Lizzy had spent what she assumed to be several days adjusting to her new reality in light of her past memories. The language, once foreign, had become familiar, and she now understood why. She had taken four semesters of Japanese in university in order to complete her language requirements. At the time it was simply a means to an end. Lizzy had enrolled in the introduction to Japanese course on a whim and under the assumption that the knowledge gained would rarely if ever be used. It was a small mercy in an otherwise bewildering existence to find that her knowledge of the language would not only be useful but a necessity. For the first time since entering this new world, she could finally understand what was being said around her.
She had grown use to the constant presence of her new parents and had learned that their names were Hayato and Kanami. Unfortunately, she had yet to gather any information on where she was. Her mother had taken her outside into a backyard a few times but no further. Nowhere that would indicate as to where she was.
Lizzy was never one to judge someone based on appearance but she knew one thing for certain: people don't have red eyes. If Lizzy didn't know any better she would almost think that her new father resembled the second Hokage from Naruto. Though she was sure it must be a coincidence. No, her father's hair was much longer than the famed Tobirama Senju as it fell nearly to his shoulders and framed his face. Despite Lizzy's newfound understanding of the language she was no closer to finding answers to her predicament. Many tears were shed over this fact before she resigned herself to simply watching, listening, and waiting. She listened closely when they spoke to each other, determined to piece everything together. Learning what she could when she could and then using that information to make educated guesses as to what was happening was her only solution.
Much to her relieve and horror that was about to change.
The morning dawned like every other day up until this point. The sunlight radiating through the window hitting a spot just above where I lay in my prison. I mean crib. This god forsaken hellhole in which I have spent more than enough time to know every inch of its wooden bars, every groove and splinter threatening my tiny fingers. The mattress beneath me is firm and unforgiving. The mobile of colorful birds above spins mockingly, its soft lullaby a cruel reminder that I am trapped in an existence far to small for the mind I carry.
At the very least, I have recently found myself capable of more than abstract arm movements, drooling, and defecating myself. Rolling over was my first victory – a skill I mastered far earlier than I should have, if the surprised reactions of my parents were anything to go off of. Now I have set my eyes on a bigger goal. Crawling. At first it was slow and agonizing and now it is slightly less slow and agonizing. My muscles burn and limbs tremble as I attempt to place one in front of the other during "tummy time."
But what good is movement when there's nowhere to go? All it does is remind me that no matter how much I try, I am still a prisoner in this tiny, helpless form.
I sigh – or at least, I try. What comes out is more of a pathetic gurgle.
The door slides open, and I immediately turn my head to greet my mother with a smile – or at least I try. My body is still sluggish, my muscles weak, but I am getting better at coordinating my movements. My mother steps into the room, her presence filling the space. Her vibrant red hair glistening in the morning sun.
"Good morning, my love," she coos, her voice soft as she leans over the railing of the crib. I let out a small grunt in response.
She reaches down and scoops me up with practiced ease, cradling me against her chest. The motion was dizzying, my underdeveloped senses still adjusting to rapid movement. As she carries me out of the room, I catch glimpses of the house – familiar now, yet still strange in its simplicity. Its walls plain, the furniture modest, the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. We reach the kitchen, where she sits me down in a high chair and begins preparing my breakfast.
My meal, as always, is a mashed concoction of fruits. While breakfast is always the same, lunch and dinner vary. I can usually expect anything from pureed vegetables to oatmeal or just the typical bottle of formula. I tolerate it though…Not that I have much choice in the matter. I open my mouth obediently as she spoons the food in and long for the days in which something other than mush graced my palate. I have to resist the urge to grimace at the texture, and my mother only chuckles as she wipes the food from my cheeks. The result of my failed attempts at evasion.
"You're such a messy eater," she muses, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
If only you knew, I want to say. Instead, I let out a small, frustrated whine, which only earns me another affectionate smile.
Once breakfast is over, she carries me into the living room and gently places me onto a soft mat on the floor. It was a familiar routine by now. This is my designated playtime, time I devote to strengthening my muscles and developing knew skills.
"There we go. Now don't wonder too far like last time," she reminds me. Yesterday, in a moment of determined frustration due to my slow development, I managed to crawl nearly to the entryway before my tiny limbs gave out. "You be good while I get some things done, okay? We've got some visitors coming later so I have to prepare."
Visitors? Who could it possibly be? We haven't had any visitors since I regained my memories.
I simple gurgle in response. Satisfied, she pats my head before walking away, leaving me to my own devices. I sign inwardly, my muscles still sore from my escapades the day before and resolve myself to staring up at the ceiling.
Several hours, countless faceplants, and two checks in from my mother later, I hear the front door open. Excited voices fill the house and hurried footsteps approach the room in which I lay. I quickly roll myself over to face the entryway, eager to see who the visitors could possibly be. My mother enters the room first with two figures following close behind. Her eyes search the room before landing on me. Beaming, she makes a beeline for me and scoops me into her arms. She turns quickly and it's not the residual dizziness from the rapid movement that catches me off guard but rather the new comers. My gaze snaps between them and my breath is caught in my throat.
Just inside the entryway stand a man and a woman. The woman, slightly shorter than her male counterpart and VERY pregnant, has red hair just as vibrant as my mothers and kind violet eyes. Beside her stood a man with bright yellow hair and blue eyes, his expression warm but composed.
A jolt of shock shoots through me, my tiny fingers twitching against my mother's embrace. My thoughts race, a torrent of disbelief and confusion flooding my mind. This isn't just some dream. They are here. They are real.
Kushina Uzumaki and Minato Namikaze stand before FOURTH HOKAGE.
How is this possible?
Minato – the legendary ninja whose skill with the Flying Raijin was unparalleled. His golden hair and piercing blue eyes, the calm yet commanding presence – I had seen it before on screen, but that was nothing compared to experiencing it.
Kushina, her red hair as vivid as fire, her eyes filled with warmth and an underlay of mischief. She was heavily pregnant, her stomach rounding out her frame. And if she is pregnant, that meant –
Naruto.
My breath hitches. My mind struggling to process it all. I had known their faces from before this life. The memories of a world that had existed only on screen and paper come rushing back to me. It wasn't just familiarity. It was recognition, sharp and undeniable. I should've seen it. I should've noticed the resemblance between my own mother and this fictional, no she is very much real, character.
My thoughts they are real, then the world I have woken up in isn't just some parallel existence – it was the same world in which Naruto grew realization sends my stomach is a world filled with war, tragedy, child soldiers, and unfathomable danger. A world where Minato and Kushina…
No. I can't think about that. Not now. I need to pay attention.
Kushina steps closer, peering down at me with an affectionate smile. "My beautiful little niece! Oh, she's even cuter than last time if that's even possible!"
I blink up at her, grasping at the words.
Niece?! Last time? Has she met me before? Before my memories returned?
I have no memory of her, no recollection of our previous encounter. The realization hits me like a crashing wave. I am Kushina's niece. KUSHINA IS MY only am I in the world of Naruto but I am deeply, personally tied to it. My heart pounds in my small chest, a dull echo of the identity crisis still clawing at me.
Kushina gently reaches out, brushing a finger against my cheek. "Look at you, you're growing up so fast. You're gonna grow up to be a strong kunoichi, dattabane!"
Minato chuckles and shakes his head. "Kushina, you're going to startle her."
"I think she's holding up just fine," a familiar voice interjects. I look behind Minato and see my father entering the room. "Ah Kushina, doesn't look like it'll be too much longer," he continues.
"Nope! The doctor said another week or so before we have to worry Naruto making his appearance," the woman in question quickly turning red responses with a sheepish grin.
Kushina snaps out of her embarrassment and turns back to me before stating, "Little Hana, you and my Naruto are going to be best friends, I just know it! You're going to grow up together, and you'll have each other's backs for sure! Who knows, maybe you'll even grow up to be as good of pranksters as me and your mother!"
Hana.
My thought process grinds to a halt.
When Kushina and Minato first entered the room, I thought for sure that would be the most shocking moment of my life. Shortly thereafter, when it was revealed that Kushina was my aunt I though there was nothing else that could possibly surprise me. That was until now. I quickly review what information I have gathered since waking and I now realize that not once has my mother or father referred to me by a name since I regained my memories and not once did I question that fact.
The name settles over me like a quiet whisper, pushing away the last remnants of my old self. That was who I was now. No longer Lizzy. Not the young woman with her whole life ahead of her but rather an infant having to start Clarke had been a name that once belonged to me. Here, in this world, I am though alone was enough to completely unhinge me.
I quickly pull myself from my spiraling thoughts before I lose myself, not wanting to miss any more vital information.
Minato's voice, calm and reassuring, drew my attention. "It's good to see you both doing well. And Hana…she looks strong already."
The conversation flows between them naturally, excitement filling the room as they speak about the future and the upcoming arrival of Naruto. Minato speaks about the preparations for Kushina's upcoming labor. Kushina occasionally freaks out about the prospects of such an ordeal while my mother teases her. My father listens on with a small, knowing smile. For a moment, it felt normal – just a gathering of family sharing a peaceful moment together.
A fleeting moment that will not occur again. The blood in my veins turns to ice at the thought. I know what is coming. I know what awaits them. Kushina and Minato aren't going to see their son grow up. The Nine-tails attack is a mere week or so away.
My stomach twists once again.I can't stop it.I am the only one that knows what is going to happen. The only one with the information to change what happens. To warn them. And yet, I have no power to change their fates. No voice with which to warn them. No matter what I do, what I know, I am helpless. They will die and Naruto will grow up an orphan, mistreated and hated by the village.
Eventually, Minato and Kushina rise to leave, Kushina makes one last promise to bring Naruto to meet me once he is born. We follow them to the front door, my mother still holding me. The sister's bid one another farewell with a warm hug, and my father shakes Minato's hand, murmuring something I can't quite catch. Minato's expression shifts slightly, a flicker of seriousness crossing his face, but it is gone in an instant, replaced by his usual calm smile and he nods.
The door shuts behind them and the room quiets. Stillness takes over.
My mind, however, is anything but.
I stare at the ceiling, my tiny body still cradled in my mother's arms, and let reality settle in.
My name is Hana. I am in the world of Naruto. And if I want to survive, I have a lot of work to do.