Warmth.
That was the first thing I became aware of. A soft, pulsing heat, wrapped around me like a blanket soaked in sunlight. I wasn't floating anymore. I wasn't drowning in a sensory abyss. I was... held.
I blinked.
The world didn't explode this time. No blinding overlays of anatomy, no whirlpools or sensory madness. No swirling chakra networks dancing across my vision, no nausea-inducing 360-degree input. Just... a room. A ceiling of polished wood, stained a soft brown, marked with faint patterns and old beams. Pale light filtered in through shoji walls to my left, catching dust particles midair. The beams creaked faintly, like the room was breathing.
There was stillness here. A sense of history, of generational memory embedded in every floorboard and rice-paper wall. I felt it before I even knew what I was feeling. Something old. Something revered. Not sterile like a hospital or bright like a modern home—this was a place built on tradition.
From this low angle, everything looked enormous and distant. Shadows stretched across the ceiling as though they had weight. A paper lantern hung from one corner, its frame casting faint lines onto the wood like some ancestral sun. Somewhere nearby, cloth rustled, and the soft clink of ceramic hinted at tea being poured or moved.
The smell in the air was clean but lived-in. Earthy, warm, and tinged with something floral. Cherry blossoms? Or something herbal? It filled my tiny lungs and made the moment feel even more surreal. Like I had been scooped out of time and gently laid into the past.
And for the first time since waking in this strange new world... I didn't feel like I was drowning.
Everything looked... muted. Normal.
And then there was the face.
A woman hovered over me, pale and tired, framed in sweat-matted dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyelids heavy. Even in her obvious exhaustion, there was something steady and grounding about her presence—like a lantern in a fog. Her lips trembled into a tired smile, one so soft and unguarded it caught me completely off guard.
I couldn't look away. There was recognition, somehow. Not of the woman herself—I'd never seen her before—but of what she meant. A biological certainty. A newborn's instinct.
I was in her arms, and she was safe.
Her breath tickled my cheek.
Her eyes were white. Not blind—alive and clear. The signature eyes of the Hyūga clan.
Her expression was the first real thing I understood in this new world: pure, exhausted affection.
She looked like she'd been through hell, and yet... she smiled.
I was in her arms.
My body ached. Not in pain, exactly—just empty. Hollow. Like every cell in me had burned too bright, too fast. My limbs didn't even twitch. My eyes moved sluggishly.
And then my stomach gurgled.
Loudly.
The woman—my current carrier—gave a breathless laugh.
"Looks like someone is hungry," she said in a soft, melodic voice.
The language wasn't unfamiliar. My brain latched onto it instantly. Japanese—I think. I never actually learned the language, but I recognized it from all the anime I used to watch. The rhythm, the tone, the familiar sounds—it all clicked. And yet... I understood her perfectly. How? Mhh. Curious.
Her arms shifted slightly, repositioning me, and a second later... well. Nature took over. The world didn't matter for a while. I had no dignity left. None of it mattered.
But as I was fed, a strange calm settled over me. Enough clarity returned to start making observations.
First: this woman was definitely Hyūga. The white, pupil-less eyes were impossible to miss.
Second: she was probably my mother.
Put those two things together, and the implications snapped into place.
I was in Naruto.
Possibly. Probably. I wasn't ready to commit just yet. Too many isekai stories played bait-and-switch. But the clues were mounting.
Movement across the room drew my attention. Another woman—older, stern—spoke from just beyond my mother's shoulder.
"How is Lady Hinata?"
Wait. Hinata?
My mother didn't even look up. She gently adjusted me and said, "Our little princess has eaten well. She seems to have calmed down too."
Lady Hinata.
She meant me.
...Oh.
Oh no.
It clicked.
I wasn't just in Naruto. I wasn't just in the Hyūga clan.
I was Hinata Hyūga.
My brain stalled. For a few seconds, I couldn't process anything else. Hinata. That quiet, nervous girl who got ragdolled by Neji in the exams and confessed to Naruto like she was going to pass out. The one who always trained in silence, desperate for approval.
That was me now.
Except... I wasn't her. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't broken. I wasn't passive.
I was me.
And I am not going to let this life be wasted.
A sudden shift broke me from my thoughts. My mother—Hikari, I assumed now—lifted me gently and placed me against her shoulder. A few light pats to the back, and voilà—baby burp. Fantastic.
I let out a weak little hiccup. Dignity: -1. Again.
"Well done," she whispered.
The sound of murmured conversation filled the room again. More names floated into my ears—Hiashi, Hikari, Hinata. So many Hyūga elders fussing over protocol, over fate, over bloodlines.
I let the sounds wash over me. I couldn't follow most of it—not yet—but I filed everything away.
My body felt so small. So fragile. It took effort just to keep my eyes open. My stomach was warm now, full. My mind was slowing down. The world was pulling me back into unconsciousness.
I fought it, briefly. But the fight was short.
Apparently, I thought bitterly, baby bodies need a lot of sleep.