The air was cold and sharp, scraping the bottom of her lungs like a barrage of senbon. She could barely breathe. Her fingertips tingled and she couldn't feel her toes anymore. Her chest felt as if it were vibrating. A wild, rampant, and nervous sort of energy trapped there. If she were standing still, she would be trembling.

Her feet thundered against the ground, hitting the familiar dirt of the training field. There was an odd sort of thickness in the air, warm and thick. She was wading through it, sweat coating her face, on her upper lip and down the sides of her throat. Her usual brown t-shirt was drenched, sopping.

Her hair was wet and matted to the sides of her face down her neck. Hers was a clumsy sort of trot, feet barely lifted from the ground as she continued to move.

"Miho."

Lee. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes forward as she moved.

It was twilight, the sun just past the horizon. The shade of the mountain and trees made it cooler. Hours. Miho lost count of her laps around two hundred five. She'd beat her record. She felt like she was going to die, but she beat her record. That had to count for something. That had to be a step in the right direction. It was an accomplishment, right?

"You need to rest."

Her feet got caught up underneath her just a half a lap later. Her eyes squeezed shut, preparing to meet the hard earth once more. For the fourth or fifth time in as many hours. Each time, the fall was shattering. Each time, she clawed her way back up. The falls were punishment and they hurt, but she had to be stronger.

She was caught by the arm and jerked upright. Lee smiled, eyes carefully looking her over. For a moment, his attention lingered on her scraped knees. Finally, he nodded his head, jerking it to the right to signal that they should keep moving. "Focus on your feet hitting the ground. Just one foot at a time, Miho! One foot at a time! Let's go!"

Every step she took felt like a new miracle unfolding.

It was everything she could do to keep moving, just to keep moving. Her body was telling her to stop.

Everything within her, every fiber, was calling for her to quit, to give it up.

Still, she kept moving, battling through every forward step. She could make it.

Because this was nothing.

Nothing.

This was nothing compared to the pain those people had suffered. This was nothing compared to what was coming.

Even as she thought these things, her legs started to give out. Her right leg failed first and she tried to correct with her left, which lost its strength under her weight. A moment later, she collapsed. Lee only just managed to grab her before she struck the earth, rolling her to her back.

Miho breathed, heaving in as much oxygen as she could as she stared blearily up at the treetops.

If tears were blurring her vision, then she didn't acknowledge it.

"Stay here." Lee said. "Don't move. Rest."

She closed her eyes, listening as Lee set to his katas. One strike, two against the nearby stump. His kicks were harder than usual.

Ino was going to skin her alive if she found out. Luckily, Lee and Ino never crossed paths. But the moment they did was the moment that Miho knew she was doomed. Both were powerful personalities and both seemed fully capable of putting Miho in her place. Lee operated through guilt, or "motivation." Ino worked through guilt, or "annoyance." Either way, Miho never stood a chance.

When Lee lay on the ground next to her nearly an hour later when the sun was gone and the stars were overhead, he was quiet.

"Lee, I feel guilty for something I couldn't change."

He hummed, obviously hearing the emotions in the trembling of her voice. His right hand gripped her left as they lay in the grass. "Why couldn't you change it?"

"I'm seven. I'm…nothing."

"You won't always be seven. And you're not nothing." He was quiet for a long while, but then he tightened his hold on her hand. "I know what you mean though. We are not powerful enough yet. Make yourself into something more. That way, when you need to change something in the future, you can't say that you're nothing."

Rolling over onto her side to face him, Miho propped herself up on one arm. "Even then, I might not be powerful enough."

Lee mirrored the movement, staring at her in the dim light from the nearby streetlamps. It always startled her how Lee could look at a person and seem like he saw the very deepest part of them. "We try. If it is not enough, then we just keep trying." Pursing his lips, he looked over her tear-wet face. "I will not ask you what happened. But I am here if you need me. Always."

"I—"

"However, you must not train like this again. How long has it been since you ate?"

"Two hours."

Lee startled upright, eyes going impossibly wider. "Two hours? Oh, my dear friend!" He scrambled to his knees and hooked an arm under her. "You must feel weak! Hold on! Let's get you some food! You must be starving! Let's go! Come on!" With seemingly little effort, he hauled Miho to her feet with absolutely no help from her. He threw an arm under her shoulders.

Miho let herself be manhandled away from the training field. Her legs felt like jelly, burning and tingling. She'd beaten her endurance record. Soon, she'd add chakra into her strength training when she began Akimichi Clan training after the New Year. Chakra training was first, then…Then, she really would make progress. Until that happened— Lee steered her toward a street stall for takoyaki.

"Lee, seriously, this—"

"If you want to change things in the future, then you have to eat now. You have to eat! Let us go!"

When she was little, her father used to tell her and her brother a story. He set Chōji on one knee and her on the other. She could remember the beat of the taiko drums from the autumn festival outside of the estate's main gates.

"Inside each and every shinobi and kunoichi, there is a battle raging. Two ninja battle for supremacy. One of those ninja is strength, courage, goodness, faith, and hope." He'd looked out upon the gathered Akimichi, gesturing outward. Miho remembered following his gesture with her eyes. "The other ninja is disappointment, fear, anger, disloyalty, hate, and despair."

"Which ninja will win, Pa? The bad ninja or the good ninja?" Chōji had asked.

Her father had run a meaty hand over her black curls and he smiled broadly. He reached over and patted Chōji's cheek with fondness. There was a rumbling chuckle and stood from the ledge of the en, moving to kneel in front of her and her brother. Miho could remember his voice rising over the drums. She could still remember his answer even as Lee shouted his encouragements from her side.

"The one you feed."

Lee scooted a plate of takoyaki toward her. "Eat up." His jaw was tensed and Miho dipped forward to get a better look at his face. He held her eyes for a long moment. He looked worried, concerned, and just a bit frightened. "Do not become so consumed that you do not eat again. I…I could not bear it."

Miho dreamed of the wreck that night. Screaming metal and winds. She could feel rain rushing in through the broken windows. Her foot was wedged against the gas pedal, revving the engine as the tires spun overhead. For a few seconds, it seemed like the world was silent. Then, it wasn't.

The wind lashed dirt and debris against the car. The Jeep shifted and she screamed. There was blood in her nose and her head was pounding. She grew colder as the winds drew away until there was nothing but silence and the radio.

Damn the dark.

Damn the light.

And she prayed. That her students would have good lives—because they were all so smart and so important and so needed. That her grandmother would be okay— because she'd lost everyone and still kept living, even if she was tired of it. That her mother would be okay— because her mother, more than anyone, deserved happiness and joy, not the grief she was constantly victim to. There was no way she would make it out of that wreck alive. She tried though. Fought it as long as she could manage.

Until she couldn't.

There and then, she lived her life well. She didn't have any regrets, except the people she left behind. She worked hard, overcame her own difficulties, found friends, lost them, learned and learned and learned and then passed that knowledge on to the next generation. She passed stories down to her students. Some took them with rolling eyes or exasperated glances at their phones. Others though…

"We're gonna take these stories you trusted us with and we're gonna do something with 'em."

Miho's eyes opened and she lay on her bed. Quickly, she turned to bury her face in her pillow to let out a sob. As much as Miho valued knowledge, this was knowledge she wished she didn't have. Remembering their faces, her own face, the memories of that other life. She shuddered and grasped the edges of her pillow for dear life.

A second life.

She didn't want it to be lost to what ifs and if onlys.

She didn't want to waste it. A whole life, every chance to make a difference, to change the story.

Every chance to write her own as well.

"Little Miho, dumpling, come here." Uncle Chojiro called as Miho arrived home from another day at the Academy. When she glanced up from the worn moss-outlined stone path, she could see two of the Clan Elders lounging on the en of the ceremonial complex. Elder Chojiro held out a hand, inviting her to join them. Beside him, Elder Ayumu set aside her beadwork. She'd seen Elder Ayumu earlier in the week for her weekly weigh-in and check-up. The woman smiled, patting her arm with knobbed fingers.

"You look a bit out of sorts, Little Miho."

Settling between her Great Aunt ang Great Uncle, Miho grinned when Elder Ayumu threaded her time-gnarled hands through her hair. There was nothing she loved more than having her hair played with. "I am just tired, Elders."

"Tired, hm? From long training sessions, surely?" Elder Ayumu's dark timber was comforting and a bit teasing. Miho smiled a bit more, seeing the mirth in Elder Chojiro's hazel eyes. He always seemed to be happy. Her father called him a 'jolly goof of an old man' and Miho couldn't think of a better description. "Let me braid your hair, sweet bun. You can tell us about your training."

Her grandmother and grandfather passed away long before Miho was born. Elders Ayumu and Chojiro were as close to grandparents as she could get. The gentle way that Great Aunt Ayumu pulled her curls into patterns and the easy humor of Great Uncle Chojiro made her relax for the first time in weeks. The Academy was full of reminders— empty seats and too many ways she could screw up.

But Miho was trying.

"I'm improving my endurance first. I won't be able to do anything well if I don't have the energy to practice it a lot."

Clan-based training hadn't started yet for either her or Chōji, but Miho knew it was coming soon as the New Year approached. Another three months until then. That gave her just enough time to prepare for weight training. Other Akimichi that had her build before did better with endurance and strength-based training. She'd read it in an Akimichi training manual from the first generation of Konoha-loyal Akimichi.

"My caloric limitations mean that I have to have even greater endurance, right?"

There was a smile in Elder Ayumu's voice scratchy voice. "You have sorted that one well." She hummed, finishing one plait along the left side of her head. Miho tilted her head to the right as prompted. It was only after Elder Ayumu finished the second plait that she stopped. "You should be able to maintain a minimum weight necessary for the Spinach and Curry Pills."

Miho spun, eyes wide. The old woman swatted her shoulder.

"Stay still! I am not done with your hair."

"I can use the techniques?"

"That is not what I said, sweet bun."

Confused, Miho looked to Elder Chojiro for a clearer answer. A gnarled hand turned her back around so that her hair was accessible. Seeming sympathetic, her uncle shrugged. He raised his pipe to his lips as he watched the exchange with some amused exasperation.

"The Three Colored Pills are not tied to our techniques. They are a supplement boosting our power through our body fat. Your build does not allow for heavy-weight clan techniques within healthy limitations, but you are maintaining a good weight for the Spinach and Curry Pills. If you maintain this body fat percentage— around 35% or so— then you can manage the first two pills. The red Chili Pepper pill can only be used with 50% body fat or higher. You cannot achieve that while healthy."

Something loosened in Miho's chest.

It felt like a victory, even if it was just access to the first two pills. Those two pills could make all the difference.

It was something.

It was something after weeks feeling as if everything was stalled.

Elder Ayumu started on a third plait down the center of her head. "Your father will begin training Little Chōji in the New Year. He will inherit all of the Akimichi ninjutsus and taijutsus. It will take him much time and we do know his mind. Chōji will want you to learn as well. However, though you cannot do the most fat-dependent techniques, you can uptake two major components of our clan training. And then, of course, one for which you seem destined."

"Destined? Destined, how?"

"You are speaking too mysteriously, Ayumu."

Miho turned. This time, she didn't earn a smack on the shoulder. Approaching from the rock garden was Great Uncle Torifu. He limped along, a majority of his weight resting on his steel cane. Jumping up, Miho sank into a bow. That action did earn her a squawk from Elder Ayumu, who grabbed the sleeve of Miho's yukata to jerk her back into place again. "Good evening, Great Elder Torifu!"

Chuckling, he waved a arthritis-bent hand as if to tell her to relax. His attention cut to Chojiro, who smirked around his pipe. Great Elder Torifu was the oldest living member of the clan and was one of the first Akimichi to serve in the Elite Guard. Miho had only ever spoken to him a handful of times as he often traveled to the capital in service to the Daimyo. His strength was legendary. Her father told stories about him at bedtime, about how he lifted an entire mountain once to save a town from flooding and how he took out an entire platoon in the Second Great Shinobi War. Iwagakure still had him listed as "Flee On Sight" at seventy-two.

"Three hundred laps in an hour. Two hundred push-ups in an hour. One hundred and fifty-two pull-ups in an hour."

Her muscles seized, breath catching in her throat.

"Able to lift your own body weight."

She had only just been able to achieve one hundred pull ups. With Lee's endless encouragement and Ino's reinforcement (see: threatening). That meant he had been watching her training session that weekend. It was the only time she'd managed to beat her record.

"At seven years old," Elder Ayumu added with a smile.

"I respect that."

Miho pulled in a breath. "You— You've seen me…You've seen me training with Lee?"

Elder Chojiro puffed his pipe. "And with the Yamanaka heiress."

"Of course." Uncle Torifu responded, mild as milk. "You are the next generation of our clan. You and Chōji will carry on our legacy. We all know your attributes, your skills. I am impressed with your…tenacity." Miho felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. When she'd been told she couldn't do the clan techniques, she hadn't expected anything more. "I am an old man, Little Miho. These two old cows are also senile."

Uncle Chojiro nearly shrieked out a protest before his wife smacked the back of his head. Miho swallowed down a laugh.

"Bōjutsu." Elder Torifu stepped forward, leaning on his cane. His eyes were narrowed, analyzing her reactions. "The bō is a weapon that requires dedication. It is not merely a stick to swing around. It requires strength to be effective." Miho stared up at him, barely breathing with the gravity of his words. "I want to pass our bō techniques to you."

"But Chōji—"

"Has no interest in weapons. If he wishes to take up the bō in the future, then this will be just as well. You will have someone to spar with." Elder Ayumu rested a hand on Miho's shoulder. "We have cleared our discussion about this with your father. Why is it you think we are sitting out here, waiting for you to return home, sweet bun?"

"Think on it, Little Miho." Elder Torifu smiled. "This is not an easy decision. I am a tough teacher, one of the toughest. There are former students that can attest to this. You'll have to work hard. Harder than you've worked thus far. It is very possible you will hate me by the time you master the bō. Think on this and let me know at the festival dinner this weekend."

Miho nodded, snapping her mouth shut. She didn't even realize she'd been gaping. "I— Thank you! I don't need to think on it! I will do it!"

He chuckled, nodding. "Good, good. Now, Ayumu— You are still terrible at braids. What did you do to my poor student's hair? Come here, child, and never let my daughter touch your hair again."

The tenth of October was a day for celebration, honoring the sacrifice of the Fourth Hokage with festivities. Miho always thought the day was a spectacle— stalls upon stalls of succulent foods, games, and vendors. When she was little, she could see it all from her father's shoulder. Chōji would hold three sticks of dango in each hand, smiling and laughing. When she'd steer her father toward the yakitori stalls, he'd boom a great laugh and buy her as much as she wanted.

It was a doubly exciting day for her— after all, it was her birthday.

After the afternoon and early evening festivities, the Akimichi always held their own festival dinner. A cookout in the Akimichi ceremonial complex, where foods were laid out. Each branch family came, supplied foods. Even her cousin Chihiro took up her mother's tradition of bringing sweet buns. She could remember her father's announcement one year:

"Today, we celebrate life. Let's always remain grateful for it."

It wasn't until she was older that she noticed the sadness that underpinned the day. Every so often, when she was littler, she could see tears in her father's eyes. Or sadness in the yakitori stall owner's eyes. Occasionally, she felt this tension in the air that didn't fit with the joyous excitement of a festival.

It wasn't until the memories worked their way into her consciousness that she understood why.

The tenth of October was a day of mourning wrapped in a celebration.

Miho stared at herself in the brown yukata and burgundy obi, trying to reconcile the things she knew with the things she remembered. This festival celebrated the defeat of the Nine-Tailed Fox and mourned the Fourth Hokage and all those that died in the attack. This festival was on her birthday, which meant that she was born the day of the Kyuubi attack.

It had never really seemed all that strange before.

Something clicked.

Something clicked that should have clicked much sooner. Miho did the math in her head, tracing the curls as they trailed past her shoulder. For once, they were tamed into submission by her mother.

Her mother.

Her mother, who'd laid out her new outfit with such care before Miho had even awakened. Her mother, who was cooking up all of her favorite dishes.

For her birthday.

Chōji turned eight in May.

Five months, give or take a few days.

Five months.

Miho felt as if the wind was knocked out of her, but she didn't quite believe where her thoughts were taking her. Because there were too many potential answers. Too many explanations. Her mother could have gotten pregnant immediately after childbirth. She could have been premature.

Yes, that was possible.

Right?

"Woah! Miho, you look pretty!"

Chōji's smile was so large that his eyes were squeezed shut by his cheeks. He was in the doorway to her room, a paper in his hands. He was done-up too, in a button-up white shirt with a clan-red bowtie. Miho sank to the bed and pulled on her shoes, taking the paper he handed to her.

"It's your favorite flower. Ino told me. I got you something else too, but it's for the dinner." He grinned, settling onto the edge of her bed with her.

Miho looked at the watercolor sketch, slightly flabbergasted that her brother's drawing skills had come so far. Then again, he and Shikamaru went to their hiding places every day. Chōji drew nearly every other day.

The thick ruffles of the peony were a pale pink. It was clear that the drawing took hours to finish, each color blended carefully into the next. She could see fingerprints— her brother's fingerprints— in the watercolors.

"Thank you, Chōji." She stood and moved to tack the drawing onto the wall above her desk.

"Mom's got all the good stuff downstairs. Then we get to go to the festival!" His eyes lit up even more, practically glistening with the promise of good festival food. "Shikamaru was complaining about coming tonight. Said parties are a drag." Chōji laughed fondly. Miho rolled her eyes. "He just doesn't know how we party."

"I asked Aunt Emiko to make pudding since Ino's coming. She'll probably cry."

And crying wasn't really Ino's thing.

But her friend really loved pudding.

Chōji smiled broadly again and Miho mirrored it, taking his hand. "Let's get today started!"

The next several hours were a blur of food, family, and the chaos of the festival. As was traditional, her father hauled Miho and Chōji onto his shoulders as they waded out into the crowds. Many of the stalls were owned by the Akimichi clan and many others got their supplies from Akimichi suppliers. Every so often, her father would point out a particular food and note its origin.

"The radishes at this stall were grown at an Akimichi farm south of here." Papa informed. Chōji munched happily on a stick of dango, nodding along to the orientation. It didn't quite seem like Chōji had made the leap to why their father was pointing out the origin of every food.

"Papa, do you negotiate the trade deals between Konoha vendors and Akimichi suppliers?"

If her father stumbled beneath her, then she said nothing about it. He boomed a warm laugh. "That's right, Miho! That's right! I have final say, but it is really a committee led by Akimichi Chiasa that manages the day-to-day." He jostled the shoulder she was perched on, grinning up at her with such energy that his eyes creased shut. "How did you figure that one out, little lady?"

'Little lady' was a new nickname. Miho scrunched her nose at it. "I read a book about Akimichi trade deals. Like how Elder Torifu handles all Akimichi suppliers to the capital. The Daimyo has held a supplier contract with our family for centuries."

It was, after all, how their family rose to prominence.

"My smart girl. Very good, Miho!"

He set Miho and Chōji down by a game stall, moving to speak with Yamanaka Inoichi and Nara Shikaku at a nearby grill. Miho took Chōji's hand, guiding him to where Shikamaru was hiding. Despite herself, she couldn't help but to laugh at his put-upon expression. Chōji sank onto the ground next to his friend, patting his shoulder in comfort.

Miho stayed standing, leaning against the tree.

"Tired already, Shikamaru?"

He grunted.

"Bet I could wake you up with a food pun."

He groaned.

Chōji smiled around a dango stick.

"It's a good one. Just thought of it this morning." Pausing for a bit of gravitas, Miho shook out her arms and affected the air of Elder Chojiro after maybe-too-much sake at a family dinner. "What did the carrot say to cheer you on?" A pause. Shikamaru might've cursed under his breath. "I'm rooting for you." Without waiting for their laughter, Miho giggled, rolling to the side a bit on the bark. "I'm rooting for you!"

"What a drag. This is too much." He sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes to protect him from the sun filtering through the leaves. It was scantly past four. Still a few hours to go. "And a party after this? An after party? Seriously?" Miho could feel the accusation. After all, it was definitely her fault.

She only shrugged, keeping an eye out for Ino in the crowds. Ino hated her jokes. She'd be fun to rile.

If her father was here, then she had—

A familiar head of blond hair darted into an alleyway behind one of the karaage stands.

Miho watched him disappear into the shadows.

Then, with dread that tore at her stomach, she watched as two men and a woman followed after him.

The tenth of October.

She ran.

She ran before she even realized she was running. Her heart was pounding with frightening force as she threw herself past the karaage stall into the alleyway. Her nice sandals slipped in the mud and Miho caught herself before she careened into the bricks. The passage intersected with another alley and when she turned the corner, Miho skidded to a stop.

Naruto— too bright, too kind, too loud Naruto— was on the ground, holding his stomach. There were no tears on his cheeks from what she could see about ten paces away. He was in pain though, eyes squeezed shut.

"— showing your damn face here, you demon!" The shinobi reared back his leg.

Miho moved.

Not fast enough. Nowhere near fast enough. The kick landed and Naruto cried out and Miho was kneeling beside him a second later. Her hands fluttered at his face and shoulders. "Naruto? Naruto, are you—"

"ARE YOU STUPID? GET AWAY FROM THAT THING!"

A powerful arm locked around her waist, hauling her back and away. The panic was all-consuming, fear tearing through all of her senses. She was held aloft, feet off the ground, pinned to an attacker's chest. Her eyes went to Naruto again. His wide eyes were staring up at her. Terror.

And, God, it tore her apart.

Because today was his birthday.

Why is he outside today? Why—

Miho struggled, grabbing at the man's arms to wrench them away. She knew taijutsu, but nothing that would work against a chunin. Nothing that would work against someone so much bigger than— Miho saw that the woman was approaching Naruto now, hands fisted. Naruto cowered back, but there was resignation there. Like he was used to this.

"NO!"

Jerking her head back, she felt it snap the man's nose. He dropped her like a sack of potatoes and Miho felt her entire spine jar with the impact. Her right knee took a lot of the force. Before she could even recognize the pain, she scrambled across the filthy alleyway. Her pretty yukata was ruined with mud and trash water.

She placed herself in front of Naruto on her left knee.

"Stop! Stop."

Miho held out her right hand, using the other to feel for her friend. She was twice his size, covering him completely. Blocking him completely. The message was clear. They'd have to go through her first. She could feel Naruto gripping the sleeve of her yukata. His hand was shaking. He was shaking.

All at once, the three attackers dropped. Like their strings had been cut. A single figure stood in their place, a mask covering his face.

ANBU.

What little color was in Miho's face faded away. She felt pale. ANBU. ANBU terrified her. The masks, the anonymity. Still, she stared up at the Dog mask and silver hair.

And she tried desperately to not know who was behind that mask.

But she knew.

And knowing was dangerous.

"Th-Thank you." The tremble in her voice made her realize that her vision was growing blurry. Turning and rising to her knees, Miho looked at Naruto. Her right knee smarted under the pressure, but she ignored it. "Are you okay? They kicked you. They—They—" Leaning down, she pressed a hand to his right side while he continued to stare.

He grimaced at the pressure to his ribs but otherwise didn't react, never once taking his eyes off her.

Not reacting…

Dissociation?

Panic attack?

Then, Miho gasped as he collided into her, knocking her back onto her tail. Scrambling to stay upright, Miho sighed in relief when a leg pressed up against her back. The ANBU had steadied her with his shin.

Naruto was sobbing. Sobbing with so much pain and fear and hurt and relief that Miho felt her own anxiety and panic reach a breaking point. Holding on tight, Miho pressed her forehead into his shoulder and just cried with him. What else could she do?

It was less than a minute later that she heard her father's voice rise above the din of the festival.

"MIHO! MIHO!"

Raising her head, Miho turned to see him skid into the alleyway. Gone was the man who was at-ease and laid-back at the festival.

This was the legendary Akimichi Chōza of the internationally-feared Ino-Shika-Cho.

She cradled Naruto, raising her head more to watch her father approach.

She knew— goodness, did she know— that this could go terribly. Her father could blame Naruto for this. He could shove him away, curse him. To her mind, the mind that knew too much (way too much), there were so many people that failed Naruto, did him wrong. Her father was one of them.

Her grip on the blond tightened, dirty knuckles clenched into his shirt. Despite knowing that she should trust her father, her eyes narrowed at his approach.

Naruto didn't deserve this.

She'd avoided him.

Unconsciously or consciously.

Consciously.

Never more than meals at school or a casual interference in bullying.

Never anything more.

Though she knew better…

because she was scared.

As her father approached, his hands rising palm-up in a sign for peace and his anger hidden behind cool assessment, and as his teammates appeared behind him, taking in the scene with practiced detachment, Miho felt her heart sputter in her chest.

She hadn't done anything to change the story of the Uchihas. There wasn't much she could do if she did try, she recognized weeks after the Massacre.

"The Uchiha Downfall," they called it. Miho had scoffed at that title when no one was around to hear her. Whoever wins the battle writes the story, right? When the village had them killed, the village determined the narrative. "Uchiha Massacre" just didn't sound good for business.

She couldn't change their story.

But Naruto…

Naruto's story…

Did it have to be so terrible? How much of a tragic backstory did a character have to have?

Miho stiffened at her own thoughts, tears rising into her eyes once more.

This wasn't a story though.

The shaking boy in her arms— terrified, crying, innocent— was not a character.

Swallowing, Miho felt something slide into place.

When her father arrived to tower over her and Naruto, she gritted her teeth and raised her eyes to him. She tried to impress all of her emotions and convictions into a single look. All of them. Then, she sighed, patting Naruto's head as she did Chōji's whenever he was upset. "Father, I—"

Just as she started to speak, her father knelt and drew her— and Naruto along with her— into his arms. Miho felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. Naruto yelped and Miho immediately released him, scared that the added pressure had hurt his ribs. Her father let go as well, settling on his haunches. "I was so worried. Miho, what happened?"

Miho opened her mouth, but it was the ANBU that answered.

That nameless silver-haired ANBU officer.

"The girl stopped the attackers."

"These three are a shame to the uniform," Nara Shikaku spoke up. He looked down at one of the collapsed men, nudging his face with his boot. "This one works at the missions desk. That woman works in engineering." His eyes narrowed as he looked to the ANBU again. "Take them to holding. I will report to the Hokage now."

"I— I'm sorry." All eyes turned to Naruto, whose eyes were still wide and slightly anxious. His hands were winding in his capris. "I thought that—"

"These three won't bother you again, kid."

The ANBU and the three bodies disappeared and Miho wasn't quite sure how. Meanwhile, Yamanaka Inoichi lowered himself to the ground beside Naruto. He kept both hands open and raised. "Hey, squirt, where were you hit?"

Naruto hesitated, looking to Miho for guidance.

"It's okay. He's Ino's father."

Inoichi puffed up a bit in pride. "That's right! Ino's told me about how energetic and positive you are. You are Uzumaki Naruto, right?"

Miho tried not to stiffen when he lowered a hand to press against Naruto's right side. Seemingly to distract her, her father settled her on his lap and brushed he hair from her face. It was only then that the adrenaline started to truly reside. The pain in her knee grew a bit more pronounced, but she still pushed it aside. It didn't matter at the moment.

"Papa— I—" He smiled, patting a big hand on his side of her face. She shook, glancing over to Naruto every so often until she felt comfortable enough to focus on anything else.

"I am so glad you're okay. You shouldn't have gone alone. If you knew something was wrong, you should've told an adult."

Trying not to let anger hit her senses, Miho shook her head. "I didn't know what— I just followed Naruto. He's my friend." Feeling particularly vindictive, but knowing that it shouldn't be directed at her father, Miho looked at the other two shinobi. His teammates. "Why did they attack him?"

There was the anger.

Because all of this was bullshit.

Every bit of it.

"Some people are just mean-spirited." Inoichi said with conviction.

While true, Miho resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Nara Shikaku nodded, narrowed eyes still observing the scene. It was like he was trying to work through the situation in his head. After all, Naruto was alone at the festival on the anniversary of the Kyuubi attack. It was just about the least safe place Naruto could be. What happened to even get him there. Miho waited until his gaze fell on her before she looked away, focusing on her father again.

Time to take a risk.

"Papa, I want Naruto to come to dinner tonight. And to spend the night."

The fear that flashed through her father's eyes was gut-wrenching. And Miho felt her stomach turn. He glanced to his teammates. Shikaku shrugged after a moment, looking for all the world like he wanted to be done with everything. Inoichi finished healing Naruto's side, letting out a long (tired) sigh.

Then, Miho caught Naruto's eyes.

And no matter how much fear she saw in her father's eyes— Naruto's had him beat. It wasn't fear from the attack or the strangers. (How could they be strangers? How dare they be strangers? Miho's more mature mind questioned angrily.) It was fear of rejection.

She pushed herself out of her father's arms and stepped forward, a bit unevenly since her leg smarted, holding out a hand to help Naruto up. He hesitated for a moment before taking it. Once he was standing, Miho made a show of dusting him off, though the mud was too enmeshed in the fabric to bat out. Frowning, she settled a hand on his shoulder and gave him a meaningful look.

"You're okay."

He hesitated before nodding, glancing down at her knee. "Miho, your leg!"

Worried about her when he was the one attacked.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it." Shrugging, she looked to her father.

Just as his mouth began to open, Chōji's voice broke through the alley. He was huffing when he arrived to her side, looking over her dirty clothing and wide, frightened eyes. Shikamaru ambled to Naruto's side with a deceptively laid-back gait, but his eyes were sharp and narrowed. He was clearly trying to piece together whatever happened.

Miho patted Chōji's shoulder, keeping her attention on her father.

He stared down at her long the longest moment. Something else was in his eyes. Something Miho had seen before—like wistfulness or…grief. It disappeared as quickly as it had come and he nodded.

"Of course, he can come."

Letting out a relieved breath, Miho turned to her father and collided with his legs in a fierce embrace. Her father's strained laugh didn't quite assuage her guilt for putting her father through some very clear emotional stress, but the hand gripping the back of her yukata again made that guilt weaker.

She was hauled up onto his shoulder and then he looked down to Naruto before lowering himself down to one knee again. Chōji and Shikamaru watched, both looking to Miho for answers. She shook her head and held on, watching her father's arm outstretch. "Naruto, I'm Akimichi Chōza— Miho and Chōji's Dad. Would you like to come stay with us for tonight? It's Miho's birthday and we're throwing a party. If you want to come, climb up. I'll carry you both to the house so you can get cleaned up."

"C'mon, Naruto." Miho smiled. "We'll scrape just my name off the cake. It's your birthday too. Let's go."

Her father stiffened under her, but Naruto's eyes went wide and then teary. Then, at last, a nod and he hurried forward for her father to haul up.

When Naruto was on the other shoulder, Miho reached out and gripped his hand.

He hadn't smiled yet, but Miho wasn't going to let go until he did.

"Inoichi, can you get the boys?"

"No problem, Chōza. C'mon, guys. Let's go grab Ino."

Sarutobi Hiruzen tapped his pipe on the edge of the desk, looking every bit his age and every bit the God of Shinobi. It was a harsh balance between righteous anger and bereaved exhaustion. The festival was difficult enough without all of the anger that was festering in the village like a cancer. Sighing, he settled back in his chair and looked back at his Jonin Commander with barely-maintained calm. "Am I to understand that Naruto was at the festival?"

Shikaku nodded and Hiruzen cursed.

"Hound."

The ANBU Captain appeared, back straight and shoulders squared. "Sir."

"Who was assigned to Naruto this evening?" The question was asked with the kind of serenity that usually preluded something far more dangerous. Lethal. It was a lethal sort of tone.

"Hawk."

"Have Hawk brought to me immediately. Go." Hound disappeared and the Third Hokage looked back at the Nara Clan Head. He raised his pipe and sucked in the toxins, holding them in his lungs for comfort before releasing the cloud. "I trust that Naruto is safe and has been returned to his apartment?"

Shikaku didn't quite grimace— that would be too effusive for him. Instead, he sighed. "Uzumaki is safe however, he will be spending the night with the Akimichi Clan." Hiruzen sat back, raising his brows as he waited for an explanation. The Akimichis were not the type to make some sort of political move. They were already quite a powerful clan, without constant vying for that power. A play on Naruto would not be to their benefit. "Uzumaki's attack was stopped by Akimichi Miho. She invited him to her birthday party and to spend the night at their estate."

"Akimichi Miho…" Hiruzen worked through the connections before his eyes widened. "Chisato and Keisuke's daughter?" The Third Hokage again tapped his pipe on the edge of the desk, working through the histories and implications. "Of course, Keisuke's daughter would find Minato's son. Seems destined."

"Your orders?"

Hiruzen hummed, eyes narrowing a bit at the Nara. Though he knew Shikaku to be loyal to him, the Three Clans were also loyal to each other— nearly by blood bond. A wrong move might alienate the three fundamental clans of Konoha, further destabilizing the landscape. The Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi were very displeased with the treatment of the Uchiha. Tactical advantage. By Shikaku's tone, Akimichi Miho was not a piece on the shogi board.

"If the Akimichi are kind to him, I see no reason to intercede."

The Nara nodded, though Hiruzen wondered if it was acceptance or relief.

"Akimichi Miho…It will be interesting to see her grow." He puffed on his pipe. "Perhaps her Will is the same as her father's?"

"Which one?"

"Both."