I am not good at hurting people.

So, whoever's idea this was, to reincarnate me from such a plain civilian lifetime into a new world where politics, economy—and damn near the entire government that runs nation under a daimyō—revolves around hurting people on the daily, or least learning how to, fuck you. Thanks for listening, that's all I'm gonna say any more about it, 'cause if I didn't stop myself, I'd rant for hours. And I'm pretty sure someone would tell me to kill myself to see if I reincarnate somewhere else nicer. I've felt that way before I wore this second face. I'm not going down that road again. No matter how much people will try to force it. It's easy to get killed in a shinobi world, so…

So, I'm rambling, to try and smother those feelings. I am good at whining about everything I perceive. That's never changed, and I think even if I do live a thousand more times, it still won't. Somehow bitching sounds even worse in Japanese than in English, but I think that's more a cultural stigma than anything linguistic. America was so tolerant of bullshit since it was so inconsequential. Goddamn ninjas wearing bright-ass colors might slit your throat if you annoy them enough; probably not here in the Land of Fire, but we're a pretty kindly atmosphere compared to, say, Sound Village.

How Sound will be. It hasn't been made yet. Not if I've done my math right.

When I first realized where I was living now—when it really hit me, and sunk in, it was much later than all the fanfic I used to read would portray. It's not an immediate comprehension. A newborn isn't going to blink once and recognize its surroundings. They don't possess that kind of cognition, even with the heavy burden of twenty-two years' worth of memories festering dormant in the back of their mind. No. I was two when I started talking in a language no one else understood and becoming upset when they didn't, then at three I'd stop and stare at things that seemed vaguely, inexplicably familiar to me. A sixth sense creeping up on me, slowly.

I don't believe I was a genius like my younger brother would be, whenever he was born. (I hope I didn't replace him.) But I was the firstborn girl of a jōnin couple, and they didn't skimp on their lessons for me. Simple, beginner's kid stuff. The kind passed down in clans before they're shipped off to the mandatory Academy. I guess I did well enough in them, mostly due to not remembering what I used to know yet. Like how child soldiers were a bad thing on my old Earth. Not here. Here it's a societal norm and people take its practice very seriously. The superpowered people decide who runs the show.

…Pretty much. I did mention a daimyo, and they're never fighters. That's not exactly what I mean…I do this a lot, losing track of my point...I have a feeling it's going to be a problem with me a lot. It was close to my fourth birthday when I started having a conniption of sorts. I called for my parents, then wondered why they were my parents. I already had those. These people looked nothing like them…where did my old mom and dad go? Did they hate me, and leave me behind? I freaked out for a while. Maybe I passed out. It'd been…around eleven in the morning, and when I woke again, the sun was starting to go down, just a little, if you looked just far enough in the distance you could see.

And I looked. For a long time.

This isn't a skyline I've ever laid eyes on, it dawned on me. Where did Houston or all of Texas go to? Repetitive questions: Where did everything go? Where is everyone? Why'd they all go awayyyy…And a more personally terrifying thought: Where did I go?! I'm not even me anymore! Where can I go to find myself again…how far do I have to walk till I'm in my apartment again…It was too much, and I fell back asleep a bit longer. I suppose my new parents assumed I'd taken a deep nap. They hadn't noticed that their daughter completely changed in the course of a few mere hours.

I'm too small. Childhood was a crapshoot for me the first time. I had to redo it?! And my hair was brownish-black, not silvery. My own eyes especially unnerved me. Why are they in such a weird shape? Like cat pupils that never expand. No iris around them, all white. At least they're still dark. Angrily red birthmarks on my face like triangles. Am I even human? Underneath it was a strange understanding I'd passed on, gone through an afterlife that floated in my memory like a big blank spot, and been moved on to wherever this was. Not anything huge. Just the powers-that-be shuffling a young lady through a long line of other souls awaiting the same treatment. I think. It sounds insane. But for a long time, I sat and stared at nothing with just those mental impressions settling in.

It's still the truth for me. I thought I'd known what my truths were before. They were mild, safe ones. You don't learn who you really are till you're inside the pressure cooker.