The reality of war children is one that has pervaded Konohagakure's society since its conception a scant three generations prior. It's a reality Ueda Masanori understands well. After all, she has been involved with it since her own childhood, when she was turned over to the Kunoichi Orphanage as an infant.
Like many of the girls around her, Masanori was the product of a S.N.A mission: seduction and assassination. While the exact details of the mission are unknown to Masanori, the case files told her that her father was a wealthy Kiri merchant, though his name has long since faded into obscurity. Upon Masanori's mothers return home, she was already several months pregnant. She decided to offer her child to her village as a future kunoichi and placed her in the orphanage.
The system is devised in such a way to keep shinobi children on the career path started by their parents while simultaneously affording them the training usually guaranteed to shinobi born children.
Narukami Natsuki is an S.N.A child, Masanori notes as she fills out the Academy entrance application, leaving blank spaces where one would normally fill out parental information. Even the mother's information is redacted from Masanori's document's on the child.
Narukami Natsuki is odd. Well. Perhaps, Masanori amends, odd is the wrong word.
Natsuki's spontaneous delivery to the orphanage lacking the usual precursory interview is odd. Her almost supernatural intelligence and maturity is suspicious. And her unnaturally large chakra reserves that hum in an uncomfortable harmonization of two otherwise unique chakra signatures is enough for Masanori to demand a closer inspection of the child.
Masanori's paranoia has not waned since her resignation from the active kunoichi roster, and one does not survive three decades as a ninja by ignoring their gut instincts. Originally Masanori thought that a sleeper agent was slipped into her ranks, but Natsuki doesn't display any of the predicted behaviors often expressed by an agent.
Natsuki doesn't have the navigational abilities to map out the village in any capacity that could assist infiltrators, and though she has physically acquired the skill to traverse most of the vertically structured city, any truly secret location will remain out of her reach until she learns to either climb walls with some regularity, or learns to shunshin to her desired destination.
Though, if she does somehow have the ability to map the village, it doesn't matter because without growing up in Konoha one couldn't infiltrate the city safely. Between the three-dimensional element provided by the Senju's trees, the convoluted web of ropes, bridges, and branches that connected the Ground, Root, and Bridge levels together, and the total absence of any obvious paths into the Sky level made it near impossible to navigate the village without a guide. And that didn't even touch on the hidden traps and seals an infiltrator would have to avoid. Konoha is constructed as a veritable death trap for non-citizens.
Masanori doubts Natsuki herself could even transverse Konoha, let alone map it while finding and marking all the security and defensive seals. Most of the time she couldn't even find an empty training field on Ground level.
However, Masanori already determined Natsuki's innocence even before she was given permission to wander the village. Natsuki's distrust of Danzo's ROOT operatives was the deciding factor. For anyone who wanted access to valuable information would have jumped at the opportunity to join ROOT. Masanori decided that Natsuki's total rejection of Yamanaka Toshi was enough to demonstrate she isn't a sleeper.
Which means, technically, Natsuki qualifies to join a ninja academy. Preferably The Konoha Ninja Academy. A lesser academy would really be unsuitable for the child considering her work ethic and intelligence. She is shaping up to be quite a little genius.
"Masanori-san?" Natsuki jogs into the room, dirty sandals leaving muddy prints behind her, and Masanori barely suppresses a sigh of annoyance. She hates cleaning.
The child's dark purple hair curls around her cheeks and brushes against her jaw in the same wild spikes often associated with the Uchiha clan, and coupled with her pale skin and dark eyes, the resemblance is uncanny. Superstition would have her believe that perhaps, in a past life, she carried the blood of the great clan in her veins.
The sweltering early August heat has seen the girl exchange the usual unisex uniform worn by all the orphanage children with a thin tank top tied at the back to keep the length from tripping her. It is probably taken from a lost and found box. Her shorts remain those provided by the orphanage, but are sheared shorter as to not inhibit any flexibility in her legs. Duct taped sandals complete her look, and Masanori is reminded to purchase her a pair of proper ninja sandals following her enrollment in the Ninja Academy.
"Yes, Natsu-chan?" Masanori asks.
"We're going out to train," she says, "We left Himiko and Daiki upstairs to watch Isao and play with kunai. I stabbed Daiki when I was demo-ing a counter for Himiko. So he's crying."
"You what?"
"It's for training. He shoulda known to dodge," Natsuki explains again before practically bouncing over to the door, disappearing outside and launching herself off the platform and throwing a: "We're off!" over her shoulder.
Occasionally a moment like this occurs, when Masanori is reminded that despite Natsuki's almost prodigal nature, she is still clearly lacking in a few places. Usual her inabilities fall within the social realm. She doesn't play or talk with the other kids, and when she does it often results in tears from the other party. Daichi, in this case.
Masanori pushes herself away from the table to go tend to the probably bleeding child in the back room. She makes her way to the door before turning back to the table. She picks up the pen and signs her name, completing the form.
I, Ueda Masanori, hereby nominate Narukami Natsuki for kunoichi training at The Konoha Ninja Academy.
While Masanori is fairly confident Natsuki could match all but the oldest academy students in combat related areas, her social abilities are nearly nonexistent. Masanori blamed these faults on the girl's lack of friends. Instead she mutters to herself and disappear for hours to train on her own.
The academy will be good for her. It will finally force her to make some friends beyond her imaginary one.
[Entropy]
Delta verse is different. Very different. And neither Madara nor I am sure how much these differences could potentially alter the timeline. Which is… dangerous. Without our foreknowledge, what can we do?
The village itself is vastly changed from Madara's memories. While Konoha is geologically located in the same place, and the general lay out seems vaguely familiar, the construction of the Village Hidden in the Leafs actually hidden in the leaves creates a very different village that supports a very different community than the one we recall.
Madara doesn't actually seem too worried. He's choked it up to simply: so what if it's different, I'm still striving for peace. And I'll do whatever I need to make my dream a reality.
Let it be noted that he is not the reliable personality, and if his dumb ass gets us killed I will haunt him into the next life. This world is too volatile and the people who inhabit this world are dangerous.
"Don't worry so much, Natsu-gaki, I'm a bigger threat to anyone alive than they are to me." He forgets my involvement in this equation. But I suppose my survival as a civilian isn't guaranteed any more then my survival as a kunoichi, though I raised my odds as surviving as a kunoichi a little because of Madara.
He's shown me some of his combat related memories.
He is terrifying.
I am not terrifying, I acknowledge as I pick myself up off the muddy ground, after failing yet another taijutsu combo.
The ground is muddy and unstable from this morning's downpour and is making my training even more difficult than usual. Despite the strong stances that permeate the Uchiha style, the abrupt twists and feints and crisp acrobatics feel jerky and stiff when I attempt them. Madara is becoming more and more convinced that his old taijutsu style won't be suitable for our body type. Unfortunately, he doesn't have another cohesive style he to teach, so we have to make due.
As a result, I tend to prioritize our ninjutsu. Not to brag or anything, but I am good at ninjutsu. Like crazy good. Especially for someone of my physical age. I mean, I am 'blowing proper portioned fireballs and pulling mud walls the ground' kind of good. I could hold a henge for hours and we've almost reverse engineered Naruto's transformation enough for practical combat application.
Madara mostly attributes this to our chakra reserves. According to him, he was reincarnated with all of his chakra (which raises some questions about the mechanics used to send Madara back in time and across dimensions), so instead of suffering from chakra exhaustion when I exhausted my own (fairly large, if I do say so myself) reserves I could, theoretically, start pulling from his.
The biggest issue, however, is my lack of chakra control. Which is probably one of the reasons harder justus seemed to come easier. If a technique requires more chakra from the outset, then it doesn't really matter if I overshoot the mark by a bit. It doesn't require the same adjustments as tree climbing or sticking a leaf to our body, two things which we couldn't do to save our lives.
All in all, I thought our training was going pretty well considering we wouldn't even be taking the Academy entrance exam for another week. Madara thought we were shit. But I suppose that is expected considering he was one of the most powerful ninja ever.
I overbalance in a high kick and my feet slide out from under me again, sending me back into the mud. Irritated, I wipe the mud from my cheeks.
"You are terrible at this," comes the supportive response from Madara. "Have you tried being less terrible?"
"Shut up."
"No, no. I'm serious. Be less terrible. It's really not that hard." Madara says, and I grind my teeth. "Or. Hey. I don't know. Maybe. If you stopped thinking so much about ninjutsu when you are supposed to be practicing taijutsu, you won't keep making the same mistake," he continues, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
Sometimes I just want to punch his stupid face.
"If you punch me, I will punch back. I will hurt you more than you hurt me," he threatens, but I can feel his amusement, so I brush it off.
"I'm stopping for the day. Before I break an ankle in the mud," I say, picking myself out ooze and wiping my filthy hands on my equally filthy (though thankfully already brown) shorts and ignore Madara's protests as I wander away from the training ground. I add: "going to Mechi's for food," to shut the him up.
The streets and bridges are packed; I note as I tromp down the street. Ground level is always full of visiting merchants and vendors, though Root level is more densely packed with stores and houses. Civilian traffic fills the wooden paths and bridges of Root level.
I weave my way through the crowd and duck under the canvas flaps and into our favorite restaurant and most frequented lunch spot, The Eddy. Even though Madara and I don't have a lot of extra money to splurge on buying lunch, the owner, Mechi, is a friend of Masanori's, and gives us a discount whenever we come in after training. Especially when I look like I lost a fight with the dirt.
I amuse her, I'm sure.
The restaurant is carved into a tree with three large archways, covered partially by red canvas flaps decorated with artfully painted whirlpools. Wooden tables, also seemingly carved from the Senju tree line the edge of the room and a sushi bar dominates the center of the room, surrounded by stools, all slightly taller than myself.
A few people are already sitting for lunch, mostly civilians, but a small contingent of genin have taken over a few tables in the back corner and a pair of, I assume, jounin are seated at the bar. One of them is slouched awkwardly on the stool and glowering at her friend. I realize she is paralyzed on her left side. Her friend is laughing loudly and twirling a senbon cheekily between her fingers and feeding her temporarily paralyzed partner slices of sashimi.
I clamber gracelessly onto one of the bar stools, a few seats away from the jounin and meet the Mechi's grinning face.
"If it isn't my favorite little fire breather," She chortles, "not here to set my fine establishment on fire again are you?"
I glare at the grinning chef, ignoring Madara's own chuckle at my expense. "It was one time!"
"One time too many, I think you mean," Mechi says, "So what'll it be today?"
"Mochi please!"
"No. Eat something healthy!" Madara reprimands.
Mechi laughs, "After you actually have something to eat. With all those calories you're burning, you need to remember to eat a balanced diet, and mochi doesn't cut it."
"Uuuugh," I groan, "fine. We'll have th—"
"Too late!" Mechi slides a plate of nigiri onto the counter in front of me and shoves a pair of chopsticks into my hand. "Order faster next time, before I order for you." And then she whisks herself to the other side of the sushi bar to serve another customer, red ponytail bouncing behind her. She must have started preparing this dish the moment she saw me.
Mechi isn't a pretty woman. Her face is scared; haunting gouges rip from her jaw line through her lips and across her cheek preventing her mouth from completely closing over her teeth. Her left ear is missing and presumably hacked off with the same blade that carved deep ruts into her cheeks. Her hair mostly covers the hole where her ear used to be, and the vibrant red strands detract attention from the scars. Her left leg, is also missing, replaced below the knee with a prosthetic decorated in the same swirls as the restaurant entry flaps.
Her career as a kunoichi clearly ended poorly.
Despite her appearance, her food has won over a fairly loyal following of customers, both ninja and civilian alike, myself included. I shovel the sushi into my mouth barely pausing to take a breath between each piece.
"Slow down. Your table manners are unseemly."
"Ever the critic, aren't you," but I do slow down, savoring the toro as it practically melts on my tongue. "Where do you think she gets her fish from?"
"Why would I know?" Madara asks as he slides beneath my skin where he can taste the fish, "Have the hamachi next."
I comply, shoving the nigari into my mouth. "Maybe, if it's cheap we can convince Masanori to buy some."
"It won't be cheap, but ask anyway. Bribe Masanori for inarizushi too." Madara recedes from his place under my skin with a grunt of disgust as I bite into the ikura. I chew thoughtfully and finish the roe nigiri before allowing Madara to slide back into place.
"Hey, Mechi?" I call when the chef hands of a platter of rolls to a waitress.
She throws a pair of chopsticks at me – "It's 'Mechi-sama' to you, fire child!" – and I sway out of the way easily. If Mechi really wanted to hit me with the sticks she would have.
I interrupt her before she can really get started in her rant. "Where do you get your fish from?"
The chef pauses and blinks at me with an expression of incredulity. "Where do you think?" The 'idiot' is implied.
The ocean, I think. But that is clearly the wrong answer.
"Wave?" Comes Madara's helpful suggestion which I repeat to a dumbfounded Mechi.
"Why would I get my fish from Wave? No, no," she tuts and shakes her head disappointedly. "It's so easy to forget you haven't learned any geography since you aren't in the academy yet, little fire breather. But I would have thought you knew the origins of one of the six noble clans of Konoha."
"I thought there were only four?" I ask Madara, staring at Mechi in confusion.
"Five, if you include the Senju. But they were removed once they only had one member left," Madara corrects me.
"We only knew about five…" I offer by way of explanation when Mechi doesn't start speaking right away.
"Only knew fiv—Kid, ether Masa-chan has been slacking in her history lessons, or you haven't been paying attention. Alright, sit down and get comfy, I'm going to teach you a thing." Mechi whirls suddenly and shouts, "Akihiko," at one of the waiters, "You man the bar!"
The gangly teen stutters out a response but Mechi has already brushed him off and settled herself against the counter in front of me. "Ok. So you know of five of the six major clans. I'm guessing Senju," I nod, "of course. They get a lot of attention because of their fancy mokuton. Small clan but a good one for sure."
"And they founded Konoha with the Uchiha. So we also know them."
"Mm. Uchiha make two. Akimichi you definitely know because I've seen you scoffing down Akimichi Chomei's pork buns before. Although, you don't recognize my clan so maybe you have more smoke up there then I thought." She reaches over to knock her knuckles against my skull.
I swipe at her hand in irritation but she pulls it away before I can make contact. "We know about the Akimichi clan. A few weeks ago one of their chunin almost stepped on us." Madara was very amused by my sloppy attempt to dodge out from under the gigantic teenager. Hopefully he would have been less amused if I'd actually been squashed, but he's a sadist so it's hard to say.
"Alright then. There is the Huuga. White eyes. In a competition with the Uchiha to see who can be bigger pricks." Mechi continues without batting an eyelash at my almost death at the hands (or feet, I suppose) of the Akimichi shinobi.
"Yeah, they're—"
"Irrelevant," Mechi bulldozes over me. "Aburame would be next. Pretty cool clan if you can get past the bugs. Definitely produce some of the best ninja this village has seen. Never underestimate one."
She imparts this particular piece of wisdom solemnly. I have no doubts that she knows what she is talking about, and I almost ask for details before Madara shushes me with a "Trust me. You really don't want to know considering you only recently got comfortable with centipedes in your bed."
"They bite!" I complain and shove a piece of unagi into my mouth to disguise my grimace from Mechi's observant gaze.
"That's five. Six is the Uzumaki clan." I choke, coughing into my hand and spitting small pieces of rice back onto my plate. Unconcerned, Mechi reaches over the bar to pat my back as I hack up the eel.
"Uzumaki clan?"
"They were practically extinct in my multi-verse," Madara hums thoughtfully. "They had their own independent ninja village but it was destroyed."
My coughing ceases under Mechi's heavy hand. "Learn to breath between bites and you won't choke."
I glare at her, but the tears that unwillingly welled up in my eyes and my flushed cheeks ruin my chances at intimidation. Mechi snickers, ruffling my hair—it's already messy, damn it! Leave it alone! – and withdraws behind the counter before I can stab her offending hand with my utensils.
"As I was saying before you started dying in the most embarrassing way a future ninja can die, my clan," she pointed to a red spiral on her prosthetic, "the Uzumaki clan became the sixth noble clan of Konoha after Nindaime-sama rose to power. Which really makes no sense considering the Uzumaki were involved in the creation of Konoha right from the start."
A team crowd of shinobi, chunin I would guess based on the sandpaper like quality of their chakra. Unrefined and grating in comparison to the silky texture I feel from the jounin pair at the other end of the bar. One, a young man with delicately braided red hair salutes short to Mechi, who nods back. Another Uzumaki.
"We knew that," I say.
"No you didn't," Mechi retorts without missing a beat, returning her attention to me.
"We knew Nindaime-sama was married to Soudai-sama," my tongue twists awkwardly around the formal honorifics and Madara makes a gagging sounds to my amusement. Honorifics really aren't something I'm used to using.
"Wow. Good job. Gold star," the woman shoots a thumbs up at me, "you know so much."
I roll my eyes at her sarcasm, "rude."
"I'm allowed to be. I'm an adult. Now. Scram. I have actual paying customers to entertain. No more cultural lessons for fire breathers." She shoos me.
"You still haven't told me where you get your fish from." Madara's internal sigh parallels Mechi's.
"Uzushiogakure, brat. She gets it from her homeland."
"Go pester someone else about my clan. Make your way down to the compound or something. Now unless you want to spend money, scat." She jerks towards me and I flinch back in surprise, pinwheeling my arms and kicking my legs out to catch the counter lip. Mechi pushed me the rest of the way off my stool with a firm hand and I find myself sprawled gracelessly on the floor.
The still semi-paralyzed jounin at the other end of the bar snickered at me over her friend's shoulder.
"Alright, alright," I grumble, clambering to my feet. "I'm going!" I make it halfway to the door before realizing that I have no idea where the Uzumaki compound is. Do they haven have a cohesive compound? Or is it more like the Uchiha compound that is liberally spread between multiple trees and at least three of the four primary levels?
I turn back to ask but Mechi beats me to it. "South of the SMH. Watch for seals!"
I nod and throw a wave over my shoulder, running out the door towards Konoha's primary ninja hospital. Or at least. I think I'm headed towards Konoha's primary ninja hospital. This city really is stupidly difficult to navigate.
[Entropy]
The Uzumaki clan did turn out to have a proper compound. It's a singular tree, from Ground to Sky level, directly south of the Senju Memorial Hospital.
"How the fuck did we miss this?" I imagine Madara's jaw dropping.
"Dunno." I shrug a shoulder and cock my head to the side, staring up at the massive tree from my place on Ground level. The crowd continues to flow past me barely even acknowledging the kaleidoscope of sound and colors that pour off the compound. "It's so red."
"Yes it is."
"And big."
"How many Uzumaki are there?" Madara asks, to which my only response is another helpless shrug. "They must have moved the whole clan out of Uzu after Mito became the Nindaime."
I shake my head at that, ignoring the odd look I get from a passing pedestrian. "Not possible. The whole Uzumaki clan was large enough to be their own fully functional shinobi village," I pause, think for a moment, and finally decide: "They'd need at least three trees then."
"Perhaps," Madara considers.
The Uzumaki compound is wrapped around the trunk of the great tree, spiraling higher and higher until large branches hide the Sky level from view. Red banners proudly display the Uzumaki swirl and fairy lights are twisted around stray branches and rope bridges. People are climbing from floor to floor, swinging on vines, and I can even see a few people rappelling down walls. An explosion sounds from somewhere near the top, and ah, that explains the scent of smoke that clings to the red and green compound.
It's so full of life.
Madara has it right. How the hell did we miss this.
I take a step forward and peer through the crowd. "We should try get in. It looks like there are stores in the roots. If we walk over there then we can see if we can climb in."
"Wait, wait!" Madara's shout halts me. "Seals! Can't you feel them?" He pauses and waits for my acknowledgement.
"Feel them? What. With chakra?" I squint up at the tree again, searching for the inked symbols.
"Yes, idiot."
"'Kay." I press my hands together into the ram sign and focus. A minute passes before I drop my hands. "Nope. I can't feel them."
"Oh?" An oily voice right over my shoulder asks. A yelp slips through my lips and I'm whirling around, fist swinging before I can stop myself. The man catches me easily, long fingers wrap around my small wrist and an amused smirk pulls at thin lips and his yellow eyes glitter. "Can't feel what?"
I flinch back more on instinct than anything else, because meeting Orochimaru, much like everything else that's happened to us in this life, was never part of the plan.