By the time my third birthday had come and gone, babysitting by Imiki had become part of my regular routine. My parents were indeed very busy people, but now I knew what it was they were busy with—and what these missions usually entailed. They would never be gone for more than a few days at most, thankfully. I liked Imiki well enough, but she could have a scary temper sometimes.
For instance, the time I learned her actual age.
This incident happened during the first time Imiki had babysat me. I had been trying out more words in an effort to piece together coherent sentences and had even started trying to memorize the hiragana alphabet, which usually kept me busy all day—as boring as all-day language-learning was, I had to give it my all, lest I fall behind kids that were actually my age. That would be embarrassing. A whole fifteen-year-old trapped in a toddler's body losing to real two-year-olds.
But it was almost midday and I hadn't eaten yet, so I naturally decided to call out to Imiki for some food. Preferably zoni soup, but I would take what I could get.
Now, the honorifics thing was something I had trouble grasping instinctively—it was a system very unique to Asian languages, after all. Trying to get out of my English mindset took active brainpower and sometimes resulted in me just forgetting the honorifics. But I was determined to get them right this time, so I opened my mouth and bravely called out to my aunt, "Imiki-obaa-san?"
The reaction was instantaneous. Walls shook. Windchimes trembled. And Imiki, in the center of the chaos, was on the warpath headed straight towards me. I dropped the hiragana tiles I had been playing around with, feeling true fear in that moment. She stopped right before me, crouching to meet my eyes, and though our eyes were of the same shade, something about her amber eyes was absolutely terrifying. They burned. I could practically see the vein pop in her forehead.
"Futaba-chan, how old do you think I am?" She smiled dangerously.
I opened my mouth to try and formulate some kind of response. As luck would have it, I forgot all the numbers in that moment of sheer terror.
Luckily, Imiki didn't wait long enough for a response and barrelled onward. "Imiki-nee isn't quite old enough to be called obaa-san, okay?" She righted herself, the fire fading, and muttered something along the lines of damn Takeshi under her breath.
Finally finding my voice, my curiosity opted me to speak out. "How old are you, Imiki-nee?"
"Eighteen."
Wow. Mom's sister was young. That was barely older than I would've been if I hadn't kicked the can in my sleep in my last life. "How old's 'kaa-san?"
Imiki gave me a once-over. "She's twenty-three."
Mom was pretty young when she had me, wow. Well, the life of a shinobi was unpredictable. Your life could end at any second, so anyone that lived past fifty here was either legendary or a civilian. Imiki had the look of a shinobi – long dark hair tied back tight, hands calloused and faint scars peeking out from her mid-sleeved shirt. Her and Mom were pretty similar. But Mom wore her hair down...and somehow, it never appeared out of place when she returned home...
Talk about hair goals.
It almost reminded me of my old mom. My actual mom, with dark straight hair I always envied, my mom with the ability to look composed in the most stressful of situations.
But there was no point dwelling on that now. No amount of crying and moping would bring her to me.
After the Incident, I'd learned better than to ever prod too much at Imiki's age. It didn't take a detective to sense that it was a sore spot for her, for whatever reason.
Today was a day like any other spent at Imiki's. Since I turned three, Imiki had been trying to smoothly slip the idea of maybe starting to train into my young mind. Three was an absolutely ridiculous age to start training in my opinion, but out of fear of falling behind others my age, I'd started considering it.
Imiki was busy polishing her weapons at the moment, so I had busied myself with Japanese practice again. This time, a children's book lay in front of me, hiragana printed above each kanji my finger traced.
"The cat...mewed...sadly, up at the moon," I murmured as I read the hiragana. "It was...the only one...l-left."
Imiki poked her head into the living room, where I sat. "Futaba-chan, are you hungry?"
As if on cue, my stomach growled in response. I set aside my book and hiragana tiles, the idea of food sounding better by the second.
After a few moments of silence, Imiki tugged me to my feet. "You haven't been outside very much, have you? You're so pale, Futaba-chan." When I shook my head uneasily, she grinned at me. I didn't really like the outside. Fear of running into some...important people. I had avoided them so far, but I didn't know how long I could keep it up. Imiki nudged me. "Well, let's go outside then! We can get food on the way!"
My eyes widened but I had no time to react as I was hoisted onto my aunt's shoulders. "To the outdoors we go!" she cried.
Please no, I mentally begged. Couldn't I be trouble-free for a few more years before I entered the Academy?
Konoha was edging into summer now, the days getting longer and nights becoming warmer. Summer was always my least favourite season. It was loud, sweaty, hot, and pretty much everything I despised. Contrastingly, my favourite sort of weather was rain. It was calming to listen to as you were falling asleep, and it just felt purifying in some way.
In both this life and the last, I'd been blessed with skin that seemed all too ready to burn at the very idea of sunlight. Imiki didn't seem to have this issue, her skin sun-kissed and shining, probably from years of mission experience. But I, Asagiri Futaba the three-year-old, currently sitting atop Imiki's shoulders, was not so lucky. I made noises of discontent I hope got across to Imiki as she bounced along outside.
"A little bit of sun will do you good, Futaba-chan," Imiki sang. I pouted and crossed my arms over her head.
I eventually convinced Imiki to let me down and walk by her side, little kiddy hand clutching hers. I forgot how big everything seems when you're so small. That kind of magic died away as soon as I hit twelve in my past life and outgrew my mom.
We came across a clearing framed around a rather tall monument. Imiki slowed her pace as we approached, a solemn air falling between us. Getting a little squirmy at the sudden change in atmosphere, I looked around. The ground was paved with a pattern of bricks that closed in on the monument, and when I craned my head to peer around the large stone, I could just barely make out the form of a teenaged boy standing there.
"This is the Memorial Stone, Futaba-chan," Imiki explained quietly. "Brave shinobi that give their lives for Konoha have their names engraved in the stone."
I was definitely familiar with the big rock, but I was more curious about who the guy was, because something about him seemed...familiar.
Oh no. The alarm bells were going off. Stop right there, Futaba! Run!
Imiki noticed the boy eventually, a sad little look taking hold on her face as she did. I crinkled my brows in confusion. "That's Umino Iruka," she said in an even quieter voice, almost like she was talking to herself.
I blanched and looked even closer. Sure enough, an all-too-familiar scar stretched across the bridge of the boy's nose. Iruka.
But this wasn't the Iruka I knew from the show, not exactly. He was much…younger. If I had to guess, he would probably only be around my age from my past life...or likely even younger. He looked sad. Scared.
Imiki started to redirect us, turning us back the way we came. "What happened to him, Imiki-nee?" I asked, my own memories too stupidly foggy to remember what felt like something extremely important.
Imiki's expression was grim, and she didn't look at me as she spoke. "The year you were born, a huge tragedy befell the village. Do you remember, Futaba-chan?"
I shook my head, the memories from my first year of life here even more foggy than the memories from my past life.
"A big monster attacked this village, and many shinobi died trying to save us all. Your parents were part of the force that fought bravely for our lives, and they made it back alive, too." Imiki cast a short glance over her shoulder, back at Iruka. I did the same. "That boy, Iruka, his parents weren't as lucky."
As Imiki led me away from the monument, Iruka's downtrodden face stuck in my mind like an imprint. Well, at least I know what era I'm in now…
I almost smacked my face as it sunk in. Shit, are you kidding me? The nine-tailed fox attacked the year I was born?
That meant Naruto was born the year I was born—as well as everyone else in the Konoha rookies…well, fuck. It was going to be a lot more difficult to stay out of trouble with canon characters than I thought.
Just before I could launch a full-scale mental breakdown, Imiki tugged me forward at a slightly faster place. "Oh, I see the soup shop up ahead!"
It was an unfamiliar little shop we pulled into, Imiki finding us a table for two and placing orders. I had to compliment the decor of the place, though—very zen. Very soothing. Almost made me not want to have a mental breakdown over my impending doom. Almost.
"Oh, here comes your zoni soup, Futaba-chan," Imiki said with more pep than usual, breaking me out of my shell-shocked trance.
The aroma drifting off the soup invaded my thoughts and before long, all I could think about was consuming the food before me. Can't have a proper breakdown on an empty stomach, right? I picked up my chopsticks and aimed for a blob of mochi.
Imiki's voice drifted over the sound of me messily trying to chew at the mochi with my weak little baby teeth. "Futaba-chan, you've been rather quiet since we came across the Memorial Stone."
I didn't answer her, not knowing how I even could. I guess I had been, what with the shattering realization I'd be part of the generation that eventually participated in a full-blown war, if I could remember correctly. God, I didn't even pay attention properly during the school lessons about the wars of my world and now I'd have to fight IN the war of another.
But there was also something sobering about seeing the memorial in person. Each name had been an insignificant background character in the anime, but here every scratched name was connected to a whole family, a whole network of people. Networks that included people like Iruka. And these webs could just become severed, just like that, leaving the people connected by them stranded and alone.
Putting those depressing thoughts aside, seeing the Hokage in the flesh some months ago combined with my introduction to the memorial stone and Iruka had definitely cemented something in my mind.
I had to try to remember as much about the series as possible. Shinobi might run around like superhumans, blasting fireballs from their palms, but at the core of it all, we were all just human and could die all too quickly. I could be standing on a sidewalk one moment and be engraved into the memorial stone the next. And now that I knew just when I was living, the need to come up with a plan felt all the more urgent.
Imiki sighed, poking at her food with her chopsticks. "I know that seeing the memorial stone can be shocking. So many of us die on the job, and though it seems honorable at first, sometimes it feels as though this village sees us as little more than tools that can be thrown away or lost easily…" She trailed off, bitterness leaking into her voice.
Now it was my turn to blink and prod Imiki in concern. "Imiki-nee, are you okay?" I asked with a clumsy toddler's tongue.
She shook herself out of it, the bitterness disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "Enough of this talk, eh? Let's eat." She smiled brightly like nothing had happened, the mood change almost giving me whiplash.
After a few moments of contemplation, I set down my chopsticks. "Imiki-nee, can you...help me train?"
Imiki paused, eyes widening in surprise. "You want to train with me? Really?" I nodded, my mind made up. I needed to get stronger so I could be better prepared for anything. "Th-that's great! Well, we can start with basic physical training for now, since you're still so young and I'm a little worried about...that thing when it comes to using chakra…"
I let her ramble to herself, eyebrow quirking up at the mention of whatever that thing was. Oh well, that didn't matter. What did matter was that I needed information, stat.
Hopefully more of my memories would come back to me soon.
—
I stood on the polished floor of a basketball court, bright lights illuminating the court and gleaming off the floorboards. Before me were two familiar grinning faces—the twins.
They laughed as they passed a basketball back and forth to each other, ignoring me as I tried to get between and intercept. My body seemed to move of its own volition as I did so.
"Quit it, guys, you know I suck at this," I cried, miffed.
The scene changed. What was a basketball court was suddenly a comfortable-feeling room—my old room. Posters of people and things I could no longer recognize covered the walls in some areas, but for the most part, it just felt lived in.
A laptop sat on my bed, already playing an episode of an anime I could now identify as Naruto. Beside me on the floor, another familiar face, chewing away at popcorn.
"Gaara sucks, I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted. "Sasuke is much better." I threw a handful of popcorn at her.
My room door opened, my mother stepping in. "Don't make a mess on the floor," she berated.
The scene changed yet again, but this time, I sat immobile in bed in a quiet, sterile room.
This was a hospital. And I didn't remember ever being bedridden in a hospital in my past life.
The door creaked open. "Hey, sweetie," my dad said, entering the room quietly. He sat in the chair near my bedside. "How are you doing?" Reaching out a hand, he smoothed out my hair.
I couldn't reply. I couldn't even move. But I could still see him, even though I could feel my eyes were closed.
When my reply didn't come, he sighed. He sounded incredibly tired, and I noticed the bags under his eyes and his unshaven face. "Not going to wake up today, either?" He set down some flowers on the table near my bed. "It's alright. Take your time."
"Is she awake?" Another figure stood in the doorway. My mom. She looked dishevelled and just as tired as my dad. She sat next to my dad. "Oh...we'll wait for you. For as long as it takes for you to wake up." She stroked my forehead with her thumb.
But then her eyes grew misty. "Please come back to us."
I wanted to shout I'm here! I'm here! Please don't cry! But I couldn't. Nothing was moving.
Why couldn't I move?
The hospital room morphed into a dark, endless space, where I seemed to be floating. This time, I did have control of my own self, and I looked around the dark area only to find a wheel behind me. A colossal, creaking wooden wheel with what seemed like millions and millions of panels. It was so tall that even craning my neck to peer upward, I couldn't find where it ended.
It came to my attention that the wheel was not moving, but seemed to be straining against whatever was holding it immobile, hence the creaking. The sound increased with volume with every passing second. Eventually, it became so loud that I lifted my hands to my ears to muffle it, but to no avail. It was like the creaking had dug itself into my ears, echoing and screeching in complaint over and over and—
I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air and my ears still ringing. A multitude of emotions overcame me, and I started to feel all faint and shaky.
I saw things. I saw my past life.
Did I ever actually die?
My arms below me suddenly seemed to light up in a faint glow, and my irregular breathing stuttered in a whimper. What the hell was happening? Other questions that had once again sprung up because of my dreams floated around in my mind. Who am I why am I here what do I do how do I get back—
"Futaba, I'm here!"
I blinked a couple more times, clearing the static and seeing my mother's exhausted yet relieved face. She wasn't my mother. Not my real mother. My mother's eyes weren't yellowish amber. My mother wasn't this young.
Her hands came up to cup my own small face, wiping away tears I didn't know were there, and she pulled me into her lap. The gesture comforted me a little, my heart thudding a little less erratically. No, she was Asagiri Futaba's mother, and I was Asagiri Futaba.
"I'm here now. It's okay." She then began to sing the song I had heard her sing so many times, but now, I could understand it. "Rainy day, rainy day, rain a little more...Kaa-san's bringing my umbrella, it can rain and pour…"
I began to feel my hiccuping breaths stabilize, the panic slowly fading away. My eyelids grew heavy.
"Pitter patter, pitter patter, drip drop drop…"
Finally, I felt everything fade to a quiet darkness.
sorry if the spacing between paragraphs ends up looking a bit weird/irregular, i'm having issues with the formatting copying the story from docs to here...the song is amefuri, by the way!
alts
