Danzo Shimura.

Danzo Shimura.

Danzo.

Shimura.

Hmm…

Really sounds like a name I should remember.

I sat across from him and the examiner woman. Mother stood alone in the back. We were in the study – a large closet with nothing but a table and some chairs.

This Danzo person seemed as intimidating as he did forgettable. Middle aged, with spikey brown hair, and an x-shaped scar on his chin. He wore an official Konoha uniform, but it was fancy. Like a government official. He seemed out of place in the orphanage. Like he saw the children as nothing more than in-the-way furniture.

The woman who came with him, who had yet to speak, was even more off-putting. Something about the way her skin didn't seem to… fit her. It hung a bit too loose for how young she looked. The way she hissed when she laughed. The way it felt like her black eyes were staring through me.

When I learned this morning examiners would be coming, I though perhaps it would be an opportunity to go to the academy. Become a shinobi. The thought sent a flutter through my belly. I could start over. I could have another opportunity to really be someone in this place.

I tried to complete the tests they presented me as best I could. Sticking a leaf to my forehead (without spit, Mr. Shimura had admonished). Moving a piece of paper with a gust of chakra-induced wind. I couldn't manage to make them work, though. I could feel my chakra just under the skin, but it felt no more controllable than my own blood.

It was particularly embarrassing knowing I was an adult and these were tests for little kids.

Every time I failed, I could feel the examiners becoming more bored. My ears turned pink after the leaf fell off my forehead a last time.

"Is there anything remarkable about you?" The hissing woman asked, her face belying her belief that, in fact, no there was nothing interesting about me at all. I flinched at the sting of it. Even here I'm not special.

Mr. Shimura sighed, looking up at Mother. "Her chakra levels are high given what little she has to show for it. Report?"

Mother seemed hesitant to respond, glancing from me back to Mr. Shimura with some note of uncertainty in her eyes. "She only arrived yesterday. A child of the… disaster. We don't know much about little Ren." Her eyes pitched down. "I would agree that, thus far, her abilities do not seem to indicate a Shinobi lineage or an exceptional skillset."

She's using words she thinks a six-year-old can't understand, a hot breath of anger consumed me. To be insulted and talked down to was too much. Even if I didn't care for this examiner or the creepy lady, I wasn't willing to be ignored.

Again.

"Very well, child. Bring in the next—"

"I can sing." I whispered, interrupting him. I can do something remarkable. I can.

Mr. Shimura raised an eyebrow. The examiner woman spoke, her voice raspy.

"You can what?"

I sat up straighter, seeing the involuntarily reaching hand of Mother in the background.

"I'm very good at singing." I insisted, trying to make them understand.

After a moment of silence, all three adults staring at me, the woman laughed. My cheeks felt even hotter.

"I am. I can put people to sleep with my voice." I whispered to myself.

I could hear a short, faint gasp behind me. Mother didn't want me to say that.

Mr. Shimura raised an eyebrow at Mother, dubious. She shifted on her feet. "It does, appear, to be some natural chakra release." Both of Mr. Shimura's eyes went wide and the woman's hissing laughter stopped.

Then Mr. Shimura steeled his gaze back on Mother. "You didn't mention that."

"I-I've only seen it once and it was… unremarkable. I wanted to further investigate before wasting your time." She bowed her head, but I could see one gleaming eye peeking out. Always vigilant.

There's something… odd about Mother.

And then her words caught up to me and I felt my indignance rise.

The hissing woman seemed to notice, prodding me with a bony finger.

"Well, child, we don't have all day."

I looked up at Mother, who hesitantly nodded.

I tried to think of the least conspicuous song to sing, one where the lyrics wouldn't sound so funny translated. No pop culture references, something that could be understood everywhere…

My hands drummed on the table before I could even realize what they were doing, tapping the soul rhythm on the reverberating wood. Aretha Franklin's voice filled my head…

"You better think. Think about what you're trying to do to me. Let your mind go, let yourself be free…"

My voice sounded so young, but I forced it through my windpipe, knowing how it should sound. Knowing how belt from my belly, trill in my throat. My vocal chords would need some development, but I was doing it justice.

I got about halfway through "Think" when I heard someone clear their throat. I opened my eyes, stopping suddenly.

"Charming."

Was all Mr. Shimura said, his lip curled.

Oops. I ducked my head, suddenly feeling like the shame-faced 6-year-old I looked like.

And then the hissing woman spoke. "Interesting. Uncontrolled, but certainly a chakra release. Minor emotional manipulation?"

I looked up.

Mr. Shimura snorted back.

"Very minor. But yes, it does seem like some affinity." He looked at me under heavy brows. "Can you do anything else?"

I tried to think. I didn't want to lose this opportunity, but I was so new to the world I genuinely had no idea.

"I don't know… sir."

The man sighed. I could practically hear the "not good enough" that he was clearly thinking.

"Bring in the next one," Mr. Shimura raised his hand, already looking away from me.

My stomach sank with something dreadful feeling and heavy.

I was given an opportunity and I lost it. I was going to be stuck in this orphanage for the next, what, twelve years? When do Naruto kids become adults anyway?

Then I felt long, cold fingers wrap around my wrist.

"Practice. Make yourself useful. I want to see you next time, brat." The woman hissed up at me, yellow eyes flashing. I felt a shiver run through me as I nodded.

"Next." Mr. Shimura insisted again.

Then I could feel Mother's warm hands on my shoulders leading me out.

"Good," she whispered. "You did good, love."

I sighed. I certainly didn't feel like I had.

#

Mr. Shimura and the woman took one child with them. A boy no older than eight, with long black hair and sharp teeth. They said he had promise and we should all be proud.

And then he was gone. And there were 65 of us. Too many kids for such a small place.

They promised to return next time. Whenever that is. And I promised myself that I would practice. I would get out of here.

Something that felt like childlike determination rose up in me. I could feel the warring constantly of a kids brain with an adult's memories. I knew I shouldn't care so much. Hell I was in a brand new world, everything was an adventure.

And yet it stung to be overlooked. I wanted to be a shinobi too, and they seemed to be interested in my singing. I could work with that.

#

I flopped back onto my bed, my eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration and humiliation.

I had only been here a day and I wanted out.

As I turned over in bed, something slipped out from beneath my pillow, clattering to the ground.

Two wooden rings and a small note.

My eyes went wide as I snatched them up.

The rings were carved with flowers in the center, in place of jewels. I felt the fuzzy hints of a memory. These were Ren's parents' rings. In my mind's eye, I could see two weathered, tanned hands grasped, rings touching. I clutched them close. Who had brought them to me? Mother?

I unfurled the note.

But there were no words, only a face written in hiragana. "He-no-he-no-mo-he-ji." I whispered, reading the characters in the face.

I folded up the note, the rings tucked inside, and I slipped them between the mattress and the bedframe for safe keeping.

#

I quickly learned that the caretakers did not care what we did. We were left alone in the old building to fend for ourselves. As long as we didn't wander off beyond the treeline, we ate, bathed, and slept – they didn't bother us for anything else. They simply didn't have the staff to handle so many kids.

Unfortunate for all the small children who really did need to learn things like writing and arithmetic, but not so bad for a woman-baby like me.

There was an old library of torn and stained books that I frequented. My reading comprehension was low, but I could sometimes wrangle a caretaker or older kid to help me learn.

I liked to help the caretakers, too. Folding laundry and making beds. It kept my hands busy and ensured I got an extra portion of dinner whenever I really wanted it.

What truly helped was the runt constantly stuck to my side. The caretakers both loved and avoided me because "the Demon," Niji, had become my shadow. Crawling, then toddling after me, everywhere I went. I didn't mind. I was used to taking care of kids. But I wondred what would have happened to him had I not been here.

And I exercised, as best I could, running through the forest and lifting rocks. My body was still small and wiry, unable to gain muscle, but I remembered what it was like to be old and out of shape. I shivered, never again. Better to start while my back and hips still worked right.

I knew some children practiced their chakra, though none seemed particularly good. Whenever I tried to join them, I would fail miserably. "You have no control," a teen boy once laughed at me. I knew he was a student at the academy. There were a few of those, here. Once they got old enough, though, twelve or thirteen, they would disappear. I was told the shinobi got special barracks if they passed some test. I wondered if the barracks were nicer than the orphanage.

Probably. I groused, knowing it was unlikely I would ever see them. No control. Unremarkable. Civilian.

But I did have my singing, still. And I used it. Frequenty. Not only was it now expected that I would sing the kids to sleep, but I would find other orphans actually asking me to sing to them throughout the day. When they felt sad, or tired, or just wanted to dance, they would ask for a specific song.

"Something happy?"

"'Something for meditation."

"That one about the sharks!"

And I acquiesced, of course. There was nothing I liked better than singing and here it seemed to be the only thing that made me stand out. I was getting better, too, slowly I think. My vocal chords and diaphragm were catching up to my learned skills.

I wondered if it was true, as I heard some of the adults say, if my singing was truly some special power here. A kekkei genkai, I could hear them whisper to each other.

Once I cornered Mother and asker her, finally, "Can I be a ninja?"

She sighed, ruffling my hair. "I don't know about that, little Ren, how about you just be you?"

"But how will I make money?" I asked. My knowledge of the world around us was limited. From what I remembered of the show, the Shinobi made money on missions. From the few loose memories I had from Ren, I knew her parents had been blue collar laborers. Farmers. I had no land anymore.

"Perhaps you can use that pretty voice, hm? You'll think of something." She winked at me before moving on. There were always other kids who needed her.

I was flummoxed after that, Niji staring up at me with big green eyes.

Sing? Here? But how could I make money doing that? Does this world even have records or CDs, or whatever? A music industry? I'd hardly seen technology beyond a stove and lightbulbs… but I guess that didn't mean they didn't exist. I had seen so little, trapped in this orphanage for months.

Then I was resolved. If I was going to try to make something out of music in this world, I would have to try harder.

I found the most torn books from the library and repurposed them. Writing my lyrics in the margins, every song I could remember in the smallest handwriting I could manage. I wrote in hiragana, too, practicing my language skills while translating rhymes. It was an exercise that took weeks upon weeks, me and Niji sitting in the dusty corner of the library. He would flip through picture books as I hummed and scribbled.

I started gaining a reputation. People thought I was weird.

What else is new.

And as I recalled songs I realized I was missing something crucial.

I didn't just need to sing. I needed music.

So Niji and I trekked into the forest, looking for a big enough piece of wood.

We found a piece of Cypress, light in color and smelled faintly of lemon.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember what Ren knew. I could smell the same smell in my memory. I could hear her father carving wood, curls peeling off and falling to the ground.

"Cypress … sturdy and it doesn't rot, perfect for…" I could hear his gritty voice, whispering to her as he carved a kitchen spoon.

"Perfect," I whispered to Niji.

"Perpect," he whispered back.

I laughed loudly, hoisting him up on my small hip and toddling back with him, holding the large hunk of wood in my other hand.

If I could manage this, I think… I think I might be able to make my limited powers into something meaningful. Even if that Shimura guy wouldn't take me, I could find a way.