In the Hidden Sand Village during summer, the wind swept sand across the rock walls. The sun, having just climbed halfway into the sky, was already eager to pour heat waves onto every inch of the land. In Pakura's bedroom, a corner of the gauze curtain was lifted by the wind, and a sliver of golden-red light slipped in, landing right on her arm exposed outside the quilt.
"Ugh..."
A muffled groan escaped her throat. Pakura frowned and rolled over, habitually reaching out to scratch her belly—but when her fingertips touched a patch of delicate, smooth skin, she snapped her eyes open, any lingering sleepiness vanishing instantly.
Slender wrists, fair skin, and even the fingernails had a healthy pink hue.
This wasn't her hand.
Oh no, now it was.
Pakura resentfully rested her arm on her lower abdomen. The collar of her silk pajamas hung loosely open, revealing her delicate collarbones. She stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling, took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and silently repeated "I am Ali, I am a man" three times before finally sitting up sluggishly.
Getting dressed was still the first major hurdle of the day.
The Sunagakure Ninja uniform looked simple, but its strap system was as complex as clockwork. For the first three days, Pakura had either strangled herself until she couldn't breathe, like a tightly wrapped zongzi, or tied them so loosely that she had to hold up her pants while walking, fearing she might expose herself in public at any moment. By the fourth day, as she struggled with the pile of straps in front of the mirror, her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, skillfully weaving, wrapping, and knotting. In less than a minute, a sharp and neat Ninja uniform was on, the collar's curve just right—neither too revealing nor restrictive.
Pakura looked at the spirited red-haired figure in the mirror, twitched the corner of her mouth, and gave a wry smile: "So muscle memory is more reliable than my brain?"
In the kitchen, the refrigerator door was pulled open with a "clatter." Pakura stuck her head in to take a look; inside were nothing but soldier pills, compressed rations, and a few wilted Sand Onions. Not a single fresh vegetable could be found.
"No way?" She picked up a dusty-looking soldier pill and poked it disdainfully. "A dignified Sunagakure Elite Jonin eats this for breakfast? The original owner's life was way too rough."
Despite her internal grumbling, the hunger in her stomach was clamoring. Pakura decisively gave up the idea of gnawing on a soldier pill, grabbed her wallet, and decided to treat herself at the ramen shop on the commercial street.
As soon as she stepped out of the house, a wave of heat hit her face. The wind blowing past her cheeks carried grains of sand, stinging slightly. If it were the old Ali, he would have shrunk back and complained about the heat long ago, but this body seemed born for the desert. Not only did it not feel uncomfortable, but it even felt a faint sense of relaxed comfort.
"Senior Pakura! Morning!"
A crisp voice rang out. Pakura looked toward the sound and saw a freckled Chunin waving at her from under a large tree at the village entrance, holding freshly bought buns in his hand.
Almost subconsciously, Pakura's body gave a slight nod, and the corners of her mouth curled into a perfect arc. The smile maintained the dignity of a Jonin while carrying a hint of gentleness, the balance struck perfectly.
"Morning." A pleasant female voice floated from her throat. Pakura screamed inwardly: "Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing! Is this body's social etiquette etched into its DNA?!"
She walked forward stiffly. The freckled Chunin was still shouting behind her: "Are you going to the commercial street, Senior? Today's Sand Jujube Cakes are fresh out of the oven, and they're so sweet!"
Pakura didn't dare look back; she just raised her hand and waved, quickening her pace.
The commercial street wasn't big, but it was lively. Sunagakure Ninjas and villagers came and went. The sounds of bargaining, children playing, and shopkeepers' shouting mixed together, giving it a touch of everyday life. As soon as Pakura entered the street, the surrounding noise quieted by half, and eyes turned toward her in unison.
"Look! It's Lady Pakura of the Scorch Release!"
"As expected of our Sunagakure's genius Jonin, she's so beautiful and strong!"
"I heard she and Lord Rasa are both top candidates for the next Kazekage!"
Whispers drifted into her ears with the wind. On the surface, Pakura maintained a Calm and composed appearance, her back straight and her steps steady, but inside she was so embarrassed she wanted to dig a sand pit and bury herself on the spot.
When she watched anime before, she thought Pakura was cool and handsome, and being admired must feel great. But now that she was the "object of admiration," she realized how uncomfortable this kind of spotlight felt.
What made it even more overwhelming was yet to come.
A few teenagers in Genin uniforms followed her like little tails, their eyes sparkling. The leader mustered up the courage to speak: "Senior Pakura! We're from Team 3. We'd like to ask you, how can we control the Nature Transformation of Fire Release Chakra more precisely?"
Pakura's heart skipped a beat.
Oh no, she didn't know anything about Chakra Nature Transformation! The Ali of the previous life couldn't even play the Naruto mobile game well, let alone provide practical teaching.
She opened her mouth, about to find an excuse to slip away, when a stream of information suddenly flooded her mind—it was the original Pakura's years of cultivation experience: the refinement, transformation, and release of Fire Release, and even the flame temperatures corresponding to different amounts of Chakra, all as clear as if they were carved into her brain.
"The core of Fire Release lies in 'burning,' but Scorch Release is different," Pakura's lips moved, and fluent words poured out, surprising even herself. "You must first condense the Chakra in your palm, feel its heat, and then mix in Wind-attribute Chakra for catalysis. Remember, it's not about letting the wind aid the combustion, but letting the wind control the scope of the fire..."
She spoke clearly and logically, accompanied by several hand gestures, all in a standard teaching posture. The Genin nodded repeatedly, the admiration in their eyes growing even stronger.
Pakura looked at their "Senior is so amazing" expressions and wept silently in her heart: This body must have an autopilot system installed!
After finally getting rid of the enthusiastic Genin, Pakura ducked into a ramen shop. The owner was a chubby middle-aged man. As soon as he saw her enter, he immediately greeted her warmly: "Jonin Pakura is here! The usual? I'll give you double Chashu today!"
"O-okay." Pakura sat down, somewhat overwhelmed by the attention. She watched the owner briskly boil noodles, add broth, and toppings. A bowl of steaming Tonkotsu Ramen was soon served, with a thick layer of Chashu slices, smelling delicious.
She picked up her chopsticks, about to start, when the owner leaned in again and said with a smile: "You must eat more, Jonin Pakura! You and Lord Rasa are the pillars of our Sunagakure. In the future, the position of Kazekage will surely be one of yours!"
The name "Rasa" reached her ears, and the warmth in Pakura's heart was instantly extinguished by a bucket of cold water.
Of course she remembered who Rasa was. The Fourth Kazekage, the ruler of Sunagakure, and one of the people who might have fueled the conspiracy in the future. In the original owner's memory, her relationship with Rasa had always been subtle. As fellow Elite Jonin and Kazekage candidates, they were both competitors and had to maintain a peaceful colleague relationship on the surface.
What was even worse was that the original owner and Rasa's wife, Karura, were actually good friends.
Thinking about having to face Karura's gentle face in the future while pretending not to know what her husband might do, Pakura felt a massive headache coming on.
Her mood plummeted instantly, and her hand holding the chopsticks unconsciously applied a bit of force.
"Snap!"
With a soft sound, the bamboo chopsticks were actually snapped in half by her.
"Jonin Pakura?" The owner was startled and hurriedly handed over a new pair of chopsticks, his face full of concern. "Are you alright? Have you been training too hard lately and couldn't control your strength?"
"It's nothing, it's nothing." Pakura waved her hands hurriedly, forced a stiff smile, and hid the broken chopsticks under the table, while screaming frantically in her heart: "I can't be exposed! I absolutely cannot let anyone see that something is wrong with me!"