Kakashi had a plan.

Not a perfect plan—because when it involved her, nothing ever went perfectly—but a plan nonetheless.

It had been a week since she started her lessons. A full seven days of pointing at things and repeating words, of trying to teach her what things meant and, more importantly, how people in the village acted.

Some lessons had gone well.

She understood now that the big walled place was called Konoha. That "people" meant the walking, talking things that lived in it. That a house was a home, and that food didn't just grow wherever you wanted.

Other lessons… needed work.

Like not sniffing random villagers.

Kami help me.

Kakashi sighed as he strolled through the crowded marketplace, the girl was walking beside him, eyes darting everywhere like the village was a puzzle she was determined to solve.

At least she wasn't flinching as much anymore. The pink scarf Kushina had given her was tied neatly around her ears, muffling just enough of the noise so she wasn't jumping at every loud voice or sudden laugh. She still twitched occasionally, her head snapping toward unexpected sounds, but she was adjusting.

Slowly.

Of course, Kakashi still had to intervene here and there.

Like just a few moments ago, when she had casually leaned toward an elderly woman waiting in line at a dumpling stand, nostrils flaring.

Kakashi had yanked her back immediately by the scarf.

"No sniffing people."

She had just blinked at him, tilting her head. "You sniff."

Kakashi exhaled through his nose. Which—okay, fair. His mask probably made it look like he was sniffing all the time. And yeah, he could track scents if needed. That isn't the point.

"Not the same."

She didn't look convinced. She just frowned slightly and stopped, but not before staring at the woman like she was about to shove her nose in her hair.

So yeah. Work in progress.

Still, no one had screamed yet, and they had made it halfway through the market without incident. He could almost consider this a success.

Then—she stopped.

Her entire body went still—head snapping to the side like a predator catching movement.

Kakashi frowned, following her gaze to a small store. A glass window filled with neatly arranged goods. Shelves stacked with colourful boxes.

And there, sitting in perfectly inviting rows…

Pocky.

The girl's entire face lit up.

"Pocky!" she gasped, practically slamming her hands and nose against the glass.

Kakashi blinked. Oh no.

She jabbed a finger toward the boxes, then whipped her head around to look at him, eyes huge with excitement.

"Pocky!"

Kakashi inhaled very slowly. Stay calm. Stay in control. Don't let this get out of hand.

He nodded once. "Yes. That's Pocky."

She immediately turned and walked inside.

Kakashi blinked again. …I should've seen that coming.

Kakashi sighed again, hands slipping into his pockets as he followed. He already knew this was going to be a problem.

Kakashi stepped into the shop, already bracing for whatever chaos was about to unfold. It didn't take long to spot her. She stood motionless in front of the shelf, staring at the rows of Pocky like they were ancient relics of great power. Her fingers twitched slightly, hovering in anticipation, and then—she moved.

One box. Two. Three. She stacked them high in her arms without hesitation, her expression completely serious, like she was foraging for winter. The stack kept rising. Six. Seven. Eight. The wobbling tower of snacks swayed as she adjusted her grip, but she didn't even blink. Her expression stayed calm. Determined. Maybe even a little proud.

Kakashi's eye twitched. Don't do it, he thought. Kami, she's actually—

Without so much as a glance at the counter, the girl turned on her heel and headed straight for the door.

Kakashi lunged just in time. His hand snapped out and caught the end of her scarf as she stepped past the threshold.

Her body kept moving forward. Her foot slid. Her head whipped back. The scarf pulled taut, and the Pocky tower did a dramatic wobble like it was trying to escape. Somehow, she didn't fall, but her hair fluffed out from the sudden stop, and she turned her head slowly with a deeply confused look, as though physics had just betrayed her.

Kakashi held her scarf, his arm extended fully. He sighed wearily. "You take." He pointed patiently to the snacks. "You give," he said, gesturing firmly to the shopkeeper.

She stared at him for a long second, then at the shopkeeper behind the counter, then at the boxes in her arms. Her brow furrowed and fingers tightened. Her grip loosened a little as she stared harder, as if trying to understand the logic underneath the whole setup. Then… something shifted in her face.

Kakashi could see it in her face: the ancient wheels of Forest Logic grinding to life.

This food wasn't part of the land. It hadn't been growing. It wasn't wild. It hadn't been shared by wind, or sun, or water. In the forest, if something grew, it belonged to everyone. If it fell from a tree, it was yours to take, if you were hungry. You didn't ask. You didn't give. The forest gave it to you. That was the rule.

But this wasn't forest. This wasn't something the world gave freely. He had taken it. Not from the tree, but from… something. This was his, the man's and he didn't look like someone who shared.

You take. You give.

The girl turned, marched back to the shelf, and, box by box, put every single Pocky back. It was almost reverent. Like she was returning sacred scrolls to a shrine.

She took a deep breath. Then began searching.

Her hands went into her pockets. Empty. She patted down her sleeves. Nothing. Touched her head, and quickly dismissed it. No, not the scarf. It is from Kushina. I like Kushina. It is not givable.

Her eyes drifted slowly to Kakashi.

Pause.

Longer pause.

Her head tilted. He doesn't belong to me…right? She wondered seriously. She squinted harder, genuinely uncertain. Can I give him?

Kakashi stared back and felt a sudden chill down his spine, recognising the look on her face all too clearly. Oh no. Absolutely not. "Don't."

She continued staring, clearly considering it. Kakashi's visible eye widened slightly as he saw genuine deliberation in her gaze, her head tilted as if mentally calculating exactly how many snack boxes one slightly-used shinobi might be worth.

"Don't even think about it." Kakashi said carefully, voice flat but tinged with real alarm.

She blinked innocently at him, still debating internally. He has nice fur, but I don't think he's mine… she thought. Yet.

"I'm not a trade." Kakashi muttered, pointing a very firm finger at her, sensing whatever horrible plan was forming behind her eyes.

She rolled her eyes, as if he was the ridiculous one, and turned back toward the Pocky shelf.

Then, without warning, she dashed out the door.

Kakashi stared blankly at the doorway. The shopkeeper leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Is she gone now?"

The bell jingled again, and she reappeared, marching proudly toward the counter with something in her hands.

She placed it down firmly.

A flower?

No, a weed. A yellow weed. The kind that grew in every crack, crevice, and neglected patch of soil throughout Konoha. Except this one looked suspiciously vibrant and healthy, as though personally blessed by the Hokage. Roots and dirt clung stubbornly to its base.

Kakashi stared at it blankly. Where did she even find something that healthy-looking in ten seconds? I don't think I have even seen one so…pretty?

She pointed decisively at the snacks. "Trade."

The shopkeeper stared at the weed in disbelief. Kakashi rubbed the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumping.

"She's still...figuring things out," Kakashi mumbled apologetically.

The man looked up at Kakashi slowly, clearly questioning every life choice that led him to this moment. "You're joking."

The girl frowned, certain that this exchange was perfectly fair. "Trade," she repeated firmly.

Kakashi fought the urge to crawl under the nearest shelf. We're never coming back here again. Ever.

The shopkeeper shook his head slowly, eyes locked on the weed like it might suddenly sprout legs and run around his counter. "No. Absolutely not."

The girl's face instantly fell, confusion and disappointment flashing in her bright eyes. She looked back at Kakashi, lips forming a sad pout, her gaze heavy and accusing—as if this were somehow his fault.

Kakashi froze under the weight of that look. Oh no. Why does she look betrayed? I'm not the one rejecting the magical weed! But the longer she stared, the more guilty he inexplicably felt. Her eyes practically screamed, But I brought a flower, and it's a really nice flower, and he still said no, what else am I supposed to do?

The girl sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as she turned back toward the shelf, staring longingly at the neat rows of Pocky boxes. She didn't understand. Was the flower not good enough? She carefully poked the vibrant yellow petals. Why won't he take it?

Kakashi couldn't bear the silent accusation of being a disappointing trade offer a moment longer. With a groan, he quickly dug into his pouch, pulling out a handful of coins and placing them on the counter.

The shopkeeper, still eyeing the girl nervously, turned slowly toward the money, then looked up at Kakashi. His gaze was wary, borderline haunted. He pushed around the coins with a shaking finger, counting in a low mumble before finally speaking.

"This...buys you eight boxes," he said quietly, tone flat, as though he'd just made a deal with forces beyond his comprehension. He pulled out a small paper bag and practically pushed it in Kakashi's direction, clearly hoping speed would make them vanish sooner. "Here. Just, take them." the old man said weakly, "and maybe...don't come back anytime soon?"

Kakashi took the bag and nodded solemnly, trying not to feel too insulted. "Understood."

Gently, Kakashi nudged her shoulder, holding up the empty bag with an awkward attempt at cheerfulness. She stared into it, confused.

"You can pick eight," he said quietly, pointing back to the Pocky shelf.

Her eyes instantly widened, and her sadness vanished like smoke. She darted back to the shelf with renewed enthusiasm, selecting each box as if they were precious jewels. She carefully placed the boxes in the bag and gave it back to Kakashi, looking immensely proud but still slightly puzzled. She picked up her weed, clutching it protectively to her chest. Why did his bad-smelling circles work as trade, but my perfect flower didn't? Human logic is so strange.

She gave the shopkeeper one last serious look, as if memorising his scent and face for future reference, and then turned toward the door.

As they left the shop, Kakashi could hear the old man muttering quietly behind them, something along the lines of, "I swear, every time shinobi come in here...never again…"

Out on the street, the girl bounced a little as she walked hugging her weed. Then she tugged gently on Kakashi's sleeve.

"Plant?" she asked, holding up the weed hopefully.

Kakashi looked at her, then at the weed, then sighed. "Sure. Let's go find a spot."

She beamed, satisfied.

He glanced back through the window and caught sight of the shopkeeper slumping heavily onto his stool, head in his hands with something close to despair and turned toward the nearest park. She followed beside him with purpose, already scanning the world for the perfect patch of dirt.

Maybe, Kakashi thought resignedly, it could have been worse. At least I wasn't actually exchanged for snacks.

( Not yet, anyway. )

They reached a park just as the sun began to dip behind the rooftops, she looked around carefully, walking in slow circles across the grass, eyes narrowed with deep, serious intent. She finally stopped at a small patch near the edge of a bush, where the sunlight fell in soft dappled patches.

"Here," she declared.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She is weirdly intense… I thought she was about to start sniffing the ground. He shifted the Pocky bag under his arm and stepped aside, letting her kneel down. She placed the weed gently beside her and began to dig with her bare hands.

She worked with slow, deliberate care—scooping the soil, patting the edges, checking the hole twice before placing the weed inside as if it were some sacred relic.

Once planted, she sat back on her heels and looked at it with a quiet sense of satisfaction. She pressed her palms together and hummed softly—something between a purr and a melody—as the breeze carried the scent of the earth around them.

Kakashi watched silently, the bag still tucked under his arm, unsure if he should say something. But then he noticed—she wasn't getting up.

She sat back fully, legs folded beneath her, fingers gently tracing shapes into the dirt. Her shoulders relaxed. Her breathing slowed. The park wasn't forest, but it was still green, still soft. It felt safe.

The late afternoon sun bathed the clearing in warm gold, painting the grass and leaves in shifting patterns of light. She looked like she belonged there.

Kakashi let out a slow breath, stepped forward, and finally sat down beside her. He set the Pocky bag between them.

She glanced at him, then down at the bag, and offered the smallest smile.

He leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. It has been a weird day…weird, but not bad.

After a moment, she reached into the bag, pulled out one of the Pocky boxes, and carefully opened it. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the wrapper, but she managed. Then, without a word, she held one out to him.

Kakashi blinked, a little surprised. Is this a thank you? A peace offering? A sacred forest snack ritual I'm now involved in?

She didn't say anything, just waited.

So he took it.

He twirled the Pocky stick between his fingers for a second, pretending to study it. His thumb brushed over the chocolate coating as he stalled. Old habits. Stupid instincts. Part of him still expected someone to burst out of the bushes and yell "Gotcha!" if he slipped the mask.

When she turned her attention back to the newly planted weed, Kakashi quickly tugged down his mask just far enough, popped the stick into his mouth, and pulled the mask back up in one smooth, practiced motion.

Crisis averted.

It was a little soft from the warmth of the box, but sweet. Her small offering felt oddly important.

But still… something was missing.

But still… something was missing.

He frowned slightly beneath his mask. She still doesn't have a name.
It bothered him more than he'd ever admit out loud.

He remembered Minato muttering about it just a few days ago, arms crossed and chakra simmering with quiet frustration.

"She needs a name," Minato had said. "Calling her 'wildling' or 'forest girl' makes her sound like a stray. She's more than that."

At the time, Kakashi hadn't fully understood Minato's irritation. But now—seeing her quiet confusion whenever someone hesitated before calling her anything, the way her eyes lowered uncertainly whenever people spoke about her instead of to her—he began to understand.

She wasn't just uncertain because the village was new. It was because nothing belonged to her yet—not even a word that told people she existed.

He'd asked her once, shortly after the infirmary, when she'd still barely known how to speak more than fragments. "Do you have a name?"

She'd tilted her head, blinking in confusion. "N-name?"

He'd tried to explain, but back then it had been impossible. Kushina had gently stopped him, shaking her head with that patient smile of hers. "Let her find her own words first. It'll mean more when she's ready."

Maybe now she finally was.

Kakashi said softly, breaking their quiet moment. "You still don't have a name."

She turned toward him, puzzled. "...Name?"

He nodded patiently. "Something that's yours. A word people use to mean you."

Her face scrunched thoughtfully. "Word...like Kakashi?"

He smiled faintly behind his mask, warmth touching his chest. "Exactly like that. Kakashi is my name, just mine. When someone says it, I know they're talking about me."

She went quiet, looking down at the soft earth beneath her fingers. "I… had sound."

Kakashi's eyebrow rose slightly. "A sound?"

She nodded softly, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the grass. "Like…mmmrrhh." The sound rolled gently from her throat—a soft, rumbling purr, comforting and oddly endearing.

Kakashi blinked, feeling his chest tighten in a way he didn't fully understand. Of course her name is a purr. Why am I not surprised?

"They called you that?" he asked gently.

She tilted her head, thoughtful. "Not called. Just… was me. My sound. Mine."

Kakashi paused, watching her closely. "Do you want to keep it?"

Her fingers stopped tapping.

Do I? she wondered. She liked the sound. It was hers; it was comforting. But the village was different. People here didn't understand sounds the way the forest creatures did. People used words. They needed something solid, something clearer.

Something like Kakashi's name.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, hesitantly, hopefully. "…What word...like me?"

Kakashi's heart softened even further at her cautious question. He thought carefully before answering. "Maybe... something from your past? Something special, something that feels right to you?"

Her brows knitted, thinking deeply. Her memories were scattered and bright, filled with fur and feathers and silent conversations. Slowly, she raised her hands, shaping little animal ears with her fingers. "Wolf," she said quietly, and then carefully showed antlers. "Deer, fox…" She made a quick, gentle gesture, mimicking animals fighting. "They fight. But... they stopped. Because me."

Kakashi leaned forward slightly, fascinated. "You stopped them?"

She nodded firmly. "Father... said they fight, but... you... make them stop. They listen to you. You make them... stay together."

Her voice faded softly into the gentle wind.

Kakashi exhaled quietly, a smile tugging at his lips beneath his mask. "Then you were their bond."

She blinked up at him, curious. "Bond?"

He nodded patiently, clearly separating each syllable for her. "Ki-zu-na. It means a connection. A special tie that keeps people or animals together. Just like you did."

She murmured it slowly, softly, eyes widening a little as she tested it. "Ki-zu-na…"

Kizuna. It felt warm in her mouth. Comfortable, familiar even though she'd never heard it before. It felt important. It felt like her.

Her eyes brightened, understanding growing. She looked around at the grass and trees and golden sunlight that filled the park. The forest had been hers. She'd always belonged to it.

Quietly, almost shyly, she whispered, "Mori… Kizuna."

Kakashi tilted his head thoughtfully, his heart warming at the hopeful look on her face. "Mori Kizuna?"

She hesitated, tilting her head. Too long. It should be softer. Shorter. Like Kakashi. She scrunched her nose cutely, tapping her fingers on her knees.

Then slowly, very softly, she murmured, "…Moriki?"

Something warm blossomed suddenly inside Kakashi's chest. Moriki. It was soft, simple. Sweet. And it felt completely, perfectly her.

She turned toward him again, eyes bright with quiet hope. "Moriki," she repeated again, stronger, more certain now.

Kakashi let himself smile fully beneath the mask, quietly touched by the hopeful shine in her eyes. "Moriki," he said softly, carefully. "That suits you."

Her whole face lit up, eyes wide with joy, cheeks pink as the breeze brushed softly through her hair. She pressed a hand gently against her chest, feeling the little heartbeat there—strong and warm.

Moriki.
It was hers.
Finally, something truly hers.

She smiled brightly at him, radiant. "Moriki."

Kakashi chuckled softly, leaning back again, something tight and uncertain loosening deep inside his chest.

"Alright then, Moriki." He said it gently, warmly. "Welcome."

The sunlight stretched lazily across the park, warming the air between them. And for the very first time, sitting there beside him, the newly-named girl felt truly seen. Truly real.

Truly herself.