A/N: This fic is inspired by the self-insert Dreaming of Sunshine, written by Silver Queen. There are elements of her story in mine, and I'll say it here once. If something is similar, it means her explanation for it just... makes sense... Not difficult to see. I will be doing my own thing with the ideas, though. It won't just be some cheap knockoff, and you'll see the major differences from the start. I want this to be like an epic, long and not leaving any plot holes. First story I've written in years, so don't be too harsh. Constructive criticism is appreciated. I don't own Naruto. AU. Very AU. Very.

Ext. Summary: What does it truly mean to save the shinobi world and elemental nations? I was born on the civilian side of power spectrum and felt true injustice and powerlessness. If one truly wants to save the world, surely the weak need to be saved too. Is the love Naruto preaches truly the best path? Or only poetic words meant to inspire. A path of blood and tears will answer this question.

This fic is not for the faint of heart. Kazuki will face many challenges, it won't be like the anime or Dreaming of Sunshine. Loss will happen. Kazuki will be forced to face his fears, not choose to face them. Struggle will happen. The hottest fire tempers the finest steel. It won't only be angst, I just want to explore the harsher side of the shinobi life that isn't often looked at. What makes Pain, Pain? Or Obito, Obito? What makes Naruto different? Is it the challenges they face, or the way they react to the boulders placed on their backs? What if one doesn't have the power nor backing to stand up to injustices?

If these questions interest you, the tale of Kazuki will too.

T for themes of Violence, language, angst, etc...

-/~/-

"Heresy is the eternal dawn, the morning star, the glittering herald of the day. Heresy is the last and best thought. It is the perpetual New World, the unknown sea, toward which the brave all sail. It is the eternal horizon of progress. Heresy extends the hospitalities of the brain to a new thought. Heresy is a cradle; orthodoxy, a coffin."
― Robert G. Ingersoll, Heretic and Heresies: From 'The Gods and Other Lectures'

-/~/-

I was alone when I died. I had always expected to die somewhat young. I was in love with the lifestyle, every weekend I was out drinking, and on the weekdays, I was smoking weed every chance I could get. Guess you could say I had an addictive personality. Just a little. "My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!"

I remember that quote from my college philosophy class: the same philosophy class where I met my ex-girlfriend. I remember the first time we met quite clearly. I missed the first day of class, I might have been drunk. Anyways, the second day of class rolls around, and I stroll into class and sit down, and she walks in. She stole my breath. Lils was perfect: blonde, (which is my type) regal, and with an angelic personality to match. She gave me faith in God and helped me get past the drugs and alcohol. I was happy. Feeling pretty good about life.

Then she left me, like everyone else. Like my parents.

I fell back into the lifestyle I had before. I dropped out soon after and eventually started getting into the really hard shit. The shit you want to stay away from; you know.

So ya, I died alone. I wasn't crowded by a bunch of loved ones in a hospital room, all hoping I'd live so they would get me for just a little bit longer. I didn't die doing something heroic, because how could I? I died at 2:30 in the morning of an overdose and the world faded to black. An unremarkable end to an unremarkable life.

But the world didn't stay black. Colors swirled into life and the world I once lived in appeared in front of me, an ethereal projector: I saw my mother getting the call with the news of my death and bursting into tears. I saw my sister transition from complete disbelief to full blown-panic attacks. I remember my funeral and the eulogy, my father talked about the potential I had, and how kind my heart was. "He was the smartest of all of us. If we could've just got the damn kid to apply himself." My father said, laughing bitterly. I saw my ex-girlfriend, and followed her for what must have been years, basking-or maybe sulking-in her melancholy. Ah, how they love you when you're gone.

Time was unnatural, in death-my emotions felt weird too. It was like it could have been only a matter of seconds, or generations of life and death. Regret, comfort, guilt, and peace touched my conscience with no more weight than a cloud. I felt more than I saw the emotions these visions showed; they fell on me like rain and the images pitter-pattered out of existence, leaving only darkness.

~ "Stay? Or go? ~ A sinister sounding voice called out from the void.

The voice did not need to elaborate. I was dead, and this was death. Nothing else could be offered. I pondered over regret, and mulled over peace. It was a choice between a meadow in spring or eternal slumber in the warm embrace of winter; between observing the cosmos or becoming a star. The void was comforting, in a way. It was the end of everything and I could finally have peace. Or I could have another chance, the world was harsh but I could take it this time... I would take it this time.

"Stay." I called out.

~ "The choice has been made. You shall feel everything." ~The voice rasped.

The void swirled after his voice and this time I decided to fall in motion with it, instead of fighting it. The tunnel of energy breathed in and out, like it was alive; cycling through purples, blacks, yellows, greens, before the whirlpool finally settled on a warm red and cool blue; twisting around each other like snakes, and the energy drew me in like a moth to flame.

And then I was born. Emotions rushed back to me that I had only felt remnants of moments ago; fear, hunger, and a thirst for comfort. The transition from being dead to being alive was weird.

The sunlight peeked through the dilapidated roof and shined on my eyelids, "Too bright," and the air felt unnatural and heavy; reminiscent of water, like humidity, but alive. The sixth sense I'd somehow received pulsed and thrummed with the energy, synchronizing with the flow of the world and overloading my senses. It was all way too much, way too soon. With no way of showing my discomfort, I started crying, and I couldn't stop.

I was swaddled in something warm and gently thrust into delicate arms." My mother." I was sure of it, I could feel her love. Her love; strong and bright, like the warm summer sun unfreezing my chilled bones and heart. She brushed my forehead and gently kissed the top of my head. Her hands were firm and strong around my little frame, holding me like she would never be able to again. This love wouldn't last. Nothing is promised, and nothing is guaranteed. Her love stayed strong, but her spirit was fading. Fast. The grip she had on me loosened, I felt her hands grow weaker, and weaker, until they fell limp.

Only one thought could form through the moshpit of sounds and feelings assaulting my senses, "No... No... It couldn't be. Mom?" . The transition from life to death hit much too close to home, much too soon. "NO! MOM!" At least that's what I tried to scream but my stupid vocal cords weren't working and my tongue just wasn't dexterous enough. The words were no more than a warbled shriek of anguish.

I felt my mother go... Felt her die... I heard my father screaming to the heavens, and I felt the way he broke when the prayers did nothing. I cried. Loudly. I may be an 18-year-old boy, but my body still wants to react like a newborn baby. I tried to tell myself that at least but a deeper part of me just knew I would cry in my teenage body, feeling all that love directed at you and then having it snuffed out, it was hard to put into words but hurt more than anything-even Lils.

I'd only known that woman for ten minutes-at most-and it felt like I'd lost a piece of my soul. She wasn't the mother I knew, the one that raised me, the one I remembered. She was just a woman who gave birth in this life, no more, no less. But no matter how hard I tried to deflect my emotions, I missed her greatly already. The bond between mother and child wasn't supposed to make sense.

-/~/-

I knew my father didn't like me. I guess he blamed me, or maybe I reminded him of mom; who knows. Maybe I was just a little too perceptive for a two-week-old baby-staring at him with all-knowing eyes-maybe I didn't cry as much as I was supposed to; but there was a feeling I couldn't explain surrounding him.

That day was the last time my mother held me. I never felt her again after that. From then on different hands carried me. My father. He wasn't rough, exactly, but it didn't have that same love my mother's hands held. His love felt warm, but at a distance, almost arm's length apart. A campfire blazing in the minds-eye full of heat and just pure emotion, but only one seat pulled up to face the cold simply living would bring. In the corner I could almost sense a trashed baby carrier and the splinters of what must have been my dead mother's old chair being used as kindling.

My birth was supposes to bring life, new and beautiful. The seed of hope that was nestled and carefully watered, fertilized, and nourished in my mother's belly also had roots extending into her heart, sucking on her life force like a parasite. The garden that was supposed to be Eden was filled with toxic plants that were equal parts deadly and beautiful. I was poison.

Or he's just sad and that's the self-blame talking... "God knows I have enough of that already." I thought with a yawn, the only evidence that the world existed outside our dilapidated hut was the early morning sky peeking through the holes in the roof and birds announcing to the world that the day had begun. My dad getting up and walking around seemed to stir some of that weird natural energy around, it was like getting tickled. I couldn't help but wake up when he did.

The feeling of the energy is hard to explain, my father's felt cold, like autumn, but warm at the same time. A contradiction. The sun peeking through the hut was easier to explain, it felt like warmth. A gift given with no expectations of reciprocation; doing good for the purpose of doing good, simply put. Even the crib I'm sleeping in has energy, although compared to feelings of warmth or cold it was muted, long past its life. Only a shell of what it once was.

My father started talking aloud in a tone that was neither bitter nor happy, "Hmm... I have to go to the site today, go to the neighbors and get Kazu some food, feed the damn kid, change the damn kid's diapers, make lunch, make supper, wash that crib out." My father grimaced, and for the first time he spoke with emotion, his voice filled with sorrow. "Shit, I wish she was here." He took a few deep breaths, and the sorrow that was on his face slowly washed off.

...That's right. He had to go to the site today. Carpentry was evidently the family business. Every morning he'd wake up at dawn, make his lunch for the day, make my baby formula-which was disgusting, by the way- wrap me up in the little lunch basket he carried and take me to whatever job he was working on. We lived in a third-world country, evidently. No roads were paved, instead a path was dug into the earth from horses relentlessly pulling carts. My guess was backed up by the fact that no one around us seemed to have expensive clothes, or even clothes that didn't look like hand-me-downs.

My father finished packing up the lunches and turned to me. He picked me up, swaddled me pretty good, actually, and put me in the lunch basket. "Ready to work kid?" He said with a big smile, pinching my little nose with his big fingers. I cooed back at him and wrapped my hand around his thumb, holding onto it for support. He brought me outside and put me on the ground. The morning air had a slight chill, and dew was frosted upon the grasses and leaves of plants.

My father moved towards the shop first, gathering the materials he'd need for the work day; a wooden ladder, a hammer and nails, scrap wood being refurnished as ramshackle roof material, and tape was put on the ground next to the stables. He walked to the stables next and rigged up our two horses to the cart the was beside the lean-to. He loaded all the tools into the cart, grabbed me, and got onto the cart, whipping the reigns to get the horses moving.

Our house had only one spacious room and everything got thrown in there: the mattress thing my father slept on, the kitchen appliances, the table, my crib, a small desk and an outhouse out back a short distance from the house. Next to the out-house was a shack about the same size as the house, where his tools were kept. A short distance away from the shack, a lean-to that functioned as a stable kept our horses safe from most of the weather, and the cart beside it was worn and beaten, since it didn't receive the same shelter from the elements. I wasn't going to complain, since I did want a second chance, but the luxury of the old world only seemed more unreal, almost alien, compared to the conditions I was living in now. A wake up call, if I ever needed one.

I looked to the side of the road at the houses we passed every so often, and they looked similar to ours in one major way, no matter the shape or material used to build. Each house had only one room, and was run down in at least some aspect. Most of the other families didn't even have horses, or a stable to keep them in at least. Except the farmers, who lived in slightly bigger houses, had more horses, and more children; all to help the get work done. The farmers had slightly more profit coming in than the average family that was in the boondocks, or so it appeared, but the expenses that came with more work and more mouths to feed meant our families raked in similar amounts of money, to make an educated guess.

"I do miss my T.V... At least we have horses." I thought, trying to see the bright side of things. The horses we had weren't thoroughbred, by any means. Our two horses were old and moved pretty slow, but they worked well for pulling carts of equipment to and from places; much of the equipment my father used was light enough to carry for a distance, but was too awkward to be comfortable. Not even getting into the amount of time and trips to and from the site it would take. The horses really were a lifesaver, actually. For my father at least, I was still too little to even walk, let alone work.

Being in a baby's body gave me a lot of time to sleep when my dad was working, and to think about what exactly the fuck was going on. Did I die and get reincarnated? Or did I die and I was in hell or the afterlife or wherever and just couldn't see it, just didn't know. Could I possibly be a part of some weird Neo-Nazi experiment? Or time travel? Really anything's possible. I saw my death, so either I'm dead or I should be. The weird energy I'd felt only raised more questions than answers too, so that train of thought was avoided like the plague.

Between sleep and crapping my pants, the work day passed quickly enough.

When my father was done with work for the day. He'd pick me up, put me in the little basket, and lug me home along the same route we'd taken to get there. Once we got home, he'd put me in the crib and I wouldn't be held until the next morning-except for dinner. It was boring, and it was lonely. It wouldn't stay that way, though. I was determined to get him to love and accept me, even if it wasn't for a few months or even years. I was much more perceptive than the average newborn. If this situation was regular in any way, I wouldn't have been able to even understand what happened, let alone that my father was grieving; so, I'd give him the time that he needed and I'd try not to add to his stress.

If I was normal, I wouldn't have to think about my mother's death. I'd held a vigil for at least an hour each night since that day. I wanted to remember everything I could about her. I reminisced on how warm her love was, the feel of her hands on my body and her lips on my forehead. Even her scent wasn't off limits, the smell of sweat from hours of struggle permeated through my senses. I wouldn't be satisfied until these moments were memorized. I will never forget. I couldn't forget.

-/~/-

I won't bore you with details of life as an infant, but a little rundown is probably necessary.

The first three years of my life were filled with relearning things that once came naturally to me. Potty training was the first thing I focused on once I had the motor skills needed to walk; I wouldn't live with the alternative for any longer, it was just gross. Learning to speak was necessary, but that hurdle was overcome easily enough-total immersion meant I had no other choice. I started babbling at three months old and was able to speak in simple sentences at eight months old. By the time I was three, the conversations I held with my father always ended up with him looking at me strangely; I was just too intelligent for a child, one could call it prodigious.

It was hard to hide that sort of thing from my dad... Impossible, even. I hadn't been around a child that age in years, so I had no reference on how they were supposed to act; it was like a ballet dancer walking gracefully, it was intrinsic and instinctual and done without thought.

But the brain and body are equally important. The changes that my body made of its own coalition were terribly painful. Teething had to have been the worst possible form of torture invented; I'd never realized just how sensitive gums were until an object was being brutally pushed through them. Slowly. That strange energy I'd felt since my birth forming in my body hurt just about as much. The energy would make my blood boil like it was on fire, and when it cooled it froze so cold that it felt like ice. Now it's just an itch, which was annoying but manageable.

I naturally wanted to improve my academic skills as well. I was going to need to get a leg-up on the competition if I wanted to get my father out of poverty. Well, two legs up on the competition, since I had 18 years of experience. "Hey, Dad? Think you can read me some stories before bedtime tonight? I really wanna learn how!" I asked with zest.

"Learn what?" He questioned.

"To read!" I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He turned to look at me like I came from another planet, "Kazu, we don't need silly things like reading and writing in this family. All we need is the numbers, ya hear? Cash is in numbers and so's measurements. I'll be teaching you those sometime soon, young man. Get you started on what matters." He said, waving his hand dismissively like it wasn't a problem.

"But Dad..." I pleaded.

"Where do you get these thoughts of yours from?" He questioned in annoyance, not firmly enough to show that he was expecting an answer. "No means no son. You better listen to your father, ya hear?" He snapped, before softening slightly, "To be honest kid, couldn't teach ya even if I wanted to. Don't know how." He said conversationally.

"Oh..." I trailed off. "That's ok, doesn't matter!" I said brightly. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how and it wasn't his fault he couldn't teach me so I wasn't going to be a complete dick to him, it was super annoying and sucked one though.

He cocked his head to the side like he was pondering something. "Ya know what kid? If you wanna learn something I think it's time you start helping me build the houses instead of just sitting around watching." He said decisively.

"Yeah Dad, I'd like that!" I had no complaints.

My father was true to his word and the next morning at the site he was teaching me the basics. He started me on the simple stuff first. Numbers. Numbers weren't too hard to learn. Yeah, they might be called something different but one means one, and there's only ten numbers to memorize.

The site we were currently at was just a little way down the road from our own house. My father hadn't started building anything yet so while he was drawing up the floor plan, I was memorizing the numbers and the words that went with them. He'd etched them into the dirt with a stick and left me to my devices.

I'd had the numbers memorized soon enough and then I was introduced to combinations of numbers, more specifically how to say them. The number forty-nine might have a four and a nine but it wasn't said as four nine. I started on the two-digit numbers first, and it took me until lunch to finish those up.

My father and I sat side by side in the shade under one of the many trees lining the dirt road, eating our lunch and taking a much-needed break from the demanding work.

"Hey, Kazu. Tell me all the numbers you learned, I wanna make sure you got 'em down, ya hear." My father ordered.

I did as I was told and dutifully told him what each number was in between bites of my rice balls. His smile was growing with each memorized number I got correct. "He's proud of me." I thought with fondness.

"Nice job Kazu, I'm impressed." He said, ruffling my hair. I felt all the emotions he wasn't so good at showing and the ones that he hid: Regret, spite, pride, sadness, the cold of loneliness and the warmth of love-still small, but steadily growing. I couldn't help but smile back. "Thanks, Dad."

We sat in comfortable silence, happy to just watch the world while we finished our lunch. A light breeze tussled with the leaves in a playful dance, and the sun was shining as it reached its peak for the day. Birds fluttered about in the nasty, short, and brutish thing called life and livened the skies with songs of joy. Ants were walking in trails from their mound to the rotten core of an apple, intent on bringing back a meal for their queen. I loved nature-watching. Everything around me felt so alive, so connected; I could just bask it the energy forever.

I wish she was here.

"Hey, Dad. Will you tell me about Mom? I questioned tentatively. I knew I was walking on sensitive ground.

He took the question better than I expected, but he still froze like a deer in headlights for a few seconds before taking a deep breath. "Yea kid, I'll tell you about your mom." He said warmly.

"Your mother's name was Kazuya. She was smart, she knew how to read and write so..." He trailed off, lost in thought. "It's where we got your name from, Kazuki. Wanted it to be similar."

"She was beautiful, her hair was the same color as yours kid. Got my green eyes and little nose though." He said, patting my sandy blonde hair, and then plugging my nose. "She was something fierce, had a strength in her that was like iron, and when she wanted her way, she got it." He said with a wry smile. "I remember one time; we were going to town for an anniversary dinner at a little cheap spot. We were on our way walking through the streets when some rich guy spilled the food he was carrying all over her one set of nice clothes. She was mad. Like, pissed. I don't think I've ever seen her that mad before, actually." He said, pausing his story to eat. "Anyways, she's mad, right. And this guy doesn't care, he just walks away without a second look."

"That sounds like a bad idea." I said, utterly enthralled by the tale.

"Yea, terrible idea." He reaffirmed. "When your mother was mad, she liked to show it in little ways. She asked me what the prick most likely cared about most. I said money, cause he's dressed like a... I don't know, some rich asshole. She just gets this devious smile and goes and pickpockets the fucker!" He said, happier than I'd seen him in a long time.

"She stole?" I questioned in disbelief.

"Damn right she did! And with those funds, Kazu Construction was formed." He said proudly.

"Mom was awesome!" If you looked at the robbery from the ends justify the means perspective, it was probably morally correct in some way. Maybe.

"Not like I was too strong on morals myself. Everybody's got their vice." I reasoned. I just happened to have a few more vices than the average person.

"Damn right she was kid, damn right."

The conversation we had that day seemed to change something in the dynamic between us. It became a daily routine; he'd teach me something new and then get to work and I'd try to learn it as fast as I could. Numbers were quickly memorized, then the metric system, and he was teaching me to read floor plans quickly enough. It was easy enough to conceptualize the plans, especially when I could see the work being done first-hand.

Every day at lunch we'd take a break and talk about my mother. We bonded through her, loved each other through her, and shared pain through her. If I was wind and my father was lighting, she was both fire and water: perfectly suited to bring out the best (or worst) in both of us. When a land in drought finally gets rained on, the ground soaks up the water with its greedy lips. The tentative love I'd felt in my father's heart only grew as the years went on, and as the rain continued to pour an aquifer of love was being built beneath my father's strong foundations. The feelings of regret and sorrow were lulled to sleep.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and the months into years; time passing like the seasons of rain and heat, inevitable to natural forces. Before I could contemplate the passing time, I had turned five years old. Being five was interesting, to say the least.

"Hey, Kaz! You get those floor plans written up?" My father asked. He was like a cat, his legs and arms stretched about on the worn futon-lazy asshole.

"No, you..." I started to say, but my lips moved faster than my brain. "Uh." I squeaked. Then my brain caught up to my mouth, "Maybe if I had some help from the actual owner of Kazu Construction I'd be done already! You say you're going to teach me how to run the business. HAH!" I barked out. "You're making me run the business now you lazy piece!" I seethed.

My anger only seemed to amuse him, his lips pulling into a wry smirk. "Normally I'd make you do some chores for your tone. But you're probably right this time." He said dryly before he got up to help.

My father only built smaller houses; it was all we could do with our father-son two-man crew. This current plan we were working on was for a much different house though. It almost looked like a palace, of some sort. There were four floors, and each floor was slightly smaller than the one below it-the shape almost looked like a pyramid.

"What are these plans for, anyway? You just showed me the outline and said get to work. It seems a little... bigger than what we normally work with."

"Well, I can't do the big houses by myself but I do know how to do em." He explained, leaning over my shoulder to get a better look at the plans. "This plan is for a building in Wave country, some rich fella needs it built for something or the other. Figured I'd get my money and then maybe move into a small village. Get a better house for us. Could even hire some help," he said with a smile. I gave him my best shit-eating grin back, it was good to see him proud of the work he'd put in and the results of it finally paying off. Wave country, though? Might as well ask.

"What's Wave country Dad? Haven't heard of it before, I don't think." I questioned, even though I had definitely heard of Wave country-just from a show, but that wasn't possible. Couldn't be possible.

"Well, we're not really in a country. On the border between two of em, as I've told you before... But you don't really need to know about all that, grown up stuff," he said, easily repeating the line I'd heard many times before. Annoying old man. I loved that he was looking out for me, but I'd like to be treated like an equal occasionally. My father moved from the back of the chair and gently grabbed my arms, lifting me up and out of the seat, before sitting down and plopping me on his lap.

"Wave country's about a two week walk away. I think? Not really sure on the details but we'll leave in two days to head that way." He admitted before continuing. "We gotta stop and get our escort first though, all contracted out by the sucker whose house is getting built." He said proudly, I could feel his happiness.

I knew what Wave country was. It was where Team 7 met the Demon of the Mist. But that wasn't possible. Couldn't be possible.

"Sounds pretty good!" I replied happily, hiding the unease I felt at this latest information. If this was. And speaking purely in speculation, was the Naruto world, then the after-life was either a sick joke or I'd been reincarnated into something else. It was almost like the show Rick and Morty that I used to watch when I smoked, I guess? Any possible scenario I could dream up is actually another world, or timeline.

Well, if I'm going to think about it.

In another life, being born in the Naruto-verse would have been a dream come true. I'd always been wishing for more. Now that I had the more, I was wishing for, I was simply scared. If I was in the Naruto-verse, I was weak. My father was weak. We were going to be trampled by the storm that is Akatsuki. Hell, we could be trampled by genin. It would explain the weird energy, too.

"What you thinking about, squirt?" My dad asked.

"Nothing, just thinking." I deflected.

He pushed me up from his lap so I was standing and flipped me around until we were eye to eye. "Look, kid." He said seriously. "You just gotta trust your father, ok? It'll all work out in the end." He said with a smile.

"Yeah, ok." I said uncertainly.

"Just make sure you're packed up by tomorrow night, we can't be late." He ordered, before turning his attention back to his work.

"Yea, sounds good. Night."

The two days came and went and we set off on our adventure.

"Where are we going to pick up the escort?" I asked, curious as a cat, bouncing on my feet as we walked along the beaten path.

"Konoha." He spit out.

Yeah, no doubt about it now, my suspicions are confirmed. Fuck. I had been running from the facts that had been piling up: Wave Country, that strange energy I'd felt inside me and, in the air. That strange voice. I was in the Naruto World.

"Hehe..." I said nervously, "Sounds like you don't like this Konaha place."

"Hate the fuckers." He said passionately. "You ever wonder why we still got holes in our roof even though we live in a country of forests? And I'm a carpenter! It's not like I don't know how to do it."

"Well, I've never really thought about it before." I admitted.

"Let me tell ya son. Those fuckers in the big village drive up the cost of wood so that their exports get them the most money. They'll make you broke faster than you can say cheese." He said knowingly.

"So, they're just expensive?" I questioned. I mean, a ninja village is a business, primarily.

"Damn right their expensive! All the little houses we built; we barely made a profit on em because of Konoha. All those big villages just trample on us poor and then pretend they're kind." He spat out.

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about that anymore. Since Kazu Construction is going big time!" I said lightly, trying to ease the mood.

"That's right son!" He agreed, only a little fired up now.

The trek to Konaha was long, and very tiring. I was tense, almost expecting a ninja to jump out of the trees and kill us. Thankfully, no murders took place and we ended up at the great wooden gates and I saw what civilization meant in this world. I had more things to worry about than errant shinobi attacks, as well. I had to play it safe and not do anything stupid. If the Hokage thinks I'm a spy and my mind gets scanned, I'm fucked. It wouldn't be too hard to play the part, especially when I'd just act as I normally did. We were on a legitimate business trip after all, and if I get nervous I'm sure he'd think I was starstruck... or whatever.

Maybe I would be a little. Can't even lie.

The gates towered above me and from a civilian point of view it looked like it'd be impossible to scale the walls, but with what I knew, shinobi would have no trouble. The four Great Stone Faces peered down on us from the mountain, shadows of the village keeping eternal watch. Nestled in the back of the the town, surrounded by a myriad of buildings, the Hokage Tower stood.

"Well at least I know the general timeline. Sometime between the Yondaime's death and the Sandaime's death, since Tsunade isn't up there." I thought gratefully, I was aware of the possibility that I could have been living in any time, in the show.

The line to the admissions desk was quite long and we waited in comfortable silence. The customs in the city were much different, even at the surface level I was exposed too. Manners were never something I'd ever cared about in either lifetime, and it was something I was regretting. There were people bowing, which was something I'd been exposed too, but there were honorifics I wasn't familiar with. What's a sama? Or a kun? Senpai?

"Daddy!" A voice called out, somehow in line with his ponderings. Wait a second? Yep... That was Anko.

Indeed the purple haired kunochi proudly declared the parental status of the little genin beside her; Hayate, If I remembered correctly? The side characters sort of merged together, to be honest. Hayate (?) blushed at Anko, "Don't say that you weirdo. Go bother somebody else with your weird pranks. I'm no one's father and I'm NOT yours, and if by some weird reason I am, go to your room." He declared loudly.

"Weird."

I hoped both of them grew out of that phase. If it was a weird change in character for no reason that would just suck. Eh, kids will be kids, though.

After a while we reached the front of the gate.

"Welcome to Konaha, please state your business." The ninja sitting at the desk said dryly.

"Here to pick up an escort." My father said, simply.

"Alright, we'll have you sign in here." The guard said, pointing to a spot down the list. "Once you have that done, just walk straight towards the Great Stone Faces. In front of that is the Hokage Tower, it has the kanji for fire. The small green building to the left of has the mission's desk, go there and they'll make note of your arrival. Enjoy your time in the village. Move along now. Next!" The guard called out as he waved us through after we had signed our names.

"Prick." My father whispered under his breath as we walked by.

The shinobi stiffened, evidently hearing the insult, but he just shook his head and rolled his eyes and whispered, "Civilians..."

We moved our way through the bustling crowds and my father, who was normally loud and crazy, was still being quiet-he hadn't said a word since the gate.

"You, ok?" I probed.

"Me?" My father questioned.

I nodded, "Who else? Dork." I jabbed playfully.

My father rolled his eyes and softened, "Just a little nervous kid. Not a fan of this many people, ya hear?"

"Yeah, ok." I accepted. "Hold my hand?"

"Sure thing."

We walked hand in hand and my father felt more and more uneasy the closer we got to the mission desk. There were a lot of emotions running on high right now for him: Anxiety, hope, and fear.

"Wonder what he's so scared of?"

We eventually reached the Hokage Tower and went to the missions' desk and repeated basically the same process that was done at the gate. The shinobi at the desk waved us to the seats in the room. "We'll have you wait right here, just going to let your escort know that you're here, get the introductions done and you'll be off by tomorrow."

My father nodded and moved to the chair. He pulled out the floor plans and passed them my way. "Take a look over these, give the work a second look-over to see if we messed up." My father ordered.

I spent the next couple hours painstakingly going over the measurements and parameters. The work wasn't hard, even if it was more complex than what I was used to. It was just boring, as hell. Right about the time I finished up, a masked-man appeared out of thin air. "I'll escort you to the Tower, follow along."

My father and I packed up the plans we had strewn about and followed closely behind the ANBU. He walked us outside, then back inside through the front doors of the tower and walked up to the third floor, where the Hokage's office was. The hallways were decorated nicely, there were long cloths stretching across the side of the walls with the kanji for fire stitched into them.

The ANBU knocked on the door twice, waited a moment, and turned to us. "The Hokage will see you now."

We walked through the door and even though I knew what to expect, I was still shocked.

The Sandaime Hokage was sitting in his chair, power seemed to surround him. His chakra was large, larger than any I'd seen before. Even in his old age, his life-force energy was strong and bright. Kakashi Hatake was in front of his desk with Iruka Umino by his side.

"Let's talk business." The Hokage said, firmly.

-/~/-

AN: Hope you all liked the cliffhanger. I know this chapter isn't the most interesting, but it's 100% necessary. Wave Arc coming soon.

Edited: 9/6/21