"You know, you should spend more time listening to your elders. I honestly hate it when you argue with me. Stop arguing and listen more…"
The voice droned on and on as I looked out of the car window, mindlessly staring at the foliage that zipped by. Another year at university successfully completed. Meanwhile, all the shit I somehow managed to accumulate over the year was stuffed into the back of the car next to me. I was being driven home to relax for a few days before jumping straight into my summer internship.
However, this car ride seemed to foreshadow that my hopes of just chilling at home were for naught. Don't get me wrong: I loved my mother dearly. She just tended to lecture a bit much - stop eating so much; you're going to get fat - speak softer; you're female, so it's not appealing if you're harsh - you're never going to find a boyfriend at this rate - watch what you say, because not everyone is going to forgive you as easily as your parents will - don't be upset; no one is going to be as truthful to you as your father and I.
"…cannot even understand. Are you listening to me, Christine?" And that was my cue. I glanced at my father, who raised an eyebrow at me through the rearview mirror, before my gaze shifted to the back of my mother's head.
"Yes, mum. Of course, mum." The traffic light turned green, and the car moved forward. For maybe a few seconds. And then we were slammed. I think… I think my parents died. Instantly and painlessly, I hoped. The cargo truck - cargo truck? - had rammed the car more towards the front than the back anyway.
Regardless of the seatbelt I was wearing, my head collided with the window… and… and… and… and… and…
I gasped for air as my eyes shot open, violently forcing my crusty eyelids apart. Staring blankly at the ceiling, I rehashed everything that happened.
I… died.
In debt.
Boyfriendless.
Alone.
No, that's wrong. My parents were there too. I let out a shaky breath: they were picking me up from college; I basically killed them. And a selfish part of me was relieved that we had died together. As a dependent, there was no way I could have dealt with my expensive college loans, rent, medical bills, the corporate workplace environment, and survivor's guilt. And there was no way in hell I would willingly subject them to the misery of losing the daughter they painstakingly raised for 20 years.
Even as I lay on the bed justifying my death, I felt the shudders growing. What kind of daughter was I to be relieved by my parents' death… what a selfish bitch.
"Onee-chan okay?" My eyes snapped to the side; there was no way I had enough energy to turn my head. Large cobalt eyes met mine - Suzuki Keita. Little brother. Two-years-old. Born December 21. Very quiet and awkward, but clever. Loves sweets. Hates bell peppers and spiders, my mind supplied helpfully, and I jolted in surprise. It wasn't like there was a voice listing this information in my brain - I wasn't going to be schizophrenic on top of being reincarnated. Instead, I just knew all those facts.
I looked down at Keita who had fallen to the floor in response to my reaction, and felt a surge of emotion for the little boy staring up at me. "Keita, you'll get sick if you stay on the floor." I rasped out, turning on my side to face him.
He furrowed his eyebrows and leaped to his feet, rubbing my cheeks frantically with his tiny hands as he blinked furiously. "Don't cry, Onee-chan." His voice broke pitifully at "cry", and I inhaled sharply in response. I sat up, channeling the strength from God-knows-where, and tugged Keita, my sweet, adorable brother, into my arms. And just sobbed, breathing shallowly and painfully, squeezing my brother tighter and tighter. Oh God, he really was a good boy: he just squirmed slightly, pulled his arm out of my hold, and started patting my head (a bit harder than necessary, but he was two. Give him some credit). "Good girl. Good girl. Good girl…"
I laughed bitterly - he was treating me like a pet - and took a few minutes to strengthen my resolve. Brave new world.
I slowly unwrapped my arms, and stared into my brother's eyes. He fidgeted slightly. "I love you," I whispered, leaned in to press my lips to his cheeks, and closed my eyes, imagining the peach fragrance my mother wore and the sandalwood scent of my father, pretending that I was kissing their cheeks instead of this toddler's… and said good-bye.
I resolutely stuffed their memories into a box: the yelling and screaming, the hugs, the kisses, the trips, the jogging and biking, the crying and apologies, our deaths. Coldhearted, but a logical move if I wanted to survive this. Stufftearsstufflaughsstuffpainstuffsleeplessnightsstufffriendsstuffstuffstuff. Stuffstuffstuffstuffstuff everything into that box and lock it with a kiss.
Brave new world indeed, and between sink or swim, I was going to fucking fly. Maybe.
"Love you." Keita mumbled.
I wiped my nose, snot and all, onto my sleeves. Smiling tearfully, I rolled off the bed, only for my legs to give out on me. Groaning, I clambered back into an upright position and held my hand out to Keita. "Breakfast, right?" He stared at me cautiously, before nodding up and down - I was honestly scared that his head would fly right off.
I walked to the kitchen - my mind giving me subtle cues left-downthestairs-watchoutforthesqueakythirdstep-right-that'sthelinencloset-kitchenisthelastdoor. I followed the instructions carefully, watching my bare feet (they were so small!) pad softly on the wooden floor, my brother's impossibly smaller feet shuffling next to mine. Anticipation built and it felt like I was walking to my own death (hah! See what I did there? And I laughed at my own dark humor), but with Keita next to me, I couldn't just stop in the middle of the hallway.
There was a lady with long black braided hair standing at the stove - Suzuki Asami. My lovely mother. Birthdate: March 18. Motherly… almost overbearingly so. Loves small things. Hates large crowds.
Keita tugged me into a seat that had my back facing the lady - my mother - and the stove, and I twisted my head around to look at her. She was my mother, but she wasn't Christine's mother. And well, shit. There was obviously a discrepancy between what this brain (my brain?) was telling me and what I, 20-year-old Christine, could accept. I felt an outrageous anger rising up. I literally just lost my parents for fuck's sake. God, you can't shove this onto me all at once. Please, please, please don't do this to me. I squeezed my eyes shut, and the memories I thought I shut away just a few minutes ago started seeping out of the box I gathered them into.
And the disconnect only escalated: Suzuki Fumiko. Born February 5. Six-years-old. Childish and self-righteous. Loves attention. Hates being forced to do anything. Nonononononono.
I stood up abruptly. Muttering "Bathroom," I fled the kitchen downthehall-seconddoortotheright, taking refuge in the bathroom. I stepped up onto a stool and stared at myself in the mirror. I stared at blue eyes, straight black hair, and cheeks with baby fat. I was a cute child and I would have pinched my own cheeks gleefully, if it wasn't for the fact that I was so frustrated with myself.
"Fuck you. I don't know whose body this is or who you used to be, Fumiko, but I'm stuck. Sucks to suck, yeah?" I spit out bitterly. "I'll accept that this is my life now. I want to survive, because dying sucks. I… I will treat Suzuki Asami as my mother. And Suzuki Eiji will be my father. I never had a sibling, so Suzuki Keita will be my precious brother. And I will take on the name Suzuki Fumiko. But I will be Suzuki Fumiko. That means no more bullying that kid around the corner or being childishly rude to that couple downstairs.
"I will be Suzuki Fumiko. Suzuki Asami will be my mother. Suzuki Eiji will be my father." I repeated it like a mantra, engraining it into my mind and resolve. I looked at my (my?) face in the mirror and smiled cheerfully. "Hello. My name is Suzuki Fumiko. I'm sorry for imposing on this body, but please take good care of me. Pleased to meet you." I chirped out and bowed by head. I paused for a few moments. "Then we have an accord." I quoted Pirates of the Caribbean shamelessly, ignoring the fact that I was obviously just forcing it in. It was all psychological in the end anyway.
A knock on the door interrupted my self-rebuking. I am Suzuki Fumiko; Suzuki Asami is my mother; Suzuki Eiji is my father; but I am still Christine mentally. Giving a firm nod to myself, I jumped off the stool, shoulders much lighter, opened the door, and stared up at a clean-shaven tall man with a ponytail. Suzuki Eiji. My father. Birthdate: October 20. Never really there. Cheerful, but always busy. Huh, my father's pretty hot. Who knew? "Otou-sama." I smiled up shyly, only to squeal in shock when he swept me up into his arms.
He chuckled, and I felt the vibrations of his chest throughout my entire body. "Breakfast, Fumiko-chan?"
I giggled and pointed towards the kitchen: "Forward, march!"
After meeting my mother for the first time, I spent most of breakfast observing my new family. Keita quietly stuffed his face with tamagoyaki as my parents discussed some issues the merchants were facing due to the cut-off trade routes and banditry that occurred country-wide, and the increased need for protection and… ninjas? Where was I? Konohagakure. Konoha, as in the ninja village from the manga Naruto? The village popped up into my mind's eye and it was far more realistic and three-dimensional than any image I found online.
And I resisted the urge to headdesk. Really, God? A world of bloodshed and war after war after war? I sighed pitifully. And you said that lazing on my bed reading manga would never help me out in life, mum. I suppressed the urge to laugh maniacally at the irony of the matter.
"Something wrong, Fumiko-chan?" My mother's soft voice cut through my revelation. Nothing's wrong, except for the fact that I was somehow reborn into a very dangerous world that I may or may not know the future of, depending on what time period I landed into.
"Ah, I was just wondering why there is an increase in bandits." The two stared at me and I stared back. Should I have dumbed my question down? Did children even care about these sort of issues? How advanced was a six-year-old's vocabulary anyway? I stared at them for a bit more. Too late now; no regrets.
Meanwhile, Keita started munching on the salted mackerel, oblivious to the three-way staring contest taking place at the dining table. Ah, to be young and naïve again.
Mother was the first one to break the silence with a nervous laugh. "Mou, it looks like Fumiko-chan really is the daughter of the clan head, Eiji-san." Hold it. What? The Suzuki clan is a major civilian clan in Konoha. Father is the clan head. Thank you, mental encyclopedia. I filed away the information to analyze later. Father only hmm-ed at her statement, continuing to stare speculatively at me. Fidgeting, I decided not to pursue my question and instead sipped at my miso soup.
"Ever since the beginning of the Third Shinobi War, the ninja forces are not only smaller due to deaths, but have also been spread thinner." Mother shot Father a pointed glare - I don't think she wanted him to actually answer. "Many have been deployed to protect nearby allied villages and aid in the reconstruction and the war effort. However, there simply aren't enough ninjas to patrol the trade-routes. As a result, the number of reported pillages have increased, causing concern among all the merchant families." Father stared at me expectantly, but I just nodded noncommittally and continued eating.
Mother let out a breath of air, obviously assuming that I didn't understand what Father said. And perhaps I didn't understand the entire situation, but I understood the core basics.
"When you say that the number of reported pillages increased, do you mean that the number of bandits actually increased or that the number of successful pillages increased?"
Mother turned to face Father and glared at him, almost silently daring him to answer my question.
He ignored her - guess who's going to be sleeping on the couch tonight - and responded with a "We don't know yet." Well, shit, that's not good, and I voiced that, without the expletive, of course. My father nodded, sharing my sentiments.
"Yes, well - "
"Eiji!" Mother dropped the honorific from Father's name. That's not a good sign, I thought.
Father winced at her tone and stared at her like a kicked puppy. Whipped, I thought. "Yes, well, we can talk about this when you're older," he amended, and Mother patted his hand as a reward. So frigging whipped.
They switched to less intensive topics - "Did you know Haruno Kizashi started courting Mebuki-chan?" "The prices in the market have skyrocketed! It's unbelievable how much they want us to pay for groceries. Can't you do anything about that?" - blah blah blah.
I just zoned out for the rest of breakfast, trying desperately to keep my emotions under wraps. I need to go for a run. Frowning at the sudden urge, I felt shivers down my spine. I was slightly chubby in high school (and my mother never failed to exaggerate anything, so to her, I was morbidly obese), so I just took to exercising whenever I could. Exercising was… addicting, and I truly didn't want to start that habit again here in this new body. But I wanted, needed to run. Was that an allusion to something? I just -
A tug pulled me out of my thoughts. "Onee-chan." Deep blue eyes looked back at me.
"Fumiko-chan, are you going to visit Aoi-chan and Madoka-chan now?" My mother called out as she started washing dishes.
Who the fuck were Aoi and Madoka? In response, two girls, one blond, the other brunette, appeared in my mind.
"Onee-chan," Keita repeated insistently, pulling on my sleeve, his eyes growing ever wider.
Well, that decided it for me. "No, I think I'm just going to play with Keita today." Hearing an acknowledging response, I took Keita's hand in my own, and he led me to the front door. I glanced back at my mother. "Okaa-sama, Keita and I will play outside…?" I trailed off questioningly.
"Be back in time for lunch," she said.
I slipped on my shoes, completely bewildered. I was six and my brother was two. What kind of parent let two toddlers out of their sight, let alone out of the house without any sort of supervision? Wasn't she supposed to be overprotective? Was this normal? I heard her footsteps behind me. Okay, guess my mother wasn't as inattentive as I thought.
"Are you planning on sleeping outside or something?" I looked at her in confusion and she only gestured down at me, amused.
Looking down at my clothes, I flushed (it was an interesting experience to feel all that blood rushing to my face; I had never blushed before in my former life) when I saw my frilly, pink pajamas. Mother just giggled at my embarrassment as I took my shoes off calmly and padded to my room.
God, everything was so pink: pink bed sheets, pink stuffed animals, pink wallpaper, pink pink pink. It appeared that Fumiko - the real Fumiko - had a borderline unhealthy obsession with the color. I dug around in the dresser until I emerged triumphantly with black shorts and a white shirt with a pink Kirby-like character stitched on the front.
Dressing myself, I stuffed a pink wallet into my pocket, snatched a black hair tie from the table - "Onee-chan! Quickly!" I heard my brother call out from downstairs - and tied my hair up as I ran down the stairs. I slipped my flats back on and stuck my tongue out at my mother, who just pat me on the head patronizingly. With a "Come back by lunch time and stay out of trouble!", she shooed us out of the house, and I faced the streets of Konoha and these not-strangers strangers.
I think I'm still in shock, I self-diagnosed. Or I'm a sociopath.
Resolutely avoiding everyone's gaze, I trailed after the two-year-old who seemed to know where he was going. After all, even though I survived breakfast, it was highly possible that anyone could take one look at me and just tell that I wasn't who I claimed to be. And I wasn't being overly paranoid. I would just rather not be sent to T&I for questioning. Besides, who would believe me? The thing that killed me didn't even exist in this time period.
I had been in the educational system since I was 4. Sixteen years of studying and cramming for exams; sixteen years during which my grades were the number one thing in life and success was landing a great paying job in medicine, law, or business. I had chosen the last one by process of elimination.
But my friends and I always joked around, saying that all those years of studying and perfecting the art of bullshitting would be completely and utterly useless if we landed in the Naruto, Bleach, One Piece, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, etc. worlds like all those self-insert fanfiction we read.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. I can't fight to save my life, which I would need to do.
I laughed, rather hysterically, in my mind. If I die, I die. I died once, what was one more time?
No biggie.
At that thought, I suddenly hoped that I was still in shock. I didn't want to deal with the alternative.
I trailed after my brother for what felt like forever - and hadn't we passed that store before?
Meanwhile, Keita was still marching confidently ahead of me, or as confidently a two-year-old can march on short stubby legs.
Eh, I'll just let him wander around in circles until lunch.