CHAPTER I: PROLOGUE
Naruto Uzumaki was eight (and a half!), and he was brilliant. Oh, his teachers would disagree, enthusiastically so — He couldn't pass a written exam even if he only had to sign his name! — but it took a genius to invent an entirely new jutsu with only a rudimentary understanding of chakra.
Splattered across his bed was his "research material." A pile of old magazines he had scavenged from the trash.
Pornography, others would say.
Naruto didn't care.
He was eight, so they were just weird gross books men bought to ogle at naked women.
Perverts.
It had taken a whole two months to figure it out, his jutsu with no name. Two whole months, from coming up with the idea, to learning enough about transformation techniques, to doing the necessary "research," and to polish his jutsu until it was perfect. And this time? It will be. Believe it!
Body trembling with barely contained mischief, a full toothed grin stretched across his chubby face. He made the hand-sign — Ram — and channelled his chakra throughout his body. Then, Poof!
Naruto felt his body change in an instant, chakra residue flashing off his skin.
He felt taller, now. Stretched, but not uncomfortably so. His head felt heavy, his short, spiky mop replaced with long flowing hair, tickling his backside. His chest, too, felt heavy, weighed down by, well, boobies.
He opened his eyes and turned to look at his reflection in the mirror.
The first thing he noticed was the steam.
It didn't look right, which is to say it was perfect.
Far too thick to be real steam, it looked more like wispy clouds snaking around him, preserving his modesty but, in the words of his magazines, "leaving everything to the tantalising imagination."
It was weird.
Men liked ogling naked women, but, apparently, they also didn't.
Naruto didn't understand, but, then again, he didn't need to understand.
The next thing he noticed was his proportions. They looked good. Natural. It was the second hardest part of the jutsu, right behind the steam. Yet, it had all been worth it. The sleepless nights. The endless trial and error. The, well, research. He was now a slim woman with a generous chest. Tall, though not too tall, with long, hairless legs. His stomach was flat, and there was no hint of muscle.
Idiot men thought muscle looked bad on women, and, though he disagreed, he wanted it to look perfect. And it was.
Then, he looked at his face, and —
Oh.
The world had stopped.
Naruto didn't know how long he had spent looking in the mirror, staring at the face that was his, but also wasn't. Seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours.
He turned, touching his face, and took in every detail.
Good.
It was good.
Better than his previous attempts, which always looked… off. Caricatures of what women looked like. Now, though? Now, it looked real. Like he was a real girl. He was still Naruto, of course. Bright blue eyes. Golden hair. Birthmarks like whiskers across his cheeks. Yet, he was a girl. An older girl with a beautiful face: sunshine given form.
It wasn't just that, though. Something was different. Naruto wasn't sure what, but —
A tightness in his chest; not something painful, nor scary like whenever Iruka-sensei held a surprise quiz at the Academy. It was a good feeling, or, well — he felt like it was a good feeling.
An aching excitement that bubbled within him.
Happy.
He felt happy, if he were to name it.
He should be happy — he just perfected his own jutsu!
Yet, that didn't quite fit. He was happy, but not because of the jutsu. He was aware enough of his own feelings to know that. As it were, at eight-years-old, Naruto Uzumaki didn't understand. Couldn't understand.
He wanted to, though.
Regardless. The jutsu worked. He was a girl. Not just any girl, but a pretty girl — and why did that make him feel all bubbly inside? He was a pretty girl, like the women in his magazines.
The grin returned with full force, devilish as always. "They'll never know what hit 'em."