang in there, Shikamaru!" Ino's voice wavers with tears. "We're almost there!"
"I'm not sick," Shikamaru says.
"That's what all patients say!" Ino retorts.
You feel Shikamaru's leg twitch against your shoulder, as though he's restraining the urge to kick you.
Shikamaru just had a stomachache.
The medic-nin lifts Shikamaru's shirt, presses on his abdomen, asks a few questions, and makes a very subtle expression. She prescribes a box of digestive tablets.
"He ate too much," the medic says.
Ino's face flushes crimson.
Shikamaru sits up on the cot, opens the box, and chews a tablet right in front of you all, his look plainly asking, Satisfied? He hands the rest to Chōji.
Sakura is shaking with silent laughter behind her hand. You pat her back to keep her from choking.
"So," Shikamaru says after swallowing, fixing you with his perpetually half-lidded eyes, "have you thought about it?"
You blink.
"The shadow thing."
You remember now.
Nara Shikamaru is lazy, avoids trouble, and seems indifferent to everything. But once he decides something is worth doing, he clings to it like a shadow that won't let go.
"I can teach you," he says. "Your chakra reserves are tiny, but the Shadow Possession Jutsu doesn't actually consume as much as people think. The key is—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Ino cuts him off, eyes wide. "Shikamaru, what are you saying? You're going to teach Matsu your Nara clan's secret jutsu?"
"Yeah."
Ino's eyes widen further. Even Chōji starts shaking Shikamaru's shoulders frantically.
"Are you insane?! Your dad will kill you."
"Nah," Shikamaru says, scratching his head. "The old man'll just go, 'Ah, my, Shikamaru's finally reached that age, huh?' and then wander off to drink and grin like an idiot. What a drag."
You meet Shikamaru's gaze in silence.
Your taijutsu is abysmal. Ninjutsu aptitude is near zero. Your shuriken throws veer toward the next target over. In one month are the Ninja Academy entrance assessments. Following normal procedure, you likely won't enroll. Instead, you'll learn other skills, take academic classes with children fated never to be shinobi, graduate to some clerical position, and live out a plain, safe existence.
But Shikamaru refuses to let you be left behind.
He simply, stubbornly believes you shouldn't be. To that end, he deliberately takes the long way around to find you at the hospital, then walks you home, sharing how he spent his day. When Sakura and Ino run off together to gawk at Uchiha Sasuke, he swings by to invite you over to see the deer.
Nara Shikamaru, the boy who calls everything a "drag," does nothing but the most troublesome things.
"Alright," you say, rising and cupping his face so he meets your eyes. "Then I'm making a huge profit here. Plus, I'll always have Shikamaru with me."
Shikamaru's eyes widen a fraction. Then he looks away, muttering, "What a pain."
Behind you, Sakura wraps her arms around your waist and presses her face against your back. You can feel her smile, the warmth of her breath seeping through your clothes into your skin.
"Matsu's gonna learn the shadow jutsu," she murmurs, her voice muffled by the fabric as she burrows deeper. "Then Matsu's shadow can hold hands with mine."
Ino lets out an indecipherable shriek.
"What are you doing?" Yamanaka Inoichi looks up from his scroll, bemused, watching Ino clutch her head and roll around screaming on the tatami.
"Dad!"
"I'm here."
"Shikamaru's gone crazy!"
"Oh?" Inoichi's gaze drifts back into the dense maze of script on his scroll.
"He's going to teach Matsu the Shadow Possession Jutsu. The Nara clan's secret jutsu."
Inoichi's hand pauses almost imperceptibly, then resumes its methodical parsing.
"Does Shikaku know?"
"Shikamaru says Uncle Shikaku will just go off alone to drink and grin like an idiot. How could Uncle Shikaku grin like an idiot?!"
"That does sound like something he would do." Inoichi presses his lips together, a soft laugh escaping.
Ino falls silent for a moment.
"Ino," Inoichi says suddenly, "if it were you, would you be willing to teach Sakura and Matsu?"
Ino eyes her father quizzically. His expression is calm—the look he usually wears when dealing with troublemakers.
"The Mind Transfer Jutsu is the Yamanaka clan's secret art." Inoichi sets down his scroll and pours two cups of tea. "Like the Nara clan's Shadow Possession, in principle, it's not meant to be taught to outsiders. Shikamaru broke the rule. What do you think?"
Ino accepts a cup, holding it in both hands.
"I would be willing," she answers without hesitation.
Inoichi reaches over and ruffles her hair.
"Teach both of them?"
"Teach both of them."
Inoichi nods. His fingertip taps lightly on the tabletop.
"Then teach them," he says, his voice gentle.
Ino blinks in disbelief. "Just like that? You're not going to ask why?"
"No need to ask." Inoichi's voice is soft with warmth and mirth. "You are willing. That is enough."
Ino opens her mouth, then closes it. She grabs a tangerine from the fruit bowl instead.
"Dad."
Inoichi lowers his teacup.
"Shikamaru, he…"
"Hmm?"
"Never mind. It's nothing."
Inoichi doesn't press. Ino doesn't continue.
She peels the tangerine. The tart, sweet scent of citrus oil fills the space between them. Outside: insect chirps, frog croaks, the muffled curses of a shinobi landing badly after a leap. Night in Konoha is always a quietude brimming with hidden commotion.
"Ino," Inoichi says suddenly, "that child, Matsu—"
"—Bring her home for a meal sometime."
"And Sakura." Ino's hand stills over the tangerine. She looks down, her voice thick.
Inoichi says nothing more. Ino eats the tangerine, segment by segment, then gets up to wash her hands. Over the sound of running water, she hears her father unroll a case file.
She stands before the sink. In the mirror, her cheeks are a little flushed.
She scrubs her face vigorously, shuts off the tap, and plasters on her usual grin for her reflection.
"Matsu," she whispers, clutching her chest. The water drowns the sound.
"MATSU—!"
Did the wind just lick you?
An illusion?
You turn. Sakura is gazing up at you. Her eyes are indeed green, like yours. But not entirely the same. Your green is the lightless hue at the bottom of a deep pool. Hers is the green of freshly unfurled spring leaves, of sunlight dappling the forest floor through the canopy. Alive. Breathing. Growing.
You think: I will hold onto her with my shadow.
If one day she runs too fast, flies too far, at least your shadow can still catch up to her.
That is all.
…That is all.
The day Shikamaru began teaching you the Shadow Possession Jutsu was a sun-drenched afternoon.
Shikamaru asked once again if you were interested in shadows.
"Shikamaru," you said, staring straight at him, "you're the only one who keeps asking me that."
His ears reddened slightly. He turned away toward the window. "Just asking casually."
"Then I'll answer casually." You curved your eyes. "Shadows are good. Quiet, loyal, they never leave. I like them very much."
You sat on the veranda of the Nara household's back garden. Just as you finished speaking, Shikamaru's father, Nara Shikaku, passed by carrying a tea tray, a "Just as I thought" smile on his face. He set the tray beside you, winked broadly at Shikamaru, and strode off with exaggerated adult composure.
"What did that mean?" you asked, accepting a tea cake Shikamaru offered.
"It means he finally won his bet with Uncle Inoichi," Shikamaru sighed. "Every year they bet on whether I'd ever voluntarily teach someone the shadow jutsu. Uncle Inoichi bet 'no.' The old man is gonna laugh about this from now until New Year's."
Your shadow moved for the first time while Shikamaru was drinking barley tea.
It was just a faint tremor, as though you'd shifted your body. But Shikamaru set down his cup. He looked at the shadow at your feet, then at you, and murmured something very softly.
You didn't catch it. You were wholly absorbed in the strange sensation. A shadow's tactile feedback is nothing like a hand's. The ground becomes another layer of your skin. You can feel every minute vibration within the shadow's reach.
Strange. Mesmerizing.
And dangerous.
It reminded you of the first time in your past life you'd reached into a patient's thoracic cavity, your fingers brushing a beating heart. That tremor. The terror and awe of touching the core of a living thing. Exactly the same as now.
You strained to extend your shadow toward Shikamaru's. He watched the dark shape creep inch by inch across the ground, a helpless smile on his face.
His shadow took hold of yours.
When you got home, Sakura was crouched by the door, teasing an orange tabby. Seeing you, she stood, brushed the cat fur from her skirt, and ran over. Her hair was like diluted sunset in the fading light.
"Matsu—" She stretched out your name, throwing herself into your arms.
You caught her, resting your chin on her head.
"What'd you learn today?" she asked, looking up.
"Shadows."
"Did you get it?"
"It moved a little."
Sakura's eyes lit up. She let go of your waist, stepped back two paces, and looked down at your elongated shadows in the setting sun. Your shadow and hers lay side by side on the ground, like two people who would never part.
She carefully inched her feet over, maneuvering her shadow's hand closer to yours.
Then she looked up, beaming with the triumphant pride of a successful cheat.
"We're holding hands!"
On the ground, the two shadow hands overlapped. You took her real hand in yours.
"Sakura is amazing."
That night, you lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Moonlight leaked through the curtain gap, painting a silver-white line across the floorboards. You tried extending your shadow along that line, and immediately felt the vertigo of chakra exhaustion crash over you.
Your body really was too weak.
You knew you could never be the kind of shinobi who charged the front lines. Your stamina forbade it. Your chakra forbade it. Your heart forbade it. You didn't need the center stage. You only needed to stand where you could see Sakura's back.
That way, your shadow would just be able to reach her. That would be enough.
The night before the entrance exam, you had a dream.
Haruno Matsu. Physical evaluation: FAIL. Chakra refinement: FAIL. Does not possess foundational kunoichi aptitude. The blood-red words were stamped across the very top.
Sakura stood before the bulletin board, fists clenched so tight they trembled. Her shoulders shook.
You had never seen her like this.
When she was angry, she stomped and yelled and pulled hair with Ino. When sad, she puffed her cheeks, hung her head, and cried in hiccuping sobs—once she would twist her clothes, now she wept openly while shouting her feelings. When embarrassed, she'd punch someone and tell them not to look, her face blushing red.
"I'll go talk to them." Her voice was eerily level after a deep breath. "It has to be a mistake."
You caught her wrist. She didn't pull away.
"Sakura."
She refused to look back at you.
"Sakura," you repeated, "it's true. I didn't refine any chakra."
She whirled around. "But you clearly—"
You pulled her into your arms, feeling her tears finally soak the fabric of your shoulder. She wept utterly silently, like a true kunoichi, swallowing every sound down her throat.
"It's okay." You traced circles on her back.
Sakura shook her head against your chest, her hair brushing your chin.
"Really, it's okay," you repeated, resting your chin on her pink hair. "You go be a kunoichi. I'll wait at home. If you get hurt, I'll bandage you. If you're tired, I'll make you porridge. I can earn money and buy you the best kunai. If you meet an enemy you can't beat, I'll—"
You stopped.
Sakura lifted her head from your embrace.
You'll what?
You thought for a moment and said, "I'll put a bounty on them on the black market."
—I'll be right behind you.
You heard footsteps overhead—light, urgent. A child stopped directly above you and began to dig. Fingers scraped through soil. Nails split. Blood seeped into the earth.
You saw a face. Pink hair. Green eyes. A thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.
She scooped you into her palms, tears dripping onto you. Like encountering a long-awaited rain, you greedily absorbed the moisture and salt.
"I'm sorry," she kept repeating. "I'm sorry, I couldn't find you."
You wanted to say It's okay, I'm right here. But a seed cannot speak.
The rain fell too hard. You struggled to wake from the dream.
The next day, you placed dead last, without any suspense.
During the taijutsu test, your fist hit the wooden post. The post didn't budge an inch, but your wrist nearly dislocated. Shuriken test: five throws. One complete miss. Two grazed the edge. Two barely stuck in the target's outer ring. Your chakra reserves were pitiful, your taijutsu talent essentially at zero, your strength and endurance laughably low.
Yet your genjutsu assessment score was so high it was impossible to ignore. The examiner's face hovered between pity and exasperation.
"Freak," a chūnin muttered.
"Sure this isn't an Uchiha?"
"Would an Uchiha be this weak?"
They whispered among themselves.
In the comments section, the examiner wrote: Chakra reserves insufficient to sustain C-rank ninjutsu. Then, under Sakura's hopeful gaze, added: Possesses latent aptitude as a genjutsu-type kunoichi—cultivate with caution.
You squeaked into the Ninja Academy by a hair's breadth.
The day class placements were posted, Sakura stood before the list, scanning it over and over. Her finger traced from "Haruno Sakura" slowly down to "Haruno Matsu." Dozens of names separated them.
"I'm not going," she said.
You sighed. You had known this was coming.
"Sakura—"
"I'm not going." Her voice began to shake. "I want to be in the same class as Matsu. I—"
"Haruno Sakura."
She fell silent. She turned around, tears brimming in her eyes, quivering but refusing to fall.
You rarely used her full name. The last time was when she was four and climbed the tree in your yard; you'd stood underneath and yelled, "Haruno Sakura, get down this instant!" She had clung to the trunk, terrified, until you stood on a chair and lifted her down.
"Look at me," you said.
Through a blur of tears, she looked at you.
You reached out. Her lashes brushed your fingertip as the first tear finally spilled.
"I am right here," you swore to her.
"But—"
"I will catch up."
Sakura froze.
"Students in the general class have a chance to take an advancement exam every semester." You cupped her face. "I will test into the elite class. One month. Two months. Maybe a year. But I will get in."
You don't like saying "I promise," because you don't make pledges you can't keep. You needed time, but not much.
Sakura seized the hand you hadn't yet withdrawn and pressed it back to her palm. Her tears fell scalding hot onto your skin, tracing the lines of your palm, leaving dry, salty trails.
"You said it," her voice was muffled against your hand. "You said it. Matsu said she'd catch up."
"I will."
"I'll wait for you."
"Good. I won't make you wait long."
"I'll become really, really strong. Then I'll come back for Matsu."
You laid your other hand over hers and leaned your forehead against hers, just as you once had in the amniotic fluid.
In your past life, you had witnessed too many partings. You once held the outstretched hand of an elderly patient as she wheezed, "Doctor, I don't want to die." You once stood in an operating room as the ECG waveform turned from a rhythmic jump into a flatline, your hands still inside his chest cavity compressing uselessly.
You thought you were used to goodbyes.
But now, cradling Sakura's face, you realized you had never truly grown accustomed. You had merely crammed all those feelings deep down, stuffing a tangled mess of threads into a box too small, clamping the lid and pretending it was empty.
This was just a class assignment.
Not life or death.
No, it wasn't.
Your first month at the Academy settled into a routine.
Mornings in the general class: learning useless fundamentals. Shinobi codes of conduct, the geography of Konohagakure. You spent most lessons daydreaming. When called on, you always answered correctly. Eventually, the teacher couldn't be bothered to care about you anymore.
Afternoons were free training. Shikamaru would wait for you after school, and together you'd go to the woods behind the Nara compound to practice the Shadow Possession Jutsu. Sometimes Ino would come, bearing chips and drinks, sitting on the veranda watching you practice, occasionally exclaiming with exaggerated "Wows" and "Ahhs."
Your shadow could now extend about two meters.
The first time you successfully immobilized a moving target with Shadow Possession, Shikamaru was lounging with his arms crossed behind his head. Shikaku let out an impressed "Oh-ho!"
"No comment?" Shikaku fished out a cigarette to light. Shikamaru pinched his nose and froze him with the shadow jutsu.
"Nothing to comment on. She was always capable of it." Shikamaru plucked the cigarette and pocketed it. "Smoke less. Mom's been nagging a million times about the stench."
"You never cared before, you brat."
After dinner, you and Sakura would sit in the courtyard. She bubbled with excitement about her lessons, her gestures animated, looking like a tiny, dancing flame under the lamplight.
Sometimes she'd pause. "Matsu, the things I learned today—you will learn them too."
"Mm."
"I'll give you a head start!" Saying this, she would pull your hand over. Her fingers trailed over your skin, leaving a faint, warm tingle.
You watched her fingertips, suddenly remembering—the scrub nurse pressing a scalpel into your palm. The cold metal through the glove. Gripping the handle. A deep breath. The first incision.
That was the last time you ever held a scalpel. Ten minutes after finishing, your chest had seized. Your colleagues had laid you on the adjacent table. The monitors had screamed, and your blood had dripped onto the OR floor.
"Matsu?" Sakura's voice pulled you back. "Are you listening?"
"Listening." Your voice drifted.
Your little sister was a genius.
You knew it from the first time she gripped a kunai. Her chakra control was exquisite. She absorbed theory at a terrifying pace. Her taijutsu, though raw at first, improved by leaps and bounds.
She possessed a quality you recognized intimately—
She never, ever gave up.
Watching her sometimes, you recalled people from your old department. They all had that same look in their eyes: bright, resolute, never backing down, as if no medical case in the world could make them surrender. Sakura was only six, yet she already bore that expression.
You didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse.
Coming out of the hospital, Dr. Yamamoto harbored a stubborn obsession with having you inherit her medical mantle. She was particularly impressed by your reverence for life, your steady hands unshaken by fear, your ability to show compassion without drowning in empathy.
When bed numbers became names, and diagnoses became identities—it had taken you a long time to learn that a human life should never be defined by mere metrics.
"If only your body were stronger," Dr. Yamamoto sighed, patting your head regretfully. "Little Matsu would surely become a kunoichi renowned across the lands."
Now you picked up the blade again—not to save lives, but to learn how to take them.
In your past life, training began with mice, then frogs, then rabbits. Some classmates later moved on to beagles and monkeys, but your most frequent mammalian subject had been the rabbit.
You stroked the gradually calming mouse, listening blankly to the teacher's lecture.
"Humans are just like mice. If your strength is sufficient, then—" He lifted the trembling mouse, grasped its squeaking head, and gave a gentle, upward tug.
Squeak—!
The limp mouse was posed into various positions by the teacher.
The students gasped—but there was no awe or pity for life, only excitement. Of course. This was the Ninja Academy. They were learning how to kill. Or, more challengingly, how to perfectly complete a mission while protecting its objectives.
Shinobi.
The shinobi world.
After school that day, you wandered outside alone for a long time. It wasn't until Sakura, bubbling with mysterious excitement, dragged you home and pushed open the door, that you saw a small, awkward blond boy standing in your living room.
Uzumaki Naruto.
He was much scrawnier than you remembered glimpsing. His clothes were grimy, his face bearing a cautious, fragile hope. Seeing you walk in, his eyes flickered with light before rapidly dimming again.
"Nee-chan," Sakura tugged your sleeve, her voice soft, "Naruto… he doesn't have anywhere to go."
"Hello. I'm Haruno Matsu, Sakura's older sister." You extended a hand to him. "Nice to meet you."
Naruto froze, staring at your hand. After a long moment, he gingerly grasped your fingers. His palm was ice cold.
"I'm… my name is Uzumaki Naruto." His voice was hoarse. "And I'm gonna be Hokage oneday!"
"Okay," you said.
You added, "Lord Uzumaki, please be sure to look after this humble one in the future."
He shouted back, "I'll protect you and Sakura-chan with my life!"
Naruto's tears splashed onto the back of your hand.
His beaming smile made your chest ache. The people here—the more wounded they were, the more forcefully they smiled. As if laughing loud enough could drown out all the echoes of pain.
Naruto sniffled loudly and declared, "Then I'm coming back tomorrow too!" He promptly received a smack to the back of the head from Sakura.
"Idiot, you're supposed to say 'I'm heading out!' every morning from now on."
When your parents returned, they were given quite a fright. You tilted your head, signaling Sakura and Naruto to go upstairs and tidy the room. You sat facing your parents in heavy silence.
"Do you understand what you're doing?" Your father's voice was low. "Do you know his situation in the village?"
"Have you considered the consequences?!" Haruno Kizashi slammed a hand on the table.
"Anata, calm down!" Your mother grabbed his hand. "What's wrong with feeding one more child?!"
"And anyway, which of us hasn't suffered—" She choked off suddenly.
"Namikaze Minato, right?" you finished the unspoken words.
"How do you—?!" Your father was clearly horrified.
"Easy enough to look up." You folded your hands. "So why not? It's just kids playing together. Can't even tolerate that?"
"Matsu, never say such things again." Your father gripped your mother's hand, his face grave. "I dread the day I wake up and someone tells us, 'Please accept our condolences.'"
"I will be careful," you answered, meeting his eyes. "You have my word."
He didn't speak, only tightening his grip on your mother's hand.
Dinner was noticeably strained. Beneath the table, Sakura took your hand.
You didn't look at her, but your fingers curled, squeezing back.
After dinner, your teary-eyed mother dragged Naruto off to the bath. After ten minutes in the hot water, the boy suddenly began to cry. Loud, wailing sobs. "I have a home?" he bawled. "Do I really have a home now?" Your mother held him, and the two of them wept together in the bathroom, water sloshing everywhere.
Uzumaki Naruto was glued to Sakura. Short of sleeping and bathroom breaks, he would happily become a pendant dangling from her belt.
That's not to say he wasn't attached to you. He was. It manifested in him dragging his futon to your room at night.
You were torn between laughter and exasperation.
"Lord Naruto gracing everyone equally, I see~" you drawled sarcastically.
"Hehe." He rubbed his nose. "It'd be even better if Matsu-nee could be with us all day. But I only see you at night."
"I wanna be with Matsu-nee too. I wanna know where you go, who you meet, what you do." The light refracting in his blue eyes felt like being caught in an oceanic maelstrom.
"NO WAY!" Sakura punched Naruto. "Even if she's telling someone, she's telling me! And Nee-chan should sleep with me!"
You leaned against the doorframe, sighing. You stepped aside. "Just this once."
The two of them cheered and high-fived.
"Just this once" became every single night. You lost your moments of nocturnal solitude.
You knew Uchiha Sasuke. More precisely, everyone in your Academy year knew him. He was strong. And exceptionally handsome.
Sakura was drawn to him. Normal. Nearly every girl her age was.
You didn't mind.
You even thought it was good. Sakura needed a goal, a reason to run forward with all her might. Sasuke was an excellent reason. So good that she herself hadn't realized her determination to catch up to him had long surpassed her desire to possess him.
Before class exercises began, Ino leaned close. "Matsu, how long can you extend your shadow now?"
"Two meters thirty."
"Enough." She grinned. "I have a plan."
Ino's plan was simple and brutal: she would seize control of an opponent with her Mind Transfer Jutsu, and you would simultaneously lock down their body with Shadow Possession. Under dual control, the target couldn't move a finger. Instant forfeit. The synergy depended on your timing. Since Ino's jutsu left her real body defenseless, protecting her fell to you.
"Let's practice." You dragged Ino to an empty patch of woods.
The first ten minutes of the exercise went flawlessly. Ino's Mind Transfer nailed one boy with precision. Your shadow simultaneously sank its teeth into the shadow of another. That boy froze mid-posture from Ino's jutsu, his face cycling from surprise to confusion to panic. By the time the proctor blew the whistle, calling them out, he still couldn't move.
Your second pair of opponents was a duo of girls. One used the Substitution Jutsu to leap clear before your shadow landed. Your shadow grasped air, and Ino's jutsu also missed its mark.
"Tch." Ino scowled. "Shinobi warfare really is all about information."
You retracted your shadow, steadying your breath. That attempt had drained significant chakra. Your peripheral vision began darkening—a sign of chakra exhaustion.
"Matsu?" Ino noticed. "You okay?"
"Fine."
You looked up just as Sakura burst from the treeline.
Her opponent was a boy half a head taller, ranked top three in class taijutsu. Sakura had a scrape on her forehead. Her sleeve was torn by a kunai. But her entire being radiated something you had never seen in her before—
She was enjoying it.
Enjoying her victory. Her strength.
One punch.
Just one.
The boy flew backward.
His body traced an arc through the air, slamming into a tree trunk three meters away with a sickening thud. A cascade of leaves drifted down, settling on Sakura's pink hair. She remained in her striking pose, chest heaving, her fist smeared with the boy's blood.
The field went silent for about three seconds.
Then Ino shrieked with delight.
"FOREHEAD! WHEN DID YOU GET SO STRONG?!"
Sakura turned. She found you in the crowd. Her eyes cut through the shock, the fear, the incredulous stares, and locked onto yours. The fierce battle-sharpness hadn't fully faded from her face, but the corners of her lips curved up into a childish, triumphant grin.
Matsu. Look. I got stronger.
You stood among the onlookers. Everyone watched her. But she looked only at you.
Your heart skipped a beat. The culprit had hurled a meteor into your chest, rattling your entire ribcage.
It's good to be alive.
After the grueling exercises, you leaned against a tree to rest. Ino had gone to buy drinks, stuffing a Food Pill into your mouth before she left. You tossed her a can of something from your pack, which she pocketed.
Someone sat down beside you.
You opened your eyes. Uchiha Sasuke was sitting about a meter away, also leaning against the tree trunk. In the clearing ahead, Sakura was expertly bandaging the arm of the boy she'd sent flying.
"She's strong," Sasuke said.
You were mildly surprised he'd initiated a conversation. He continued without waiting for a reply.
"She stays two hours after training every day." He stated a fact entirely unrelated to himself. "At first, alone. Then the dead-last, Uzumaki Naruto, started staying. Then me."
You hadn't known this. Sakura never told you about extra training. She and Naruto did come home with injuries daily, but she'd said it was normal Academy drills and not to worry.
"Well, she is Haruno Sakura, after all," you answered after a pause.
"Hn."
That night, Sakura lay beside you. She had insisted on squeezing into your futon, vetoing Naruto's inclusion with righteous indignation. Her feet were freezing against your calves. You hissed at the cold shock.
"Matsu." Her voice groped toward you through the dark.
"Mm."
"Were you watching? When I punched that guy today?"
"I was."
"Did you think I was cool?"
"Very cool."
She rolled over beneath the covers, pressing her face into the hollow of your shoulder. Her breath fanned your collarbone—warm, smelling of mint toothpaste.
"I'm gonna get even stronger," she said. "Strong enough to protect Matsu."
You stared at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the curtain gap, painting a thin bright line on the shoji screen. Your shadow and Sakura's tangled together beneath the blanket, indistinguishable.
Your shadow's hand held hers.
"No need."
Sakura's body stiffened.
You turned onto your side, finding her face in the dark. Your fingers found her eyebrows, her eyes, the small new scab on her cheek. Hard under your touch.
"You don't need to protect me." Your breath mingled with hers. "You just need to do what you want to do."
"But—"
"What do you want to do?"
Silence stretched in the dark.
"…I want to get stronger with Sasuke-kun and Naruto— the three of us." Her voice was faint. "I want to go far, far away with them. And when I come back… I want Matsu to still be here."
Your hand rested on her face. You didn't answer.
"Matsu… will you always be here?"
"…Mm."
"Promise." Her pinky hooked yours and tugged hard.
"Promise." The pull made your finger ache.
Konoha's night was so quiet, so tranquil. The blood and storms raging beyond the village walls would never touch you here.
News of the Massacre Night reached you days after the fact.
When Sakura heard, she ran out without a word. Naruto followed her. You couldn't run fast enough to keep up.
When they returned, a black-haired boy walked between them. He stood in the entryway of the Haruno house, his back ramrod straight.
—Someone who had lost everything. Abandoned by fate. Full of hatred for the world. The last thing they needed was pity.
Your mother asked no questions. She simply turned to prepare dinner.
Your father clapped Sasuke on the shoulder. "Good lad. From now on, this is your home. We two men can go fishing together. Naruto's got no patience, Sakura burns too easily, Matsu can't stay in the sun long, and Mebuki complains my luck is too bad. Let me borrow some of your rookie good fortune."
Sasuke's shoulders trembled. "I used to go fishing with… It might not help."
"Doesn't matter." Your father winced as your mother elbowed him in the ribs. "I've never caught anything anyway. I'm just there for the company."
"Sasuke," you said.
He looked back at you. Your shadow reflected in his black eyes.
"Welcome home."
Sasuke's gaze flickered.
"I don't have a home to go back to."
Outside, a leaf fell onto the water's surface, sinking before its ripples could even spread.
"That house is too big," Sasuke said. "Only me. Sometimes I sit in the living room and hear sounds from the next room. I thought someone was there, but when I went to check, I realized it was just the water pipes groaning."
A loud, choked sob came from the kitchen.
"The compound is covered in blood. The bodies of my clan everywhere, their eyes hollow. I couldn't do anything."
Sakura rushed over and hugged him fiercely. Naruto wrapped his arms around them both.
"Right now, you have five people around you. It's crowded and noisy." You deliberated, then carefully pressed down on a stray tuft of his hair.
"I am an avenger," Sasuke said. "I will bring misfortune."
"Shinobi walk hand-in-hand with misfortune. Death and disaster are our companions." Your father dropped to one knee and gathered you all in a hug.
"But in this moment, you are with family. You do not need to fear misfortune's arrival." Your mother joined the embrace.
Naruto sat beside Sakura, his cheeks puffed with red bean rice, mumbling "Yummy, yummy, yummy" through his food. His blond hair bobbed with each chew.
Your mother kept relentlessly piling vegetables onto everyone's plates, sparking protests from Sakura and Naruto. Mebuki-san delivered one furious punch to each of their heads. Your father, caught secretly trying to dump his veggies onto Naruto's plate, instantly behaved.
Sasuke sat at the table's far end. He ate without a sound, only taking food from the dishes closest to him.
You stood, picked up the platter of tempura and the bowl of tomatoes, and set them directly in front of Sasuke. You swapped away the tamagoyaki that had been near him.
He looked up at you.
"Can't reach." You snatched a piece of tempura for yourself, gesturing to him. "After all, I'm just a kid. I can't exactly stretch across such a huge distance."
He lowered his head. After a moment, he picked up a piece of tempura.
Across the table, your mother saw this and turned away, wiping her eyes. Your father clumsily patted her back, sniffling himself.
The Harunos felt things deeply. You and Sakura's mother especially. You sometimes thought Sakura's passionate, exuberant nature was inherited straight from her. And you... you probably took after your father more—no. You took after no one. You were reincarnated. Your soul had been an adult from the very start. You were older than all of them.
When Shikamaru came by the next day and saw Naruto and Sasuke sitting in your living room, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Does your family run a shelter or something?"
"Something like that." You leaned against a pillar, flipping through a genjutsu guide. "We have plenty of rooms, anyway."
Shikamaru sat beside you, silent for a beat. Then he grumbled, You woman. You're completely reckless.
You knew what he meant. The Nine-Tails Jinchūriki and the Uchiha orphan. Those two together were enough to make any household a target for certain factions.
"So?" You turned a page. "Throw them out?"
Shikamaru closed his eyes, feigning deafness.
"Shikamaru." You shut the scroll. "Some people, some things—you know getting close will be a huge pain. But you still can't help reaching out your hand—"
You thought for a second, then used an analogy he'd understand best.
"It's like playing shōgi. You know a certain move carries risk, but you play it anyway. Because if you don't, the whole game loses its point."
Shikamaru sighed, saying you really were an unbelievable hassle.
But the next day, he brought Yamanaka Ino and Akimichi Chōji.
Ino froze solid when she saw Sasuke, then lunged to hug Sakura, shrieking, Sakura! Why didn't you tell me Sasuke-kun was at your place?! Sakura flailed, her eyes rolling back from the chokehold, while Naruto howled with laughter on the floor. Chōji quietly set down the chips he'd brought and went to share his sweets with Sasuke.
You noticed Shikamaru's shadow stretch slightly. It paused at the edge of yours, then casually retreated as if nothing had happened.
"Good morning, Shikamaru." You walked over. Your shadows overlapped, blending into a deeper shade of black.
"Morning." His eyes were half-closed. "Your house is exhausting."
"You're welcome to stay over if the bustle gets to be too much."
"Spare me."
Your eyes curved with your smile.
"Women are terrifying," Shikamaru muttered.
"Yep," you agreed.
Shikamaru choked on his words. He gave you a deeply complicated look.
"You're not even going to argue?"
"Why argue with facts?"
Shikamaru's expression grew even more complex. He opened his mouth, but ultimately just scratched the back of his head vigorously, letting out an indecipherable sigh.
TBC