Here's a fun fact: the first thing I experienced in this new life was the sensation of being almost obliterated by a giant demon fox.
No, really.
I was fresh out the womb, still figuring out how to blink properly, when a beast made of pure chakra and bad decisions decided to play whack-a-mole with Konoha. Somewhere in the chaos, someone screamed, someone else exploded, and I — a screaming little newborn burrito — had a front-row seat to the Kyūbi Attack.
Honestly, I thought I died again. Day One and I was already speedrunning death flags like it was a sport.
But no. I lived. Barely. Miraculously.
And when the dust settled, and the great big demon was sealed away, and Minato Namikaze had heroically yeeted himself into the afterlife… I realized something kind of important.
This wasn't just a new life.
This was the Naruto universe.
And I… was reborn as Sasuke Uchiha's twin sister.
Yeah. I'll give you a moment to scream into your pillow.
Now, you might be thinking, "Wow! That's so cool!" And it is. If by cool you mean being born into a clan with a countdown to annihilation, an emotionally constipated dad, and one older brother who's basically a moral dilemma in sandals.
I should've asked for better reincarnation insurance.
But hey — it's not all bad.
The Uchiha Compound is huge and quiet and smells like sandalwood and secrets. It's all sliding doors and too-serious grown-ups and dinner conversations so tense I could butter my rice with the awkwardness. But there's a strange comfort to it. It's orderly. Steady. Kind of like a haunted museum with great parenting potential.
Speaking of parenting: Mikoto, my new mom, is an actual angel. I don't know how I got lucky, but she's warm in that way that seeps into your bones. She hums while she braids my hair, somehow always knows when I'm pretending to nap, and makes the world feel… okay. And don't even get me started on her cooking. Woman could end wars with her miso soup.
Then there's Fugaku — the clan head, also known as "Emotionless Dad No. 1." He's a man of few words and fewer smiles, but he gives these long, unreadable looks sometimes. Like he's trying to say something but forgot what emotions are. I think he cares. Deep, deep down. Probably.
And then… there's Itachi.
Eight years old. Already a shinobi. Smarter than every adult in the room and too emotionally mature for his own good. He reads bedtime stories in a completely flat voice that somehow makes them more dramatic. The other day he deadpan-delivered The Ugly Duckling and made me cry. He's got this quiet warmth, this stillness that makes me feel safe — like nothing bad can happen if he's in the room.
He's my favorite. Don't tell Sasuke.
Speaking of which… Sasuke is my carbon copy, only louder, moodier, and way more dramatic about snack time. He cries when Itachi leaves for missions, and then pretends he didn't. We share a room. He hogs the blankets. I steal them back. It's a whole thing.
Konoha outside the compound is still healing. The Fourth Hokage's death hangs over the village like a cloud, and the Third is back in office with a little more gray in his hair and a little more weight in his eyes. People don't say much about the Kyūbi anymore — but you can feel it in the air. That hush. That tension.
And me?
I'm four years old, emotionally attached to people who don't know how doomed they are, sitting on enough spoilers to rewrite fate — and not a drop of chakra skill to my name. I'm not some future kunoichi prodigy or battle-hardened warrior.
But I've got something better.
A sharp mind.
A silver tongue.
And a very strong desire to not die in a massacre.
So I'm watching. Listening. Learning. Every step, every word, every secret. I'm going to survive this timeline, and I'm taking my family with me.
Starting with breakfast.
Because Sasuke just spilled rice on my favorite kimono again and Itachi's pretending not to see it.
You'd think reincarnation would come with some dignity.
Nope.
Turns out, the universe has a sense of humor — because four years into my second life, I, Akari Uchiha, twin sister to one very dramatic Sasuke and little sister to prodigy golden boy Itachi, was now wearing my breakfast.
"Sasuke!" I screeched, staring at the glob of rice currently clinging to my brand-new pale blue kimono. "Did you just throw rice at me?!"
"It fell!" he shot back, face red and spoon mid-air like he was holding a weapon. "It's not my fault you were in the way!"
"In the way? I was sitting! On my cushion! Like a civilized human being!"
"Civilized people don't glare at others while eating," he muttered under his breath.
"Maybe if others weren't flinging food like untrained monkeys—"
"Children," Mikoto said sweetly — too sweetly — from the kitchen doorway, "what have I said about waging war before miso soup?"
We both froze. Sasuke lowered his spoon. I brushed rice off my sleeve like it was an honor offense.
"Sorry, kaa-san," we chorused.
She walked in carrying a tray stacked with bowls, all elegance and calm power in that way only moms and elite kunoichi can be. Her smile was soft, but her eyes had that glint — the do it again and I will un-birth you kind of glint.
I held up my sleeve with the offending rice stain. "He ruined it. My favorite one."
"You said your last kimono was your favorite."
"That was before this one was mine."
Mikoto simply placed the bowl in front of me. "It'll wash out. Eat up — you'll need your energy."
"Why?" Sasuke blinked, halfway through a bite. "Is it meat day?"
"No," she said with a fond sigh. "You're training with Itachi today."
Sasuke lit up like the Hokage monument at dusk. "Really?!"
I blinked. "Wait, both of us?"
"Yes." Mikoto set down the last bowl and turned to us. "Itachi said he has time today and wanted to show you some beginner forms."
Sasuke puffed out his chest. "I bet I'll learn faster."
I arched a brow. "You just dumped rice on your own lap."
"That was strategy!"
"Your strategy sucks."
"Does not!"
"Does too—"
"Both of you." Itachi's voice cut in like a knife through tofu — calm, composed, and vaguely amused. He walked in with that serene big-brother energy, sipping tea like he hadn't just witnessed chaos incarnate. "We'll be starting with balance drills. If you trip over your own ego, I can't help you."
Sasuke scowled. "I won't trip."
"Good. Then you won't mind starting with full water pail runs."
He paled. "...I changed my mind."
Mikoto hid her laugh behind a hand towel. "You wanted to train, Sasuke. No backing out now."
I was still picking rice off my collar. "Can I opt out if my kimono is legally rice-damaged?"
"No," Mikoto said with a smile. "But you may borrow one of mine."
I groaned into my bowl.
"Let's go after breakfast," Itachi said, setting his cup down. "I'll show you the basics of chakra control. Just enough to see where you're both at."
"I'm going to be better," Sasuke muttered, squaring his tiny shoulders.
"In your dreams," I replied sweetly. "I already beat you at hand signs last week."
"You cheated."
"Using my brain isn't cheating."
Mikoto stepped in before things escalated. "Eat first, argue later. If you keep bickering, I'll send you both to Father for extra drills."
Instant silence.
No one wanted that smoke.
Even Itachi blinked slowly, like the mental image alone aged him five years.
I resumed eating with the careful, quiet focus of someone trying very hard not to be sent to war.
The training ground behind our house wasn't anything special — just a stretch of sun-dappled earth, ringed by cherry blossom trees and the rustle of wind through leaves. But to a four-year-old, it felt like a stage. Big. Important. Full of possibilities.
Itachi stood at the center, arms folded neatly behind his back, a wooden bowl balanced in one hand like it weighed nothing.
"Chakra control is everything," he said, setting the bowl down on the edge of the practice beam. "No matter how strong you are, it means nothing if you can't channel it right."
He glanced between us — me and Sasuke, who had very clearly not recovered from this morning's rice-based tragedy. His pride still looked bruised.
"You'll take turns walking the beam. No spilling. Got it?"
"Got it!" I chirped.
Sasuke grunted something that might've been "got it" or possibly "I hate everyone."
Itachi raised a brow. "Akari first."
I approached the beam, clay bowl in hand. The water shimmered, perfectly still.
Deep breath.
The first step was always the hardest — not because it was tricky, but because my chakra wanted to do too much. It flared with every movement. Too high, and I'd wobble. Too low, and I'd feel like my feet weren't mine.
So I reined it in.
Gentle. Precise.
Like threading a needle with your soul.
I walked the length of the beam, one soft step at a time. The bowl didn't spill. Not even a ripple.
Behind me, Sasuke let out a very dramatic sigh.
"Show off."
"You're just mad I didn't fall," I said, hopping down.
Itachi's gaze lingered on me longer than usual. Not surprised. More… thoughtful.
"You adjusted your output mid-step," he said quietly. "To match the shift in the beam's grain."
I blinked. "...I did?"
"You didn't even realize it," he said. "That's good. That's instinct."
Sasuke looked like he was considering kicking the beam over.
Itachi handed him the second bowl. "Your turn."
While Sasuke grumbled and stomped his way up like a tiny war general, Itachi came to stand beside me, arms folded. His presence was quiet — not cold, but steady. The kind of presence that let you be small without feeling weak.
"You're always watching," he said suddenly.
I glanced up at him. "What?"
"You don't move first. You wait. You learn." He tilted his head. "You remind me of Shisui, sometimes. Only quieter."
I didn't know what to say to that. Shisui was a prodigy. A whirlwind. Everyone said he could dance across water without rippling the surface when he was my age.
Me? I was just trying not to trip over my own feet.
Itachi studied me for a moment, then asked — almost too casually — "Have you thought about what you want to be, when you're older?"
I flinched.
God.
That question.
My throat tightened.
I had. I had thought about it more than anyone could possibly know. Because I knew what was coming. The massacre. The betrayal. The loss that would hollow this beautiful, complicated boy beside me. I knew too much.
And yet I knew too little to stop it.
"I…" I hesitated, then forced a smile. "I want to be someone who sees things clearly. Who makes sure no one's left behind."
Itachi's brow creased slightly, just for a second. "That's… not what I expected."
"Good." I sniffed. "Surprising people is a valid shinobi tactic."
He let out the softest laugh. Barely a breath. But it warmed me.
Behind us, Sasuke tripped and yelled something unprintable as water splashed all over his pants.
"Ugh! This stupid beam is cursed!"
Itachi sighed. "Control, Sasuke. Not aggression."
"I am controlling it! Just really hard!"
I giggled, and the moment passed. Almost.
But before we turned back to help him, Itachi looked down at me again — just for a moment. His expression unreadable.
"…Akari."
"Mm?"
"You don't have to carry everything alone. You're only four."
I stared at him, heart lurching.
He saw it, didn't he?
Not all of it. Not enough to know what was coming. But enough to see that something was off. That my smiles were sometimes too sharp. My silences too deep.
"…Thanks," I said softly.
But in my chest, something twisted.
Because I didn't know how much longer I had with him.
And I wasn't sure knowing made it hurt any less.