chapter one: phoenix rising arc, part one
notes: for old readers, welcome back (there is now pLoT? wow!), and for new readers, this is the product of much outline and characterization. you can probably tell that i rewrote the entire thing! have fun reading, and if you like it please leave an encouraging review. or just a review in general. i love reviews.
chapter's fic rec: "addendum" by shanatical on ao3. it was my inspiration for this fic!
chapter's song: HEAVEN, by troye sivan.
word count: ~3700 words yay
warnings: talk about death, I guess? is that a trigger?
disclaimer: naruto belongs to masashi kishimoto, even if he kinda abused that right in the end.
"In this world, nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes."
-Benjamin Franklin
In my opinion, the most frightening aspect of death is its permanence. Once you're dead you stay dead, fictional deus ex machina resurrection spells notwithstanding.
And, of course, death will come for everyone—no matter how high your hopes, your prospects for the future, all it takes is one accident for everything you've worked for to be destroyed. All it takes is one small event to set off a chain that leads to the bright spark of your life being snuffed out.
That was my main reasoning for believing there was no higher power, or at least not a benevolent one. What was the motive behind watching your creations work so hard, only to smite them when they least expected it? That seemed pointlessly cruel to me.
For my entire life, I had believed firmly that after death, there was just nothing. No heaven, no hell, no purgatory—and certainly, no reincarnation.
You can see why I was surprised when, after foolishly running out into the street without looking both ways, I woke up in the body of a child.
Well, I didn't exactly wake up. The body in question had put itself into a coma, probably to deal with trauma. I was stuck in a vast expanse of white, having no idea what was going on (I assumed I had been wrong, and that Purgatory was real).
The days and weeks blurred together, and I wasn't sure how much later it was when the body I was occupying woke up, and my outlook on life was completely and irrevocably shattered.
Is there a reason I, in particular, was chosen to receive a second chance? Why was I chosen to live the life of a character in a manga? Why was he chosen to have his chance at living ripped away in favor of letting me have another one?
I was allowed to have questions—I had been unceremoniously dumped into the body of Uchiha Sasuke, a character from a fictional universe.
And if that wasn't enough to make me question all that I had once believed unconditionally, there was also the simple fact that Uchiha Sasuke had been a boy. This body, I soon realized after a moment of panic, was a girl's.
"W-why?" I croaked after two days of unresponsiveness to the nurses shining lights into my eyes and calling me "Kushina-chan" patronizingly.
"I don't know," Masami, the nurse that had been the kindest, responded quietly, sadly. "No one knows why he did it, Kushina-chan."
Then she bustled out from the room after quickly patting me on the head—presumably, to record my first word in over two weeks—and I was left alone with my far-too-loud thoughts.
While I did adjust quite well to the new environment, new social structure and new way of life, I think a little self-deprecatingly, I'll never get used to jutsu.
I finish the last two hand signs, molding my chakra accordingly with an expression of concentration, and a near-perfect clone pops up next to me.
I scrutinize her, frowning at the too-full lips, the wide-set eyes, the undefined cheekbones. There have always been imperfections in my clones. Twenty-three years of seeing said imperfections in the mirror have left their mark, persisting even through four more years in a different body.
It's up to the Academy standards, though (not that those mean much, in this world it's kill or be killed, there's no room for mistakes) and Iruka gives me a kind smile.
"Congratulations, Kushina-chan, you passed! I'm very proud of you."
Once, I would have reflexively smiled back. As it is now, I've grown too used to analyzing people's motives (everyone has an ulterior motive, even if their actions seem to be in your best interest), and I can clearly see the worry hidden behind his dark eyes.
Naruto still hasn't figured out the bunshin, and if things go accordingly to the story I read once upon a time, he won't before a traitor and untimely revealed secrets force him to.
"I'm sure Naruto will pass," I tell him with a faint smile, and watch as his eyes go wide.
"How did you—never mind," Iruka cuts himself off with a shake of his head. He studies me inscrutably. "You've always been very perceptive."
"Mn," I hum neutrally. "I had to be."
Those four words say more than any flowery speech about my self-professed hatred for my brother could, and Iruka winces like I punched him.
"Here," he says, handing a packet of papers to me (louder than he needs to be, it's obvious he's uncomfortable), "fill these out and turn them in tomorrow when you come to get your team assignments, okay? I have to finish testing."
I nod in acquiescence, turning away with the paperwork in hand as Iruka cries, "Uzumaki, Naruto!"
"Apples, paperwork, sealing book," I mutter to myself as I leave the Academy and break into a jog. The vendor I usually go to—Hagane-san's Fruit—will be closed at this hour, as Hagane-san isn't one of the late-night merchants.
I have to find a different shop, I realize with an unhappy frown (or what passes for an unhappy frown in this body—one could generously call it a downward twitch of the lips). The prospect of interacting with strangers leaves me feeling uneasy, but I know it's a fear I'll have to get over since the shinobi lifestyle in its very nature involves meeting unknown clients.
I let a soft sigh slip past my lips and speed up. Konoha gets dangerous at night—it is a shinobi village, after all, and despite its claims of being the safest, the levels of crime are still atmospherically high compared to my old world—most likely due to the lack of a court system. I'm technically an adult now, and that means I'm responsible for anything that happens to me.
The thought is sobering, knowing that if I was attacked, I'd have to fend for myself.
Suddenly, a blur of yellow and orange whirls past me, seeming to be heading for the Hokage's Tower. I turn and squint at the rapidly disappearing figure.
It's Naruto—but what's he doing? I thought he failed and then—
...oh. This, then, is the start of the Plot.
This is where things really start to get interesting—where I can start making big changes and see the consequences of my actions thus far.
Take things one step at a time, I remind myself. Don't get ahead of yourself here.
"Apples," I mumble quietly, to ground myself, and resume looking for a trustworthy merchant.
"Home sweet home," I say to no one in particular as I set my bags down, digging around in my pocket for my house key.
The modest, two-story villa I've made my home is off to the side of the main road, half-hidden among the trees. It is no place for an heiress to live, or so the caretakers the Hokage sent told me patronizingly. I had remained firm. I wasn't going to live in the home this body's biological parents had died in, and I wasn't a true heiress anyway.
Opening the door, I heft my groceries up again in one arm and step inside slowly, a habit trained into this body from the age of five. If you must carry something while entering a building, leave one arm free and keep your packages from obscuring your vision—the rationale drilled into every ninja while they're young and malleable. It seemed that everything in this world—every quirk the people around me exhibited, every difference from my own world of shining steel and light-up screens—was a product of a ninja mindset.
A mindset that I would have to train myself into having, I remembered with a frown as I set down my bags on the table and busied myself with putting everything away and starting a soup. Before-Kushina was, for lack of a better word, squishy. She was weak and emotional, crying at the slightest provocation and acting on instinct and not carefully reasoned plans.
I didn't know if I was even her anymore. How much of my personality was Uchiha Kushina, a girl whose chance at life had been ripped away far too early? How much of my personality was not me?
The soup began to boil, and I frowned down at it as if it would give me the answers to the questions that had been plaguing me for months. It certainly wasn't the soup's fault. In fact, it was one of my only connections to my real family—miso soup with eggplant had been the first thing my mother had taught me how to cook, after I had learned it was Kakashi's favorite food.
That was something I'd had to give up along with the civilian outlook and emotional security. Before-Kushina was a rabid fangirl who cosplayed as her favorite characters, cheered on by her adoring younger sister and her long-suffering parents.
The reality was that, even if I managed to get past the enormous physical age difference and the taboo of a teacher-student romance, our personalities were just too incompatible. I'd never be able to stop seeing him as an object of pity, and something told me he really didn't want that in a romantic partner.
The smoke alarm on the ceiling blares, cutting off my internal monologue (I'm terribly fond of those, it seemed). I hurriedly check on the soup and nearly facepalm. I'd managed to burn water again.
I sigh exasperatedly, making the hand seals for a simple water jutsu to put out the flames. Monologuing is really a terrible trait to have as a ninja. At least I didn't do it in battle. I didn't have the skills to back up that kind of distraction—I wasn't the real Sasuke, after all.
Maybe that was a good thing. After all, canon Sasuke had not exactly been the paragon of good decision-making. I, even if I was as short-sighted as the original, at least had the benefit of foreknowledge.
Nope, I think resolutely, the beginnings of another monologue coming to a screeching halt. Not doing that twice in one day.
Cooking might be a little too much for me at the moment, I conclude disappointedly after I nearly chop my index finger off while dicing onions. It's a good thing I bought apples (and that there are no responsible adults around to scold me for only eating fruit for dinner).
Settling into my couch crease with a book on intermediate-level sealing, I bite into the reddest apple I could find. Sealing is intense work, so I don't doubt that I'll need to eat more later. For now, though, I'll be fine.
After around an hour (and two more apples), the village-wide alarms sound in the pattern I've learned means "danger, stay at home unless you want to die a bloody and probably very painful death." It probably isn't the exact translation, but it's close enough.
I shut my book with a snap, shooting to my feet and shoving my hand into a pocket. The last time this happened was when—
The last time this happened, according to my history textbook, was the Uchiha Massacre. I frantically mentally review a list of canon events, wondering if I'd done anything to seriously screw up this world, when I realize what the alarms are for.
"Oops," I mumble to myself, embarrassed, "false alarm."
I'd even made a mental note that this would be happening earlier in the night, as well. It seemed that the general obliviousness to my surroundings had carried over from Before Kushina (a dangerous quality to have as a ninja; I'd have to train it out of myself someday).
I flop ungracefully back onto my couch with a groan, reopening my book to a page detailing, in gory detail, exactly what will happen if you put the wrong amount of chakra into an explosive seal.
The next morning, I shower quickly (using neutral-scented soap—the flowery stuff is too easy to track) and throw on another set of all-black clothes. While Before-Kushina might have screamed a little at meeting her idol, I merely allow myself an upward twitch of the lips as I head out the door, lugging the apples I bought last night along with me.
"Naruto," I greet the dusky-orange-clad figure waiting for me outside. It's early, maybe six in the morning judging by the sun, but he doesn't seem to be tired.
"Hi, Kushina-chan," he says, with a fraction of his usual exuberance. I stare at him—usually I have to remind him to keep his voice down, that it isn't respectful to yell in a ghost town, but he seems to be doing that just fine today.
"What's gotten into you?" I wonder, looking at him searchingly. Then it hits me, and I internally sigh. Flakey as always, I'd forgotten what was probably the defining event in Naruto's character, even after the alarms last night (I really had to get rid of that habit). Registering his deer-in-the-headlights look, I tack on, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
Naruto shakes his head firmly. "Kushina-chan, I want to tell you," he says plaintively. "It's just—I'm not allowed to, dattebayo."
I raise an eyebrow. "Does this, by any chance, have any relation to the alarms last night?" Never let it be said that Uchiha Kushina was a bad liar.
"N-no!" Naruto denies unconvincingly, and he appears to know it, from the way he flushes and waves his hands in front of his face.
I shake my head and drop the subject. We walk in silence broken only by our footfalls on the dirt road. I wince as my leggings grow progressively dustier. Konoha's no urban city, that's for sure. The street cleaners do their best, but they're no match for good old cement.
"Ne, Kushina-chan," he starts, eyes wide with excitement, "what team do you think you'll be put on?"
I actually don't know the answer to that question. My immediate impulse is to say the original Team 7, but Naruto isn't dead last anymore, and Sakura isn't top kunoichi. There's an imbalance in the female-male ratio this year—ten to seventeen, as opposed to the usual nine to eighteen—which means there'll have to be two kunoichi on a team.
There are only three teams that'll pass, which means I already know who I might be on a team with. There's no way the Council will let the jounin-sensei fail any of the clan heirs or the Kyuubi jinchuuriki, so I'll be on a team with at least one person in that pool.
The obvious candidate for the dubious honor of teammate is Naruto—while he may not be dead last, he's dead last in the group I have to work with. I doubt the Academy sensei will want to break up the Ino-Shika-Cho, so there's three people out of the way.
Kiba and Shino will surely be placed together—there's a friendship between the Inuzuka and the Aburame that goes all the way back to the Nidaime. I want to say that Sakura will be the third member of my team, but curiously enough, she isn't even second best this year—Hinata is.
I'll have to do my best to get along with my team. whoever they may be. The original Team 7 hadn't gotten a lot of benefits that came with good teamwork, like team discounts on weapons and specialized sensei to improve the group as a whole. There were even attacks that revolved entirely around working together, such as purposely blinding yourself and your attackers, relying on your teammates (preferably Hyuuga) to direct you to the right targets.
Teamwork would be the key to gaining strength in this village. I wasn't the original Sasuke, and there was no guarantee I would be able to survive the oncoming shitstorm.
"Kushina-chan?" Naruto interrupts my thoughts, sounding worried.
"I don't know for sure," I say belatedly, "but most likely you and either Sakura or Hinata." I really, really hope the team arrangements will stay canon. I've already done so much plotting, and scrapping it all would be, in the words of a Nara, troublesome.
"Yes!" Naruto whoops, skipping ahead for a few seconds before falling back into step with me. I roll my eyes. "Aw man, if Kushina-chan says she'll be on my team, then she must be, dattebayo!"
"While it's touching that you have such faith in me, Naruto," I say dryly, "remember that I am not Iruka-sensei or any of the other Academy sensei, okay?"
Naruto looks at me like I've grown another head. "But," he protests, "Kushina-chan is really smart!"
"Not smarter than Iruka-sensei, right?" I say patiently.
"No," Naruto agrees with a pout. "But still! Kushina-chan is always right, dattebayo."
I wince at the undeserved trust in that statement. That's going to get him killed someday—
And then I realize that he'd had this much faith in the real Sasuke. He'd blindly trusted Sasuke not to defect from Konoha, not to destroy the Council, not to attempt to kill him time and time again.
Look where that got the canon Naruto.
(Really, though, it didn't end nearly as badly as it could have. Almost everyone important survived.)
"Naruto," I tell him heavily as the Academy comes into sight, "you shouldn't trust me this much. I don't deserve it."
Really, I don't. I've lied to everyone around me for four years—self-preservation or no, that fact alone should automatically disqualify me from being anyone's precious person. I manipulate the emotions of my peers with barely any regret. I haven't attempted to completely stop the treatment Naruto receives at the hands of the Konoha villagers.
Before-Kushina would never even have considered trusting someone like me.
But before I can reveal everything I've been keeping from the world in an attempt to convince my best friend not to trust me, Naruto beams at me.
"Of course you're deserving of my trust, dattebayo! You're my precious friend, after all!"
...is that it? It seems like a silly reason to trust someone—friendship isn't usually permanent in this world of blood and betrayal.
(Neither is family.)
It's strangely convincing to me, though, and I say nothing as I increase my pace, ducking my head down to hide the small smile creeping onto my face.
"Troublesome," Shikamaru complains as I pull out the chair next to him, looking over my shoulder warily at the oncoming horde of girls.
"Sorry," I say with a shrug. "I had to escape them somehow."
"By setting them on me?"
I have to smirk a little at how indignant he sounds. "Well, at least you're not alone," I offer unrepentantly. "Naruto and Choji have to deal with them too, you know."
"Troublesome," Shikamaru says again, slumping onto his desk with a sigh.
I roll my eyes and perform a quick henge into Kuroda Maki, the dead last who took Naruto's place, whom I'd seen graduate yesterday. I can't see him anywhere today, and I cross my fingers and hope he's late.
It turns out that getting genderswapped doesn't decrease the amount of fangirls you have. Either sexuality is really fluid in this generation, or some things are just constant in any universe. With any luck, most of them will come to their senses after graduation and I won't be harassed wherever I go. At any rate, none of the girls seem proficient enough to recognize the signs of a Henge, so I (and by extension Shikamaru) should be safe for now.
Iruka walks in, unnoticed among the clamour of recently-graduated Academy students excited to get their team assignments. Smiling pleasantly, he strolls casually to the front of the room and waits patiently. I watch in morbid fascination as a vein begins throbbing on his temple, getting larger by the second.
Finally, he snaps.
"Everyone, shut up and sit down!" he snaps, voice cutting through the noise in the classroom. The other students, of course, do as he says. No one here would ever dream of crossing the man who could possibly even cow the Hokage.
(It's foolish to be afraid of a simple chuunin, but then again, this entire village is foolish and soft.)
Well, no one except Naruto. But even he's too excited to protest, mouth clamping shut as he scrambles to the desk in front of mine. I soundlessly release the Henge while the fangirls are distracted by the real Kuroda Maki bursting through the door and plopping into a chair.
"Sorry I'm late, Iruka-sensei," he gasps, bowing his head in apology.
"Weren't you already here?" Iruka wonders, turning his head to look at me. I shake my head and mouth an apology, hoping he'll understand. He does, and drops it, clearing his throat.
"Now that you've all graduated and become genin, you may think that the traditional career path is your only choice in life, but there are many more options than the Genin-Chuunin-Jounin track. For instance, you can..."
I'm not ashamed to say that I zone out his lecture. I can see half the room doing the same, so it's not like I'm alone. At least I snap back to attention when he starts reading off teams.
"Team One—Okimura Nao, Kagawa Kiko, Haruno Sakura. Your sensei is Morita Tara," Iruka says, and I barely resist the urge to slam my head on the desk and maybe scream a little.
I panic internally for long enough to miss teams two to six, but they'll probably fail, anyway (which is, ironically, probably the safer path to take in the long run, especially with how things are going to turn out—genin corps ninja run D-and-C-ranks, nothing higher than that).
"Team Seven—Uzumaki Naruto, Hyuuga Hinata, Uchiha Kushina. Your sensei is Hatake Kakashi."
It's probably a good thing team training is about to begin—with the amount of plotting I'm going to have to do, I won't have time in the evenings for conditioning.
The problem is that I don't know if Kakashi was a good sensei or not. In the anime, all he taught Team 7 was tree-walking and a bit of teamwork. I can't see the Hokage or the Council letting him get away with that, though, especially since his team includes the Kyuubi jinchuuriki and the Last Uchiha.
It doesn't matter—if Kakashi ends up not teaching us anything, I'll just continue training on my own or find another sensei.
(Before-Kushina would have felt like she was betraying her idol by admitting he might not be perfect.)
(Well, that's okay, because I'm not her anymore.)
Good.
end notes: wow what are those mysterious italicized sentences in parentheses? and that last italicized word not in parentheses? you'll find out once kushina unlocks her sharingan. foreshadowing!
can you tell the ending was hard to write because IT WAS
just like the previous version of this story, if you leave a review and you're logged in, I'll send you a lil' drabble that's usually between 100-1k words. just extra incentive! one drabble will be posted to a side-fic every five chapters, so i guess if you hate happiness you can wait for that.
chapter's drabble: a conversation between before-kushina and kushina. it has a lot of plot-relevance and is 275 words long.
thanks for reading!