Summary: In the Uchiha clan, names were never random; they whispered the fate of the child. It was fitting then that Yume—whose name meant "dream"—wanted to defy destiny itself, dreaming of a better future for her precious little brothers. SI Uchiha OC reincarnated as Itachi/Sasuke older sister.
Chapter 1
The Uchiha clan's traditions ran as deep as the roots of their ancient trees, one of the most profound being the belief in the power of names. From the moment a child was born, their name was more than just characters; it was a reflection of their fate, a sign of the destiny bestowed upon them by the divine guidance of Amaterasu. The names were not chosen by the parents but were thought to be a direct manifestation of Amaterasu's will, aligning with the hopes and trials that would shape their lives.
Madara's name had signified the impurity he saw in the world, which he believed required a perfect dream to correct. Shisui's name, meaning "death in water," echoed his tragic end and his hope to save the Uchiha clan from drowning in despair. Itachi's name foretold a future steeped in sorrow, the weasel being a symbol of death and grief. My own name, Yume, meant "Dream," and it felt oddly fitting.
Even at such a young age, my mind was fragmented with flashes of my past life—memories that came to me as fleeting whispers, like jagged pieces of an unassembled puzzle. With unsettling clarity, I understood that my family and our clan were destined for tragedy. Itachi, my little brother, and the unborn Sasuke—my heart ached with the knowledge that their fates were entwined with darkness.
I vividly remember the day I first saw Itachi, barely an hour old, lying in the hospital room. His tiny, innocent face stirred an overwhelming sense of protectiveness within me. That day, I made a vow, one I would carry through every hardship and trial. I vowed to shield him from the world's cruelty and the darkness that awaited us. My hope—my dream of a better future—was built on that fragile promise.
In that moment, I realized that my name, Yume, carried a weight that felt almost prophetic. It was a cruel irony, perhaps—dreams often drive us to strive for the unattainable, only for us to fall short.
As I stood outside, staring into the distance, the fragments of my past life began to stir again, like ghosts whispering in the wind. I was pulled back to the present by a familiar, warm voice.
"Yume-chan? Are you okay?"
I blinked and refocused to find Shisui standing before me, his dark hair slightly tousled and his wide, expressive eyes filled with concern. At just five years old, his worry was palpable.
I forced a smile, shaking off the haze of memories. "I'm fine, Shisui-kun," I said softly, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Just lost in thought."
Shisui's brow furrowed as he tilted his head, studying me with a perceptiveness that belied his years. "Are you sure? You looked really distant just now."
I raised a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately, a gesture that always seemed to frustrate him. He grumbled, "I'm older than you, you know. It doesn't make sense for you to ruffle my hair."
Ignoring his complaints, I smiled gently. "I promise, I'm okay. Just a little tired."
Satisfied, Shisui's expression brightened. He reached out and grabbed my hand, his small fingers gripping mine with enthusiastic determination. "Come on, Yume-chan! Let's go train! I'll race you to the training ground!"
I chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of Shisui's hand pull me back to the present. "Shisui-kun, it's hard to race when you keep tugging me along," I teased.
A moment of realization crossed his face, and he released my hand as if it had suddenly grown too warm. Shisui was like a burst of sunlight cutting through my darkest thoughts, always bringing a touch of brightness to my world.
As we ran side by side, the fragments of my past life receded, and I focused on the here and now. I had a future to shape, and it began with protecting those I cherished—starting with Shisui, Itachi, and everyone dear to me.
Life in the Uchiha coumpound when I wasn't worried about the future, was a one of simplicity and warmth, my world felt vast and full of endless possibilities. My days were a gentle mix of play, exploration, and the simple joy of being surrounded by those I loved. The burdens of responsibility and expectation hadn't yet touched me, and the future was nothing more than a distant bad dream.
Every morning, I'd wake to the soft glow of the sun as it crept through the paper screens of my room. The Uchiha compound was always alive with the comforting hum of daily life, a backdrop to my carefree childhood. My first stop was always to find my father before he left for work. He would greet me with a warm smile, lifting me into his arms and spinning me around until my giggles filled the air. Those moments with my father, Fugaku, were like treasures to me.
Afterwards, I'd dash off to find my mother, Mikoto. She was the heart of our home, a constant source of gentle love and wisdom. I loved following her around as she worked in the garden or the kitchen, watching her with wide eyes as she tended to the flowers or prepared meals. She was always so patient with me, guiding my small hands as we planted seeds or mixed ingredients, turning these everyday tasks into moments of bonding that I cherished deeply.
But my favorite part of the day was when I could gather with the other children in the compound. We'd play games of tag or hide-and-seek, our laughter echoing through the trees. Inevitably, we'd all end up sitting in a circle under the large cherry blossom tree, them eagerly awaiting the stories I would tell.
What the other children didn't know was that my stories came from fragments of memories I had from another life, a life that seemed both familiar and foreign to me now. I'd spin tales about a boy with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead who attended a magical school and faced dark wizards, or about a group of children who discovered a magical wardrobe that led to a land filled with talking animals and epic battles.
The children were captivated by my stories, hanging on every word as if I were some master storyteller. Shisui, with his bright eyes and boundless energy, was always the most enthusiastic. He'd sit as close to me as possible, his eyes wide with excitement, urging me to continue whenever I paused.
Itachi, though younger, was just as enthralled. He would quietly sit beside me, his small hands clutching at my sleeve as he listened. Despite being only two, Itachi's curiosity was insatiable, and he would often ask me questions about the stories. His innocent inquiries always surprised me, revealing a depth of understanding that I found both endearing and a little bit astonishing.
"Yume-chan, what happened to the boy with the scar after he defeated the dark wizard?" Shisui would ask, his voice full of anticipation.
I'd smile, feeling warmth bloom in my chest at their excitement. "Well, that's a story for another day," I'd say, teasing them a little. Shisui and Itachi would groan in unison, but I could see the glimmer of anticipation in their eyes. They couldn't wait to hear more.
In those moments, I felt like I was doing more than just entertaining them. I was sharing pieces of a world they could never know, a world that felt both distant and intimately connected to me. It was my small way of keeping this confusing past life alive while also bonding with my brother and cousin in this new one.
After the stories, the three of us—Shisui, Itachi, and I—would embark on our own adventures around the compound. We'd pretend to be the heroes from my tales, with Shisui often taking on the role of the brave protagonist, me as the wise leader, and Itachi as our loyal companion. Our laughter and shouts would fill the air as we played until the sun began to set.
Sometimes, though, it was just me and Itachi, exploring the compound or sitting quietly under the cherry blossom tree, watching the petals drift down in the golden light of dusk. Those moments with Itachi were more peaceful, filled with soft conversations and the comfort of simply being together. He would lean his head against my shoulder, his eyelids heavy with sleep, while I gently ran my fingers through his hair, enjoying the rare quietness.
Other times, Shisui would take me aside for a bit of training. He was older and eager to share what he knew. Those sessions were lighthearted but challenging, filled with his encouragement and my determination to keep up. Even during training, Shisui's energy was infectious, turning what could have been grueling into something fun and rewarding.
These moments with Itachi and Shisui became the highlights of my days. Their innocence and joy were infectious, and being around them gave me a sense of purpose and peace. I cherished their smiles, their trust, and the way they looked up to me.
Little did I know that these carefree days were numbered. Soon, the weight of my responsibilities would come crashing down on me, and the simple pleasures of childhood would be replaced by the harsh realities of training and expectations. But for now, I could still enjoy the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the cherry blossoms, and the sound of Itachi and Shisui's laughter ringing in my ears.
In the shaded corner of the garden, where sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, I sat cross-legged on the grass beside my younger brother, Itachi. The afternoon sun cast a gentle glow over us, creating a serene escape from the usual bustle of the Uchiha estate.
Itachi, only two years old - almost three, was deeply engrossed in playing with a small wooden toy. His tiny hands maneuvered it with a concentration that was both endearing and striking. I watched him with a soft smile, my heart swelling with a fierce, protective love.
"Yume-nee," Itachi said, breaking the peaceful silence, "why do the leaves change color?"
I tilted my head, surprised by his question. "The leaves change color because of the seasons," I explained gently. "In autumn, they turn bright colors before they fall. It's nature's way of preparing for the cold winter."
Itachi's eyes widened, reflecting the dappled sunlight. He seemed thoughtful for a moment before his curiosity continued to shine through. "But why does it have to be cold? Can't it stay warm all the time?"
I felt a pang of warmth at his innocence. "Sometimes, things need to change for new things to grow. Winter is a time for rest, so that everything can be ready for spring. It's all part of a bigger cycle."
Itachi looked at me with a seriousness that belied his age, his gaze reflecting a depth I hadn't expected. "So, even if it's hard, it's like it's making space for something new?"
His question struck me deeply. I brushed a strand of hair from his face, struggling to find the right words. "Yes, Itachi. Even though hard times can be tough, they help make way for better things. It's like making room for new growth, even if it's not easy."
Itachi nodded slowly, his small fingers still tracing patterns on his toy. I couldn't help but marvel at how mature and perceptive he was, even at such a young age. The light in his eyes, filled with wonder and wisdom, was something I felt compelled to protect.
Itachi—he deserved the innocence of his youth, a chance to experience joy without the burden of the future looming over him.
As I looked at him, I felt a deep sense of responsibility. I was determined to shield him from the darkness I knew awaited, to ensure his path was not marred by the same hardships his counterpart that existed only in my memories had faced.
"Promise me something, Itachi," I said softly, my voice tinged with both hope and a trace of sadness. "Promise me you'll always hold on to that curiosity and light in your eyes. No matter what happens, never lose that."
Itachi looked up at me, his eyes filled with a simple, genuine affection. "I promise, Yume-nee."
In that quiet moment, I felt a tear slip down my cheek, mingling with the warm sunlight. I quickly wiped it away, not wanting Itachi to see my sadness. Instead, I pulled him into a gentle hug, feeling his small arms wrap around me in return.
"I love you, Itachi," I whispered.
"I love you too, Yume-nee," he replied, his voice soft and sincere.
As we sat there, holding each other close, I knew my resolve was stronger than ever. I would do everything in my power to protect him, to ensure his childhood remained untouched by the shadows of our fate. For now, I would cherish these quiet moments, the simple joys, and the promise of a better future.
The shadows in the hallway stretched long as the setting sun cast its final, golden light over the Uchiha Main House. My restless steps echoed softly against the polished floor as I wandered aimlessly, my mind a whirlwind of uneasy thoughts of a distant future. As I approached the meeting room, I caught the murmur of voices—stern and authoritative—drifting through the slightly ajar door.
I hesitated, my heart quickening, and pressed my ear to the door, straining to catch the conversation inside.
"—must start training Itachi soon," one of the elders declared, his voice gravelly and commanding. "He's already three years old. It's time for him to demonstrate his potential."
Another elder responded, "His potential is clear, but he's still so young. He needs rigorous training to harness it. We must ensure he becomes a symbol of our clan's power."
My father's voice, usually so controlled, carried a hint of frustration. "I understand, but he is only three years old. Are you certain this is the right time?"
"Time is a luxury we don't have," the elder replied firmly. "The sooner he begins, the better. We need a powerful heir, especially in these war times, we need him to stand as a beacon of our might and leadership."
My fists clenched at my sides, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. My heart ached with a fury that was nearly unbearable. How could they expect a three-year-old to bear such a burden? Itachi was still so small, so innocent. The thought of him being thrust into such a demanding path tore at me.
The conversation continued, but I could hardly focus on the words anymore. My only thought was the overwhelming need to protect my brother. I couldn't stand by and let them dictate his future like this.
Suddenly, the door slid open, and the Uchiha elders emerged, their stern faces set in disapproval. They saw me standing there, my eyes fierce and resolute. My father followed, his expression a mix of anger and concern. His gaze met mine with a chilling promise of reprimand.
For a moment, I stood frozen, my emotions a tumultuous storm. But as the elders walked past, their glares sharp and unwavering, something within me hardened. I couldn't let this happen. Not to Itachi.
With a resolve I hadn't known I possessed, I stepped forward, my heart pounding. "Train me instead," I said, my voice steady and clear, surprising even myself.
The elders halted in their tracks, turning to me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. My father's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock, but no words came out.
"I will be your perfect heir," I continued, my eyes alight with fierce determination. "Train me. I'll show you that I can be everything you want Itachi to be. I'll be strong, capable, and worthy of your expectations."
The elders exchanged stunned glances, their brows furrowing in disbelief. My father's face was a mask of surprise and annoyance. I could see the silent judgment in their eyes, their disapproval at my audacity.
"You?" one of the elders scoffed. "You're a girl. You might never even unlock the Sharingan."
It was true—fewer girls in the clan unlocked the Sharingan, and they were often relegated to supporting roles. But I refused to let that deter me.
"I don't care," I said, my voice rising with defiance. "I may be a girl, and I might never unlock the Sharingan, but I am ready. If you want a symbol of power, then let me be it. Train me to be what you want, and I will prove myself."
My father's eyes bore into mine, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. "Yume, this is not a game. You don't understand what you're asking for."
"I understand perfectly," I retorted, my eyes blazing with a fierce light they didn't comprehend. "I understand that you want Itachi to bear a burden he's not ready for. I refuse to let him go through that. If you want an heir, then let it be me."
The elders continued to watch in stunned silence, their gazes flickering between my defiant stance and my father's darkening expression. I knew there would be consequences, that my decision would not pass without discipline. But I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was protecting Itachi and ensuring he could keep his innocence a little longer.
"Very well," my father said finally, his voice cold and distant. "If you are truly serious, we will discuss this further. But know this, Yume—if you choose this path, you must be prepared for the consequences."
"I'm ready," I said, my voice unwavering.
With that, the elders and my father walked away, leaving me standing there, the weight of their scrutiny heavy on my shoulders. I didn't care about the reprimands or the punishment that awaited me. All I could think about was ensuring Itachi's future was protected and that I would do whatever it took to shield him from the shadows that loomed over our lives.
The early morning mist clung to the training grounds, casting everything in a cold, damp haze. The sun was only beginning to rise, its first rays barely breaking through the dense foliage of the Uchiha compound. I stood there, my breath visible in the chilly air, my heart pounding in my chest. Today was the first day of my training with Father.
Fugaku Uchiha was a man of few words. His presence was commanding, and his expectations were unyielding. I knew this day would come, but nothing could have truly prepared me for the intensity that awaited.
He stood before me, his arms crossed, his expression stern. "Yume, if you truly wish to follow this path, you must be ready to endure what it demands," he said, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to settle on my small shoulders.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'm ready, Father."
He didn't respond immediately, instead, he took a step back and gestured toward the training area. "We begin with endurance. You will run ten laps around the compound. Now."
Ten laps. I glanced around, the size of the compound suddenly feeling overwhelming. But I knew better than to question him. I took off, my small feet pounding against the dirt as I began to circle the training grounds.
The first few laps were manageable, but as I continued, my legs began to burn, my lungs ached, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps. The cold air stung my throat, but I forced myself to keep going. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing, judging. I refused to disappoint him.
By the time I finished the tenth lap, my legs were trembling, and I was barely able to stand. I stumbled to a stop in front of him, struggling to catch my breath.
"Good," he said, his tone giving away nothing. "But this is only the beginning."
Without giving me time to recover, he moved to a nearby training post and gestured for me to follow. "Now, you will practice striking. One hundred hits on this post, with precision and power. Focus your chakra into each strike."
I stared at the wooden post, my arms already feeling heavy from the run. But I nodded, stepping up to it. I remembered the basics from when I had practiced on my own, but this was different. The post was solid, unyielding, and each strike sent a jolt of pain through my small fists.
I clenched my teeth, trying to concentrate. I could feel the warmth of my chakra pooling in my hands as I struck the post again and again. But as the count went on, the pain grew, and it became harder to focus. My strikes began to falter, losing power and precision.
"Yume," my father's voice cut through my thoughts like a blade. "You must focus. Weak strikes will do you no good. Again."
I bit back the tears that threatened to spill and forced myself to strike harder. My hands throbbed with each hit, but I kept going, pushing through the pain. I didn't stop until I reached one hundred, my arms hanging limply at my sides.
"Now," he said, his voice unwavering, "you will practice the basic forms of our taijutsu. Ten repetitions each. Precision is key. Begin."
I nodded, too exhausted to speak, and moved into the first stance. My movements were slow and shaky, my muscles protesting with every shift. I stumbled a few times, catching myself before I fell, but I could feel his disapproving gaze on me.
"This is not good enough, Yume," he said, his voice stern. "You must learn to control your body. Every movement must be deliberate, precise. Again."
I blinked back the sweat that dripped into my eyes and tried to steady myself. I moved through the forms again, trying to correct my posture, to make each movement as precise as he demanded. But it was hard—so much harder than I had anticipated. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, and every muscle screamed in protest.
By the time I finished the repetitions, I was on the verge of collapsing. My whole body was shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked up at my father, hoping to see some sign of approval in his eyes, but his expression remained as stern as ever.
"You have potential, Yume," he said finally, his voice as cold as the morning air. "But you are far from ready. This training will only get harder. If you truly wish to protect this clan, you must become stronger. You must be prepared to face anything."
I nodded, my voice too hoarse to speak. I knew he was right—I had chosen this path, and I couldn't back down now. No matter how hard it was, no matter how much it hurt, I would endure it. For Itachi, for Sasuke, for everyone I loved.
"Go rest," he said finally. "We will continue tomorrow."
As I turned to leave, I could feel the exhaustion weighing me down, but I forced myself to walk tall. I had survived the first day, but I knew this was only the beginning. There would be no mercy, no leniency. But I wouldn't ask for any. If this was the price I had to pay to protect my family, protect Itachi, then I would pay it—no matter what it cost me.
After that, the days in the Uchiha compound had become an exhausting blur. From dawn until dusk, I was shuffled from one lesson to the next, each clan member offering their expertise in some aspect of my training. Father drilled me relentlessly in combat, but there were other lessons too—each as grueling as the last.
In the mornings, I practiced calligraphy with one of the elders, my hand cramping as I repeated the same strokes over and over, the brush feeling heavier with each passing hour. I was expected to master the Uchiha's secret codes, intricate symbols that conveyed layers of meaning, and any mistake was met with stern correction. The precision required was daunting, but it was another skill I needed to acquire, another way to prove myself.
After calligraphy, I was rushed to a session with my grandmother, who taught me the delicate art of tea ceremony. The exacting ritual demanded grace and calm, even as my tired hands struggled to hold the fragile teacup steady. Every move had to be perfect—no room for error in the rigid traditions of the clan.
There were lessons in history, where I was taught the ancient battles of the Uchiha and the importance of our bloodline. The weight of my ancestors' expectations hung heavily on my shoulders. I did my best to memorize every detail, knowing that failure to do so would be seen as disrespect.
By the time afternoon came, I was physically and mentally drained. Training in taijutsu with another clan member, my limbs felt sluggish, my mind barely able to keep up with the instructions being shouted at me. Each kick, each punch, was a struggle, my body protesting the relentless pace.
The sheer amount of things I had to learn was nearly unbearable. There was no time to rest, no time to just be a child. Every moment was accounted for, every second devoted to becoming stronger, smarter, better. It was as though the entire weight of the Uchiha clan was pressing down on me, demanding that I live up to the impossible standards set for the heirs.
But there was one thing that kept me going—one bright spot in the otherwise grueling days.
Itachi.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and my day of relentless training finally ended, I would drag herself to the garden where I knew I would find him. Itachi, with his bright eyes and boundless energy, always seemed to be waiting for me, a wide smile spreading across his face as soon as he saw me.
"Yume-nee!" he would call out, running over to show me whatever new creation he had been working on. Sometimes it was a drawing, carefully sketched with his small, unsteady hand. Other times it was a flower crown he had made, or a pile of leaves arranged in what he proudly called a 'house for bugs.'
No matter how tired I was, no matter how much my body ached or how heavy my eyes felt, Itachi's enthusiasm never failed to lift my spirits. His innocence was a stark contrast to the harsh realities I faced daily, and in those moments with him, I could almost forget the weight of my responsibilities.
"Look, Yume-nee!" Itachi said one evening, holding up a piece of paper with a messy, yet clearly joyful, drawing of the two of them holding hands under a bright yellow sun. "This is us! I made it just for you!"
I knelt down beside him, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as I took the drawing from his hands. I smiled, a genuine, soft smile that I hadn't felt all day. "It's beautiful, Itachi."
Itachi beamed at the praise, his eyes shining with happiness. "Do you like it? I wanted to make something that would make you smile!"
I felt a warmth spread through my chest, and I reached out to ruffle his hair gently. "I love it," I said, my voice filled with affection. "Thank you."
Itachi giggled, leaning into my touch. "I'm glad! You're the best, Yume-nee!"
As I looked at my little brother, so full of life and joy, I felt my resolve harden. I was doing all of this for him—for the bright future he deserved, for the smile that I wanted to see on his face every day. No matter how hard the training, no matter how heavy the burden, I would endure it all for him.
Because when I saw Itachi's smile, it reminded me of why I was doing this
As we sat together in the fading light, with Itachi chattering happily about his latest adventures, I felt a sense of peace. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but in these moments, I had a reminder of what truly mattered. And as long as I had that, I knew I could face whatever challenges came my way.
Author's notes: Yume mostly is a 5 (almost 6) y.o girl, just with some fragmented memories of a past life that makes her more mature and aware of the tragedy surrounding her brothers lives, though until now, she doesn't remember with clarity her past life or who she was. In her mind, she is Yume, but she might've been someone else before.