Mikoto's independence was scheduled to be taken from her.
A team of helpful nurses assisted her with using the bathroom and showering, then walked her through her care plan as she poked disheartedly at her breakfast. After they left her there—squeaky clean and full under a fresh set of blankets—she sat alone for a further three and a half hours waiting for a doctor who could officially discharge her to arrive. She took the opportunity to mentally browse the System's glossary for points of interest. She'd been taking the time to go over the information available to her in hopes that it would prepare her for the journey ahead, but it was a dense slog of information to sift through with a damaged brain. She forced herself to take regular breaks so she wouldn't hamper her own recovery.
Unfortunately, in spite of the careful effort she was taking, she found herself nursing a pulsating headache in no time. Her eyes stung with overexertion. Mikoto laid down and draped her arm over her face, trying to block out the light of the sun.
It was inevitable that this would be the state the doctor discovered her in. He entered after a hurried, courteous knock. "Mikoto-san? I'm sorry for disturbing you. Are you awake?"
"Yes," Mikoto answered plainly. She sighed quietly, then pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Is that you, Gennai-sensei?"
"That's right. I'm just here to look over you one last time before we release you back to your family."
At that, Mikoto felt a twinge in her stomach. She opened her eyes into a squint to regard her visitors.
Gennai Hajime was a fresh-faced man with maroon hair and round spectacles sitting on the tip of his nose. His young appearance didn't necessarily indicate that he wasn't an experienced or trustworthy doctor. In Mikoto's limited experience, this brand new world was sparse on people she could only refer to as belonging to "the previous generation". Whether it was the magic chakra giving everyone anti-wrinkle genes or the neverending conflicts keeping the average person's life expectancy somewhere around middle-aged, Mikoto had not met a single person yet who she could confidently identify as a pensioner.
And to the left of Gennai-sensei stood Mikoto's wayward husband and son.
Fugaku was wearing the green flak vest that all senior ninja seemed to wear, and dark clothes underneath. Itachi was sitting in the crook of his arm, his big baby head lying peacefully on his father's shoulder, blinking heavily and slowly as he looked around the room. When his gaze finally landed on her, he flopped his hand aimlessly in Mikoto's direction, but otherwise didn't move.
The doctor approached her on the bed. "Your little one is due for a nap," He said kindly, pulling up a chair. "Don't worry, this part won't take long, then you'll be free to go home to spend some quality time together. I'm sure it's overdue by now."
"Thank you," Mikoto responded neutrally. Fugaku looked down at the top of his son's head, then flicked his eyes back over to her. His expression was difficult to read.
You sure you can't tell me what that supposed betrothal contract looks like?
「 Item: 'Betrothal Contract' is not located in Host's inventory. 」
Mikoto lost the staring contest—by choice, if you asked her. She turned her attention towards the task of answering Gennai-sensei's questions as succinctly as possible, allowed him to take her vitals as he deemed fit, and signed a few forms that basically relinquished the hospital of its responsibility to her continued health. If she had a heart attack as soon as she stepped out of this building, they technically didn't have to do anything about it because she wasn't their patient anymore.
As it turned out, this world was pretty firm on the legal responsibilities of their trained personnel outside of the workplace—namely, that there were none. They had no obligation whatsoever to give first aid if they weren't on the clock. The only reason Mikoto knew this was because she'd eavesdropped on one of the nurse's changing her stitches. She was complaining to her coworker about how her barbeque date was ruined by another patron choking on his beef skewer, and had looked deeply offended when Mikoto asked if it had been a terrible imposition on her time to assist the man after he'd choked. Apparently it was pretty rude to expect medical assistance from any old stranger on the street, even if that stranger could bring you back from the brink of death with the use of magical chakra. Mikoto found the entire thing completely bizarre and didn't know how to process the utter lack of moral fibre these people had in their day-to-day lives.
Once the paperwork was dealt with, Gennai clapped his hands together and stood with a loud exhale. "That's it, you're free to go! Unless you have any more questions for me?"
It was Fugaku who replied: "No."
There was an awkward pause. Mikoto and Gennai waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He was evidently very serious.
Gennai graciously laughed it off. "I suppose you could always ask Orochimaru-sama if you got stuck anywhere! You're fortunate, Fugaku-sama. Well, I'll leave you to it. Please enjoy the rest of your day, Mikoto-san."
He made himself scarce pretty quickly.
Mikoto watched him leave, feeling a little forlorn.
Just like that, it was just her and her stolen family alone in her hospital room, for the first time since she'd woken up.
There obviously wasn't a rush for either of them to start speaking. In fact, no one spoke for nearly a minute. Mikoto was working up the courage to be an adult about the whole thing when Fugaku asked, "Do you need help standing?"
Mikoto looked at him. He was standing by the doorway, his stance wide, giving off an aura like an immovable statue.
She huffed in disbelief. "I'll manage," She declined sourly, proceeding to make a fool of herself as she fought to free her legs from her blankets. She made liberal use of the bed's handrails to support her as she teetered to her feet. One aspect of her care plan was a makeshift attempt at physiotherapy, so this wasn't the first time she'd used her legs since waking from her coma a week ago, but the trek home would be the longest walk by far. She wasn't too excited at the idea of it.
Without budging, Fugaku left her to single-handedly destroy her own dignity. He only shifted when Mikoto was finally standing up independently, and it was to switch Itachi over to his other side. "Do you need to rest before we go?"
Mikoto sighed. "You want me to sit down?"
She would do it, but she wouldn't be getting up again! Not alone!
Fugaku must have accepted that as a response, because he opened the door and led the way out. Mikoto followed him at a pace that could sensibly be referred to as a totter.
And so began Mikoto's homecoming.
It was her first taste of the village that she would now call home. Konohagakure was huge, but it was hard to get a sense for its true scale without properly exploring it; she suspected that she wouldn't have the stamina or time to do that for a while, but made a mental note to get around to it. In her original life, she enjoyed taking walks in solitude, considering it a relaxing past-time. It wouldn't hurt to rely on a familiar comfort in a situation like this.
Fugaku didn't have to stray from the main road once. Some strangers stared—at him, in recognition, and then at her, in disgust—but he didn't stop. Fugaku had the grace not to leave her in the dust at least, so she would credit him with that, but it was a stretch to say that he was a gentleman, let alone polite.
He maintained a minimum three step gap ahead of her, didn't look back once, and obviously the conversation was nonexistent. Mikoto didn't know what they would talk about—in fact, she was actively dreading the moment when she would have to do it with this man—but was still hypocritically discomfited to find herself on the receiving end of a particularly frigid cold shoulder.
Eventually the quiet, combined with the rocking motion of their walk, eased Itachi to sleep. With that Mikoto released any expectations she had that the awkward tension would be broken by small-talk. The sleeping baby could not be disturbed, after all. Even an amateur like her could understand that much.
Their slow and steady pace at long last delivered them to the Uchiha clan compound. Mikoto evidently belonged to a large family; the clan occupied a considerable borough on the outskirts of the village, decent enough in size that you could call it a city and no one would argue with you, and they alone filled it with ease. The walls were tall and made of dark wood, and the gate was painted with a large red-and-white fan—their clan emblem.
In some way or another, whether it was by blood or by creed, Mikoto was related to everyone within these walls. It meant that she was going to be recognised as soon as she stepped through the gates of the walled community. With that came a different pressure from the hospital. There, Mikoto was a relative unknown, and everyone who interacted with her knew about her amnesia diagnosis. They treated her mostly like a blank slate, a little bit like a piece of furniture sometimes.
The anonymity was comforting. But it wasn't made to last.
At the Uchiha compound, it was clear from the very first person they encountered that Mikoto was a known figure.
People waved at them as they walked through the streets, smiling and calling out greetings. Mikoto limited herself to waving back politely. No one gasped or cringed at her scar. It was a fair assumption that gruesome injuries were a natural consequence of life in this universe, but an ugly scar such as hers clearly opposed an existing beauty standard, because the strangers back on the main street had looked horrified by her appearance. None of that seemed to matter to the clan members they passed, for whatever reason. It was relieving not to be gawked at.
As they passed a shop that smelled like it might be a bakery, Fugaku slowed down nearly to a complete stop. Mikoto discovered the reason before she could think to ask him the question.
An older woman with streaks of grey in her hair flew out from behind the curtains of her store, beaming wildly at her visitors.
Alerted by a dormant instinct, Mikoto stood straighter to brace herself for a hug of some sort, but the stranger ended up stopping at a respectful arm's distance away, "Mikoto-chan! Oh, what a relief that you're finally home!"
"Thank you," She returned dutifully. The words stopped there. "I…"
Damn. System, please open her character sh—
Something rustled over her shoulder. Fugaku spoke close to her ear, his voice dipped to a low rumble, "Her name is Uchiha Saname. She was your babysitter before you started the Academy."
「 Host? 」
"What do I…" Mikoto whispered back, tense.
"Call her Saname-neechan."
Bingo.
Ignore me, system.
「 Understood! 」
Mikoto flashed a quick, thankful smile at Fugaku and turned back to the old baker. "Thank you, Saname-neechan," It sounded robotic coming from her mouth, though the older woman didn't appear to notice anything amiss. Mikoto scrambled for anything else to say. "How have things been in my absence?"
"Business as usual, you know how it goes. Shohei has a new recipe, I think you'll like it quite a bit! Why don't you stop by tomorrow morning and give it a try? Once you've rested, of course! You poor thing, you look so thin and exhausted…"
Fugaku, again, in a near conspiratorial whisper: "Shohei is her husband." Then he said in a louder, more direct tone, "We appreciate the generous offer, but unfortunately, Mikoto is still on a restricted diet and will be for a few weeks yet. Maybe we can return when her stomach can handle solid foods again."
Saname made a noise of understanding. "By then, Tachicchan should be onto solids as well," She said, then laughed. "I should prepare a treat for the whole family to enjoy!"
"That would be very kind of you."
"No problem, no problem at all! Why, if only everyone was around to enjoy it— Oh, forgive me, Mikoto-chan. It's already been four years, yet I still find myself looking for him whenever I see you…"
There was a pause. Mikoto shot a confused look in Fugaku's direction, but he didn't return it. He and Saname wore equally solemn faces, and let the silence sit for a couple of very heavy seconds. Reading the room, Mikoto bit her tongue.
Then, Saname sighed, shook her head, and smiled again. "No matter, I don't want to get you down, not when you need to be focused on recovering. Go home and get some rest! My husband and I will be ready for you when you visit us next!"
She waved at them to get on their way so Mikoto could lay down with her 'cute son who she has surely missed' and take a well-deserved nap. Fugaku accepted her well-wishes politely in Mikoto's stead.
They finally managed to move about twenty stops away from the bakery before being interrupted again; this time by the owner of a weapons store who burst out of his store to shout, "Mikoto-sama! You're alive!"
"Hatsuya-san. You've been a regular customer since you were seven," Fugaku warned her quietly.
Mikoto plastered on a genial smile and greeted Hatsuya The Weapon Store Owner by name.
After enduring a short conversation outside his store wherein Hatsuya swore up and down he would never sell a battle axe for as long as he was in business—which Mikoto thought was a sweet if not useless sentiment—Fugaku masterfully extracted them once more from the conversation with a pointed reminder that Mikoto needed to sit down and take her medications.
Like that, they managed to complete the walk home without stopping again, though it was not without its interruptions. Many people came out to the street to give their well-wishes. Fugaku knew every name. A small part of Mikoto was surprised that he could remember so many, but he was the leader of the clan, so perhaps her assumption was uncalled for; what was definitely above-and-beyond was Fugaku's ability to instantly recall what Mikoto's relationship to any given stranger was. He was able to provide such concise, yet in-depth descriptions that he put the system to shame. It was weird to hear him speak so much, and a consolation for both of them that nothing he said required an answer from her.
As soon as they arrived at their front door, Fugaku unlocked it, entered the house, and shucked off his shoes with the ease of someone who was used to doing it with his hands full. Mikoto hovered awkwardly in the doorway, but there was nothing else to do except enter. Fugaku didn't wait around for her, briskly disappearing into another room. It sounded like he was filling a pot with water.
She quietly took off her sandals and put them in the shoerack's empty spot, deciding it would be best if she just went in the same direction as him.
Fugaku was in the kitchen, watching a pot boil. Itachi was sitting up in his arms, his eyes bleary with sleep but nevertheless round with interest. Mikoto hadn't realised he'd woken up, he'd been so quiet about it. In Fugaku's spare hand he held a bottle of milk; he must have gotten it from the refrigerator, because the outside was fogged over with condensation.
"Itachi is hungry," Fugaku explained without waiting for a prompt to speak. Perhaps their quest on the streets warmed up his vocal chords; he didn't seem to have any issues with talking to her now. His son didn't seem impatient or fussy; he merely stared at the boiling water with intense focus, as if he had an otherworldly understanding that heating up a pot of water was step one in a process that would eventually feed him. "It's time for lunch."
"I see." The water spat out of the pot. "How old is he?"
"Twenty-three weeks."
Why did parents always do that?
"So, he'll be turning six months soon." Fugaku hummed in what Mikoto guessed was approval. "Is he old enough for solid food?"
"He's trying solids, but it has to be puréed. He can't handle a lot. Milk is his primary food source."
"Oh."
The water must have been hot enough. Fugaku carefully deposited the cold bottle into the pot.
"Where do you get the milk?"
Fugaku paused. She was almost glad he recognised the problem that she realised when her breastfeeding seal had been removed. "We have some stored in the refrigerator."
The original goods must have prepared a great deal of stock before leaving for her mission. Mikoto wondered how long she expected to be gone. A week? Did she over-prepare? What would that matter, with how long she'd spent hospitalised? Mikoto opened the refrigerator to confirm what she strongly suspected to be the case; indeed, only four bottles were left on the shelf.
She didn't know how often a baby needed to be fed, but she understood that four bottles wouldn't last even the next two days, nor could it be stretched to cover the length of time necessary before a baby could be safely weaned off breast milk.
Mikoto's head felt fuzzy, like it wasn't even attached to the rest of her body. The cold air from the open refrigerator caused her skin to prickle unpleasantly. "This won't last," She heard somebody say. It might have been her own voice. It sounded so far away. "How will we get more?"
"You should sit down."
"How will we get more?"
A tired sigh. "There is a pump," Fugaku explained stonily. "You don't have to… Itachi needn't feed directly from you. He can hold a bottle."
A pump. Well, of course there was a pump. And of course his son could hold a bottle. Why would Mikoto leave her breastfeeding baby if neither of those things were true? That wouldn't make sense. Yet she couldn't deny a wave of relief that washed over her, so strong that her knees shook. "Where is the pump? Maybe I should prepare some more for him."
The doctors at the hospital did tell her that her hormones should be back at their normal levels by the time she returned home. Her chest felt tender. Her body was probably due to express soon.
"...The equipment is in the room. I can show you later."
"Okay, thank—"
The sound of someone pounding their fist on the front door interrupted them. Mikoto jumped out of her skin at the resounding noise, and then again when she caught a glimpse of Fugaku's face; it had been transformed by a harsh, furious scowl. Chills travelled down her spine.
Mikoto moved with the intention of answering the door—after all, Fugaku was in the middle of something—but he said sharply, "Just sit down."
She was obeying before she'd registered it.
As soon as Mikoto's butt was firmly planted on a cushion, Fugaku stormed over and handed Itachi to her, then took large, angry strides off towards the entryway.
In her lap, Itachi stared at her with his enormous dark eyes, a sweet gummy smile appearing on his face, crooked and pink. "Hi," Mikoto said. She had not had an opportunity to hold him since that very first time. "It's me again."
Joyfully, Itachi began bouncing like he wanted to push up onto his legs. His wriggling was alarming. What if he fell over and smashed his head on the floor? The risk seemed imminent with how good he was at squirming. Mikoto tried desperately to hold him still, but for a baby, he was surprisingly strong. In the end she had to settle for holding him around his waist and supporting him as he stood. His arms were waving around everywhere. He was sure to take her eye out at this rate.
That was when Fugaku opened the door. It was to an upset woman who didn't waste a second before yelling, "Gaku! Why didn't you tell me she was awake? Can't you tell how worried I've been?!"
Fugaku's reply was clearly agitated. "As I said, she isn't well enough for visitors."
"Screw that. I'm not just anybody, you know!"
"You aren't listening—"
"Mikoto-chan!" The unexpected visitor blew right past Fugaku and appeared like a whirlwind in the kitchen entryway. She was not so much a woman as she was a teenager on the cusp of adulthood, with bright red hair tied into a thick ponytail and a cute round face, wrinkled up with distress.
"Holy shit, Mikoto, look at you!" She cried out. "Your hair—oh goodness, I'm so glad you're alive!" The stranger threw herself onto the floor and wrapped around Mikoto in a hug, trapping her head against her collarbone and the baby… somewhere else? Mikoto couldn't tell. She could hardly breathe. The stranger smelled strangely salty.
That's when Mikoto realised that the girl was crying.
"So worried, so worried, you have no idea! Everyone kept saying it'd be better to leave you behind but I don't think I could have lived with myself if I had—Oh, Mikoto, how could I have faced Itachi, you know?"
Ah, so that's how it was. "You were the one who brought me back?"
Her second miracle wailed: "I couldn't leave you there!"
Mikoto was abruptly glad that her husband hadn't reacted like this. "Thank you for saving me."
She sobbed, swaying their bodies back and forth in a self-soothing rhythm. "All I did was bring you back. If Orochimaru-sensei wasn't in the village, y'know, who knows what could have happened!"
"He told me about it. I have many people's efforts to be grateful for. I'll spend the rest of my life showing my gratitude."
"I— yes, well it was… it was a bit difficult—" Spluttering, she shot back onto her heels, her hands settling on Mikoto's shoulders. Her violet-coloured eyes were swollen with tears. She looked gobsmacked underneath the misery. The girl frowned at Mikoto, then over her shoulder in the direction Fugaku must have been standing. Finally, she looked down at Itachi, as if he was going to say anything.
Her mouth hung open like a fish. "You'll what? The rest of your life— Huh?"
Unsure what she had done wrong, Mikoto elected to stay silent.
As she was tentatively beginning to expect, Fugaku stepped in at the first sign of a problem. "Kushina, are you ready to listen now?"
The teenager snorted, "Listen to what? Mikoto, are the painkillers messing with you that bad? Actually, you've let me hug and blubber on you for so long, you know, and you're even holding Itachi… Are you okay?"
"Uh."
"You little—" Fugaku pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kushina. I am serious. We need to talk." He turned off the stove, shook up the warm bottle of milk, and came closer to hand it off to Mikoto. She took it nervously. It was a bit absurd that Fugaku was using his son to distract her, but it was undeniably working, even if the responsibility simultaneously left her feeling light-headed.
His voice when he spoke to Kushina—who was his teammate, the one who helped save Mikoto was his goddamn teammate; no wonder Orochimaru-sensei said she owed her life as much to her husband as she did anyone else—seemed a bit strained. "Perhaps it would be best to do it privately?"
"Why? Is something wrong? Something is wrong, isn't it? Mikoto is acting off. She doesn't look mad at all."
"Let's just go to another room and I'll explain everything."
"You don't mind?" Kushina asked the woman in her arms. "I mean, don't you want to tell me yourself what's going on, you know? Why does Fugaku have to explain—"
"Please just go with him," Mikoto pleaded. "He knows better what is happening than I do."
Kushina was still frowning when she released Mikoto's shoulders. She shot to her feet, turning a stern look in Fugaku's direction, making it clear where she was laying the blame for the confusing interaction.
Fugaku jerked his chin in the direction of the hallway and said, "Just hurry up."
"You're so rude," Kushina scoffed, though she did leave the room with him.
Meanwhile, Mikoto was ignoring the awkwardness of them going somewhere private with explicit intent to discuss her, occupying her time instead with productive ventures such as: troubleshooting the best way to hold Itachi in her arms before feeding him.
Surely flat on his back would make him choke? And sitting up straight couldn't be too comfortable, never mind that he didn't have the muscles to manage that anyway. She switched her sitting position from kneeling to cross-legged, and deposited Itachi into her lap like that, putting him sideways so that her arm and thigh kept him elevated at a slight angle. It seemed good enough, and she thought she could maintain that position for a while without getting restless.
Ideal positioning secured, Mikoto brought the nipple of the bottle to Itachi's mouth. He recognised the feel of it as soon as it touched his lips, and started sucking on it with starved ferocity.
"I really hope you don't choke," she said woefully.
Itachi's eyes were alert on her face. He didn't reply.
"Your first word should be 'daddy'. If you are taking votes on that sort of thing."
Itachi's lips continued suckling urgently around the bottle, his eyelids dipping to half-mast as he began to relax.
He was very cute. But babies didn't stay cute when they were yours. They were nightmares that constantly interrupted your sleep, and eventually, they grew into real, actual people, with thoughts and opinions and personalities.
God. Where was Mikoto going to sleep tonight?
She couldn't bear this.
System, pull up Kushina's information.
「 Right away! 」
「 Name: Uzumaki Kushina / ?
Age: 17 / ?
Rank: Jonin / ?
Physical: 3/6 Stars / ?
Mental: 6/6 Stars / ?
Spiritual: 6/6 Stars / ?
Plot relevance: 6/6 Stars / ?
Uzumaki Kushina is the sole survivor of the Uzumaki village and a jonin for Konohagakure. A former member of Team 8, lead by legendary Sannin Orochimaru, she is better known for her status as ███ ██████████ ██ ███ ███████████ ████. 」
Well.
That was all very unnerving.
How do I unlock the question mark parts?
「 By finding out what's behind them! 」
Yeah, that was fair.
A shrill cry echoed through the house. "AMNESIA?!"
Mikoto dutifully checked on Itachi. He was happily eating and most importantly not choking on the milk.
Ignoring that then…
What new things did she learn? For starters, the Uzumaki used to be a village, but apparently didn't exist anymore and Kushina was the last one standing.
The hero of this story was a guy named Uzumaki Naruto; he had to be related to Kushina somehow, especially considering the whopping six-star plot relevancy she sported. Mikoto was banking on Naruto being a direct blood relative to Kushina. Perhaps a sibling, or offspring? No, wait, one of Mikoto's objectives was to stay alive until Naruto was born, which meant that he should be born within her lifetime if she managed to not bite the dust before then.
So, Kushina's son, or grandson—though, that seemed unlikely. How plot relevant could characters two generations removed prior to the start of a story be? It just felt like too much distance for her liking.
Kushina undoubtedly treated Mikoto as her friend. If she wanted to improve her meagre plot relevancy, shouldn't she lean into that? Get closer with her? It was worth a try. She saved her life, and Mikoto promised to repay that debt. The opening was already set up.
God. Mikoto had to cringe at herself.
It felt wrong to make a plan to befriend someone, especially when she was doing it to receive miscellaneous benefits that she didn't understand the point of in the first place.
「 Role: Uchiha Mikoto should do her best to create a happy home where family and friends alike can come together to relax. 」
It would help to have friends in the first place, wouldn't it?
「 Role: Uchiha Mikoto already possesses a family… 」
Just—okay, whatever!
Speaking of family, she had to tilt Itachi's bottle more, he wasn't getting any milk.
There was a thump. Mikoto shook herself from her daze and glanced up from Itachi. Kushina slid on the floorboards like she'd come running from the rooms, and stood confidently in the entryway, her chin jutted out.
"Mikoto! I have something to say to you!" She said with a restrained politeness. Then she bent into a ninety degree formal bow. "My name is Uzumaki Kushina. It's a pleasure to meet you. Please take care of me!"
A burst of warmth popped in Mikoto's chest. How considerate. She dipped her head as deeply as she could in her position and responded with equal sincerity, "It's nice to meet you as well, Kushina-chan."
Kushina straightened up wearing a fox-like grin. "Ah, you're so sweet like this, Mikoto, it's really throwing me off. Are you smiling? It's making my heart flutter, you know!"
"Um, it's embarrassing when you point it out…"
"I get the feeling you'll be fun to tease these days," Kushina said excitedly. "Hey, listen, why don't you try calling me onee-chan, see how it feels—"
Fugaku reappeared in the nick of time. "Don't do that. She's younger than you."
"Aren't you basically a child like this?"
"No," Mikoto said, amused. "That isn't how it works."
"Sheesh, maybe you can't help being a buzzkill," Kushina sighed dramatically, sitting down at the table across from Mikoto. She peered curiously at Itachi's sleepy face. "Man, he looks content! Hey, Mikoto-chan, is it weird, you know? Having a kid with no memory of having the kid?"
Mikoto blinked.
"Kushina," Her husband groaned in frustration.
However, Mikoto just answered honestly. "Yes, it is." She felt Fugaku's eyes on her and tried not to feel too self-conscious. "But a child is a child, so I'm trying to come to terms with it as fast as I can…"
Admitting that much wouldn't cause any trouble, hopefully?
"You're lucky that Itachi is so cute and easy to love," Kushina imparted her advice with a sagely nod. She reached over to stroke his chubby cheek with the back of her finger. "I think anyone would be lucky to have him as a firstborn, you know? He's such a happy baby. And Gaku isn't too bad either."
Fugaku exhaled through his nose. Kushina's genuine comment hadn't flattered him in the slightest. That was fair—she was grinning mischievously as if she'd said a joke instead of a compliment. "He's been very understanding," Mikoto said, wanting to give him kudos without revealing anything too humiliating.
Kushina nodded rapidly. "He's a great dad, you know—way better than I thought he'd be. But he's always been our resident old man so—"
"Get out," Fugaku suddenly demanded.
Kushina didn't budge. "I was the youngest on our genin team, you know? It was me, then Rikkun—he's two years older than me—then Gaku, he's four years my senior. Isn't that way too much? When I first met him I told him he should be in a retirement home, not out on the battlefield with us. But he's always been a late bloomer."
"You're a brat," Fugaku said it like he was declaring a law. "You just graduated early."
"A lot of genin did. There was a lot of fighting happening, the village needed the bodies, you know? Kind of depressing when I put it like that. Wait, Mikoto-chan, does that mean you don't remember the war? We only fought in a little bit of it, but I can't imagine forgetting a single second of it…"
"No, you're done," Fugaku didn't leave room for objections. He went up to Kushina and picked her up from the back of her shirt, ignoring her yowling like a wet cat. "Be quiet! You're going to set off my son!"
"I will not," Despite her words, Kushina did start to whisper. "You— wait wait wait— aww, man! Mikoto-chan!"
"Stop being a nuisance—"
Kushina responded by hooking her fingers into a wall so she could not be dragged any further. "I wanted to let you know that I wrote to Minato! He's on a mission right now but he'll make sure to visit as soon as he gets back, I promise!"
"Um, okay. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Kushina said, nodding jovially. She then informed the man in the process of throwing her out that he could "get rid of me now, I'm done, I'm done! Actually, just let me walk out by myself! Sheesh. Byeee, Itachi-kun!"
The front door shut with a strong sense of finality. Itachi made a noisy sucking noise. Mikoto tipped the bottle again.
Fugaku returned to the kitchen. He was frowning, yet despite that severe expression, Mikoto had a feeling that he wasn't angry at all. "Sorry about her."
"It was fine."
"She's loud and doesn't have any manners."
Mikoto felt that it was a trap to agree, although he wasn't wrong. "She handled it well," was what she went with.
Fugaku's frown eased away. It didn't feel like progress to see him go back to bland neutrality. "There isn't much that can get Kushina on her back foot," He said. Then, abruptly, "You need to eat and take your medication."
"Ah… Yes, I do."
"I'll make lunch," Fugaku declared. "You… Can you burp Itachi."
She'd definitely done that for her nephew before. "Uh-huh."
Fugaku nodded and made himself busy at the counter. He chopped vegetables fresh and fried them to go with a reheated pot of soup. Although he'd given Mikoto clear instructions, he also didn't trust her to follow them, and came over multiple times to stand over her imposingly just to make sure she hadn't managed to fatally injure his child while his back was turned. Mikoto wordlessly offered Itachi to him every time he did it, but he just pretended not to see and went back to stirring the soup.
When lunch was finally served—green vegetables, rice, and a sukiyaki broth—Fugaku collected Itachi from her, sat across the table with him balanced on his knee, and woodenly began to eat one-handed. All without a word.
Mikoto pressed her lips together in a thin line. Finally, she said, "Thank you for cooking."
"Hn."
Well… Okay.
The meal was light and refreshing, leagues ahead of the tasteless fare forced on her by the hospital. They finished eating at around the same time. Mikoto cleared her throat. "I can do the dishes, since you cooked."
"No," Fugaku replied.
Mikoto waited for more. When it did not come, she tried, "You cooked, so it's only fair that I clean up?"
"You need to have your medication."
"That won't take long."
"You'll have to sleep after you take it."
The care plan had stressed that Mikoto's medications would make her drowsy, but they weren't horse sedatives. She could still finish a sinkful of dishes before her drugs knocked her out. "It's really not…"
Fugaku walked away from the table with no warning whatsoever. In fact, he left the kitchen entirely, made some noise in another room, and returned with a small brown bottle that rattled tellingly when he extended it to her.
Mikoto withheld a sigh and accepted the container, shaking out two blue pills into her palm. She presented it to him sarcastically—look, they're really there!—and swallowed them dry.
A couple of seconds passed. Mikoto was obviously still awake. Feeling that he must be satisfied, she offered again, "Now can I wash up?"
"The room," He completely dodged the question. "I'll show you to it."
Ah, damn. Her heart fluttered in unmistakable panic. "...Okay."
It was much harder to stand up from the floor, especially without any aids, but she handled it on her own. Fugaku, as he did, silently watched her struggle, and escorted her to her room once she was capable of following him.
Fugaku walked past three other rooms before stopping in front of a paper door at the back of the house. It was distinctly isolated from the rest of the house, and—once he let them inside—distressingly bare. There was a simple double futon laid out in the corner, a standard bedside table beside it, and a tall wardrobe shoved into a corner. It was on the wrong side of the house to catch light from sunrise or sunset, and was very cold and dark as a result.
"You'll have to use the main bathroom, but otherwise you shouldn't have any issues maintaining your privacy," Fugaku explained promptly. Mikoto stared at him in bewilderment. He did not give any indication that he noticed. "The master bedroom and nursery is near the front of the home, but the walls are thin. It's likely that Itachi will wake you in the night. You don't need to do anything about it."
"Fugaku-san… When did you set this up?"
Fugaku's brows scrunched together. The answer was clear. He could have done it anytime this past week, seeing as he didn't visit Mikoto once while she was in the hospital. He had plenty of opportunities.
She was being discourteous. "Thank you," She said hurriedly, swallowing her nerves. Giving her the guest room was a show of kindness she'd hoped for but was too scared to properly expect. It inspired a rush of confidence in her to address the elephant in the room. "I appreciate it. I—I know that… that this can't be an easy situation for you. If you could be patient with me, I'll try to make it so that things are back to the way they used to be between us. As for Itachi—"
"I told you, you don't need to do anything about Itachi. I will think of a solution for feeding him." Fugaku interrupted, the corners of his mouth turning down. His tone was not hard or cold, but it was cutting with its swiftness, leaving Mikoto hesitant to continue. "As for the arrangement between us…"
Fugaku's shoulders sank low, though not for long. He exhaled, turned around, and looked Mikoto in the eyes, his chin proudly sticking out.
"... We'll see the elders tomorrow, and see what can be done to annul our marriage contract."
Huh.
System, can he do that.
「 Character: Uchiha Fugaku is the Head of the Uchiha Clan. This status provides him with many exclusive attributes and authorities, including the power to dissolve lawful marriages, so long as certain conditions are met! Does this answer the Host's question? 」
Yes, it did! What conditions did he need to meet? What did he mean about 'elders'?
「 There are many conditions, but they're variable and ultimately subject to the Clan Head's opinion. However, the marriage (and divorce) of a Clan Head must be approved by a council of Uchiha elders, to prevent the abuse of his power over his spouse. 」
Okay. Um. Moving on.
So there were old people here!
「 In Naruto, old age is a sign of prestige and strength. Most Noble clans will have a council of senior, typically retired ninja, who will offer wisdom, perspective and advice to the current Clan Head. It is also done to preserve tradition and culture. 」
Good to know?!
"...Provided that you are well enough for the meeting, of course."
"I see," In truth, Mikoto didn't know if she was grateful or extremely concerned.
Her husband wanted to divorce her. This was objectively fantastic news, on account of the fact that Mikoto did not want to be his wife and thought it wasn't fair for either of them to be trapped in a marriage to a virtual stranger. On the other hand, where Fugaku went, a six-star plot relevant character was sure to follow. Orochimaru-sensei was absolutely right to call him her third miracle—because of Fugaku, she had already met three people who were goliaths on the scale of narrative importance. As an isekai'd person, she had a job to do, and Fugaku's position was an asset to that.
"Don't worry needlessly over it," Fugaku said, like it was that easy to give up on the concerns he had spawned for her. "Focus on your recovery. Sleep. I'll wake you for dinner and your next course of medications."
"Thank you once again for your consideration of me."
Was a divorce really the right move for her?
"Hn," Fugaku grunted impolitely, before fleeing the room. Mikoto watched him leave.
Once he was gone, she went over and sat on the edge of her bed. It was firm and uncomfortable. She wasn't used to sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Countless anxieties raced through her mind, but with her medications kicking in, she couldn't devote any of the necessary attention to addressing a single one. Wild even under weary supervision, her thoughts twisted around in her mind like a hurricane, all torrential rain and gale-force winds, staying as her wretched, loyal companions until she finally sunk into a restless sleep.
