So, coming to terms with the fact that I'd been prematurely reincarnated was a whole thing, sure.
Accepting that I would now have to answer to the name Futaba and learn a whole other completely different language was another thing, yeah.
But those two hurdles paled in comparison to the world-shattering realization that I'd been reborn into what I had only assumed was a TOTALLY FICTIONAL UNIVERSE.
Since that night, I did little more than stare at everything around me. The wall, filled with texture, texture that implied it was real. The ambient noises coming from outside our house, like the noisy buzzing of cicadas, clattering on the roof that I hadn't been able to identify much until now—more often than not, it was probably kids trying to play ninja without the ability to mask their footsteps—and even the sharp sounds of metal colliding in the distant training fields.
My chew toys, they were rubber kunai and plastic scrolls.
I couldn't believe it took me this long to realize.
With the dream came a flood of other memories, as well as the realization that I was lacking memories. I couldn't really remember much about Naruto or Naruto Shippuden besides a few names and miscellaneous facts, like the fact there sure was a lot of filler. I suspected that what had accumulated to be over two years without thinking about the series at all had damaged my memory of it. Well, isn't that just hunky dory?
I smashed my head into the wall I was staring at in frustration. I can't believe this is happening to me. There was a time when I was a big Naruto fan. But that was when I was around twelve or thirteen! The last anime I'd watched before all of this was Fullmetal Alchemist, for crying out loud! I pulled at the hair that had just started growing past my shoulders after my most recent haircut.
"Futaba, what are you doing against the wall like that?" Mom's voice interrupted my thoughts. Since the night of my meltdown, my parents had been noticeably more concerned about me. For good reason, too—they really didn't deserve to have someone like me in their child's body. The thought made my insides squirm.
Startled, I staggered to my feet, releasing my hair from my chubby hands. I met the concerned eyes of my mother, feeling a bit like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Sorry, Mom. Wasn't just trying to knock myself unconscious or anything. "Nothin'." The guilt leaked into my voice—somehow knowing the nature of this world made me feel as though I was withholding treacherous information.
My mom sighed, kneeling down to meet my eyes better. "Futaba, you're going to be meeting someone today."
"Who?" Please, no one from canon. I was nowhere near having a plan of action for this world. I wasn't even sure I wanted a plan of action for this world—heck, maybe I should have considered picking myself up and moving to a non-shinobi village.
Dad walked out from behind the wall, already dressed and ready to go. "You'll be meeting your auntie, Futaba. Imiki-obaa-san."
Not a name I recognized, thankfully. The tension in my chest dissipated ever so slightly, and I tried to resume the role of Asagiri Futaba, two-and-a-half-year-old daughter of two Konoha shinobi. "'Kay." I forced a smile onto my face.
Hopefully there was a meal in it for me. All this stressing out over the nature of reality had left me hungry.
It didn't take long to get to Imiki's apartment, which looked ever-so-vaguely familiar to me in structure, in the same way the words Hokage and shinobi had tickled the back of my mind before the big breakdown—maybe this place had been part of the painted backgrounds of the anime, carelessly splashed into existence at the time, but now a home for many living people. The door swung open before I could think too deeply on it, thankfully, and I was met with the sight of...a younger Mom.
"Futaba-chan! Oh my gosh, she looks so much like you, onee-chan," Not-Mom cooed, immediately taking me from my father without so much as a glance in his direction. Why did people insist on carrying me still? I was a fully functioning two-year-old, thank you very much!
"Imiki, you're scaring her," Mom said, chuckling.
I wasn't scared. Just a little thrown off by how close Imiki pushed her face just to stare into my eyes. Okay, fine. I was a little scared. That was only because Imiki was so much bigger than me, though.
"Sorry, I can't help it," Imiki sighed, smiling. "She has our eyes, onee-chan." Come to think of it, Imiki did have the same honey-amber eyes as both my mom and me.
"The same as our okaa-san's, too," Mom mused, looking fond.
The wonders of genetics, I wanted to add. But I didn't really have the vocabulary to say that in Japanese—nevermind the fact that I shouldn't in the first place.
"Well, she has my hair," Dad cut in, probably feeling a bit left out.
"Such an ugly brown," Imiki said almost mournfully, a hand reaching up to untangle the strands of my pale brown hair. "Poor thing. Should have inherited our black hair instead."
"Hey!" my dad barked defensively, crossing his arms like a child. "It's not that bad."
"How would you know, Takeshi? Your hair's hardly brown anymore."
"Why, you—"
The three of us amber-eyed ones burst into giggles at his behaviour, even me—sorry, Dad. Imiki won this round.
I was finally set down by my aunt after a bit, when the adults moved on to talk about things like taxes and jobs, all things I had never been old enough in any of my lives to understand or be interested in. So instead, I busied myself with toddling around Imiki's apartment.
I stumbled across something that definitely caught my interest before long—an array of different, very shiny weapons, all in a rack fastened to the wall. Shiny things. The actual two-year-old me just couldn't resist, so I sat myself down in front of the rack and stared up at the weapons in awe.
The adults were all busy talking adult stuff, anyway! I needed a plaything to pass the time. A short—shiny—dagger that looked harmless enough sat to my left on the rack, and I reached my hand out to take out the dagger.
"Futaba-chan! Don't touch that!"
Imiki came out of nowhere—damn ninja reflexes—and scooped me up before I could touch the dagger. She breathed a sigh of relief as I pouted uselessly in her arms. My parents were close behind her, sporting identical looks of utter terror on their faces. They looked as though they had just stared death in the eyes and come back to talk about it.
"Imiki, you're telling me you keep your weapons all out in the open like this?" Dad sounded near faint, all of his big tough shinobi spirit gone and replaced by the sometimes even scarier worried Dad spirit. "This is no place for a child!"
"Welll, not exactly," Imiki replied. "The weapons I don't usually use are rigged with traps, just in case someone breaks in and tries to kill me in my sleep!"
Brushing aside the rather disturbing comment, I narrowed my eyes at the dagger I'd just attempted to pick up. Sure enough, when the light caught the handle, I could see the glint of clear wires tying it down to the rack. What kind of traps she could attach to the weapons was beyond me, but I suddenly felt a surge of respect—and maybe a little bit of fear—for my aunt Imiki.
"Here, I'll show Futaba-chan my weapons that aren't rigged with traps," Imiki piped up cheerily.
"Showing my two-year-old daughter any sort of weapon doesn't sound like such a good idea, Imiki," Mom said warningly.
"Just trust me, onee-chan!" Imiki tugged a nearby closet open with me in one arm, showcasing another array of weapons, this time slightly smaller and more worn. I still couldn't help but gawk at the display.
"Well, Futaba-chan? Which ones do you like, hmm?" Imiki cooed to me.
The weapons in the closet included a long, curved sword, a great assortment of daggers of varying lengths—two of which were significantly more worn than the rest of the weapon collection, so I assumed these were Imiki's standard weapons—and even more, but one thing caught my interest in particular, leaning up against the very back of the closet where the light barely reached.
I stuck out my pudgy hand and pointed to it.
"The bō, Futaba-chan?" Imiki asked curiously. "That's probably the weapon I've used least in this closet…"
"No sharp edges...no choking hazards…" I heard my dad muttering to himself in what sounded like relief. My mom stood next to him, patting his back to help him calm down.
"Interesting choice for an interesting child," Imiki mused. She grinned at me with youthful energy—somewhere itched with familiarity at the back of my mind as I thought this—and I got the sudden sense that I was really going to like Imiki.
The big long stick may not have had any sharp edges or shiny components, but for some reason, I felt drawn to it. Drawn to the organic feeling of the wood. It also came with the plus that I was unlikely to accidentally cut or spear myself on it during training.
After a bit, I was released from Imiki's hold once more and allowed to toddle around again—this time just outside Imiki's apartment, out of reach of any weapons.
Of course, the outside of an apartment building is not only significantly safer than an apartment filled with weapons, but also much, much more boring. I took this opportunity to try and perfect my walking skills. It never occurred to me how frustrating it could be to practice something as simple and easily taken for granted as walking, but I was definitely feeling that frustration lately. This body didn't have years of practice being coordinated. This was the body of a regular two-year-old child.
I spied the railing of the apartment building, over which I could vaguely see the buildings of Konoha and clear blue skies. My ears perked at sudden commotion that seemed to be coming from the streets below, and I identified the next obstacle in my short life—the railing.
With every ounce of strength in my little body, I stepped up onto the edge of the short wall that led up to the railing and pulled myself up so my head could peek over a bit.
I caught a glimpse of a diamond-shaped hat and long, white robes before I could hold myself up no longer. Wait, diamond-shaped hat and long, white robes? I pulled myself up again despite the protests of my muscle-less arms.
It was exactly who I thought it was—the Hokage himself, taking a stroll around Konoha with a couple assistants flocking him and passerby murmuring amongst themselves in surprise. Even from afar, I could feel the respect the gowns commanded, and something about the old man's presence felt weighty and important. Sandaime Sarutobi, my mind whispered.
I could definitely see why so many people looked up to the position.
Without realizing, my parents had walked up to be on either side of my struggling self, and my dad hoisted me into his arms effortlessly so that I could see the Hokage strolling down the streets clearly.
"Futaba, you remember who the Hokage is, right?" Mom asked gently.
In my wide-eyed daze, I could only call to mind one Japanese word that could serve as an answer. "S-strong."
I could feel my dad's proud chuckling, my head leaned against his chest. Mom continued to speak to me, though my eyes remained fixed on the Hokage even as he passed the apartment building and began to walk away. "He's the one that protects us all from danger. As shinobi of this village, it's our job to help him."
It's one thing to assume this world would match the fictional one I knew of in my past life, but it's another to see the actual Hokage in the flesh and be able to feel the power and wisdom rolling off of him from afar. To see the faint details of scars lining the exposed skin, and to turn back to your parents to see early stages of the same wear and tear in their own skin.
No, everything was much more real now, whether this world was actually real or not.
As I watched the Hokage walk off into another section of Konoha, I realized that I would have to be a lot more than a regular girl to survive in this world. That it was no longer an option for me to just try and get by normally in this new life—there would be no getting by, but surviving.
well there blows chapter 2 folks...this rendition of come spring will be much slower than the original because i feel like my pacing in the original was rushed and a little all over the place, so i hope it flows better this time around! we're still in the faster parts of futaba's life, but it's significantly longer. i think.
alts
