Cruel World

Chapter One: Identity

A/N:

1. This is more of an OC inserted as an OC than a self-insert, but that's what many SI are now-a-days.

2. I'm hoping to prove something to someone with this story so I hope the OC is alright. Usually not my cup of tea, but I'm happy to take all comments, suggestions, and criticisms in to improve.

This world was filled with idiots.

Maybe it was because the class was filled with seven-year-old children. No, that couldn't be it. The past two years had been spent at a civilian school. Given they were just as stupid and annoying as these children. It was probably to do with the lack of discrepancy between them. They were training to be shinobi and kunoichi. I know they're children, but I somehow expected them to be more mature despite knowing otherwise. They knew nothing of what was to come. The propaganda was terrible. Shinobi were highlighted as the ideal occupation. They were superior. They defend the village. They were heroes. It's all lies. This world is cruel. It's unforgiving. Being a shinobi only means an early death.

Uetake-sensei continued the lesson despite maybe two-thirds of the class actually listening—and that was being generous. It was a warm day out and most were impatient for the day to end. For many, this was their third year at the academy. There were several students who this was their second year. The classes were divided by age, not surprising. It was a common notion that age was a large factor as to when one was ready to perform the duties of a shinobi. It's another lie.

Several people drop out after their first year, because they cannot keep up with their studies or the physical aspect was too tedious or strenuous. Of course, the people who had been on the waiting list gained entry had to work extra hard to keep up, but they seemed more than willing. By the fourth year, anyone who is dropped out isn't replaced because it's too much of a task to ask someone to catch up that much and because the program is too large as is. The higher ups still expect more people to drop out to lower the number of potential shinobi and only allow entry to those, after that point in time, who have special circumstances.

Honestly, the most interesting class had been language class. Only a few Japanese words of phrases of the language had been picked up before being—what? Reborn?—to this twisted, fictional world. Learning a new language was always intriguing.

I guess I should explain. Naruto is a fictional manga that was also made into an anime and into several games—mostly for videogame consoles, so by all logic, it should be impossible to be here. My name—well the name I was given upon my birth is Yūdo Hanji. For all you culturally inept people, Yūdo is my new family name and Hanji is my new given name. It's odd. I had been a University student, so I didn't die happily or of old age. I never really got to even live my own life. I was still young and still had the world to explore. I can't even remember how I died. I still remember much of my life, though. There were lots of gaps that my mind deems unimportant; though, sometimes I remember those memories (often insignificant) at the oddest of times. Then there were memories that I don't remember that I have forgotten with time.

I won't tell you much about my early life. You'd be bored, so I'll save you from the boredom. My mind wasn't fully developed and I couldn't do a lot of things. I couldn't even take care of myself. I couldn't feed myself, dress myself—I couldn't even use the toilet. Unfortunately, even now I can remember some of those times.

The woman who gave birth to me in this world, Shiranui Yue, had been a kunoichi who died during the Kyūbi attack. Her husband, Yūdo Tomoya, is a civilian musician who I usually stay with in the North-Western District of Konoha. You thought I was going to call them my parents? Wrong. They weren't. My parents were in the real world, probably wailing over my death. My sister as well. She was the person I missed the most.

When my brain was developed enough to process thoughts that weren't basic survival instincts of food and sleep, then I lived several days, weeks, months, years, in denial of existing in this hell. I ignored the heads carved into the mountain that looked like all the Hokage. At eleven months old, I ignored Kurama's attack. Hell, I was even in denial that I had been turned into a guy. I had definitely been a girl before showing up here. I never thought too much on gender until I was born in this body. The distorted change is uncomfortable and odd. It wasn't me. It was why I didn't feel ashamed making those around me confused as to which gender I am. I'd rather they not know. It wasn't until I was five that I hesitantly admitted that I'm mad and that I was indeed in the Elemental Nations.

I use to tell myself I wanted a chance to redo my life. I meant that I wanted to relive the life I had, so that I wouldn't do stupid things and live my life fuller. I wanted to be a kid longer and have a better future than the one I always over-planned because I was paranoid that way. I hadn't meant that I wanted to end up in a fictional world where war and constant aggressive death was normal. Even now that I was here I don't care about changing whatever future is in store for these people. Hell, I hadn't watch Naruto in years and only read a few random Naruto chapters. I don't remember the majority of the plot. Some of which I did recall I had forgotten over the few years since I was "born". The only recent stuff I even know is from my blabbing sister—some of which I searched to see if it was true.

Naruto is so long, with many fillers and has taken years to make—you can't fault me for not being fully committed.

But the point was I didn't want to be a shinobi; I didn't want to kill people. I wanted a nice, safe life away from danger. I wanted out of this fucked up place!

So why did I enter the academy this year when I had been so against it until now? It because I realized that there is no way to escape the twistedness that is the Elemental Nations.

I might not have been in a sane mind frame—or maybe I was—when I realized the only way to free myself was to die. I admit, that I tried killing myself a few times. I prepared various times in various ways to commit suicide, but I could never bring myself to conclude the deed. I was too much of a coward and subconsciously treasured life, especially my life, too much. The closest attempt was when I tried to drown myself in a deep body of water at the edge of the village, but just as I began to inhale water, I was rescued by Genma who was asked by Tomoya hours earlier to find me and bring me home. I thought about trying that method again but knew I wouldn't go through with it, whether it be because of my cowardice or because of Genma's concerned expression—I didn't know.

There was another method to die, though. Shinobi die all the time. I'd get what I want, death—an instant exit from this world while others would see me in a positive light. A warrior. A hero. I didn't care for those things (those lies), but to know people would think highly of me rather than a coward —I couldn't help it. I was self-conscious.

Hanji glanced over the notes she had taken. The class wasn't too relevant. Anything she missed could be quickly be learnt while doing homework. Instead her notebook was filled with ideas of experiments to try. She wanted something that would make her feel closer to civility and modernity. And making some aspirin was a must. Spending hours with children gave her headaches. She always thought children were cute but were probably annoying to raise. Being in a room full of them proved this notion.

Hanji closed the notebook and leaned back on her chair. The tips of her dark brown hair, tied in a messy high ponytail, tickled the back of her neck. She sighed as she untied her hair. It was chest length; she refused to grow it longer as it was hard enough to take care of since it was thick and coarse. Her eyes darted to Hyūga-san and Masoka-san. In her opinion, and probably the opinion of many others, had the best hair. She was jealous. She didn't care too much about appearances—she had already met too many grouches and jackasses in life to put appearances above personality (though both didn't hurt)—but she could still be wistful.

It wasn't hard to tell why some people second guessed Hanji's gender. Children usually had subtle androgynous features as they haven't developed yet, Hanji more so. With his hair down, it better framed his face, softening his features. It also didn't help that he was wearing a dress.

…no really. He wore a knee length dress to class. He wore shorts underneath to prevent the irritation of thight rubbing together, but they weren't seen unless they were in combat class and he delivered a kick.

However, friends of Tomoya and some neighbours knew Hanji was a boy. That meant if there was ever a conversation about him there was often confusion, not knowing what to believe. Most, however, believed Hanji was a girl. And I am. However, Hanji was a boy—biologically so.

Uetake-sensei finally ended the lesson, giving a brief summary of what was for homework, before releasing the class for the day.

Finally, it was about time.

Hanji was happy that she didn't have to deal with her classmates much today. She knew it couldn't be avoided forever though. She didn't want to get close to them, though. She had no purpose and she planned to die. Her precarious relationship with Genma was already bad enough. She couldn't help it though. Since she avoided most people, it meant she spent more time with Tomoya and Genma was more than she'd like.

She walked to the front of the school. Some people were being picked up, others walked in groups or alone. It was an awkward age of parental protectionism and letting their kids grow up. She was about to leave when she caught sight of Yue's brother.

"Genma-san? Don't you have work or something?" said Hanji.

Genma replied, "I got back last night. I didn't want to miss your first day of school. You don't want me here?" Hanji had always been independent so he thought that by picking him up, he might embarrass him. Of course, he also took note of the dress Hanji wore, but it wasn't the first time. He was exasperated, but it was almost normal now.

"No. It's fine. It saves me the trouble of breaking into your house again."

Hanji had broken in several times before. Usually to hide away from world or to use Genma's home as a lab, despite the equipment he already possessed in his own room.

As a shinobi Genma felt a cross between pride and annoyance that his apartment has been so easily broken into.

"More experiments?" He asked, though, he didn't really want to know.

Hanji hummed. Genma gave him a minute for his nephew to continue. It never came.

Genma's eyes narrowed. He could tell something was wrong. "Just tell me." Hanji continued to remain silent. He finally replied as Genma opened his mouth once more. Genma froze. Hanji's voice was low. It was a possibility that he had misheard. "What was that?"

Hanji clenched her fist. "I said I don't want to go back to that house. I don't want to face Tomoya-san. We got in a fight this morning. I said that Tomoya-san isn't my otou-san."

Genma's eyes were wide. "Of course he's your otou-san. He loves you a lot. He and Yue-onee—"

"They're not my parents!" Hanji whirled around to face Genma who was a few steps behind her.

Genma figured that if Hanji was going to go through his bratty phase, he might as well contain it and end it early. "They are your parents. They gave you life and they love you. He even lets you wear that dress. You're a boy. You shouldn't be wearing it!" Yue-one's son shouldn't be like this. He wanted to see more of his sister in her son. He remembered the small baby, whom often cried and smiled, that Yue had given birth too. The boy in front of him was nothing like that. He had been hoping that Hanji's decision to become a shinobi was to take after his mother. Even with the late testing, Hanji was able to make it high on the waiting list. Nothing appeared to have change, though. "Why'd you even change your mind about being a shinobi?"

Hanji contemplated whether if he should even reply. During this time Hanji stared at Yue's brother with haunted eyes. Hanji turned around. She was about to run but Genma caught her wrist.

"You're not leaving. You're being a gaki."

"Urasai!"

"No, I—"

"Urasai! Urasai! Urasai!" Hanji's eyes pricked with tears. "It isn't fair. You don't take consideration of my feelings at all. I get it! Yue was your sister, but she's dead now. This world is cruel. You should already know this. She's dead and she's not coming back. I'm not her. Stop placing expectations of her on me. I'm my own person. I-I have feelings. I have my own thoughts; I can form my own opinions; I can choose my own clothes, and I can do what I want. I'm an individual! I'm me!" Genma's thoughts raced to the seven-year-old's words. Genma took it as sorrow from losing a mother. He didn't understand what turmoil Hanji's emotions really were nor why. "I'm me," she began muttering to herself. She pulled away from Genma, and he let her.

It wasn't until he realised how stupid it was to let Hanji run away by himself that he began searching for him. He eventually found him sitting on the ground, using a tree to support his back. His arms wrapped around his bent knees, crying his eyes out.

Genma picked him up, startling Hanji. "Come on. You can stay at my place tonight. I'll tell Tomoya-kun.

A/N: Hanji will be referred to as a girl and boy at particular times… um… please put up with it for now. A few chapters later the difference will be much more defined (until a certain event) but until then it may change erratically.