Chapter 2 – Awareness
The night was quiet—well, not really. From my large, overly spacious bedroom—because apparently my reincarnation came with at least some perks—I could hear the soft murmur of my parents' voices carrying through the walls.
"…it's going to break out soon," my father said, low and tense.
"One of us should stay back," he continued. "Backline work might shame the clan. They'll say we hid while the others went to war."
"And if we both go, we abandon our daughter," my mother countered, just as conflicted. "What kind of parents would that make us? But… what kind of Uchiha would we be if we stayed behind?"
Their voices wavered. Pride battling fear. Duty clashing with love. Neither willing to choose, neither wanting the consequences of either decision.
Their words pressed against my chest like a weight.
War. A war with Iwagakure.
Good news: We'll win this war. There's still plenty of time before the massacre.
Bad news: it's not a peaceful era. The Third Shinobi War will drag on for years, and with my current power, I'm not changing anything.
I grumbled quietly. It took me over a year just to feel my chakra, and even now controlling it felt like trying to move through mud. I could barely manage an half a hour of Leaf Exercise on a good day.
Morning came anyway.
The Uchiha clan gathered in the compound, all the important shinobi present. Pride and tension crackled in the air like static.
Fugaku stepped forward, tall and imposing.
"The decision has been made. Iwagakure's provocations cannot go unanswered. There will be war. But we are the Uchiha. We will show the world who is the greatest clan. We will not hold anything back. Dedicate your heart!"
Cheers erupted.
Elsewhere—I fell out of a tree.
Not the twenty-third time. No. The first. Absolutely the first. My knees screamed and my face kissed the grass. I had never been so grateful to have a healer for a father.
Later that day, my father came home. My mother had gone off to deal with clan affairs, cleverly dumping responsibility onto him.
"We'll have to leave soon," he said, sitting beside me as he healed the abrasions on my knees for what felt like the hundredth time. "You'll stay at a friend's house while we're gone."
My mind leapt to old man Mira— the old man a few houses over who knew fuinjutsu.
But my father shook his head. "No, not Mira. The uncle."
Absolutely not.
"Please," I begged, already knowing his answer—he'd said no ten times before. "You're leaving me behind anyway, at least let me watch Grandpa Mira work. Just watch. I won't touch anything, I swear."
"Kuroha," he sighed, massaging his temples. "You still fail at basic chakra control. You fell out of a tree today. Fuinjutsu is dangerous. Too dangerous."
"But the theory isn't! I can just observe. And I'll practice chakra control like you said." I hesitated—then pushed the one button I knew would work. "Father… I want to be strong. Strong enough so you don't have to worry about me while you're away."
That one hit home. He hesitated, eyes softening ever so slightly.
"…Fine," he muttered. "You can stay with Mira. Only watching. No chakra. And if he tells me you touched even one sealing brush—"
"I won't! I promise!"
"Right… you promise." Another sigh. "Anything for my daughter."
Later that day, he stood at Mira's doorstep. Shin bowed slightly.
"Mira. You remember how I helped you out during the Second War, right? I… need a favour now. Please watch over my daughter while we're gone."
Mira grunted, unimpressed. "Hn. Fine. But if she touches my seals, I'm returning her immediately."
"Fair enough," my father said.
[A month later]
My mother knelt in front of me, brushing a hand through my hair. "Kuroha… be good, alright? Listen to Mira. And don't scare him."
"I never scare anyone," I muttered.
She snorted. "You terrify me daily."
My father placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "We'll be back before you know it. You're strong. Stronger than you think. Keep learning… and stay safe."
"You stay safe," I whispered.
"We'll try," he said softly. "We promise."
My mother kissed my forehead. "We love you. Remember that."
And then they walked away—armour clinking, backs straight, shadows long in the morning sun. They really did grow on me. Well hopefully they will survive.