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 2
The Third Ninja War had always been a distant thunder in the background of our lives, but lately, the rumble was growing louder, more insistent. The skirmishes were picking up again and it felt like a storm was approaching, and its dark clouds were starting to engulf everything around us. I could see the change in the village, in the clan, and most of all, in my father.
Father had begun leaving more frequently, disappearing for days or even weeks on end. His absence was palpable, a void that left the clan and our family uneasy. The discussions in the clan meetings grew more intense, the whispers in the streets more urgent. The war was no longer just a distant threat, held back by truces and agreements; it was here and fiercer than ever, and its shadow was stretching out to touch us all.
Every day now, the village seemed more on edge. Patrols increased, and the once-familiar faces of my friends and neighbors were replaced by face of those who had been called to serve. I saw the weariness in my mother's eyes and the unspoken tension in the way she looked at me. It was as if the air itself was charged with an unspoken dread, and no one knew what the next day might bring.
My training regime, already grueling, had become even more relentless. The pressure was relentless, like an unyielding weight pushing down on me from every direction. I pushed myself harder than ever, my body aching and my spirit faltering, but I couldn't afford to slow down. Every punch, every jutsu practice, every hour spent in the training grounds was driven by a single, burning desire: to shield Itachi from the horrors that were closing in.
Itachi had always been a beacon of light in the midst of the growing darkness. His innocence, his bright eyes filled with dreams and hopes, were a stark contrast to the grim reality we were facing.
If there was one thing I was determined to do, it was to ensure that Itachi remained safe, away from the battlefield's edge. I wasn't sure how long this war was going to last nor if Itachi had participated in it originally but what I knew is that eventually, the village would need to send more people to fight, and if that were to be the case, I wanted it to be me. My resolve was steeled by the thought that if anyone had to face the horrors of war, it should be me, not my younger brother. I could bear the weight of this burden, and I would do everything in my power to keep him out of the line of fire.
And the signs were everywhere, not just in my father's absences or the growing tension in the village. The Academy, once a place where only the most promising children were trained during peace time, had begun mass recruiting. The requirements for entry were becoming less rigid, and families – especially civilian ones - that agreed to send their children were promised incentives—extra rations, better housing, a small increase in pay. It was a telltale sign that the village needed soldiers and needed them fast.
Children who might have been deemed too unfit for a shinobi career during peace time were now being enrolled, their futures reshaped by the demands of war. It was only natural that I, too, would begin attending the Academy. I was going to hit six, the starting age for new recruits, and with me was Shisui, who had just turned six some weeks ago.
The village needed us, and we had no choice but to answer that call.
Speaking of Shisui, I realized how little time I had spent with him lately. The relentless pace of my training and the heavy expectations placed upon me had consumed nearly every waking moment. The village needed its soldiers, and the clan expected more from me than most. But when I finally managed to meet up with Shisui, it felt as if no time had passed at all. Despite everything, the bond we shared remained strong, unshaken by the chaos that had begun to engulf our lives.
Shisui, though still the same cheerful and kind-hearted boy I had always known, was clearly feeling the effects of the war too. His father had sustained a heavy injury in one of the recent battles, and it had shaken Shisui deeply. The boy was now throwing himself into training with a fierce intensity. As we spoke, he revealed that part of his drive came from what he had heard about me—about the challenges I had faced as the heiress and the resolve I had shown in my training. It was a moment of pride to hear that the cousin that I looked up to, that used to give me pointers before this whole training regime started to see me as an inspiration. But talking to him, I learned that word of my progress was spreading throughout the clan, everyone eager to hear about their future heir and what he heard -mainly standing up for Itachi- had inspired him to push himself harder.
Despite everything going on, our time together was a welcome respite. We were both excited about attending the Academy together, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. The thought of facing the challenges ahead with Shisui by my side brought a small measure of comfort. We promised each other that no matter how busy we became, no matter how demanding the training or the expectations, we would always find time to meet. It was a small defiance against the encroaching war, a way to hold on to our shared moments of peace amid the storm.
The first few weeks at the Academy were an exercise in tedium. While the other students struggled with the basics of taijutsu and chakra control, Shisui and I breezed through the exercises with relative ease. Taijutsu lessons, consisting of nothing more than a few laps around a small clearing and basic stretches, felt like a warm-up to us. We had been training for far more than this for years, and it was clear that the current drills were well beneath our capabilities.
The chakra control lessons were no different. The first few weeks were spent discussing the theory of chakra—what it was, how to unlock it, and how to feel its flow. The instructors spoke with the kind of enthusiasm that was meant to ignite curiosity, but for Shisui and me, it was all old news. We knew the theory inside out, and the exercises they introduced, like balancing a leaf on the palm or sticking it to the forehead, were things we had mastered long ago.
While the other students struggled with even the most basic exercises, Shisui and I breezed through them. We could manipulate chakra with ease, a fact that quickly bored us both. The repetitive nature of the exercises, coupled with the monotony of the theory, made the lessons feel more like a chore than a challenge.
One afternoon, the teachers gathered the class for a special announcement. I could see the glint of curiosity in Shisui's eyes as he nudged me, his gaze questioning. I shrugged, just as curious but not particularly concerned.
The teachers eyes scanned over us, a hint of amusement—or perhaps exasperation—lingering in their gaze. "We've noticed some of you have surpassed the initial expectations of our curriculum," one of them said, not mentioning anyone or targeting his words at any one individual – but I knew better. "To better gauge your abilities and ensure you're sufficiently challenged, we've decided to conduct a combat test." The other said and that had lit up some lightbulbs in my mind, I could see a hint of suspicion on Shisui's eyes too.
The announcement stirred a ripple of surprise among the students – none of them expecting such a test so soon, a few grumbles could be heard too.
But for Shisui and I, it was an opportunity to showcase our skills. We exchanged a glance, both of us nodding in silent agreement.
The day of the test arrived, and the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The teachers, usually stern, adopted a softer demeanor. They encouraged the students to view the test as a learning opportunity rather than a source of stress. Their reassurances did little to quell the nerves of the less experienced students, who shuffled about anxiously.
As we watched the mock battles unfold, it was clear that many of the students were struggling. They clumsily threw punches and kicks, their movements uncoordinated and hesitant. The lack of proper combat training was evident in their faltering techniques and uncertain strategies.
Shisui and I were paired against each other, and apparently it was quite the spectacle for the entire class. The combat was swift and precise, with Shisui and I moving through the motions with practiced ease. Our movements were fluid, our strategies already honed from countless hours of training and sparring against each other.
The test concluded with a mutual acknowledgment of our prowess, and the teachers seemed satisfied—if not a bit overwhelmed—by our performance. They had expected a demonstration of basic skills, but what they witnessed was a level of proficiency that far exceeded their assumptions.
That evening, as I sat down for dinner with my family, the weight of the day's events finally settled on me. The familiar warmth of the meal, the comforting scent of steamed rice, and the savory aroma of simmered vegetables filled the air, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Across the table, my father – back for a few days from battlefield - stern gaze met mine, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Mother, ever perceptive, noticed my distraction and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "How was the test today, Yume?" she asked softly, concern lacing her voice.
Before I could respond, Father's voice cut through the quiet. "You performed exceptionally well today," he said, his tone measured but with a hint of pride that was hard to miss. "I've heard the teachers were quite impressed. It seems you and Shisui are advancing at a remarkable pace."
I nodded, still processing everything that had happened. "Yes, it was... interesting," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "I didn't think they would test our combat prowess so soon."
Father's gaze remained steady, his voice carrying a subtle gravity as he spoke again. "The Academy is not just about physical challenges," he said, his words deliberate. "Your performance today will be noted, and it will affect how you're perceived in future training. They will expect more from you now."
The atmosphere shifted, the weight of his words settling heavily on me. He was right. The Academy wasn't just a place for learning; it was a crucible that would shape our futures. And it had certain expectation of its students. The realization was both exciting and daunting.
A few days passed, and the routine of the Academy began to feel almost mundane, the initial excitement giving way to a predictable rhythm. But that calm was disrupted one evening, as we sat down to dinner once more. The room was quiet, the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain the only sound until Father broke the silence.
"The Academy has made a decision," Fugaku began, his voice commanding attention. "They believe you and Shisui are ready for more advanced challenges. They've offered to allow you to skip ahead to the final year of the Academy."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. My heart skipped a beat as I processed what he had said. Skipping ahead? To the final year? It was an honor, a recognition of our abilities—but it was also almost unheard of and a bit scary – a fear that I tried my best to hide.
Mother's eyes met mine, and I saw the pride there, but it was mixed with something else—concern, perhaps even doubt. She didn't say anything, but the worry in her gaze was clear. She understood the gravity of this decision, of what it meant for me. If I skipped to the final year, it wouldn't just be about harder lessons or more rigorous training. It meant that in just one year, I would become a ninja of the village. I would be sent on missions, put in harm's way, and expected to carry out the duties of a shinobi.
I glanced at Itachi, who was quietly eating his dinner, his innocent eyes oblivious to the weight of the conversation. He didn't understand what this meant, not really. To him, it was just another step in the journey we all took as members of the Uchiha clan. But the rest of us knew better. This was a moment that could change everything.
Mother remained silent, her worry evident in the way her hands gripped her chopsticks a little too tightly. She didn't voice her concerns, but the look she gave me spoke volumes. She wasn't sure if I was ready for this, if I should be taking on so much responsibility so soon. But this was my path, and it was one I had to walk.
I looked back at Father, meeting his gaze with a newfound resolve. "I'll do it," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'll accept the offer and skip to the final year."
Father nodded, his expression approving. "Good," he said simply. "This will be a new challenge, but I have no doubt that you will rise to meet it."
Mother's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked down at her plate, still silent. The pride in her eyes was overshadowed by her fear, but she didn't say anything. Perhaps she knew that this was something I had to decide for myself, that it was a choice I had already made.
Later before bed, I found myself in my parents room – Father still in his study. The air was filled with the comforting scent of lavender, and Mother was carefully brushing my hair. Her touch was gentle but practiced, each stroke a rhythmic lullaby that spoke of countless quiet evenings spent in the same way.
The task was more than just a practical necessity; it was a cherished ritual that spoke of our bond. Tonight, though, there was a heaviness to the atmosphere, a silent undercurrent of worry that I could feel even as Mother's hands moved steadily.
"Yume," she began, her voice soft but tinged with a concern that made my heart twist. "I know this is a big step for you. Just one year and you'll graduate, and I can't help but worry."
I looked into the mirror, meeting her gaze through the reflection. Her eyes were full of an unspoken sadness, and the gentle brushstrokes became a little slower, more hesitant.
"You don't have to do this, you know," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You can still refuse. You don't have to skip. You don't have to bear this burden if you're not ready. You're just a girl, and I wish… I wish you didn't have to grow up so fast."
I felt a lump form in my throat at her words. They were gentle, but they held a weight that made my heart ache. I could see the fear in her eyes, the worry that her little girl was being thrust into a world far too harsh too early. I reached up and placed my hand over hers, feeling the warmth and strength in her touch.
"Mother," I said, my voice steady but soft. "I want to do this. I made a promise, and I don't want to go back on it. I know it's a lot to ask, and I know it's not what you want for me. But I need to do this."
Mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she looked away for a moment, her expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. "You've always been so brave, Yume. It's just… it's hard for me to see you growing up so fast. You're my little girl, and I wish you didn't have to face all of this so soon."
I squeezed her hand gently, trying to offer some comfort in return. "I understand, Mother. I know it's not easy, but I'm ready. I want to do this, not just for myself but for all of us." Because I knew what no one else in the clan did, the dark future that loomed over the clan – over my brothers. Naturally, it fell upon me to work for a better future for everyone. "I promise, I'll always make time to be with you, no matter how busy things get."
Mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she gave a small, sad smile. "You're right. I'm proud of you, Yume, even if it breaks my heart to see you take on so much at such a young age. Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself, okay?"
"I promise," I said, my voice firm yet gentle. "I'll be careful."
Mikoto's lips quivered as she nodded, her expression softening with a mixture of resignation and acceptance. She continued to brush my hair, her touch tender and full of love. "You've always been so brave, Yume. I just hope you remember that you're not alone, no matter how hard things get."
"I won't forget," I assured her, my voice firm and resolute. "I'll carry your love and support with me, and it will give me strength."
She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. The moment was bittersweet, filled with a quiet understanding that while I was stepping into a new chapter of my life, the love and support from my family would always be my foundation.
As she finished with my hair, we sat there for a while in silence, the only sound being the soft rustle of the comb. The quiet was comforting, a momentary pause before the whirlwind of the next day. In that moment, I let myself forget everything else and simply enjoy the serenity, savoring the fleeting sense of calm.