Status.

It was nighttime, and the hospital, or this room at least, was still and silent. But there was a window that let in just enough moonlight for me to see my reflection staring back at me from the domed, glass interior of my incubator.

Status.

Still nothing. Maybe I did have to say it out loud? I tried to force the sounds out, but my tongue was pudgy, sluggish and difficult to move.

"Ta-da," I choked out, the mask over my face stifling what little volume I could manage. My throat felt tight—the doctor had said something about scarring. I'd probably either sound like an old smoker or a sultry actress for the rest of this life. I was called mouthy a lot in my last one, so maybe this was yet another cruel trick of the fates.

Just like being reborn in the Naruto universe and not being stuck in Kiri, or at least Konoha. God, I would have loved Kiri. I loved the ocean, and the ocean usually loved me. With chakra, I could have made the water do terrible and amazing things.

I would have even preferred Suna to Iwa. Desert it may be, but wind was half of what made the ocean the ocean. And I'd have to look at a map to be positive, but I believe Suna has direct access to a southern ocean. Iwa has a coast, but it borders a polar sea, and I'm significantly less fond of cold water, especially after my death.

"Szszz. Ta. Da. zzz," I tried to annunciate. Damn S's. Still, there was nothing.

Militaristic, cruel Iwagakure I could do. War—even from my limited perspective, I could easily tell that one was going on—was nothing new to me either. Clanless orphan, I would take it in a heartbeat with no complaints. If I could just have the goddamn Gamer powers.

But nooo, that would be too easy. I'm starting as a goddamn NPC, with no special abilities or inherited techniques to draw upon. I was toast.

Letting myself wallow in self-pity, and rage against the unfairness of it all, I decided to speedrun the five stages of grief.

God, er, Kami? Kami, I can't believe this shit. I can't be alone and powerless in a world with giant chakra beasts and a powerful but not really developed magic system. And I can't be in fucking Iwa, the village famous for both being assholes and for losing every war. They're literally the 1900's Germany of the Elemental nations!

There's no fucking way I'm going to be some nobody, forced to follow orders of dumbass military squares with political agendas. Hard headed, isn't that what Iwa prides itself on being? Well, I'll show them hard headed. I'll climb the ranks one way or another, and I don't give a shit who's face I have to trod on to reach the next rung.

There's got to be someone who'll help me, right? Iwa wasn't exactly well fleshed-out in the story, and they are willing to cooperate during the fourth shinobi war. Maybe they aren't as bad as the stories make them out to be. Sure, they might not be as lovey-dovey as Konoha, but I'm sure there will be an opportunity to impress someone up top and maybe get some special training. I just have to put on a good show. And Iwa might lose a lot, but they're still considered one of the strongest hidden villages, powerful enough to stalemate Konoha in the third war before the Yellow Flash showed up. I think. Yeah, and I'm used to a rigid military structure. I might be able to fit in here.

Who am I kidding? There's a big difference between the U.S. Navy and Iwagakure no fucking Sato. Even Konoha commits war crimes on the regular, and this place by all accounts is a hell of a lot worse. I'll admit I don't have the best moral compass, but there are things even I can't abide by. I won't be able to do anything about that until I'm extremely high up in the village hierarchy, and how could a no-name orphan possibly put herself in that position? The only thing they respect here is strength, and even if I work my ass off, how could I possibly begin to compare with the big names in this world without a bloodline?

I sighed, and I could feel the warm air condensing under my mask.

What use was there in despairing? I was here in Iwagakure, I was an orphan, and I'm pretty sure I'm not from any fancy clan. If I was, I doubt I'd be left alone in a public hospital. There was nothing I could do right now to change any of that. But I did have some advantages; a mind advanced well beyond my peers, military experience, knowledge of the future, a rudimentary understanding of the power system and the imagination of thousands of fanfic authors behind me.

I couldn't change the circumstances of my rebirth, but I could prepare for the wars that I knew were coming. I'm only a month old, so I'm completely helpless. But there is one thing I can do.

I closed my eyes, and began to meditate.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

Officially adopting Imai Kasaiki was as easy as the doctor said it would be. All it took was a quick visit to the citizenship office in the internal affairs building. The clerk was so relieved to be given a case pertaining to a shinobi of Iwagakure—rather than a refugee seeking asylum that would have to undergo extensive vetting—that he shook Kazuhiro's hand after quickly stamping his approval over the documents.

The next part was a lot harder. Despite offering Kasaiki's birth certificate and freshly stamped adoption records, it took an infuriating amount of work to convince the bank manager, a slimy man with a patchy beard and a weak chin, to allow him to merge the funds in Hisashi and Mana's accounts with his own.

The man might have continued to deny his request if Kazuhiro's temper hadn't reached a boiling point and he began shouting. The commotion caught the attention of another of the bank's patrons waiting in line, a jonin who was in between assignments.

As Kazuhiro explained the situation, frustrated tears in his eyes, the jonin, a bearded man who looked the part, fixed his gaze on the teller.

"He's telling the truth," he said shortly. "It was my team that found the girl and brought her back to Iwa. If he is willing to raise her, he will be doing the village a great service. Give him the money."

The smarmy man was a lot less confident now. "I'm sorry," he attempted, dabbing the sweat off his temples. "There are protocols in place, you see. We have to look into the request, and conduct an investigation."

The jonin reached out and grabbed the stone sill of the teller's window. "I'm not sure you heard me," he said as killing intent began to permeate the air, drawing curious and nervous looks from the rest of the shinobi waiting in line. "Give him the damn money."

The teller swallowed. "Okay," he folded. "Yes, I will. I'll grab the form, and you just have to wait a few days for processing—"

There was a loud snap as the hand clenched around the sill, shattering the stone in his grip. The teller flinched at the sound, and at the crumbled pebbles that clattered onto his desk.

"No delays," the jonin said. "He needs the money now. Do it, or you won't like the consequences."

Shakily, the teller updated the ledger, showing it to the jonin. Kazuhiro craned his neck to see, and his eyes widened at the figures. He knew it paid well to be a jonin, but damn.

"Obara Nanami," the Jonin said suddenly. "Arima Hideo. Tsutsui Seiji. These three of my comrades died without heirs or beneficiaries also. They would want their funds added to this young man's as well."

Both Kazuhiro and the teller jerked in shock at the claim.

"But, but," the teller stammered. "He has no claim to their accounts! There's no way for me to justify to my superiors that their funds belong with him!"

"So where do they belong, then?" the jonin asked darkly. "In yours or your superior's pockets?"

"No!" the teller said, aghast as more judgmental eyes began to look his way. "No, we would never!"

"I can vouch that these men and women would rather have their unclaimed savings go to this man rather than rotting at the end of your ledger," the jonin said. "So transfer them now."

The teller did, and Kazuhiro could have suffered a stroke when the man revealed his new balance.

"I…I don't know what to say," Kazuhiro whispered in awe to the jonin.

"There is nothing to say," he claimed, the intensity of his eyes not letting up. "This money is for the girl, understood? Not for you. If I hear of my comrades' savings being squandered in a gambling hall somewhere, the Tsuchikage himself won't be able to save you from my retribution."

"Of course not," Kazuhiro said immediately. "It will all go to her. Clothes, milk…er. Whatever else babies need." He hadn't had time to review the material he had been given at the hospital yet.

"And when she's older, training equipment," the jonin said, and Kazuhiro nodded readily in agreement. "I could sense her potential, even at this stage of her development. She will be a fearsome shinobi, one day."

Having said his piece, he turned away before seeming to take an ounce of pity on the teller. "If your superiors have a problem with this," he said, fixing the man with an impassive gaze. "Tell them that Biwa of the Dust insisted."

A tremble of both fear and awe shot down Kazuhiro's spine as he realized that he, and more specifically the child he was now the guardian of, had caught the eye of the Tsuchikage's eldest son.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

Now that he had funds, Kazuhiro's first order of business wasn't to secure a crib, clothes or even baby formula. It was to buy a house.

Yes, the chunin was technically homeless. Not that it really mattered; he was never in Iwa much to begin with. After his parents died, leaving him with barely over a tenth of what he had gotten from Hisashi's account alone, he had been forced to sell his childhood home and everything in it. Earning much less money than the property was once worth in the process, as they were at war and buying houses was incredibly low on everyone's priority. He was just thankful the realtor would buy it at all.

As the war ramped up, and he spent less and less time in the village, he decided it was time to cut his biggest and most unnecessary expense. So he stopped paying rent, and allowed himself to be evicted without a fight. The few nights he was inside the village, he would stay in its cheapest and shittiest hostel, which was a hell of a lot more affordable.

But with Kasaiki in the picture, he needed a more permanent residence. And with his bank account heavier than he could have ever possibly imagined, he went house hunting.

It would probably be prudent to pick somewhere close to the one of the daycares, he mused. He couldn't stay out of active duty forever, and babies required a lot of attention. Luckily, this was an incredibly common problem in Iwa, and the village provided free services to shinobi parents in their absence.

Free services weren't exactly known for their quality or effectiveness, however, especially with tensions inside the village being so high. He was worried that, if his house was a bit too inconvenient to reach, they might be late or otherwise reluctant to properly care for Kasaiki. It wouldn't have been something he would have even considered if not for the fact that many kunoichi had been drafted into the service while they were still in the academy, and he recalled hearing them complain about it.

He groaned audibly in frustration. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing. He didn't know what he didn't know. And he didn't want to be a parent. All he wanted to do right now was cry, and rage, and maybe return to the front to kill a couple of Leaf scum or die trying.

But he owed it to Hisashi to take care of his newborn godsister, so he pressed on.

Lost in thought, his feet finally took him to a street he knew very well. He blinked out of his daze the moment a familiar house came into view, one that filled the few criteria he had. It was only three blocks down from the daycare and there wasn't too much space to maintain—he knew for a fact there were only two bedrooms and a single bathroom. It also had a shower and high fences to prevent snooping.

Additionally, it just so happened to be his childhood home.

He wasn't incredibly surprised to see a for sale sign hung up on the door; not able to find a family willing to purchase it, Kazuhiro was forced to sell it to an organization who would flip it for a profit. Clearly, they had about as much luck as he did.

It didn't take much more thought or consideration. He hunted down the realtor and bought the property back, taking caustic satisfaction in the discovery that it cost less to buy it now than what he had sold it for. He was still bitter at the supposed loss in value all those years ago.

On his way back, he ran into a couple brats who he offered to pay to clean the place for him while he worked to furnish his new/old home. They agreed after some haggling, and Kami Kazuhiro was glad to finally have money. He considered this a necessary expense for Kasaiki's continued well-being, since their new home was doubtlessly filthy and dust couldn't be good for a baby's tiny lungs. And didn't the doctor say she already had respiratory issues? Yes, this was incredibly necessary.

He found all the pieces of furniture he required easily enough, all second-hand (or perhaps eleventh), and spent the better part of the day lugging it all back to his home. As soon as he deemed that the brats had done a good enough job cleaning out the dust and cobwebs, he paid them and went to meet his neighbors. Not out of any desire for community, but out of hope that they would be parents willing to help him out in a pinch. He got the feeling that he would be running into quite a few of those.

At the house across the street from his own, he struck gold.

"Kazuhiro-kun!" a matronly lady exclaimed the moment she laid eyes on him. "My goodness, how long has it been?"

It took him an awkward amount of time to remember her name. "Hamamoto-San," he greeted. "It is very nice to see you again."

"Oh, call me Akane-obasan," she insisted, even though they had never been that close before he moved. Pointing that out would only hurt his cause, so he embraced the familiarity with both arms.

"Akane-obasan," he acquiesced with a strained smile. "It's been too long. After the deaths of my parents, I was forced to sell our home to make ends meet. I beg your forgiveness for not bidding you a proper farewell—I was so distraught."

"There is nothing to forgive," she said firmly. "You were so young, only thirteen. I can only imagine what that must have been like for you."

"It was not easy," he said. It was a massive understatement. "But a shinobi is one who endures. It's in the name."

Akane clucked disapprovingly. "But shinobi are human—I should know. I birthed one of them."

Thank kami. He had never known Akane had children; given the woman's age they were likely older than he was by a considerable margin. If they were still alive. He wouldn't ask in case they weren't. That conversation wasn't one he thought he could bear at the moment.

"On the topic of birth," he said. "My godfather—I'm not sure if you ever met, Imai Hisashi?—he and his wife were killed by Leaf nin, leaving behind a newborn daughter. Neither of us have any family to turn to, so I adopted her."

"Adopted?" the woman spluttered. "But you're only sixteen!"

"There was no other option," he said, doing his best to push down his anger. Yeah, he was sixteen. And no, he wasn't ready. He didn't know if he ever would be. But that wasn't the point. "I understand your concerns, believe me. I feel them too. But that doesn't change the reality. I'm sure even this sixteen-year-old can give this girl a better life than she would be able to receive in the orphanage, and I owe it to her father to try."

Akane drew a sharp inhale, but Kazuhiro soldiered on. "But I can't do this alone." He drew a ragged breath before kneeling before her despite her protests. "I beg of you. Could you please help me through this? Because I," he choked. "I just lost the only person I had left. And I don't know what to do."

Though he wasn't proud of it, he had intended to take the manipulative approach, and in a way he still was. But it seemed as if the day had caught up to him. The act dissolved, and all he could be was sincere.

"Kazuhiro-kun," she said, laying a wrinkled hand on his cheek. "Raise your head. Please."

He didn't, because tears were running down his chin and each one of them weighed a ton. Akane sighed.

"This war has taken so much from so many. You have my greatest respect for all you sacrificed, and my greatest admiration for adopting that child. Of course I will help you, as much as I can."

"Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you." He tried to pull himself together, and found the task nearly impossible. But he could fake it, for Kasaiki's sake.

"Yoroshiku onegaishimasu, Akane-obasan-sensei," he joked, and took the slight chuckle he got as a victory.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

Fanfics led me to believe that normal humans who transmigrated to the elemental nations would automatically be cognizant of their own chakra, as the energy was so foreign that it couldn't help but stand out, sometimes to the point that it caused mild to intense discomfort. That would be too convenient, apparently.

Chakra was illusive. So illusive that, if it hadn't been iterated time and time again that chakra existed in all things living and nonliving in this world, I would have given up searching. However, as an infant, I had nothing but time.

I would have had no idea where to begin if not for the good doctor. When he cleared out my lungs—an experience I would do my damndest to avoid repeating, let me assure you—he used what I assumed to be medical chakra. I'm not sure if this is canon or fanon, but I remember something about bodies rejecting foreign chakra, and that medical jutsu worked by molding the caster's chakra into something that the body could accept. The explanation seemed in line with what I experienced; all I could feel in the process was the water as it swirled inside me—hurk. Just thinking of it made me nauseous.

But then, two days later, he used another jutsu on me, one that likely had roots in medicine but didn't use medical chakra. And oh boy, that I could feel. The sensation was indescribable, and not necessarily in a good way, so I won't even try. But even after it receded, drawing itself out of my body the same way it came in, a feeling of emptiness lanced through the affected areas as if the chakra carved grooves in my very being. Grooves that were naturally filled in an instant later with…oh.

My chakra felt better. It moved through what I knew to be its own circulatory system, filling the empty grooves and soothing them like aloe gel over a sunburn. As soon as the grooves were filled and my chakra settled into equilibrium, I lost the feeling.

"Gayn," I chirped unthinkingly, and the doctor froze.

Ah, crap. Babies don't speak. I didn't necessarily want to follow the "stay under the radar" philosophy that many fic protagonists abided by, but this was a bit much. If Konoha had Danzo and Root, Iwa certainly had something worse.

"I've never heard a peep out of you before," he murmured, and I would have slapped a hand over my forehead if I had the arm strength and if I didn't know my dome was, at the moment, dangerously squishy.

Babies don't speak. Why would he assume I said anything intelligible?"

"Did my chakra disturb you, perhaps?" he wondered.

No, wait! I can't make him afraid to try that on me again. Give me those grooves, doc!

I gave him my best, cute baby giggle, and though it was embarrassing, it seemed to do the trick.

"What a strange child," he murmured. Reaching out, he did what I assumed was a hand seal—I'm not weeb enough to know which one—and touched a finger to my opposite elbow. Boom, instant grooves.

My chakra rushed in to fill the voids, and I let the feeling roll through me like a freshwater stream. No, that picture was too calm. It was like an ocean, dashing its waves against a cliff face. The cliff being the walls of the groove, I guess. Once it was filled, the tide began to settle into something calming once more.

I didn't want that. I was no calm sea; I was a tempest, a hurricane. Something that I could feel, not something that would fade away into the background. If I lost this, and the doctor didn't see fit to give me another groove, how would I find my chakra again?

Despite it being inside of me, I barely had any more control over this ocean than I did over a real one. But that didn't stop me from kicking my metaphorical feet and splashing around as much as I could.

For all of two seconds, before a massive hand pressed itself against my side.

"Don't do that," he snapped, and the military brat in me recognized an order from a superior officer when I heard one. I stopped splashing immediately.

He looked at me with an intensity that I had never yet seen in this form, and a twinge of unease passed through me. Was mister doctor a sensor too?

"Did you do that on purpose?" he asked, and I wouldn't have answered even if it wasn't rhetorical. I'm just a widdle baby, I don't understand words.

He shook his head in bewilderment, stepping back a bit. He looked like he was caught between wanting to pace and wanting to be within arms reach to stop me from having fun.

"Well, there's a first. A newborn unconsciously using chakra."

Hey, fuck off! It was totally conscious!

"What would I even call it if she died?" he softly wondered. "Sudden autonomous infantile chakra…ejection? Drainage? Maybe perforation, if the pathways rupture."

I grew very still. Perhaps I shouldn't be messing with my chakra just yet.

Breaking out of his morbid thoughts, he places his hand back over my chest and channeling what I recognized to be medical chakra. Instantly, my ocean smoothed out, becoming tranquil as the coasts of the Maldives. I grudgingly refrained from putting up a fight.

"I'll need to tell the kid when he returns to keep an eye out for this," he muttered, fixing me with another perplexed stare. "The symptoms, not the cause. I don't see any good coming out of breathing a word of this to anyone. You're going to be a very scary lady one day, kid."

Ah, beans. Yeah, I couldn't fly under the radar if I wanted to. A month old and I was already making—hehe—waves.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

An hour and a half later, my boredom once again became intolerable. I blame it on growing up with the internet.

Just a little nudge wouldn't kill me, right?

The hurricane left an impression, but I could feel its memory fade further and further from my stupid, underdeveloped baby brain with each passing second. Before it could disappear entirely, I kicked one foot—nay, a single toe—creating the slightest of ripples. In my imagination, that ripple changed shape, becoming pill-shaped and elongating as a little periscope poked out of its top.

Like the easily entertained child I always was, I sent it on its way, closing my eyes as I eagerly followed its voyage. The sea it explored may have been unlike any I had ever descended into, but I would conquer it like any other. And my first step towards doing so is to learn its currents.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

AN: Why does Kasaiki leave such an impression on every adult she meets? It's the look in her eye. You all can tell when someone is in a daze or if they're paying attention, right? It's like that. Kasaiki visibly possesses a great deal of awareness, and to them that's a mark of intelligence.

This is explained in the anime, but in case you don't know, the first kanji in the written word "shinobi" is the same kanji that is used to write "to endure." That's what Kazuhiro is referring to when he is speaking to Akane.

Also, "yoroshiku onegaishimasu" is a multipurpose phrase that roughly translates to "please take care of me." I assume any anime/manga enjoyer knows this, but just in case…