The next few months were different for her. It felt like she had finally moved past the denial and disbelief and was inching her way toward acceptance.
Of course, such acceptance started with family. Despite the terror of being thrust into a strange, imaginary world, she couldn't deny how well the family cared for Kimiko—or rather, her. So she made an effort to actually learn more about them. Granted, she was not even a year old, so she couldn't ask the questions she wanted answers to, even if she tried. It was physically impossible for her underdeveloped tongue to form words. So she learned the only way she could: through observation.
The Yuhi household was made up of four people: Kimiko (or her), her mother Kaori, her sister Kurenai, and their father, Shinku. Both Shinku and Kurenai were shinobi. Their father was a highly placed Jonin in Konohagakure's hierarchy, and from what she could gather from conversations he shared with his wife and daughter, he was some sort of "Head Instructor" for the Genin and Chunin of Konoha. His work frequently kept him out of the house, but usually within Konoha's walls—something her mother was thankful for.
Her older sister Kurenai, meanwhile, was a field Chunin frequently deployed outside of Konoha. Between missions with her team, she visited whenever she could, always bringing stories of the world beyond Konoha's walls. The girl probably thought Kimiko couldn't make sense of most of them, but the way Kurenai's eyes lit up when she spoke made her presence feel like a rare, cherished gift—as if her sister actually looked forward to spending time with an infant who couldn't talk back. As if carving time to be with her sister wasn't out of obligation but genuine affection.
She paid attention during the rare moments they were together as a complete family, listening to their conversations about the world beyond their home. One such conversation actually gave her context as to what was happening in the wider world.
"War's just about over," said her father after finishing his bowl of rice and fish heads. Her mother, Kaori, didn't say anything, as busy as she was trying to feed Kimiko.
Her sister was the one to respond. "Kumogakure and Kirigakure have already signed the armistice," she said, piercing a fish head with the tip of her chopsticks. "So has Iwa. The Tsuchikage has no choice but to sign, especially after Hokage-sama singlehandedly stopped their last, desperate attempt to restart the war." There was admiration in her tone, something Kimiko noted with interest. "A thousand Iwa-nin… killed by one man."
Kimiko wasn't sure what to feel about a teenage girl admiring the slaughter of a thousand people.
Her father made a sound of agreement, nodding his head. "The Hokage is wise and strong, given his youth. He told all the Jonin that he intends to put Konoha on the path to prosperity and peaceful coexistence with the other villages. And to do that, he says we need to rebuild what was lost during the war." Her father paused, letting a small smile spread across his face.
"He will be a fine Hokage who will make a peaceful and strong Konoha. The next generation can rest easy knowing such a reliable man is leading them."
Her father's sage words earned smiles from Kaori and Kurenai, but Kimiko couldn't help the pang of helplessness that settled in her chest.
It reminded her that as much as she found comfort in Kaori's warmth, Kurenai's sisterly love, and Shinku's protective presence, the knowledge of what loomed ahead sat like a stone in her stomach. Each smile and laugh from her family felt like a countdown—an unbearable reminder of how fragile these moments were.
It seemed that the process of rebuilding didn't exactly mean her father and sister had more free time. Quite the opposite. Rebuilding meant more administrative and organizational work, which kept her father out of the house and in the Academy for entire stretches of days. Meanwhile, her sister was taking missions with her team in far-flung areas, no doubt to gather funds needed for rebuilding—or so Kimiko concluded.
This left the house mostly empty, save for her and her mother, Kaori. Because of that, she spent a lot of time getting to know her mother.
Kaori wasn't a ninja. She wasn't a housewife who retired from being a ninja, like Kushina. No, she was never a shinobi in the first place. And yet, despite that, she ruled both her husband and daughter whenever they were in the house. In her home, they weren't shinobi—they were her family, and they followed her rules. Especially her father, who seemed to defer to her in all family matters.
There was a certain strength to her mother. Not the sort of strength Kimiko remembered from figures like Tsunade or Sakura, but a different sort. Strength born of grace and refinement. She reminded Kimiko of a wildflower—beautiful, yet surviving. Not fragile, but resilient. Kaori's strength wasn't loud or flashy; it was in her quiet authority, the way her words shaped the household with no need for arguments or raised voices. It was a kind of power Kimiko had never associated with shinobi but found equally admirable.
The time spent with her mother, while not doing much to sate her curiosity, was nonetheless something Kimiko enjoyed. Kaori frequently kept her close, carrying her to their wide-spanning garden of roses, letting her watch from her mobile stroller while her mother pruned the shrubs to perfection. Kaori picked the most vividly perfect roses Kimiko had ever seen—past life included.
Kaori also made it a habit to bring her out of the house whenever she ran errands. These outings gave Kimiko a chance to see Konoha for the first time.
It wasn't what she had expected.
When someone mentioned Konoha, she had envisioned a vibrant little village nestled in the middle of a deep forest, with the Hokage Mountain standing tall and proud in the background. A quaint settlement, perhaps bustling, but simple.
And in part, that was true. But it was also so much more.
The "village" may have started out as a small settlement, but Konoha had grown into something closer to a sprawling town or small city. It buzzed with life, a vibrant blend of eras and cultures. Edo-style wooden buildings lined the streets, their facades contrasting with stalls lit by electric lamps. Shops sold everything from antique weapons to steaming bowls of ramen. Some streets felt like they belonged in a feudal period, while others reminded her of modern Shinjuku.
It was surreal—like walking through an amusement park where the performers never took off their costumes or broke character. And yet, somehow, it all worked.
For the first time since her arrival, Kimiko felt something that wasn't morose resignation or heavy apprehension. She felt a flicker of awe. This wasn't just an imaginary world—it was alive, bustling, and beautiful in ways she hadn't expected. And she actually wanted to see more of it.
The days spent outside the house quickly became her favorite. Whether accompanying her mother to Konoha's wet market or the quaint tea house and inn near the village center, she relished every chance to explore.
The tea house, seemingly owned by her family, became a familiar stop. Upon Kaori's arrival, the staff would bow deeply and address her as "Kaori-sama." It wasn't just respect—it was reverence, the kind given to someone who commanded authority with poise.
From her stroller, Kimiko watched her mother move through the tea house with effortless precision. Kaori issued instructions to the staff, corrected their work when necessary, and praised them when they met her exacting standards. Her tone was never harsh, but her words carried weight. No one questioned her—they simply obeyed.
It fascinated Kimiko. Kaori wasn't just a mother or wife; she was a leader. A shrewd businesswoman who managed the tea house with the same grace and efficiency she brought to their home.
"How was such an impressive woman not given the time of day in Naruto?" Kimiko wondered. The series she remembered focused so much on shinobi that people like Kaori—those who kept the village running—were invisible. It felt unfair, but it also made her realize how much she had overlooked.
The tea house itself was enchanting. The air was warm and fragrant, steeped in the aroma of brewing tea and freshly baked pastries. Low tables sat neatly on tatami mats, and the murmur of soft voices created a serene backdrop. Kaori moved through it all like she belonged—not just in the tea house, but in every role she carried: mother, wife, leader.
Kimiko watched her mother's interactions with growing admiration. A seed of curiosity took root within her. How had Kaori become this person? And what might she, Kimiko, learn from her in the years to come?
One afternoon, during one of these outings, they encountered a family that stopped Kimiko in her tracks—figuratively speaking.
"Kaori-san," came a low alto voice.
Even Kimiko turned at the sound, her infant neck wobbling awkwardly. The speaker was a willowy woman with dark eyes and long black hair. She held a swaddled infant in one arm while her other hand gently gripped the small hand of a young boy who stood at her side.
"Ah, Mikoto-san! And I see you brought young Itachi with you," Kaori greeted warmly.
Kimiko's thoughts screeched to a halt. Itachi Uchiha.
Even someone with only passing knowledge of Naruto would recognize his story—the loyal son turned pariah, the child who sacrificed everything for his village only to be hated by those he protected.
But, perhaps more importantly, someone who willingly took the burden of his entire clan on his shoulder. He did all of this without growing bitter against the village.
A dutiful man. A complicated man, but one would not call him unwilling to fulfill his oath as a Konoha-nin.
However, this meant the baby Mikoto held was…
"Yes, and I brought Sasuke along, too," Mikoto said, her voice warm with maternal pride.
Kaori leaned in to coo over the baby, while the young Itachi approached Kimiko's stroller. His somber eyes flicked down to meet hers, and for a moment, she saw nothing but the innocence of a six-year-old boy—a child who had no idea of the impossible choices he would soon face. Of the pain he was going to bear because of his love for the village.
When he hesitated, his hand hovering near her, Kimiko reached out with her stubby arms and grasped his index finger. She cooed, drool pooling on her chin, but the briefest smile cracked Itachi's lips.
"Oh? It seems Kimiko likes you, Itachi," Kaori said, her voice filled with fond amusement. Mikoto smiled, too, her eyes softening as she watched the exchange.
"She's very friendly," Itachi said quietly, sparing her another glance before looking up at his mother.
"Well, Kimiko will be one of your brother's classmates, Itachi," Mikoto said, brushing a hand over his hair. "Make sure to guide her as her senior."
Kaori's expression flickered for the briefest moment, a shadow of worry crossing her face. Kimiko caught it—the same look her mother wore when they hadn't heard from Kurenai in days or when Shinku announced he'd be spending another night at the Academy.
"Yes. You're starting the Academy next year, right, Itachi?" Kaori asked, her tone smooth and practiced.
"Yes, Kaori-sama," Itachi said formally, his small voice carrying a rehearsed tone. "I hope to bring honor to the Uchiha clan."
Kaori's expression softened, her lips curling into a warm smile. "Such a dutiful young man. I'm sure you'll prove to be your father's equal."
The two women shared more words, but it wasn't long before Mikoto excused herself and her family. Itachi gave Kimiko one last look before taking his mother's hand and walking away.
Kimiko exhaled silently. Well, at least she didn't cry or pass out this time.
The rest of her time was spent productively—at least, for a baby. When your body finally started keeping pace with your mind, "development" was laughably easy. In the weeks following the tea house encounter, Kimiko began showing off her growing skills to her family.
She rolled onto her tummy and back again, giggled at everything they said, and even started responding when they called her name. Standing up took a bit more effort, requiring her to cling to furniture for support, but her family was no less impressed.
"Genius!" Shinku declared one evening, puffing out his chest. "She'll make Jonin younger than even the Fourth Hokage!"
Kurenai giggled at his theatrics, while Kaori's lips tightened into a subtle, less enthusiastic smile.
"You said the same thing about Kurenai," Kaori teased, earning a playful pout from her husband.
"Yes, and I wasn't wrong! She's an outstanding kunoichi, isn't she? Beautiful like her mother, strong like her father!" Shinku retorted, his tone carrying genuine pride.
Kurenai's cheeks reddened slightly at the praise, though she tried to brush it off. "Kimiko's still a baby. Let's not give her a superiority complex before she can even walk."
Kimiko, meanwhile, made a show of clapping her hands, as if cheering for herself. It earned a round of laughter from her family, and she felt a twinge of satisfaction. Making them happy, even in small ways, made her feel… anchored. Like maybe, just maybe, she could belong here.
It was also around this time that she began noticing something… different. Something she'd never experienced in her previous life.
At first, it was faint—like an itch just under her skin. But as days turned into weeks, the sensation grew stronger and more pronounced, until it was all but impossible to ignore. It felt like an invisible thread started at her navel and wove its way through her body, tangible yet ethereal.
She didn't know what it was, but she instinctively tried to "reach" for it. She focused, flexing whatever internal muscle seemed tied to the sensation, and felt a faint hum in response. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
The mystery was solved one evening when Kimiko was playing with her rattle in her crib while Kaori prepared dinner in the kitchen.
Suddenly, the door to her nursery slammed open, the noise jolting Kimiko and filling the room with a sharp gust of air. Kurenai stood in the doorway, kunai drawn, her crimson eyes scanning the room with a ferocity that made Kimiko's tiny body tremble. The shock of the intent of her sister to do harm, even if not directed to her was overwhelming, It didn't take long till her lip quivered, and tears burst forth as she wailed.
"What has gotten into you?" Kaori demanded sharply, marching into the room. She scooped Kimiko into her arms, cradling her protectively. As Kaori soothed her, Kimiko's cries gradually subsided into hiccuping whimpers.
"Why did you burst into your sister's room armed with a kunai?" Kaori asked after she set Kimiko down on the crib, turning around and fixing Kurenai with a pointed look. Her voice was calm, but the disapproval was palpable. A lady like Kaori did not need to raise her voice to make her disapproval known.
Kurenai sheathed her weapon, bowing her head slightly, though her body remained tense. "I sensed unfamiliar chakra in the room," she explained. "I thought there was an intruder. But…" She frowned. "It disappeared as soon as I entered."
Kaori's expression hardened. "Well, you must have been mistaken, Kurenai. The Fourth Hokage and your colleagues would never allow a stranger to infiltrate this deeply into the Residential Districts."
"Forgive me, Mother," Kurenai said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "But I'm not so incompetent as to misidentify something this basic. I'm an adept sensor, and I felt an unfamiliar chakra signature in this room."
Kaori opened her mouth to reply but paused, her gaze narrowing as realization dawned on her. Without another word, Kurenai stepped forward, placing two fingers on Kimiko's chest. Her other hand formed a single hand sign.
Kimiko flinched as a gentle jolt coursed through her body. It wasn't painful, but it tickled, like a feather brushing against her veins. She blinked up at her sister, her earlier whimpering now replaced by curious coos.
Kurenai's hands trembled slightly as she pulled back. Her sharp gaze softened, replaced by something warmer—pride, perhaps, or awe. "She really is full of surprises," Kurenai murmured, more to herself than to her mother.
Kaori's lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes fixed on her elder daughter. "What do you mean, Kurenai?"
Kurenai hesitated, as if debating how best to frame her response. Finally, she straightened her posture and spoke with quiet conviction.
"It seems that Kimiko has managed to awaken her chakra."
Oh.
Oh no.