I chew diligently on the largest wooden ring in a Tower of Hanoi puzzle, soothing my sore gums. It is a habit I picked up when my teeth started growing in, as the ring is the closest object to a teether I can find with my limited mobility. Masanori proves herself a particularly miserly matron by refusing to purchase proper teethers, and instead allows the children to chew on whatever items they find, and hope they learn not to bite a sharp kunai more than once. The scratches on several children's faces make me think it isn't the best method.
The rest of the tower puzzle lays half completed at my side, and my attention is pinned on the blue haired matron. "Anata wa kanari kashikoidesu, ne? Anata no nenrei no hotondo no kodomo wa kono pazuru o kaiketsu suru koto wa dekimasen." She speaks quickly, and I struggle to separate the indistinct sounds into words.
Since my first birthday, Masanori has started my early education and training. Presently, my education includes speaking and puzzles, and while the puzzles are quickly solved (probably too quickly for a child of my supposed age, but I'm so mind-numbingly bored and the puzzles are at least a brief reprieve), but the speaking is coming along more slowly. You would think that the native speaker in my head would help me out, but noooo, that's too much effort for Madara, and I can only bother him for so long before he goes radio silent on me
Sure, I understand the basics. Yes, no, feed me, bye, put that down you little brat. Things like that. The problem is that whatever language Masanori speaks, it definitely isn't Japanese like I expected. None of my previous knowledge of the language applies. While there are some words and honorifics I recognize, the vast majority of the vocabulary isn't anything I've experienced before. I'm learning, sure. And faster than most children. But until it clicks, I'm left to stare at Masanori-san in confusion and occasionally coo at her.
"Hey, Madara," I mentally prod the older man, "Are you getting any of this? Can you translate?" I feel Madara's attention slip to the forefront of our mind and ignore his grumble about my interruption of his meditation. Stuffy Uchiha, it's not like anything in our mindscape is more interesting than what's happening out here.
"Translate?" He rumbles, though his voice is significantly higher pitched than it was when we first met, indicative of our mental forms de-aging. "And why would I do that?"
"Because she's saying something and I want to know what it is." I add as an afterthought, "Duh. Aren't you supposed to be able to read my mind or something?" It's not like I'm being particularly quiet about my thoughts.
"I didn't hear what she said. Couldn't help you even if I wanted to. And I don't want to." Madara excuses himself, and I can almost imagine the
"Oh, come on. Please!" I whine, "If we don't respond then she'll put bugs in our bed again!" Take pity on me, because I for one, do not want bugs in my bed. So I'd rather not give her a reason.
While my education revolved around my ability to solve puzzles and communicate effectively, my training is desensitization. Unlike the systematic desensitization I was familiar with, where an individual would be slowly exposed to a phobia – first the though, then a photo, then the thing – and conditioned to remain calm. This training is… shall we say traumatic. Traumatic desensitization. Trial by fire. Basically, I woke up to a crib full of maggots.
Writhing, slimy, maggots. Writhing, slimy, maggots that wormed their way over my body and slipped through the cracks in my fingers. My attempts to wriggle away only resulted in smearing their puss filled bodies into my sheets and skin. I can distinctly recall the sensation of revulsion that crawled its way up my throat at the sensation of hundreds of little bodies squirming their way across my skin and face. They tangled in my hair and slithered against my lips and eyelids and I feared that if I opened my mouth to scream they would climb down my throat and eat me from the inside out. Since then I had woken up every night to find myself sharing a bed with the maggots. Masanori-san's methods are clearly effective though, for my original disgust has since given way to discomfort and irritation at my interrupted sleep.
I'd imagine, though, that the transition from overwhelming horror to mild annoyance isn't a common result amongst children. In fact, my disgust was considered out of place, because most children had yet to learn that maggots were something they should consider disgusting. Rather, the first night they woke up to a bed full of bugs, they would cry. And when they realized crying would get them nothing, they would go back to sleep. I on the other hand, lay awake all night in abject horror until my body eventually gave in to its exhaustion and pulled me under.
"It is a common training practice, and one that you of all people benefit from. Maggots are a common illusion adopted by genjutsu users. It would be a shame if something as petty as a fear of larvae caused your death." Madara patronizes.
"I still want to know what she's saying though. Come on, help out a little." But before I can convince Madara to help, Masanori-san turns to another child, leaving me alone with my tower puzzle and Madara's silent condescension.
We wake up to cockroaches this time.
.
A boy crouches in front of me, balancing gracefully on the balls of his feet. A metal forehead protector engraved with the Konoha leaf marks him as a ninja. Slowly, a smile slips onto his features, pulling at his cheeks. The rest of his face remains still, pale and frozen like porcelain, betraying the true lack of emotion behind his gesture.
While Masanori often hired genin teams to assist with the children, cleaning, and recently training the academy level kids, this kid is clearly not a genin. Not with his fluid conservation of movement and impassivity.
Everything about him puts me on edge, from his false smile and pale blue pupiless eyes, to his proffering of a wooden practice kunai. "Okurimonodesu." It is a gift. Some part of me translates 'gift' into 'bribe', and I don't remember being so distrustful in my past life; Madara says it's a good thing. Ninja are not soldiers. They are weapons, finely honed to the peak of their lethality. They are taught to kill their emotions, sever their attachments, and relinquish their autonomy for their usage by village. However, no matter how a village sharpens its tools, ninja are still subject to human error and human selfishness. Humans don't like dying. So in this world of child weapons and early deaths, only the skeptical live to see their twenties.
These thoughts don't stop me from cautiously accepting the weapon though. Practice kunai are hard to come by – they are hoarded jealously by the academy students and a brilliant toddler like myself should not, in their eyes, need one – within the orphanage and I will need one.
The boy, no older than 15, widens his smile and places his hand on my head, in a poorly executed mockery of affection.
"Shit, move!" Madara barks and an accompanying wave of alarm forces me to take a step back, away from the boy, hands raising my wooden weapon uselessly against the boy.
"What?" My own agitation crests to match Madara's.
"Yamanaka." The simple response catches me off guard. Why is there a Yamanaka here? What does he want?
I redirect my attention back towards the boy. He is still crouched in front of me, though his smile has fallen away. A slight crease between his eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion; a tell I would have missed in my past life had Madara not mentioned yesterday that Masanori made the same expression whenever I did something too clever. ("You should call me Madara-sensei-sama," he had told me. I promptly burst into laughter.) He hasn't taught me anything since, but I'm sure he'll crack eventually. Even if it's just out of sheer mortification from my general failings as a potential ninja. He's too much of a perfectionist to let me fail for long.
"Toshi-san." Masanori pulls the Yamanaka away from me, one callused hand wrapped firmly in the black cloth of his collar. "Watashi wa anata o kitai shite imasendeshita."
"Madara, what is she saying?" Up until now, he has refused to translate a single sentence, hiding behind the excuse that 'I need to learn the language myself'. But this is clearly something important. I can feel the tension rising by the second. The tingling of killing intent skitters across my skin.
"Figure it out yourself," came the predictable response and I frown in frustration.
"Danzo-sama wa tsugi no shiharai o uketai to kangaete imasu," my eyes widen – a reaction I regret almost instantaneously, for if Masanori caught my reaction in her peripheral vision I would not have the vocabulary to explain myself – at Danzo's name, and while I can't parse out the rest of the words, I know this is important.
"This isn't the time, just translate!" I pause and add, "please," to make it sound less like the order we both recognize it as.
"Why should I?" He retorts.
"Because this is important!" I stifle a growl. Getting caught in an argument with such an insufferable prick won't help me right now.
"Danzo-san kyō wa gokagetsu mae ni ichiri no kodomo o nusunda. Kare wa betsu no kodomo o hitsuyō to sezu, watashitachi no torihiki no ichibu demo arimasen." Masanori-san voice is level, but I can detect a sharp edge hidden underneath her calm words. A thinly veiled warning wrapped in civility.
Kodomo: child. Are they talking about me? No, gokagetsu: five months. Danzo did something five months ago to a child.
"Come on, Madara!" I snap, "I don't have time for your life lessons right now! Oh, woe is me," I continue, jabbing at his Uchiha pride. It's a low blow, but a necessary one. "I'm Uchiha Madara and I know everything but I won't tell you because—"
"I can't," He interrupts.
"What? You can't? Let me guess, 'Suddenly I can't speak the language of my people now that you need to know something." Come on, Madara, what the hell do I need to say to get you to help!
My exacerbation at Madara's stubborn silence rises when Toshi replies to Masanori-san, "Danzō-sama wa atarashī kodomo ga hitsuyōdesu. Anata ga shikin nashi de jibun jishin o mitsuketai baai o nozoki, anata wa junshu shimasu." I don't recognize any of these words.
"I mean I can't. I don't recognize the language." Madara enunciates each syllable as though I'm an idiot.
Out of all the answers I was expecting, that is not it. He can't speak the language. Shit. Shit! That means- we aren't- we can't be- Shit. "And you didn't tell me this sooner! This is important," I stress, "I thought you were just being a stingy basterd! What if other things are different too? What if we misjudged and we aren't in the Naruto universe at all? What if we—"
"First of all, it's not called the Naruto universe. If anything it should be considered Alpha universe, or Madara universe if you are stubborn about naming it after a person." I could imagine Madara flicking his hair like some conceited high school girl.
"No, my universe is Alpha universe. You can be Naruto universe or you can be Shitty Child Murdering Universe, your choice," I retort viciously, "but oh wait. We don't even know if it's the Shitty Child Murdering Universe anymore, because they don't even speak the same language! We could be anywhere! Maybe we are in the Uranium Radiated Abominable Shinobi Hunt Itty-bitty Toddlers universe, abbreviated to U.R. !"
"Did… you come up with that acronym just then? It's terrible," he deadpans.
"YOU'RE TERRIBLE!"
"If it makes you feel better, we are definitely in the Madara universe. I can still sense chakra, and that boy is certainly a ninja."
"No, it does not make me feel better! The Naruto universe is still terrible!"
My attention snaps back to the real world when the ninja boy, Toshi, turns and observes the play room. His pale blue eyes pause on me before continuing. "Danzo-sama wa sore o nozonde iru."
"Īe." Masanori-san's response is unrelenting. "Hoka o erabu."
"Nazena no?"
"Danzo to no keiyakude wa, namae no nai minashigo o nusumu koto shika yurusa rete inai to nobete imasu. Kanojo wa." Masanori-san glares at the boy, "Hoka o erabu."
The boy huffs and runs a hand through his ponytail. "Kekkō." He scans the room again, and points to one of the other children in the room, "Soredesu."
"Do you have an idea of what they are saying?" Madara asks.
"I have a guess. Do you remember Danzo? He was one of the Third's advisors for a long time, ran, or I guess runs, an underground ANBU operation called ROOT. I don't remember much about him, but I know he 'recruits' children from orphanages, and it sounds like this is one of them," I explain, annoyance still laced in my tone. But I am more focused on not becoming a ROOT member that proving my anger.
"We should get recruited then," Madara decides. "He can train us."
"What? No! He basically brainwashes his subordinates. And then seals them so they are forced to follow his orders. And who said I wanted to be trained?"
"I said 'us', not you. And if we are in Madara—"
I interrupt, "We'll call it Delta verse until we find out if we are in your original world or not. I'm Alpha verse, you're Beta verse. This is Delta verse."
"Fine. If we are in Beta or Delta verse then we need to train if we want to stay alive," he argues.
"We'll have this talk later," I cut him off again, "But we are not becoming part of ROOT. And that is final. Now shhh," I hush him. "I want to pay attention."
Masanori's face concerns me. Her lips are pinched and her brows are furrowed angrily, one fist is behind her back, probably gripping the knife she always keeps there.
Toshi has made his way across the room and is crouching in front of another kid. I don't know his name. I don't know any of the kids' names, which isn't surprising considering my total avoidance of the orphanages other residents. They are just… so dumb. And they cry all the time. And poo everywhere. Really it's not a surprise I avoid them.
"I think his name is Aoi," Madara offers.
The boy —"Aoi"— smiles at Toshi and immediately accepts the offered practice kunai and mentally invasive hair ruffle that accompanies it.
"Kare wa yarudarou," Toshi says definitively before pinching a nerve in Aoi's neck and picking up the unconscious child. He nods respectfully at Masanori, who glares in return, and makes his leave, vanishing from the room with a puff of smoke.
Toshi took him. That bastard!
Shit.
This is definitely one of Danzo's harvesting grounds. And we were very nearly picked. So why weren't we.
Masanori. She stopped him, changed his mind somehow. I don't know what she said, but she saved us from Danzo— At the cost of Aoi.
The realization hits me suddenly, and the guilt follows like a blow to my stomach. It squeezes all the air out of my lungs in a whoosh. I lose my balance, falling on my butt and feel the tears well up in my eyes. Masanori sacrificed a person, a living, breathing child. Oh my god, and it was my fault. He should've taken me instead. A child is going to grow up a dehumanized weapon because of me.
"Stop it," Madara interrupts my train of thought. "Stop whining. It already happened. You didn't want to join ROOT, so don't complain. You got what you wanted didn't you."
"But—"
"There are no buts. It happened. Aoi is gone. He's never coming back."
"How can you say something like that?" I roar, angry at Madara's blatant dismissal of Aoi.
"How can you not? You didn't even know his name. You know nothing about him. He's irrelevant, and he saved your life." Madara's words are harsh, and they bite into me sharper than knives. "People are tools. Use them for your benefit."
I stare down at the wooden kunai in my hand, turning the weapon over. "This. This is a tool. Not a person. Not a child."
"You're naïve." I can feel Madara shake his head and tugs on my conscious, pulling me into our mindscape.
The experience is disorienting and I stumble slightly before he straightens me, hands against my shoulders. I make to yell at him. How dare he dismiss someone's life so easily. But the moment my eyes meet his I halt.
His face is stony. "Luci. Natsuki. Whatever you want to be called, you need to understand." His hands tighten against my shoulders and I suppress a flinch. "This world isn't your world. Our morals and values and expectations are different from yours. If you want to stay alive here, you need to listen to me."
I open my mouth to respond but my tongue feels heavy and I am struck by the gravity of the situation. People will die here. I hang my head. "He is just a kid. He's going to have a terrible life."
Madara is silent for a long moment. "You are going to have a terrible life if you can't adapt. Or worse. You'll die and then you won't have a life at all. This is a second chance for us. We can't squander it." He sighs and his hands slip from my shoulders.
"I don't want to be a soldier."
"I know."
"We don't have a choice, do we." My question comes out flat. I already know the answer.
We stand in silence for a long time, my eyes trained on my bare feet, three inches under the surface of the inky black water; Madara's eyes are trained on me. Vaguely I notice Masanori pick me up and carry me to my crib. The wooden kunai is still in my hands and my knuckles are white.
"What are we going to do?" I finally ask, looking up at Madara.
Madara shrugs and drags a hand through his hair. "Up to you. You are the pilot after all, I'm just the along for the ride."
I snort, "That doesn't sound like something you'd say."
"What did you expect?"
It's my turn to shrug. "Expected you to just bully me into doing what you want."
"Ha." He chuckles, "Maybe I would have once upon a time. But bullying you won't help me. If you aren't invested in becoming a ninja, in becoming a good ninja, then we will die," he delivers grimly.
"I don't want to die."
"Me neither."
"Is there anywhere in this world that isn't terrible?"
"I don't know. But I'd like there to be."
"Is that why you helped found Konoha?" I ask.
Madara's gaze slides to just over my shoulder and I feel a brush of nostalgia. His emotions are becoming easier for me to feel. "Maybe. Maybe not." It's an unnecessarily evasive answer.
"What do you want us to do?" I ask again, adjusting the question to allow him a choice.
"I get an opinion?"
I nod. "You are fifty percent of the 'us'. Only makes sense that you get some of the say."
"That's dangerous." I know this, he is a manipulative bastard after all, and he sighs. "I want to use my second life to make a difference. I made a lot of mistakes last time and this is a chance to make amends."
"You think we should become a ninja."
He doesn't answer. Instead he asks "What do you want us to do?"
"I don't know." I rock back on my heels, frown, and shove my hands into my pockets self-consciously. "Haven't really thought about it. Still getting over the whole reincarnation thing."
Madara deadpans, "You've had a year."
I yelp defensively, "I know! But this isn't exactly something that happens every day."
"What did you want in your old life?"
"I wanted to be a surgeon. To help people."
"Why?"
"Why did I want to be a surgeon?" I clarify.
"No, why did you want to help people?"
I cock my head to the side, "I don't… I guess…" I search for the right words. "The world isn't…" I struggle to find the right words, and finally settle lamely on "a great place. I guess I just want to make it a little better. In any way I can."
Madara cracks a small smile. "That's rather altruistic of you. No ulterior motives?"
I blush in embarrassment, "N-no! Not everyone is in it for themselves you know!"
"My, my, that doesn't sound very convincing does it?" He places his hand against his chin and scrunches his face in an over exaggerated expression of thought. "Let me guess… Money? No, that doesn't seem your thing. Maybe, fame?" I feel my blush darken. "Ah, I'm getting warm. Glory?"
"Don't be stupid!" I cross my arms and turn my back to him before whirling back, "Wait, are you teasing me?"
"Teasing you? Of course not." He dismisses, but I catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes, "I'm just trying to understand your motivations. But if its glory you want, hell, even if you still want to just help people, I don't see how being a ninja wouldn't allow you to accomplish that."
I groan, "We are totally going to die."
"Don't be ridiculous. I know you love fighting just as much as I do."
"No I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"Then how come you've picked every fight you can with me? Hmm?"
"I have not! Give me one example."
Madara stares at me and the amusement becomes more prominent. "You're starting an argument right now."
"I am n—" I cut myself off in realization. "Oh. I set the bar too low. Five examples. This one doesn't count."
Madara chuckles, "You know, you are quite amusing, Luci."
I pout slightly, "Natsuki is fine. I may as well get used to the name right?"
He hums in agreement.
"I still think we are going to die."
"Don't worry so much. After all, you have the strongest shinobi teaching you," he gestures to himself and a smirk tugs at his lips.
"I thought Hashirama was the strongest shinobi," I counter. "So that basically makes you the left overs."
"Don't be rude," he drawls. "Now get out of here. My patience for your stupidity as reached an end." He turns me around and pushes me away, "shoo."
"Wait. I have one more question." I turn back around. "Am I just a tool too?"
"What do you think?"
"I think that you are a lying manipulative bastard," I respond without hesitation.
"Good." At my inquisitive look he continues. "You're already learning."
.
I peer into the mirror, examining the face. Dark green eyes set are set into freckled brown skin and curly, gravity defying hair – a shade slightly lighter than her eyes – brushes against high cheekbones and bounces around the girl's ears. She is short for her apparent age, just barely reaching 5 feet tall, even though she looks to be in her late teens. When I shake my head the curls remain motionless. A failure in my henge. I release the jutsu, and with a shimmer of chakra the illusion slides away. The chubby cheeks of a three-year-old greet me.
"Again."
In the reflection of the mirror I can see Masanori-san. She sits on a couch behind me, a book in hand. Occasionally her eyes will flicker from her book to scrutinize my jutsu.
"You're forgetting textures. Remember how each piece on a body moves, from the way skin pulls when you smile to how clothes move in certain breezes," Madara advises. While a lot of a henge is subconscious, things that you are less familiar or more detailed are harder to transform into. So while my henge into Masanori, a woman I have seen every day of my life and am extremely familiar with, is flawless. My transformation into a girl I have only seen in a photograph is much more difficult.
Bringing my hands together I channel my chakra, relishing in the now familiar buzz of energy that rushes through my system. "Henge!"
The illusion settles into place with a small puff of smoke and I frown at the result. I accidentally switched the green of the eyes with the green of the hair, although the curls move correctly when I shake my head.
"Again," Masanori-san intones.
"Don't get lazy with the details."
I reapply the justu immediately, impatient and frustrated by my continuous mistakes. While the jutsu itself is simple, I keep making stupid mistakes. Mistakes that keep me standing in front of a mirror and transforming into the same woman over and over again for hours. The mistake of this round is obvious, and the most common I make.
A henge is the one of the three simplest jutsus and often considered the easiest to learn. As a psudo-genjutsu, it requires a small amount but continuous stream of chakra to create and maintain the illusionary appearance, making it the idea jutsu for a child who only has a limited supply. Overloading it causes the excess chakra to disperse in a puff of smoke, a waste according to Masanori, who has all but beat the habit out of me. The trick, however, isn't to create or maintain the transformation (and while I occasionally mess up the details,) I more or less had this part down. No, the trick is to properly superimpose the imaginary body over your own as to hide yourself behind the illusion. And this is where I get stuck.
I glare at the mirror, because the illusion is perfect; colors in all the correct places, proper textures in the hair and fabrics, and shadows fluidly shift as I will the delusion of light on flesh (dense enough chakra can produce a shadow, but most ninja can't afford to waste chakra for such a frivolous party trick, and thus even the shadows are part of my illusion). But the body is generated an inch to the left, leaving a sliver of my right visible.
"Again." My glare flickers from my failed jutsu to Masanori and back again.
"I think the problem is that you lack the control. Genjustu should come pretty easily to you considering your overabundance of Yin chakra, but you are still using too much of it in each transformation," Madara says.
"I am using the right amount. No chakra puff." I point out, and repeat the justu to the same effect. Image superimposed on the left.
"Damn it!" I curse out loud and dodges Masanori's book, leaving it to thump ineffectually against the glass.
"Language!" The matron scolds, "For that you can figure the jutsu out on your own, Natsu-gaki."
"Alright." I bow quickly, "Thank you, Masanori-san." She ignores me and makes to sweep out of the room, barely pausing to grab her book out of the air when I throw it at the back of her head.
"What a mean lady," I sigh and take a seat in front of the mirror. My eyes slide closed and I fall into my mindscape.
"She's an ex-kunoichi. I don't know what else you'd expect," Madara greets me with a nod.
Sometime in the last year our mental reflections had changed, though less prominent in Madara then myself. While I had adopted Narukami Natsuki's three-year-old body, Madara had de-aged significantly, now looking no older than twelve, with short black spikes (he lamented the loss of his longer hair for nearly a month), dark eyes void of their original bruising, and the remnants of baby fat softening his face.
"I don't understand why I can't get it. It should be so easy,"I huff, throwing my arms dramatically in the air and I kick the water. There is more satisfaction in making a splash than in yelling.
Madara quirks an eyebrow at my violent action and says, "What made you think any of this would be easy?"
I glare at him. "I don't know. Maybe the fact that I've seen ninja summon giant animals and stare demonic chakra entities into submission effortlessly with glowing red eyes. A simple henge shouldn't be this hard! Even Naruto can do a transformation justu!"
My companion stares at me for a moment and shakes his head, partially in amusement and partially in exasperation. "You stupid brat. If justus were easy to learn everyone would use them. All that crap you read about in your manga is just that. Crap. Ninja work hard to learn jutsu, why else do you think the sharingan is such a valuable resource. It can take years to master even a single justu. Granted this a henge isn't that hard, but you are still pulling off a near perfect henge at three years old." Two years ago it would have been strange for Madara to comfort me, but three years together has clearly shifted our relationship.
"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss, still disappointed in my abilities.
The man shrugs. "Naruto couldn't do a henge anyway."
"What?"
"His reverse harem Justu? That isn't a henge," he explains, "and I'm under the impression that he uses that same justu for all of his transformations, not just the… perverted ones."
"Wait what? It's not a henge? Then what is it?"
"Not a henge."
"Yes. You said that. But what is it?"
He runs a hand through his hair, a subconscious movement I started to associate with his being lost in thought, "A solid transformation from what I could see."
"A shadow henge?" I ask, connecting the points between Naruto's signature solid clones and his transformation.
"Something like that" he says, "it resembles a shadow clone in structure at the very least. I think it's a bit more complicated than that though. He's using an absurd amount of chakra to manipulate his physical shape."
I nod. "So mass stays consistent? Shape changes, density changes to compensate? So while theoretically you could transform any way you want, if you became a kunai for example, you'd still maintain your weight."
"Exactly. You'd be a pretty unwieldy kunai," Madara agrees, "But, you would make a very convincing fake should you ever need to disguise yourself as someone else. Probably doesn't need very much chakra to maintain either."
"Sounds physically impossible. Goes against basically every law of biology I know."
Madara chuckled at my begrudged expression. "Chakra breaks quite a few of your biological laws. Better get used to it."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," but I surrender the point none the less. "Seems more practical than a henge. Why don't most people use that sort of transformation?"
"Oh, it is. Most people just don't have the chakra for it. I suppose an infiltration specialist might have a similar jutsu, and I know of at least one family with a similar hidden technique, so it's not completely unheard of." He pauses and looks at me curiously, "I wonder who taught it to him though. It's not exactly the kind of justu a kid can learn on his own."
"He knew it before graduation. The manga said he invented the Oiroke no Jutsu himself," I say, and shove my hands in my pocket when Madara continues to stare. "What."
"Shush Brat, Madara-sensei is learning a jutsu. Do you remember what hand signs he used for it?" He crosses his arms, brow furrowing in though.
"Just ram I think?"
"God, he's hopeless." Madara sighs and runs a hand through his hair again.
"He beat you," I point out, lips turning up into a smile at the embarrassed look that flashed across the Uchiha's face.
He frowns, "Plot armor." I laugh.
"So what do I need to do?" I place my hands into the ram seal, fingers effortlessly sliding into place after days and days of practice. "Just focus my chakra into the shape I want to transform into?" I release the seal. No point channeling chakra in my mindscape.
"Probably," he says, "I don't think he's clever enough to figure out anything more complicated. Are you going to try?"
"Of course! Who do you think I am?" Maybe that was a bit cocky, but I'm always up for learning a new jutsu, especially if I'm better at it than a henge.
I open my eyes to the real world again, meeting my reflections gaze squarely in the mirror. Reforming the seal again I pull on my chakra. "Henge!" A puff of smoke (what a waste of chakra) obscures my vision momentarily.
The result is lackluster to say the least. Though my face changed slightly, now with a more angular bone structure and the slightly spikier strands of hair, my hair is still purple and my eyes are still a dull gunmetal grey. While I look significantly more like an Uchiha, I don't look like Madara. From my position on the floor I can't tell if I managed to transform myself to the proper height, but based on my small hands, only slightly larger than what they should be, I can guess that I lowballed it.
The jutsu releases with another puff of smoke and I cough as the extraneous chakra evaporates into the air. Well, success is only one step after failure, and it's not like I don't have the rest of the night to get it right.
Authors Note
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited! You guys are my motivation! Seriously, you have no idea how much it means to me to hear your comments.
As some of you might have noticed... I low key changed my OC's name. This is the first time, but I honestly just don't like her given name. I love Narukami, but Tatsuki just wasn't doing it for me. Hopefully Natsuki grows on me. That being said, there is a very specific reason I chose Natsuki, though it's very obscure. I kind of wonder if anyone will make the connection (although it's very unlikely.)
Other notes: holy shit. I wrote 6000 words for this chapter (and it was originally longer before I cut it in half), but this is honestly the longest chapter I've written for fan fiction before! I'm really proud of myself actually.
Aight, that's all I have for you folks.
Please review! I live for your feedback and it's really the only way I improve.
Over and Out,
Plouton