Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Part 1: Nara Shikari

"We're a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don't believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more."

Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

"Father, I want to be a shinobi."

Shikamaru watched with an ill-disguised amusement as Hitoshi tried to compose himself after almost dropping his spoonful of hot soup in surprise.

The man sputtered. "Pardon?!"

Emotion – love – was such a dangerous thing. One word about his dear daughter in possible danger could turn this lethal killer into a wrecked mess in split-second.

"I said that I want to be a shinobi. You know, doing missions and stuff," Shikamaru iterated.

Two years had passed since the 'suicides' incident. There was not much hassle around it. The motive was already quite clear, whilst Hitoshi himself had a sound alibi and was widely known as a kindhearted man, so no one had raised any fuss. If others had any suspicion, they kept it to themselves.

Shikamaru on the other hand had been training himself to get back in shape. He had arrived with all of his chakra in tow. He knew that chakra was part of oneself, but even he would not expect it to follow him to this damned era. He vividly remembered those torturous moments when he first arrived in the timeline, when his whole chakra was squeezed inside the tiny confinement of a newborn babe. Not only did his chakra control have gone absolutely terrible, he also felt like his whole body was being stabbed with a thousand invincible needles. He truly deserved an award for waking up in the morning instead of sleeping like a log as he planned to. Thankfully, life was easier now that no one really paid any attention to his whereabouts. Hitoshi himself was getting busier with his own missions.

"I heard it the first time you say it, but why?!"

Shikamaru ignored the outburst and calmly took a sip from his glass.

It was quite simple actually. He had been trapped in this era for years, and so far he still did not know why or how he ended up here. He was painfully lacking in the information department, he did not even know where he was. The landscape of this Land of Fire was unfamiliar for him. There were no roads or direction signs, there were only trees, and trees, and an endless amount of trees. There was no endemic flora or fauna that could help him to narrow down his exact location, and his clansmen were too much of a paranoid bastard for him to sneak around the compound to find any maps or documents that could give him any inclination regarding his whereabouts. Even Hitoshi – who was a mush when it came to his daughter – never disclosed any information that could compromise their clan's safety, however innocuous it was.

To gather more information he would need to get out of the compound and explore the land, and he needed to be a shinobi to do that. However, it was not just that simple. For women, profession as a ninja – or any kind of fighting warrior – was almost non-existent. Women's roles were usually only to be exercised behind the scenes (especially for upper-class women): in palaces, council chambers, and living quarters where decisions were made, alliances arranged, and intrigues unfolded. Sure, there existed fighting women – samurai women mostly – but the conflicts they were involved in, by and large, were of a defensive nature. And as far as he knew – which was quite a lot – apart from one or two ambiguous examples, there were no records of women being recruited to serve in armies or ordered to fight, neither did there appear to be any authentic examples of all-women armies.

Thus, he needed a plan. A plan that could make the clan head willing to defy the norm, a plan that could make him – who to his dismay was still trapped as a woman – be enlisted as a shinobi, and not just a benched one, but an active front-line shinobi.

Annoyingly enough – not that he expected it to be any better – after an extensive research which might or might not involve nagging and harassing his neighbor until the poor guy finally relented and told him what he needed to know, Shikamaru found out that his only mean to be a shinobi was through Hitoshi, which meant that Shikamaru had to somehow persuade the man to practically sign his only child's death warrant on top of making him ignore the fact that his daughter wanted to be a fighter. Shikamaru would not be lying to say that he did not like his odds. It would not be a problem if Hitoshi was still a meek little mouse he used to be. However, since Etsuko's demise the man had grown a back bone, and his self-esteem also had been steadily growing. It was really troublesome. It was in a situation like this that Shikamaru almost wished that Etsuko was still around, almost.

Oh, well… there was no merit in lamenting about what had happened. The key to winning was to always be patient and calm. Observe and analyze your opponents' moves, and when they lower their guards down, end them.

He might not win the battle, but he would win the war.

Shikamaru plastered his most determined look – a mixture of anger and indignation were mixed with just the right amount of patriotism to make it more believable – and put his glass down.

"Because out there, our clansmen are dying, some of them are only one or two years older than me. Remember Ichiro, our neighbor's son? He died last week, and he wasn't even ten years old. How can I just sit here, doing nothing, living my life as if everything's fine when it's actually not?!" Shikamaru asked with a very convincing biting tone.

"I'd rather have them die instead of you," Hitoshi replied coolly. "Being a shinobi is not a game, it's a painful and dirty job. It's not something that you choose. You do it because you have no other choice. I do it because I have no choice."

"I do not know what has gotten into you, but you are a brilliant girl, there are plenty of other choices that you can choose. If you want to contribute yourself to the clan, you can be a healer. You could invent new medicine that would benefit us and our allies. Or if you are interested, you can be an apprentice under the clan's seal master. Having a good career will certainly increase your chance of being chosen as the clan heir's bride. We know that if you marry him, you will be well provided."

Shikamaru's façade almost slipped in annoyance.

Of course, it would always boil down to that. In this period, all women had certain duties that they were expected to fulfill. They were made only to serve their father, husband, and son throughout their lifetime. Women followed this simple rule: As a young girl, she obeyed her father; upon marriage, she obeyed her husband; and when widowed, she had to obey her son. As soon as a woman married she was assumed to bear her husband a son, and if a woman became widowed, she could never marry again.

How many times had he heard this shit again?

Shikamaru was almost tempted to trick one of his cousins to marry him before smothering the poor bastard in his sleep and made himself a widow if it could make everyone shut their mouth already.

"I never said that it's a game," Shikamaru started. "I've helped to clean the wounded in the infirmary, and honestly I don't feel any passion in healing people, or sealing arts for that matter." That's a lie, but who cares. "Are you going to force me to do something that I don't even want?" Guilt-trips him. "And marriage?!" Shikamaru barked out a harsh laugh for extra effect. "I would only end up like Mother. Do you want me to end up like her?" Hitoshi flinched at the reminder of the woman. His brave demeanor started to crumble.

Shikamaru grasped the man's hands in his and softened his expression and tone.

"I want to be like you. I want to fight for our family too." Feed on his ego. "I don't want to marry anyone," Shikamaru whispered brokenly, his big glistening eyes only complimented his act even further. "I just want to stay here. I only need my dad, I don't want anyone else." When Hitoshi's eyes teared up, Shikamaru took advantage of the man's vulnerable state and reinstated his point. "Dad, please, at least let me try first. I think I can do it." Shikamaru injected determination into his eyes. "No, I know I can do it. If I'm no good, then I– I promise that I'll quit." Make a compromise.

Hitoshi stared at him, his eyes were in turmoil, his lips were pursed and creases outlined his forehead. His shoulders were tense, showing how conflicted he was about the idea of letting his only daughter indulge her ridiculous aspiration of becoming a ninja, whilst at the same time unwilling to outright reject and disappoint her.

Shikamaru was on edge when the man opened his mouth to answer him, but he still maintained his impeccable act.

Hitoshi sighed in resignation. "Pack your clothes after dinner. Tomorrow morning we will go to the trainee barrack. I will speak with the instructors to let you train with the others for one week. If you show a big potential, the clan head might let you join the rank. But if not, you will never speak of this nonsense again, ever. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Shikamaru smiled with mock salute. "Thanks dad, I love you," he added softly.

Hitoshi smiled like a fool after hearing that last statement, his worries over his daughter's crazy idea momentarily forgotten.

It's just a phase, he convinced himself. The girl is lazy, she will definitely quit after she experiences the taxing training. As per their agreement, once she fails she will never bring this subject again. It will be okay. She will be okay. They will be okay.

Hitoshi patted the girl's cheek and returned to his steadily cooling food.

Shikamaru casually bowed his head and strategically hid his face behind the wide sleeve of his yukata, his smile slipped immediately. Too easy, he thought. He was practically a shinobi now. Even though he was currently trapped inside a child's body, he was still a shinobi with decades of more advanced knowledge. He could handle whatever they threw at him. The clan head definitely would not reject a talented addition in his band of mercenary, his current gender be damned.

If Hitoshi thought that he could stop him from becoming a shinobi, then he was in for a big surprise.

"You summon me, father?"

Madara stood before his father. His stance was relaxed, but still alert and respectful. Sweats were dripping down from his forehead after an intense sparring session with three of his clansmen at once.

"Sit," Uchiha Tajima ordered curtly, he did not take his eyes off of the scroll he was writing.

Tajima pulled one particular nondescript scroll from his drawer, rolled it open and laid it in front of his heir. "Read it."

Madara cautiously lifted the piece of parchment into his hand. His eyebrows raised into his hairline as his eyes roamed over its content.

"You want me to make... suicide bombs?" he asked, unsure.

"Yes. They will serve as a precaution."

"Precaution for what?"

"What else? Of course for the women that I have you caught," the clan head answered. A hint of ridiculousness seeped into his tone, conveying his bafflement on why the boy even asked such an obvious question.

Madara stared blankly at his father. His eyes darted to the scroll, then to the clan head again, waiting for some kind of explanation. When none came, he decided to address the question himself. "But won't it put you in unnecessary danger?"

Tajima finally glanced up, his eyebrows arched. "Do pray tell, how exactly will it put me in any danger?"

Madara on the other hand was flabbergasted, wasn't it already obvious?

"Well, you know, because."

"Because…" the clan head trailed off.

"Because," the preteen insisted.

Tajima scoffed, obviously annoyed by the lack of answer. "Just how much of a retard are you that you become utterly incapable of explaining your own thoughts?"

"What's the point of answering it anyway? You already know the answer, so why don't you tell me?" The boy huffed.

Tajima ignored the boy's rude tone and put his brush down, inwardly wondering just what kind of nonsense that had gone through the boy's head. He had a feeling that he was going to absolutely regret ever asking about it.

"What do you think I use them for?" Tajima asked tersely.

Madara shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "As your whores?"

His father had ordered him to take random slaves with good features to one of their hideouts for no apparent reason. Madara had few theories why, and at the top of the list was for sexual gratification. He kind of understood the gist of relationship between men and women, and the few men that he had been in a mission with had casually talked about their sexual escapades, thus he kind of understood what adultery is, even though he thought that it was dumb. He did not like it, but one of his older cousins said that it was not uncommon for clan heads to take mistresses – even he and Izuna were the products of the man's second marriage – so who was he to defy the man's order?

Tajima on the other hand was not really expecting that response, thus he only stared at his son, his face equally blank even though he was inwardly suppressing the urge to bang his head against his desk. It was unbecoming for someone of his status.

Sometimes he wondered why he had not disowned the boy yet.

…

Oh right…

Three of his eldest are fucking dead.

Tajima closed his eyes to ward his impending headache and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Let's pretend that this conversation never happened and get down to business." Once he opened them again they were already crimson in color, their eerie red colors only accented his already gaunt face. "They are not my whores. They are my pet project, my spy network pet project."

Tajima was pleased to find the boy watching him with rapid attention.

"I plan on scattering them in a few locations that are controlled by our enemies. I have exchanged a technique with our ally that can make them an effective sleeper agents, however this technique is still not perfect, and in the event when they become compromised," Tajima jabbed his forefinger to the mission plan on the scroll in Madara's hand, "I want them to disappear, along with everything within half-mile radius."

It might seem like a rather hasty decision to simply blow up their enemies' camps. However, their enemies' deaths had always been their end goal. The use of a large scale explosion was not the Uchiha's modus operandi, thus it would be less likely for them to be the first suspect if he had to resort to detonate those spies; and even if someone had managed to prove that it was indeed them, the showcase of power certainly would only boost their reputation, and in extent their missions' request and money income.

Madara on the other hand was not entirely pleased with the order.

"How am I supposed to make a seal with that much radius blast? Those women are civilians. They don't have enough chakra to power the seal. And I'm not really good with seals yet, so why don't you just order the clan's seal master to do it? Or better yet, kidnap some Uzumaki and make them do it."

The clan head frowned.

"Why don't you figure it out yourself instead of whining like a child?" Tajima rebutted. "You are the future clan head. You have to be versatile and well-rounded in shinobi arts. Are you telling me that the Uchiha Clan's heir is an incompetent spoiled brat? I raise you better than that. Do I have to make your brother do your job in your stead?"

"No sir!" Madara answered immediately.

"Good. Now go and do as I ordered you to," Tajima dismissed.

Madara stood up, fuming for his incinerated pride.

"Yes sir," he growled before leaving the room, mustering his remaining dignity and clutching the scroll in his hand none too gently.

Tajima gazed upon his son retreating back. The seal design should occupy the boy's time for the time being, enough for him to stop that weird wandering habit of his. Who knew what kind grave danger that could befall him? He could be kidnapped, tortured, or worse – killed. He knew that the boy was already smarter and stronger than most, but still, he was only a child. It was easy to manipulate him. He was too highly competitive and wanted to be perfect in everything he did to the point of stupidity. Somebody could take advantage of him and Tajima really did not want to deal with that kind of headache now.

They lived in a harsh time, and life was such a fickle thing. One day he would die, and the boy would be the one who had to replace him in leading and guiding the clan. An Uchiha leader had to be strong, there was no room for sentiment, and Tajima would make sure that the boy grew into the leader that the clan needed, even if it was the last thing he did.

Tajima picked up his brush and dipped it into the ink beside it before continuing to write a letter to the Hagoromo Clan's leader, they needed to construct a plan for their upcoming attack on the Senju's Western Camp.

Uchiha Hideout, Land of Fire

Level 1, Prison Section B

Pitch black substance crawled down the floor, rapidly moving and attaching itself to the wall and the ceiling. The flickering fire from the torches barely made out its irregular shape. Its sticky appearance entirely juxtaposed with the swiftness in which it moved down the barren hallway.

It steadily moved forward, passing room after room and took a sharp turn to its left before moving forward again, heading to the farthest room in the compound.

Once reaching its destination, it easily slipped from the small gap between the door and the floor. Upon its arrival the substance gathered itself, forming a cocoon shaped lump as if slowly twisted and stretched, forming what appeared to be a humanoid figure that lacked any hair or visible orifices. Its yellow eyes, which lacked any visible sclera or pupils, contrasted heavily against the black mass that formed its body.

It walked closer to the prone form of the room's occupant. The woman was sleeping like the dead, not even realizing the presence of the stranger that had sneaked into her confinement. There were dark circles under her eyes, signaling the lack of sleep. Her skin was dry and pale from the lack of sunlight. Her once beautiful feature was gloomy, it had been a while since it was permanently set into its now cadaverous state.

The black mass moved its hand and pressed it against the woman's lower abdomen, searching for a trace of a particular chakra signature that it had sensed.

It stumbled back in surprise when it felt the trace of chakra that was once resided inside the woman. The barely nonexistent trace was almost gone, but it could still feel it as clear as the day – that burning and pulsing chakra that was as fiery as thousand suns but as cold as the darkest side of the moon.

No, no, no, no, no, No, No, No, NO, NO, NO!

How dare He?!

How DARE HE?!

HOW DARE HE?!

HAGOROMO! It snarled.

It paced, back and forward, from one side of the room to the other, muttering unintelligently under its nonexistent breath.

Once in a while it would stare forlornly at the bright moon that was barely visible from the room's small window, as if asking for some kind of sign or guidance.

Then it went into an abrupt stop and stood perfectly still. It clenched its fists in anger – as if by doing so would crush the windpipe of its source of frustration – before with the same abruptness as before it suddenly dissolved into its previous mucous-like form and crawled into the woman's skin, covering every inch of her. It stayed there for a while, and slowly but steadily the pitch black matter began to seep into the woman's skin, and not too long after that the pitch black mass had entirely disappeared into the woman's flesh, returning the pitch black skin into its original pale hue. But now the woman looked stronger and healthier. Her face was no longer gaunt and her lips gained some color.

When the woman opened her eyes again it was no longer black in color, but dark yellow like burned sulfur. The woman had been completely possessed. The forceful takeover had resulted with her imprisonment inside her own mind,

Leaving only Black Zetsu under the mask of Nara Etsuko.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.

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