Premise of the story is to replace Naruto with Naruko.

The skeleton of the story (and its cast of characters) will remain the same. People aren't suddenly not born because Naruto wasn't born a boy.

However, for the sake of the story, significant differences will exist. It'd be no fun if the story was still basically the same.

The plan is to update this as often as I can. Early chapters might be a little too familiar, but as we move along the stories will grow apart. Bear with me.

Enjoy. ~LordBoogersnatcher

Twelve years ago, a nine tailed demon fox appeared. It was nothing less than a natural disaster, capable of causing tsunamis with a single tail. One brave shinobi was able to seal the demon, but gave up his life in the process. That shinobi was called the Fourth Hokage.

She inched to the edge slowly. From this altitude, the wind billowed around her, whipping her waist-length red hair haphazardly around her body.

She would never admit it, but there was something unsettling about being this high off the ground. Below her, she could see Konoha in its entirety, bustling with mid-morning activity. Vendors called out their wares, people mingled and visited with one another, and, if one looked closely enough, the roofs were littered with blurs of movement, distorting evenly tiled roofs, as shinobi crisscrossed the village with a deft sort of nimbleness that made her broil with envy.

She'd be one of them someday.

But for now, she smoothed out her bright orange tracksuit, the sleeves of which were cut off at the elbows and the shoulders colored a deep blue. She grabbed at her wild hair, wrestled it under control and quickly tied it into a ponytail in an obviously practiced motion. She always tied her hair up when she was ready for action.

One last look over the edge. One more breath. One final step forward.

And she fell.

Any fear she had was instantly forgotten. All that was left was the thrill, the rush, her heart singing as her body dropped in complete freefall. She grit her teeth, preparing for the inevitable -

"OOMPH!" She wheezed in pain as the rope around her waist went taught, catching her. That would undoubtedly bruise. Quickly, before all momentum was lost, she swung herself towards the cliffside and began her dance. Side to side, up and down, she used her feet again and again to propel herself towards her next destination. She was faintly aware of the buzz of a crowd forming below her, but she continued without heeding them. Her work wasn't finished.

Her waist was sore. The rope was cutting into her stomach, and she sorely wished she'd worn some kind of protective padding. Something to remember for next time, she thought, wincing.

A couple more strokes of the brush and she was finished. She kicked off the mountain and propelled herself backwards to admire her work. The now empty paint can let out satisfied applause from her left hand as it bumped against her leg.

It was perfect.

Naruko couldn't help it. She let out a laugh and turned to face the crowd below her.

"WAHAHAHAHA! I'M INCREDIBLE!"

There were days that made Hiruzen Sarutobi feel every one of his sixty-eight years.

This was one of those days.

Hiruzen sighed. He supposed, in a way, the girl's tenacity was to be admired.

On the other hand…

"You'll pay for this!"

"Get down from there!"

"What the hell is wrong with her?! Someone cut her down!"

He heaved another heavy sigh. The mob of villagers around him was oblivious to his presence.

The boisterous redhead that held their attention, Naruko, hung precariously from the top of the Hokage monument with rope tied around her waist (She didn't steal that much rope, did she? Surely someone would notice that length of rope missing). Her curiously whiskered cheeks, three faint scars along each side of her face, were stretched with a proud, toothy grin.

The Hokage monument itself was, to him, both a work of art and a symbol, a cliffside from which the four Hokage of past and present watched over the village, forever etched in stone. His own (albeit much younger looking) face was among them. The third Hokage.

And the current Hokage. He grimaced, a familiar, upset pang hitting his stomach as he looked up at the face of the Fourth.

Fierce. Confident. Bold.

A giant trail of paint hanging from his left nostril.

Sigh.

"Forgive me, Hokage-sama. This is my fault."

Hiruzen turned to his right at the heavily breathing man perched on the viewing rail. "Don't be silly, Iruka."

Obviously embarrassed, Iruka absentmindedly rubbed a finger over the long scar that ran across the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how she got out of class," he admitted. "But I'll handle this."

Hiruzen took a second to marvel at the young teacher's growth. He'd raised and taught many shinobi during his long (too long) tenure as Hokage, and Iruka was no exception. His hair was tied up in the same, characteristic ponytail he'd had as a child. He wore his shinobi uniform, a military flak jacket coupled with a forehead protector adorned with the identifying leaf symbol of Konoha, with the pride and propriety of a model soldier. His temperament was the stiff one of a teacher. Not that it'd always been, Hiruzen mused. There was a reason he'd placed the girl in this man's capable care.

"Do what you need to do, Iruka."

Iruka nodded, his face red, and turned towards his student, who was now animatedly swinging her arms and legs while she shouted down at her audience, vigorously returning every insult with one of her own. He too started yelling, adding his voice to the crowd's. Hiruzen watched as Naruko instantly picked out Iruka's familiar voice and noticeably panicked. She dropped her can of paint (fortunately empty) which narrowly missed a member of the outraged mob. Iruka turned to the villagers next, charged with the unenviable responsibility of appeasing and dispersing the crowd.

A fourth sigh. He has it under control. Hiruzen turned to walk away, but stopped and turned around to look at his own likeness.

Streams of paint from both nostrils and both eyes, one of which was blotted out with paint. A skull on one cheek and a swirl of paint on the other. A pile of dung on the forehead, and what he assumed was drool coming from the lip.

There was a part of him that almost impressed.

He'd let Iruka handle his student for now, but made a mental note to talk to the man later about the girl. Not such a big deal, from the proper perspective.

Any day where my biggest problem is 12-year old vandal is a good day.