"Just don't talk to anyone! Don't touch anything! Don't do anything, don't make contact with anyone, and don't look anywhere!"
© Back to the Future
Sarada crashed onto the pavement. Foreign feet moved around her. For the first few seconds, her body wouldn't obey, but soon a tingling appeared in her skin, mobility returned to her limbs, and Sarada quickly got to her knees so she wouldn't be trampled. She turned around. The wave was receding, pushing through the crowd. Behind the distorted air, the lights of the market square shimmered.
Someone stepped on her hand. Sarada hissed, clutching her bruised fingers to her chest. Her glasses were knocked askew by a knee to the forehead. The rustle of strangers' clothing hems. Curses from stumbling people.
"Shannaro!" Sarada growled angrily and stood up.
They stopped kicking her, but still brushed her shoulders. Sarada adjusted her glasses, worked her way out of the human stream closer to the stalls, and watched the wave go. It had already gone very far, and she could distinguish it only by the distortion of the lights from the projectors at the Hokage's Residence.
"No one else saw it. And no one sees it now. Everyone's acting like nothing's happening," Sarada thought. "How am I different from the others? That I'm from the future. Which means the wave is related to time travel."
She looked around again. In place of the ruins—a bustling market. Happy, dressed-up people, no traces of the recent tragedy.
I'm back in the future.
Sarada felt relief, but deep despair followed. She hadn't accomplished anything. Neither saved her mom nor the Uchiha clan. Best case, she hadn't made things worse. Yes, the deity had promised her she'd definitely return to the future. But who could know it would be so soon?
"At least I don't need to make up a cover story. I can just go home and rest," Sarada decided.
The market seemed unfamiliar. Which district of the Leaf was it even in? She squeezed into the crowd, and the human flow carried her out of the market. Something was off. Subtly unfamiliar... Sarada wandered the village for a long time, hoping to find something familiar: a building, a burger joint, the academy. Anything! But everything was alien.
She climbed onto the roof of the nearest house and surveyed the village from above. No skyscrapers, no office centers. And beyond the Hokage Rock—darkness instead of the glow of windows from the new district.
In the gloom stood out the monument with faces. First. Second. Third. Fourth. Still four Hokage. She was still in the past! But what year was it?
Sarada sighed and sat on the ridge of the roof, leaning her back against the vent shaft protrusion.
A crescent of the new moon burned over the village; distant constellations twinkled. There was no such thing in the future. The city had sprawled, and streetlights drowned out the night sky's glow; only the brightest stars were visible, no more.
"How beautiful..." Sarada thought.
Before her lay Konoha—native and alien at once. This village had no place for a girl named Sarada Uchiha, and she so wanted to just go home, wash up, collapse into a soft bed, and think of nothing. In the morning, meet Boruto, Mitsuki, and Konohamaru-sensei. Peek into the burger joint with Chocho and half-listen to her chatter. Not much time had passed since the journey began, and she was already tired.
Her heart was breaking. She wanted to try to save her mom and the clan, but at the same time, she was panicking at the thought of altering history.
Sarada untied the knot of her headband and removed the forehead protector. She glanced at her hands: she'd scraped her fingers and palms while clearing rubble, but now they were fine.
"The wave healed me?" Sarada realized in surprise. "This is all so weird."
Yeah, Donna had promised to send her to the past. But she hadn't said it'd randomly toss her through time.
Where did it throw me?
Several years after the Nine-Tails attack or earlier—and she'd have to go through that hell again?
"Stop whining," Sarada told herself. "If I'm even deeper in the past, I need to get stronger to help the Yondaime Hokage when the Kyuubi attacks the village."
She carefully folded the headband and stowed it in her pouch.
Two lessons learned. First—if people realize she's a genin, questions will arise because every shinobi has a file. And if an unaccounted-for ninja appears out of nowhere, it can only mean one thing: spy from an enemy village. Second lesson—no one should know she's an Uchiha. The consequences would be similar but far worse. In the first case, she endangers herself. In the second—she compromises the clan.
Sarada vividly remembered the conversation of those shinobi at the field kitchen. Incredibly, they suspected the Uchiha of unleashing the Kyuubi on the village. Sarada couldn't believe it, but at the same time, she realized she knew absolutely nothing about her clan. What if it was true? The Uchiha summoned the Nine-Tails to the Leaf, and then... "a tragic event that resulted in the annihilation of the entire clan."
Fear gripped her. What intrigues were being woven in this time? What had she gotten into? The real past differed from what was written in history textbooks. The textbook listed the year of the Kyuubi tragedy, mentions of casualties, the scale of destruction, and the Fourth Hokage's feat. But the textbook pages in no way conveyed the horror of the October 10th tragedy. And really, where had the Fox suddenly come from in the village? Nothing was said about that. Nor about suspicions that the Uchiha were involved.
"First things first, I need to do something about the clothes," Sarada decided.
She formed seals and used the Transformation Technique, muttering under her breath:
"Henge."
You can't live under the Transformation Technique, and walking around Konoha with the Uchiha crest on her back wasn't the best idea. Sarada checked her wallet. She had money, but not much. She climbed down from the roof and wandered the village. After browsing several shops, Sarada realized her cash wouldn't stretch to a decent dress, so she bought a cheap dark long-sleeved sweater. It perfectly masked the crest on her back; besides, Sarada had already felt how cold the nights in Konoha could be. In a dark alley, she unwound the bandages from her leg and hid them away with the forehead protector, shifting the pouch under the sweater so it wouldn't draw eyes. She canceled the henge.
She'd have to take a risk. If this was the past, no one knew about her yet. If the future, few would remember her face, especially if years had passed... But what next? Where to go?
It was nearing midnight, and Sarada climbed onto another roof, this time a flat one where she could spend the night. A twelve-year-old girl wasn't supposed to wander at night. On her way back from the shop in her new sweater, she'd seen patrols several times—her clansmen with police insignias on their sleeves—and she didn't want to run into them again.
She lay on the cold roof and looked at the starry sky.
"In field conditions," Sarada thought. "Like on a mission."
She suddenly felt amused.
On an endless mission. Like Dad.
A ringing child's voice woke her.
"Hey-hey-hey! Idiot!"
Sarada jumped up. Her shoulder and side ached; breathing was hard from the oncoming cold. The rooftop sleep was taking its toll. Her shelter was near the Hokage Monument and...
God, again?!
The stone faces were painted. Swirls, green scars. Snot added to the Second Hokage Tobirama's likeness by some deeply creative soul.
"Boruto?" Sarada exclaimed in astonishment.
Her logic failed. She saw four Hokage faces, meaning it was still the past. And yet a nimble figure with tousled blond hair was scampering over the monument. If she was in the past, how did Boruto get here?
"You'll never catch me, dattebayo!"
The boy jumped off the rock into the village and vanished among the streets.
"Naruto-o!" roared a shinobi in a Konoha vest.
A chunin, probably. A jonin wouldn't chase a kid.
"I'll strangle you, you little brat!"
He too slipped into the village and out of sight. Sarada was stunned.
Naruto? The Nanadaime?!
She glanced skeptically at the vandalized Tobirama Senju.
Footsteps sounded below. Sarada leaned over the roof parapet. A little boy in shorts and a white T-shirt with the Hidden Whirlpool symbol on the back burst around the corner. He darted about, figuring out where to hide. A paint bucket swung, splashing its contents on his bare leg. The kid was panting from the run. He turned into the next district, and his blond mop vanished around the street corner. Paint-smeared sandal soles left a clear trail of footprints on the road. Sarada realized she was already smiling: the little Nanadaime Hokage was hilarious.
"Now I know who you take after, Boruto," she thought gleefully.
The arriving chunin stopped, caught his breath, and confidently followed the prankster's tracks. Sarada waited until he was gone and climbed down from the roof—not down the building face but through the attic hatch to avoid attention.
Now she at least knew she'd been thrown forward five or six years. That was easy to figure from the Seventh's age.
She desperately needed money. The savings in her wallet would barely last a few days for food, and she needed somewhere to live. She couldn't keep sleeping on roofs, even on a long-term mission. It was suspicious at best.
In daylight, she finally saw how starkly Konoha's past differed from her familiar city. There was so much greenery here. Even in the center, amid squares and streets, ancient trees with wide trunks dotted the area: most had died during Pain's invasion. And nearer the Leaf borders, it was outright forest, with only the fortress wall separating it from the wilderness beyond. Sarada concluded this place looked much more like the Hidden Leaf Village than the metropolis of her time.
Life in past Konoha flowed calmly and unhurriedly. No noise or hustle like in the future, no trains rumbling every five minutes. The village had coziness and wildness, like an overgrown garden. And Sarada liked it.
But she had nowhere to go.
She peeked into shops and stalls, timidly asking to be hired. It wasn't easy—approaching people, pushing herself. Everywhere, she was turned down.
"Girl, you should be in school," a market woman scolded loudly.
She spoke deliberately loud. Vendors from nearby stalls all stared at Sarada.
"Damn you. Why are you yelling," Sarada thought viciously.
She'd been dutiful and honest since birth. She always did everything right, followed the rules, and couldn't stand being shamed or lectured by strangers.
"Where are your parents looking? Tell me your mother's name. Work for her!"
Gritting her teeth, Sarada hurried away from the market. The loud woman shouted something after her, and blood rushed to her cheeks with every word. Sarada moved far from the stalls, sat on a bench by the park, and took a long time to calm down, mentally cursing the vendor. Duty and propriety didn't stop her from thinking of others as they deserved, in her opinion.
"If you knew who my mom is. She'd smash your damn market with one fist if she heard how you talked to me. Gods, why do I have to go through this humiliation?"
She covered her face with her hands. Replay after replay of the day's words fueled her anger more. Finally, exhaling, she gathered her will and set off to storm the remaining establishments.
No one needed a little twelve-year-old girl. Everyone's business ran smoothly; they had enough workers. Trained, adult, capable ones.
By day's end, desperation outweighed shyness.
"Give me a job!" she shouted in a flower shop.
The blonde woman shook her head.
"Sorry, dear. This is clan business. I'd take you, but we have enough hands of our own."
Sarada left the flower shop, removed her glasses, and wiped away tears with her fist. Nothing was working. She hadn't even eaten lunch to save money. If this continued, she'd either starve or have to steal food. Her essence was defined by stubborn propriety, and Sarada leaned toward starving first.
Finding work was about as impossible as standing up to an enraged Kyuubi.
"Here you helped the Yondaime handle the Fox. Here you saved the clan and Mom. Here you became Hokage," Sarada mused self-critically, strolling the streets of old Konoha in the evening.
She had no mental strength left to talk to people and beg for work. Anyway, having skipped lunch and breakfast, she should at least have dinner.
She didn't want sweets. Barbecue was too expensive. Sarada stopped at a small street eatery with a sign: "Ichiraku Ramen."
"The famous Ichiraku Ramen? Fancy restaurant? Who knew..."
She ducked under the fabric with the shop signs, glanced at the menu prices, and decided to eat here. After a day of forced fasting, hot ramen seemed like food of the gods to Sarada. The owner was friendly, and she asked without much hope if he needed help. He didn't. As expected.
Picking noodles from the broth with chopsticks, Sarada noticed a blond kid standing a bit away, watching her every move with such hope and awe as if she were performing a sacred rite. Meeting the blue eyes of Uzumaki Naruto, Sarada choked on her noodles and stared into her bowl.
Damn. What to do. I can't talk to him.
She cautiously glanced at the boy. He kept giving her puppy-dog eyes full of hope and bitterness, and Sarada quickly looked away again. A nervous shiver ran through her.
He probably wants me to treat him to ramen, though he doesn't really believe I'll do it. I really can't. I don't have enough money for myself, and still no job.
But deep down, Sarada knew she'd give her last money to delight the little Nanadaime. Come what may.
"No. I can't. I can't talk to him. I shouldn't even be here. What if my pity throws him off his life path, and he doesn't become Hokage?"
Sarada panicked. She quickly slurped the broth, no longer enjoying it, thanked the owner briefly, and hurried away. Uzumaki Naruto stood on the road, watching her go in disappointment.
"I did it because I don't want to mess with history," Sarada told herself. "Not because I have no money. Not because I'm stingy. I'm not stingy, right?"
But from the depths of her being came reproach: "You are. You're relieved you didn't have to part with the money. History is just an excuse for your conscience."
Shannaro! If it weren't for history, I wouldn't have spared the money. I know. I'd have handed over everything without hesitation.
Sarada felt disgusted with herself. She was desperate and confused. She no longer knew which conflicting feeling truly defined her as a person. Shame? Greed? Suppressed generosity?
She sat on a bench, propping her cheeks on her hands, and glumly watched a stray cat slink along the fence. She needed to find a place to sleep, but any thought of the roof only made her want to stay on the bench longer.
I'll make it. It's not that late yet; patrols shouldn't hassle me.
Sarada lay on her side, drawing her knees to her chest, and wrapped her new sweater tighter. In her inverted world, the fence stood vertically, and the cat slunk along the road from bottom to top like a real shinobi.
Her eyelids closed, and reopening them proved too hard. Too hard...
Patrol!
The sudden thought yanked Sarada from sleep. She flung her eyes open and saw a curious face with whisker marks right in front of her nose. Big eyes examined her intently.
"Nanadaime?!" Sarada blurted half-asleep, jumped up, and pressed into the bench back.
"What?" the kid asked, confused.
His gaze suddenly turned cold and angry. He realized she'd been scared of him and took offense.
"And you. You're just like everyone else!"
Naruto stood up. He'd been sitting right on the ground in front of the bench to watch the sleeping girl more comfortably.
"And I'll become Hokage, ttebayo!" the future Nanadaime exclaimed defiantly and prepared to run.
"Yes," Sarada said quietly.
She watched the angry child in fascination, searching for the Seventh's traits in him. Someday this kid would become Hokage. He'd lead the Hidden Leaf Village, consider every resident family. And in the future, he'd put a hand on her shoulder at the funeral and offer her to move into his home. But right now, his gaze lacked what Sarada valued so much in the Seventh. There was stubbornness, fire, protest, despair, but those feelings and traits hadn't yet blended into that sun that would light the way for little Uzumaki Naruto and everyone around him.
"What?" the boy said in disbelief.
"You will," Sarada repeated. "You'll become the Seventh Hokage."
She had no time to ponder how talking to Boruto's dad would change the world's fate, so she just acted on her heart.
"Seventh?" Naruto asked, frowning indignantly: "Why Seventh? I want to be Fifth, dattebayo!"
"Because Seventh," Sarada cut him off.
The kid bristled sulkily. But the unfamiliar girl had no doubt he'd become Hokage, so he changed his mind about running.
"Why are you here..." Naruto scratched his tousled nape in puzzlement.
Sarada adjusted her glasses and looked at him sternly:
"I was resting. And what are you doing wandering so late?"
Naruto shrugged. He shoved his hands in his shorts pockets and sat on the bench beside her.
"No one's waiting at home anyway. Doesn't matter."
He subconsciously sensed she was as lonely as him. That's why he'd followed her. Sarada glanced at the small skinny figure beside her, and lightning flashed through the decades, stitching the child's image to the Seventh Hokage—adult, confident, reliable. Yes, they differed greatly. But both were Uzumaki Naruto.
You're at the source, Sarada. It's him, the Nanadaime. Look closer.
She still had to witness that incredible inner strength being born in him.
Strength...
Terrifying images of destroyed Konoha flashed before her eyes. The giant demon fox. The Tailed Beast Bomb absorbing into the Yondaime Hokage's seal and the distant blue explosion. The being that caused it all now sat beside her, lurking in the fragile body of a five-year-old child. A chill ran over her skin, and with great effort, Sarada suppressed the urge to scoot away from the boy. She clung to the image of the future Nanadaime and forced herself to stay still.
How many people knew the bijuu had been sealed into Naruto? Others must feel the same superstitious horror she did. But she hadn't lost anyone in the Kyuubi tragedy day. What about those who had?
"I hope no one knows the Kyuubi was sealed into you specifically, Nanadaime," Sarada thought.
They sat like that in the dark park on the bench—two lonely kids no one was waiting for. And for the first time all day, Sarada felt a real connection with someone. Even if it was loneliness binding them. Even if this kid couldn't give her money or shelter, get her a job, or protect her from police suspicions. But right now, she wasn't alone. There were two of them.
And damn, how wonderful that was.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan