In my past life I had never really considered reincarnation as being real. Yes, my past life, as in I was wrong about reincarnation, apparently. Sure, I knew about the concept but in a distant sort of way, like reading about it in fantastical stories and various legends on Earth. I knew it involved being reborn into a new body but, you know, I could have sworn they weren't supposed to retain memories from their past life. Of course, I just had to be proved wrong on all counts and it felt just like being hit with a particularly large truck.

I was reborn on December 1st to a woman with a kind voice, my new mother. I couldn't say I remember much of those first months, to be honest. The crippling fear and confusion of the memory of sudden death combined with my new tiny, baby shaped body and limitations blurred the days together in ways I would gladly never revisit again. Those long, long days were the hardest I had ever been through for both of my lives at that point. I had nobody to talk to, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts and fears but the soothing nature and warm presence of my brand new mother helped a little bit, thankfully. But for a while, not much could pierce the fog that my insane circumstances had shrouded me in. The worst of all, I think, was coming to terms with the fact I would probably never see my family or friends again. Mom, Dad, my younger brother and sister. All of the hard work I had put into university, scattered to the wind. I was the only one left to remember the accomplishments I had built up over my lifetime. I wasn't sure if it was kind of selfish to fuss over the things I had done well in my past life, but they meant a lot to me.

It just took just a single person, one time for my luck to turn against me, for my life to end.

The day I had finally forced myself to pull myself together and think about moving on was difficult. I had spiralled into that state and I hadn't wanted to put the effort into pulling myself out. However, that day I realized I couldn't change what fate had dealt, but I could play the cards I was given to the best of my abilities and start anew. I already knew how to avoid many of the mistakes I had made in my youth of my previous life, I knew how to commit and to try to live up to responsibilities. I wanted to be a good person, was going to be a good person, and here was another chance to make the best of how I lived my life.

And I would work as hard as I possibly could to be the best person I could be no matter what.

My name was Kayoko. I had picked up on this fairly quickly, despite not understanding almost anything that came out of my mother's mouth as it seemed to be all in Japanese. Names tended to stick out even in foreign languages, I supposed. I could pick up words, and more rarely, the idea of what was being said here and there from what I could remember from my past life. Luckily, despite technically having an adult soul, I thought I might still have had the learning fluidity of a child, or at least enough of it to learn a language as different from my first language. The fact that Japanese had not one, not two, but three entire alphabets was to say the least, scary to even think about learning. Not to mention that Kanji was on some entire other level with all of the symbols to learn. I had definitely cried just a little bit when I remembered that.

Good thing crying didn't look weird on babies!

I hadn't been the worst student in my university language classes, but I definitely learned Japanese faster now than learning languages back then. Although, it could have had something to do with the fact that I was thoroughly immersed in the language this time around, not having English to fall back on when I forgot a word or was tired of the brain effort of speaking a new language.

There were many days in the first years of my life where my mom would take the time to flip through colorful picture books, carefully and slowly pronouncing the picture on that page for me. She liked talking out loud to me, singing lullabies with me in her ams, commenting on things I did. It didn't take too long for me to start remembering words at a more rapid pace than before. At some point, the retention became exponential and words started building on each other, grouping together in my mind. But for a little while, I hadn't been able to put any of it to use. My cursed baby tongue had been too stiff and unused to talking that all I could do was babble and make adorable noises. I mean, the adorable part was a given no matter what with my rosy baby cheeks and gummy smile, but I wanted to be adorable and capable of communication. Sometimes the charades my mom and I played when I wanted something got a little out of hand.

In the night, I would practice shaping words, getting the pronunciation down, getting my tongue accustomed to flexibility and shaping words again. I truly wasn't able to stand not being able to speak any longer after a few months of only having my thoughts and I. I had tried to be as quiet as possible, only letting the barest of noise slip through my lips. Mom tended to stay up late in the living room, drawing beautiful calligraphy and symbols on scrolls of varying sizes.

Her name was Sakue, and she was one of the most beautiful women I think I had ever seen, once my useless baby eyes had finally developed to even see, God bless. Smooth, vibrant red hair fell down to her mid-back and bright green eyes crinkled at the corners when she found something amusing. We spent many hours dancing together, me in her arms and her hair swirling with the movement, like a dream. Not going to lie, I kind of hoped I inherited at least some of her appearance. I don't know what my other parent looked like, so that was kind of a wild card. One day, after constant pondering on what I looked like, I finally caved and just asked for a mirror. Seeing a stranger stare back at me, mirroring the actions I performed, really tripped me out. A shock of red hair popped out at me, the same color and texture as Mom's and her eye shape, but that was about where the similarities ended. Or at least what I could tell from what my young face hinted at what it would look like when I was older. My eyes were an electric sort of blue, and my jawline looked like it might become a little bit more angular when I was older, different from the elegant curve of Mom's. Other than that, I hadn't been sure how my face would change from the chubby baby face I had now.

My mom and I lived alone, there was never really anyone else besides us. We had a small, but tidy house in a small, close-knit village. There was one bedroom for the both of us, a bathroom, and a large room that combined the living room and kitchen. We shared a bed as I was still little. Despite the early months where I couldn't speak or communicate, it was nice sharing a room with her. The human presence, let alone the presence of my mother, however new, was something that kept me sane.

She would take me out to run errands in the village, and I found that I liked the village, everyone there was kind and there was minimal cheek-pinching, which was always good. I was worried about that when she took me to introduce me to the villagers for the first time. Traumatic memories had haunted me from my past life when I had my cheeks pinched to death by older ladies. I especially liked the jolly old man who owned the bakery in town, slipping me sweet dango when my mom wasn't looking. The quiet woman who owned the bookstore who always let me pet her cat when we saw her also wormed her way into my good grace in those early days. Despite my motor control, or absolute lack thereof, I put the utmost focus into petting that cat, and if I squinted, the cat seemed to appreciate not being smacked at, like most young children. I could have been reading too far into things.

Despite not being the richest people in the world, we lived comfortably enough for our small village life. We had a comfortable bed, sturdy furniture, and clean kitchen appliances. Mom was quite the interior decorator, in my opinion, as well. Decorations adorned the walls in a way that was both tasteful and cozy at the same time. Once I had started talking enough at about one and a half-ish, she had let me pick out decorations to put in the bedroom. Various frog decorations got scattered all over the wall the bed was placed against pretty quickly after that conversation. Not as effortlessly beautiful as the decorations my mother had scattered around the house, but you know. Sometimes you gotta have a little frog in your life. Or on your wall.

Overall, I had a very nice new life, and I became content with the slow and steady way the days would flow, learning how to speak and write Japanese, and my mom running me through gentle exercises everyday each morning. Or at least, it was peaceful until the day a small group of people came through town. They were equipped with green vests with a red, swirling insignia. Oh, and headbands with shiny metal plates. You know, like in Naruto. The fictional story that wasn't supposed to exist.

I was almost three years old when my life completely flipped upside down for the first time in what would most likely be a long, strange sequence of my life getting overturned. I was almost three when all of the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. The villagers calling my mom Uzumaki-san, the way she walked without sound, the huge scrolls my mom would painstakingly ink on through some nights.

And all it took was the glint of a Konoha hitai-ate.

What the absolute hell.

Hi! Author here! This is my second go at a Naruto fanfic, as the first time was almost two years ago and my writing along with my story ideas and inspiration has changed since then! I'm a huge sucker for modern characters in stories so I had to do this! Also, yes Kayoko is an Uzumaki! I know there are a lot of Uzumaki Ocs floating around but it plays a part in this story and I just love them so yes

Edit: Sorry about the text glitch I have no idea what happened rip! (Thanks hinatayvonne and ajormetrix for bringing it to my attention :) )