Chapter One

It was a normal day, as far as I was concerned. Go to the private academy for kids with high-profile parents from 7 in the morning until 1 in the afternoon. Grab lunch with my mother, then head straight to my father's work place. Then, from 2 in the afternoon until 8 in the evening, train until I almost drop dead. That was exactly what happened. One minute, I was wobbling towards the stands where my instructor and medicine were, before losing my balance. Said instructor rushed over to me and found out I was having rapidly dying.

It happened so fast.

The anaesthesia didn't work properly. Someone messed up in their job. I woke up in the middle of my heart surgery, and promptly went into shock. The world slowly darkened, everything becoming a messy blur to me, my lungs crying for oxygen. Then it dawned on me, I was going to die, no mistaking it. It angered me, having to die just when I was starting to fight for it. Then the anger turned to disappointment, I knew I still had so much unfinished work.

So many people to help, so many promises to fulfill. So little chance to do all that. The disappointment turned into sadness. I felt my heart start to spasm, and I had no idea where I would end up. I was a pretty normal person, some would call an anti-social, some an introvert. I had no one to call my best friend or a friend, but I did have a pet bird. A Hyacinth Macaw with a missing toe, named Muscari, in tribute to the flowers I grew in my father's little garden. I had no prior relationships, outside of my biological and oath family.

I was but a simple 12th grade repeater, with a slightly superior brain, and an extremely weak heart. A blur shuffled to where I lay, heart spasming, time seemed so slow. I hear my father's voice, stern but heart-broken. No, don't cry for me, father. Do not let me pass in pain, I wanted to say, in retribution for failing to meet the famiglia's standards. He heard my plea, holding my face with his clammy hand. Maybe that's why my doctor was ordered to leave me be.

Maybe God would let me enter Heaven? Maybe not, I was, after all, a child of a sinful man. I would be such a hypocrite if I held such inhibitions in myself. I accept it. I was a son of a newly chosen consigliere of quite the influential famiglia. It must mean I was also an evil person. It was human nature to assume that 'the fruit does not fall far from the tree'. But I was not the son my famiglia wanted me to be. It was nature for the human mind to kill the weak and rejoice in the power of the strong. In my world, those who were born into this life were expected to excel, to take after strong parents, to take the expectations in stride.

A strong grip held my numbing hand, I struggled to see. My father, in a broken voice, told me he was sorry. I felt the familiar coldness of my father's other son, his precious Ruger LCP, press into my forehead. I smiled in sadness. I am sorry, he repeated over and over again.

I did not believe him.

Maybe if he really was sorry, he would have taken the chance to take me out of my misery, to stop the pain, to end it all then. His shaking hand retracted along with the gun, and his warm hand eased his grip on me. His blurry form turned away from me, and walked away.

Maybe if he really was sorry, he would have pulled the trigger, instead of turning his back to me. I succumbed to the darkness, embracing the cold arms of death in return. My mind flashed a memory of myself searching a flower with a meaning of sincerity and sorrow, with which I decided I wanted to grow in my father's garden. Purple hyacinths to display my apologies for not meeting the famiglia's expectations. I wanted to show that I was indeed sorry for being born this way, and that I will forever be.

I'm sorry father.

It was warm. It was warm and soft. Quite humid, but comfortable. There was nothing I could see, as far as I was concerned. There was a constant thrumming everywhere, but it was very comforting, gave me something to focus on while I remain immobile. Perhaps my father changed his mind and my doctor managed to evolve into a miracle worker and prolonged my life? I may have to wait until I was once again mobile enough to move. I tried to move myself and found out that, no, I did not have the strength to move anything. I swallowed back a sigh and entertained the thoughts that polluted my head. I was sure I died, or at least was dead for a few seconds. Or was it days? I did not know, I only gained consciousness in random intervals.

It was boring.

But I was thankful to not hear the incessant beeping of a machine in a hospital room. There was the perpetual silence, and the unabated darkness. It was quite unnerving, but at the same time, I sought solace in the welcomed silence. I was free, and my thoughts were also free as could be. The darkness and the feeling of being alone gave me time to think. And think I did. All the philosophical questions I have had inside my brain I repeated over and over until I thought my head hurt. It grew quite very boring in fact, and I was certain it has been a few days since I had been bought to the hospital. I reminisced my time with my mother, laughing as she talked to me about her airplane themed cafe, booming in business as it remained one of a kind in wherever she decided to have it. I reminisced the very rare times my father taught me how to shoot a gun himself. It made my heart ache and I stopped thinking before I get another failure.

I entertained the more childish side of my thoughts. Adventure Time had just finished a few days before I was rushed to the hospital. I was quite happy there was an LGBTQ moment in the end. Yay for them. It was also a few days before that the BTS x Nicki 'Idol' music video was released. It was alright, even better than the original, I guess. Nicki is a queen and BTS is quite the inspirational group. I hope my father does not cancel my bulk album orders. I was planning on distributing them. I hope he is doing alright, coping with my sudden hospitalization. I also hope he takes care of Muscari. I forgot to buy him his new sweaters.

He used his old ones eight times already. I hope father does not put him down because he has a missing toe. I hope he and mother cease their useless arguments and just get back together. I hope someone tells them that they could just buy a relationship mending book or get couples therapy. They both have the money anyways. Mac Miller died a few days (I would assume, as I had only heard from my classmates about his death, the day I also had a run in with Death himself) ago. I hope people don't blame that little girl, Ariana, for what happe-

A poke. And another one. And another. And another. Until the thrumming stopped. All was quiet, and with bated breath, I force my stiff yet jelly-like body to move. But someone beat me to it. I was being pushed out of my safe haven and I was beginning to feel so constricted. It hurt, everything just felt like it was being crushed and pushed and scratched. White hot, hot pain traveled everywhere and I struggled to breathe. There was the confusing temperature, where one second I was cold and the other uncomfortably warm, my eyes unable to open. Was this the start of my punishment in hell? I stopped fighting the force pulling and pushing me, opting to stay still as huge hand-like shaped things wrapped around my body, undoubtedly scratching me with such coarse and rough surfaces. I was being dragged and scratched and I burst out crying. My ears were met with a shrill cry and I figured that must be me, what with not speaking for a few days, they must understand my sudden need for delicate handling. They wrapped me in a scratchy cloth and I snuggled in it for the warmth it provided, absolutely tired from what just transpired.

I heard someone humming in my ear before I was put down into a soft but sturdy surface, my pro tempore blindness preventing me from seeing just where I was put and who handled me. It was but only a few measly seconds before I succumbed to the darkness once again.

The second time I regained my consciousness, I knew I was not dead. Swaddled up in slightly scratchy blankets and a very, very bright light in front of me, I figured I was in a state of consciousness but still not conscious enough to be able to move. Strangely enough, my chest and heart felt fine, unlike before, where I was always out of breathe even from just standing up. I always would know if something changes regarding my heart, and right now, it felt different. I felt like it was mine, yes, but at the same time it did not. My heart was weak and sloppy and sick, but this heart that was beating inside my chest was very much strong and consistent, no irregular heartbeats, no stopping every two to 5 minutes of exercise and most importantly, it felt fine. Just fine. That is not the case with the heart I was born with. A thought made my blood run cold and I burst into tears with wild abandon, not caring if somebody else heard me. Footsteps rushed to my room and I forced my head to look to the side, mouth already failing to form the words I want to say.

There, in the door, was a blurry figure, wearing what seemed like a Japanese or Korean traditional wear, dark colored and was big enough to make the person wearing it appear very muscular. Upon seeing my frazzled state, he rushed over to me and peered down my crib. He bent down close enough that I see markings on his face, purple, and one on each side of his cheeks.

"Ba!" I yelped as he moved my head so I was looking straight ahead. Wait...

Peered down? Crib? I gaped at him as he poked my body with his index finger, gently nudging my mouth close.

"Rin-chan?"

Oh no.

I am not ashamed to say that I passed out, once again.

The third time, I regained consciousness, all I saw was white. Maybe I died for real? It was hard to tell, what with my eyes refusing to cooperate with me. My body was numb, and the back of my hand was itching. It must be quite the spectacle, seeing a consigliere's defective son laying on a crib, for a baby. This is scary, I must have been kidnapped and sold to an old geezer with a weird fetish. I sigh inwardly, knowing that I might as well try to kill myself for real once I find a way to move my body. Everyone knows a mafia's goldmine of information is the Boss' family, and the consigliere's. Sometimes even people below the Capos are in the know. But this here? A blatant sign of not only a threat, but also a very big 'fuck you' to both my father and the Boss. I must move.

All my plans were thrown out the window when a man, (who was probably almost eight feet tall) loomed over my crib, white hair falling on his shoulders, before cascading over the crib's side. Big, slightly tanned hands ran through my forehead, my eyes crossing each other to follow it, before a deep laugh erupted out of his mouth. I tried my best to frown at him, but ultimately failing because of the wart on his nose. It made the man laugh a little longer before straightening up, fixing his hitai-ate and waving good bye at me. His back turned towards me and I stopped smiling. He... He had quite the similar body structure as my father, and all it did was hurt my already fragile heart.

I started to cry.

Immediately, I was in his arms, warmth blooming in my chest as he cooed at me and pat my back. I stopped crying. His shoulders shook and his chest rumbled as he kept in his chortles in, a very beautiful woman with blonde hair rushing inside the room looking panicked, but soon turned to a fond smile. Why were they looking so familiar? I racked my brain of any memories involving white haired man with a wart. Wait, was it a wart or a piercing? I did not see enough of his face. Hold on, white hair, tall ass man, nose piercing, hitai-ate, a blondie, wait... No, no no no. This man is a legend.

Jiraiya.

The man holding me is Jiraiya. As in Jiraiya of the Sannin. As in Jiraiya, Jiraiya. Lord Jiraiya.

So that woman is Tsunade.

What god took pity on me and gave me such a blessed second life? I giggled, held onto him tighter, before it literally hit me, that I was in Naruto. And I remember someone calling me Rin. I take back my earlier sentiments. Some god out there must be laughing at me.

For the third time in this life, I passed out.

Lord, help me.