Chapter Text
It was a bit like a dream, you know?
Maybe, in the far reaches of your mind, you know it’s something like a dream, but you’re just kind of experiencing it as it goes without any true impulses or action on your part.
There were brief flashes of ‘lucidity’, of really seeing, and they mainly consisted of glimpses of dark hair and dark eyes. A soft smile looking down at him; he was being held.
Sometimes he would feel distressed, and then there would be a rumble, like thunder in the distance, which gradually settled on his ears into a soothing hum of some strange melody he’d never heard. He always calmed down after that.
Real awareness didn’t come until later. And with it the realization that…
I’m an infant. He thought to himself, utterly confused. He was seeing now, consciously and continuously, none of that touch-and-go business. And he was… tiny. He was tiny but with very big thoughts, and he was sure that, could he see his tiny little baby self, he would - well, he’d probably look a lot like a baby, but surely a very confused one.
This was accompanied by a fair bit of crying, because he was most assuredly not supposed to be a baby. It was quite unfair. Often would come the storm-melody that settled the deep conflict into his chest down to a few sniffles and a distinct frown.
“Tou-san,” he managed to blurt out with his uncoordinated baby tongue, because that word sounded right. Like he’d heard it before, or something. The word sounded correct, but unfortunately his voice didn’t, because it was high-pitched and breaking and just plain weird , and this was all weird.
“Yes, that’s me, Ao-kun.” came the response from the thunder-man holding him, accompanied by a steadily more familiar smile.
No way, came the thought. Aokun? What kind of name was that? That wasn’t his name.
His baby mouth wouldn’t let him protest this point, however, and would continue to restrict him for several months.
It was time he spent thinking.
He was a baby. He had a tou-san - a father , and a kaa-san - er, mother. Words were strange. Words were very strange, in fact, because he recognised those words he associated particularly with those two darling people who held him and admittedly made him feel very nice and fed him. They were in a language that was very not-his.
Had he been reborn into Japan? What a terrifying thought. He didn’t know anything about Japanese society, except that it was way different from his normal one. Er, his first one.
His vision adjusted gradually, becoming increasingly adept at seeing more than his parents’ faces (which, he’d admit, were becoming his favorite things to see). Enough to discern his surroundings. They lived in a wooden house, which he liked; he’d always wanted to live in a log cabin, or something similar.
At least… in his past life. Before.
Oh - another important thing. His name *wasn’t* Aokun, like he’d initially thought, but Aozen, which his tou-san had affectionately shortened to Ao-kun. Aozen was at least marginally better than the first one.
He knew enough to be aware that he was no longer speaking English, but what could only be Japanese, which was its own frustration, because all of that vocabulary he’d been so fond of had been thrown at the window.
“Ao-kun,” said kaa-san, who had also adopted the nickname, “don’t make a mess.” Fine motor control was also a distant memory, as showcased by the bowl of food he’d accidentally slapped off the table in an attempt to grab.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as she rose to clean it.
He was an entire year old.
╪
He was walking before he knew it, which was an incredible relief. He recalled some faint memories of his before-one-year-oldness where he thought he was trying to escape his crib but had failed.
He did not speak often, which was probably an oversight, but he was too busy thinking all the time.
Had he died? Was this reincarnation?
Well, clearly it was, but weren’t those people supposed to not remember anything? He remembered a lot. Most things, actually, except for how to be a baby (this naturally meant he didn’t even try to do so).
He’d only been a scant eighteen years old. A wee babe. Not really, but still, fairly young. He’d left a lot behind - really close friends, other parents. Not just other parents, but parents that he genuinely loved.
Did they… know?
He had never had a troubled childhood, and there was no world in which he could have convinced himself to take this life voluntarily when he had so much he would be leaving behind.
These thoughts were usually followed by a distinct frown, and generally, since Tou-san or Kaa-san was in the area, they tended to pick him up to resolve this frown. Often with food, but also the storm-song in the case of Tou-san.
He slept a lot.
When he wasn’t sleeping or thinking or being held or generally just doing other completely normal toddler things, he was walking, and exploring.
This was a trait he’d had in his first childhood too, a tendency to climb everything in sight that looked even remotely climbable. Stairs, couches, doors, kitchen counters, tables - you name it, he climbed it. Or… tried to. It was good exercise, but Kaa-san fretted.
This was perhaps important, because, as he soon discovered, though his mind knew what to do, his tiny, practically non-existent muscles often couldn’t execute such commands.
He’d tried to pull himself up onto the table once and hit himself in the head when he fell back in the adult chair.
(He did not cry. He didn’t, honest.)
(maybe a little. kaa-san’s arms were very comforting.)
╪
At some point, he turned two years old. There was a party, and a lot of unfamiliar people wishing him congratulations. There was even cheek-pinching from some of the elderly women who apparently thought he was the cutest thing.
(He was the cutest thing, but it was a little annoying nonetheless.)
He decided against talking very often except to smile shyly and thank everyone. Many were surprised he could speak, but since he had no idea when babies normally started talking, he had no idea if he should’ve held his tongue. He heard tou-san proudly boast about his intelligence across the room.
“I am certain he will grow to be a valuable member of the clan, Fushima-sama,” he heard Kaa-san say. He leaned forward in his seat, eager to hear. From his spot he couldn’t really see who his parents were talking to, but the words piqued his interest.
He thought maybe everyone just dressed in their robe-like clothing because of the formal occasion, but the use of ‘clans’ maybe meant that he’d been born into some older era in Japan’s history? That didn’t quite make sense, because he knew that he’d been to a toilet. Had done many times now, in fact. Plus, there was an oven in the kitchen.
“I look forward to seeing your son’s growth, Yuhoki,” came the response, the man’s voice gravelly in a way that he thought tou-san’s might become when he was older. So, Yuhoki was kaa-san’s name. That was a pretty name. Which made sense, because his mom was pretty - in both lives.
The rest of the birthday party passed in a blur once he started thinking.
╪
Aozen had gone on supervised walks before, around (what he now knew as) the Uchiha compound, but neither of his parents had taken him outside, into Konoha proper. So, when Kaa-san had offered to take him on a trip to the market district, he’d enthusiastically agreed.
He had resolutely begun walking through the gates holding kaa-san’s hand when she heard her prim laugh. Aozen frowned and turned around to look at her.
“I’ve got something more interesting in mind than walking, Ao-kun. Come along.” She made to pick him up and he easily obliged. He had been excited to walk, to get a look at the village, but being carried was always nice.
However, instead of being carried in the normal on-the-hip way he was used to, she shifted him to be on her back.
“Hold on tight, Ao-kun.” He wrapped his arms around her neck - careful not to choke her - and his legs around her midsection.
“Okay, kaa-san.” he said easily, a smile forming on his face. Was she going to do what he thought she was going to - woah.
The world turned into a blur and his stomach turned, but in a pleasant way, like when you accelerated downward from the crest of a rollercoaster. Despite the suddenness of the motion, he didn’t even budge from kaa-san’s back, as though he were fastened to her back.
There were lulls in her shunshin for the briefest moments as she presumably found another spot to launch off of. Before he knew it, he was laughing, pure joy escaping him in a way that it hadn’t in a while. Shunshin rides were amazing !
Kaa-san came to stop in a clearing of trees, and Aozen’s laughter had settled into quiet giggles.
“Did you have fun?” Kaa-san asked, entirely redundantly. Aozen nodded his head several times anyway as he was put on the ground.
“How?” He asked, beaming. Balance was a little odd, and he tottered some but didn’t fall.
“I used my chakra.” She said matter-of-factly. His eyes lit up.
“How?” He asked again, and was rewarded with a soft smile. Tou-san was the more expressive of his parents, louder and warmer in most ways, but Kaa-san was no less affectionate. simply subdued. Her smiles always felt like sunshine, and Aozen preened at having earned one.
“First thing’s first, Ao-kun. Do you know what chakra is?” Her smile faded but the glint of mirth remained in her eyes. Aozen hesitated, because he kind of did, but only theoretically. And he wasn’t sure he had the words - or if he was supposed to know them. He decided to shake his head.
“Chakra is the energy of life. Shinobi are capable of using it to achieve a variety of effects, like sticking to things,” she poked him in the chest, “or moving really fast. ” She gestured to herself. "Everyone has it inside their body, like water in a cup."
“Where's... the cup?” He puzzled out the proper way to ask the question, and the glint in her eye turned to what he thought might be a pleasant surprise.
“Everyone’s chakra is different, but we usually separate it between physical chakra,” she tapped his stomach, “and spiritual chakra.” She tapped his head. He touched the two spots afterward, as though chakra might sprout from him at the contact.
“Wanna go fast,” he said immediately, and Kaa-san laughed lowly, but with genuine delight. A smile tugged at his face at the sound, though he was entirely serious.
Tiny baby body aside, surely he could try? Maybe his equivalent mental age made up for the lack of physical development, since he had the will to try to mold chakra.
“Not yet, Ao-kun. It could be dangerous if you tried. Molding it to form jutsu will come later. Perhaps we could see if you can find your own chakra.” He tried to absorb every word he could, so that he might be able to ask the right questions later.
The small clearing they were in was not abandoned so much as it was untraveled, and he had no idea how close they were to the road or the market district, but grocery shopping was the furthest thing from his mind at that moment.
“Most of your chakra lives here, in your center," she taps his chest. "It's flowing underneath your skin, like little rivers. When I made the seal for the shunshin, I told it where to go. It went to my legs, and gave me the energy to run that quickly."
"It... listens," Aozen parsed.
Kaa-san's eyes crinkle into another smile. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it. It listens. But first, you have to listen."
Kaa-san, instead of crouching down to talk to him face-to-face, chose instead to sit down. He remained standing, because now they were at eye-level.
“Close your eyes.” He obliged. “Breathe slowly, and think about it as though you’re looking inside of your body. To your inner-self. Think of a pool, or a koi pond, sitting right... here, ” She poked at his stomach, prompting him to shy away and laugh, ticklish.
She allowed him to settle, so he tried to regulate his breathing as Kaa-san was demonstrating, and imagined his awareness sinking through his body to search for something deeper. He thought that maybe he heard something - or more accurately, felt something in the back of his skull as he sank, almost like pressure.
Something in his gut stirred, and it felt like… pins-and-needles, spreading outward from his core. The sensation was so sudden that he opened his eyes and gasped, looking around as though he might have suddenly teleported himself.
“It felt fuzzy!” He proclaimed excitedly. Static was the word he wanted, but he didn’t know the equivalent from English.
“Fuzzy - like you couldn’t see it very well?” Kaa-san inquired, and he shook his head.
He reached forward to take her arm, and she let him. He poked lightly and very fast all over her arm, not enough to hurt (kaa-san’s arm was made of muscle, honestly, he doubted he could’ve made a dent) but just enough for her to feel.
“Like that. All over,” He explained, letting her arm go. The look in her eyes was positively glowing, and her lips curved in the smallest of smiles.
“ Very good, Ao-kun.” She reached forward to give him a kiss on his forehead and he beamed. He had felt his chakra - moreover, he had chakra!
Okay, maybe he’d been reasonably disturbed to have found himself in the Elemental Nations, but he couldn’t deny that being able to use chakra was something that was never even remotely possible in his world. It was magic. And he was (technically) two. It was a big deal.
He insisted on sitting on kaa-san’s back whilst she shopped so he didn’t have to focus on menial tasks like walking or looking around while he tried to focus on his chakra again.
╪
He didn’t really pay attention to his parent’s discussions unless he was involved in it or at the dinner table (and even then), so he must have missed the part where he was apparently old enough to start learning things .
Oh, he might have been excited if it was interesting things like chakra theory, or using chakra, or the tools of the shinobi trade, or anything, you know, remotely interesting. No, instead he was learning calligraphy.
In his previous life, he’d had terrible handwriting. It was a skill, he knew, but once you got past a certain age it stopped being important enough to learn. Or so he felt.
He supposed that he should be grateful for the opportunity to actually learn how to write in his new language, but it was proving difficult, because he had intimate knowledge of having used English his entire life and things like hiragana and kanji were utterly foreign.
Slightly more interesting were lessons with Mikoni-obaa-sama, the chief priestess at the Uchiha’s ancestral shrine. He and kaa-san went to the shrine every few days, and other Uchiha children did the same, though without their parents. They were, he could tell, physically older, but he had no interest in them since they were still children compared to him. The feeling was completely mutual.
Mikoni-obaa-sama told them about the history of the Uchiha; of the mythology their belief system was rooted in; of the Warring Clans era; of the dozens of lineages within the clan dating back hundreds of years, for they were one of the oldest clans in the Elemental Nations ; of the founding of Konoha and the subsequent peace.
These lessons she gave in the Uchiha shrine, her soft but aged voice like velvet as she told stories by candlelight. Tapestries older than all of the children present combined gave life to her words, and at the end of each lesson, they would pray to their gods.
It was a fascinating experience to go through. His initial learning was tempered by a kind of detached interest, like he was reading fiction. Everything was interesting, but nothing seemed real .
Over time, though, he found himself endeared to the motions and the values the Uchiha talked about. It seemed a little foolish to dismiss the gods outright – how else had he ended up where he was? Slowly, polite respect gave way to genuine homage.
Often, though, Mikoni-obaa-sama spoke of the Sharingan, of the power the Uchiha wielded. They must wield it honorably, she said, for theirs was the heritage of dragons.
That, Aozen listened to a bit more skeptically. The Sharingan and its implications loomed large on the horizon. He tried not to think about it.
╪
Physical training came after he turned three. Kaa-san had continued to do chakra exercises with him, which usually amounted to the equivalent of meditation. It was only months later that tou-san had taken him to the Uchiha training grounds to show him rudimentary katas. He was ecstatic.
He’d had no real experience with martial arts in his past life, but he’d always thought it was incredibly interesting. He understood the principles of martial combat even if he didn’t have the foreknowledge to mentally adjust for small, beginner’s mistakes, which was a blessing in and of itself.
He drew looks, which was expected. He never saw anyone as young or as small as him at the training grounds or at Mikoni-obaa-sama’s lessons. Being a prodigy would surely be troublesome, but to be fair, if he had to be a toddler for too much longer, he was going to break something.
He thought often on his situation, his circumstances, on all the what-ifs and potential futures. But it was easy to put all that aside when it seemed so very far away, when the Uchiha compound contained his entire world, and when his parents filled his life with affection.
The thought of making progress, though, of learning valuable, practical skills, made him giddy with anticipation. His enthusiasm didn’t translate to better coordination or correct stances, though, as tou-san continually reminded him, so he had to go about it the old-fashioned way: repetition. It was only months later that he started on throwing exercises.
Kunai and shuriken were about exactly as cool as he had expected. Unfortunately, his ability to look cool while throwing them was diminished, because throwing them was much, much harder than it looked. He practiced with dull tools, which was fortunate, because he’d have cut his hands many times if not.
Tou-san was an encouraging presence who continually corrected any errors in form, and assured him that, like with his katas, practice made perfect. Or, actually, perfect practice made perfect. Funny how some sayings were universal - literally.
Tou-san only took him to practice every few days, but katas were done every other day, with rest days in between. Ninja-wire was also added into the curriculum, and with it, the basics of making traps and using his ninja implements as tools rather than exclusively weapons. Although Aozen had no one to compare himself to, he thought he was getting pretty good at them.
His writing was progressing nicely, and it was very gratifying to see that whatever genetic predisposition he’d had to chicken-scratch in the Before did not extend to his reincarnation. His grasp of language was expanding. Expressing his thoughts was now not so difficult.
╪
He was four when he started playing shogi. It happened by accident, really. The Uchiha courtyard was the place for their clan festivals and celebrations, and, outside of the training grounds, was the most common spot for gatherings of community. The other children would play games while parents looked on, and cousins would meet to trade gossip.
The elders liked the place, but less for the publicity and more for the ample space it provided. In one quiet corner with the leaves and grass swept aside, Aozen had seen three older Uchiha sat on cushions around a lacquered board. He had lingered nearby longer than he’d intended to and caught their attention.
“Come closer, boy,” Elder Kazumasa had said, gesturing with a crooked finger. “Do you know how to play?” Aozen confessed that he didn’t, and the man had volunteered to teach him.
He took to it quickly, of course, because the rules were not so very different from chess, which he had played in the Before. Still, it was just different enough to give him pause, and to not seem entirely strange to the other elders who taught him.
That began a sort of ritual. Aozen was being given more freedom around the compound, so he was regularly allowed to wander on his own, so long as he stayed on the main paths of Uchiha-ku. Sometimes he’d take different routes, but usually he would end up at the courtyard to begin another game of shogi.
“You’re late, boy,” said Elder Masao, not looking up from the board. He and Elder Shinsuke were in the later stages of their game, though at a glance it looked like Shinsuke was winning.
Their meetings weren’t scheduled, so Aozen didn’t really know how he could be considered ‘late’, but he knew better than to argue with the Elders, so he bowed.
“Forgive me, honored elders,” he said, ever polite. There was a fourth cushion across from Elder Kazumasa which he took his seat at. His closer position confirmed his assessment that Shinsuke was winning.
“What would you play here, Aozen-kun?” asked Masao, gaze still not leaving the board. His voice was dry and reedy, like wind rustling washi paper.
Aozen considers before answering. Masao was a defensive player, with a very conservative style that tended towards long, drawn-out battles. He disliked sacrifices and preferred to set up a field of traps, baiting his opponent into the attack then capitalizing upon their mistakes.
Shinsuke, by contrast, was an aggressive player who usually liked to attack and take space from the beginning and bottleneck his opponent into unfavorable paths without easy escape. Usually, the two were well-matched opponents, but it looked like Masao had played too passive and had spread himself thin. Shinsuke had almost completely overtaken one side of the board, and was fit to force Masao into a corner.
Aozen cleared his throat politely and said, “I would resign, Masao-sama.”
Kazumasa barked a laugh and Shinsuke chuckled. Masao only scowled. “Impertinent, boy. Very impertinent.”
“He has a point,” said Kazumasa. “If you had any way of getting out of this, Masao, I’d love to hear it. This was well-played, Shinsuke.”
Shinsuke grunted. “I cannot take full credit. I was reviewing the latest games from the capitol when I saw a strategy like this, and thought I would try it myself.”
“That Ohashi Sokei¹, ne?” asks Kazumasa. Shinsuke nods an affirmative. “A fascinating player. I ought to look into his matches, too…” he trails off.
Masao sighs. “Very well then, Shinsuke. You have me here. I resign.” He reaches across to shake Shinsuke’s hands and they begin resetting the board.
“May I play next, honored elders?” he chimes, looking between them. The elders exchange a glance.
Shinsuke eyes him. “You lost yesterday in sixteen moves.”
Aozen nods once. “I learned sixteen things, Shinsuke-sama. One for each mistake.”
At this, the man chuckles, and even Masao smiles. Kazumasa leans forward. “Alright then, Aozen-kun. You and I will play a match. You will have the gote².” Ordinarily, there’d be a piece toss to determine who went first, but Aozen got to play only once or twice a visit on average. Getting the second move wasn’t so bad.
Of the three elders, Kazumasa was the best player, though each of them might say differently. Former jōnin, former tactician, former father, and the one who had done most of Aozen’s teaching. He was an analytical player, patient when it counted and aggressive when you least expected it, which made him a nightmare to play against.
Despite his precocity, Aozen wasn’t an excellent shogi player. He was better than any four year old had a right to be, perhaps, but that was expected given his… circumstances.
The game starts off quickly, both players putting forth pre-learned openings. The first ten moves go by quickly. This was a learning game. Aozen sacrificed material early, to see where Kazumasa was leaning. On move eighteen, he put his silver general out of the traditional path and watched Kazumasa’s eyes narrow.
He would take the bait. Aozen knew he would because Kazumasa had no patience for unorthodox setups. He’d strike early because Aozen was feeding him ground. When he did, Aozen would be ready to close the trap.
Only – then he didn’t. He smirked, eyes narrowed. He shifted a different piece, neutralizing Aozen’s gambit before it unfolded. Aozen’s fingers froze above the board, then slowly returned to his lap.
“Too much, too soon, Aozen-kun,” he chided. “You must be more subtle than that.”
“Hai,” Aozen dipped his head, and the game continued. Pieces began moving slower. There was no time-clock for this like they had during games at the capital, but these were amateur games regardless.
At move twenty-nine, Aozen hovered between the knight and the gold general before choosing the former. At move thirty-three, Kazumasa offered a quiet, “Hm.”
“The boy is cautious,” Masao observes from one side.
“Hesitant,” Shinsuke counters. “There is a difference.”
The match stalls, and Aozen is able to hold his own for another six moves before Kazumasa mates him. But unlike any of his other matches, it was close. His best performance to date.
Kazumasa’s weathered face crinkles with his approval. “Not so bad, Aozen-bō.”
Masao points at him. “You lead the next match,” he says, and Aozen bows his head.
Not victory, this time. But recognition.
He loses against Masao, but it takes even longer than the game with Kazumasa, and he feels a sliver of satisfaction at being able to hold his ground in these matches. Eventually, the elders wave him off, but it’s a nice walk back to his home.
╪
His parents didn’t really argue. Maybe they were good at hiding it, being shinobi and all, but they got along. Arranged marriages seemed like an ordinary, if not common occurrence, but he’d never asked his parents about theirs.
They had a genuine affection about them that he didn’t think could be faked, and casual sightings of it – a lingering kiss as one left for work, a shared joke over dinner – never failed to elicit a bright, warm feeling in his chest.
So when he encountered harsh tones and sharp words in the kitchen, he didn’t think it an odd choice to hang back in his room to eavesdrop.
“...Fushima-sama has noticed the both of you in the training grounds, along with half the clan.” Kaa-san’s voice. “You know how they are.”
“It’s too soon,” said his father. “He’s six. Two years below the minimum.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Academy said they’d take him.” Kaa-san sounded resigned.
“Because he’s different, not because they care about his future.”
“He’s ours . And he’s further along than the other children his age – than the other children two years older than him, even. You know this.”
“That isn’t reassuring. We have a right to refuse.” A ruffle of cloth – sitting down, maybe. “He asked me the other day about the last war. Not in a curious way. In a tired way. Like he already knew about the nature of it, not just the details in history books.”
“He’s perceptive,” Kaa-san protested. “That isn’t a flaw.”
“He’s a boy, Yuhoki. He should be running in the yard with the other children. Not memorizing clan tactics or worrying about what chakra type he has. Kami, he hasn’t even unlocked it yet, and he acts like he knows what it will be."
Aozen had to force himself not to hold his breath. He placed a hand over his stomach, remembering the first time Kaa-san had shown him his chakra.
It’s a minute before Kaa-san responds. “Iwa has been growing restless for some time now. It won’t be long.” There’s a beat. “I know. I’m just as worried as you. But the clan is watching us. Watching him. If we try to hide him from it, it’ll only leave him unprepared.”
Another long silence. Tou-san speaks, “They’re going to put me on the active roster soon.”
“I know,” Kaa-san sighs. “The only reason they haven’t sent me yet is because Fugaku assures his father I’m going to take a position in the Police Force.”
The name is familiar to him, but hearing it does not put him more at ease. They’re speaking of the next war. The Second one. They only call the last one the Shinobi World War, without the numeral.
He takes a deep breath and steps back, but in the throes of his anxiety, trips over the tatami mat and lands on the ground with a dull thud. He winces.
His mother is at the door in moments, cracking it open and letting light spill in. “Ao-kun? Are you okay?”
“Aa – yes,” he murmurs, picking himself up. “I fell, that's all.”
Kaa-san lingers in the doorway. Aozen tries not to fidget under her gaze, but it’s a lost cause. “Were you listening at the door?”
Aozen pauses for a moment too long. “No. I was up only because I was… stretching.” The lie falls flat, and Kaa-san sighs.
“Come into the kitchen, Ao-kun,” she said, and Aozen knew he’d been caught out. He follows her into the other room.
Tou-san is sitting at their table with a cup of tea in hand, looking out the nearby window. It’s nighttime, so the rain is only visible as it splatters against the glass. In the gloom beyond, lightning occasionally breaks through as pale streaks of light before retreating.
Tou-san sets his cup down. “We need to talk.”
Aozen raises his chin. No use lying now. “About the Academy.”
His father doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing. “How much did you hear?”
He glances between his parents. The silence stretches on, uncertain. “Enough,” he confesses.
With a hand on his shoulder, Kaa-san directs him into a seat before taking her own, positioned right next to him. She takes his hand in hers, and her gaze is serious but not unkind when she asks, “What do you want to do?”
Aozen swallowed past the lump in his throat and stared at the table, thinking.
He couldn't hide from it anymore. People had noticed him. That should have been gratifying, shouldn’t it? Life was moving on and he was being recognized, given opportunities. The label of 'prodigy' opened paths that wouldn’t have come about otherwise.
Only, he wasn’t that naïve. This world had never been kind to gifted children, and his knowledge gave him obligations , obligations that would eventually put a target on his back.
Sometimes he doesn’t know how much of him is him and how much of it is Aozen; of the person Aozen is supposed to be. He doesn’t know how much of this is a balancing act between what he knows is supposed to happen and who he is as a person. Is he playing a part?
What do you want to do? his mother asked him. The choice is his. But is it truly, or is it only an illusion? The choice would be made for him eventually, whether he liked it or not. If he was not very careful, he would turn into another piece on the shogi board; not the player.
“I have never been like the other children,” he says slowly, thinking each word through. “I know that. That’s fine. I don’t want to be.” He had already had a childhood, many years ago. He was meant for other things now. “I think too much. I see too much. I can’t… pretend to be something I am not.”
He can’t bring himself to look up and see his parents’ faces. He can’t explain to them that they shouldn’t pity him, not really. There’s so much they don’t know, that he couldn’t possibly tell them in a way they could make sense of. Sometimes, in quiet moments, he feels unbearably lonely. There’s no one he could tell that might understand.
But they understand some of it, the things he hasn’t said. Even now, they wait with aching patience for his next word. They have always been patient with him. They have always loved him, and what could be more real than that?
“But what I am will make you proud. Will make the Clan proud. I can do that. I want to do that.” He looks up at last. Tou-san stands and walks around the table to kneel at his side, and he places a hand on his shoulder.
“My son,” he says, “you have done nothing but make us proud. The world…” His father hesitates, looking terribly sad, but he pushes on. “The world will ask you to carry things you shouldn’t have to. You already are. But we won’t ask that of you. Not today. Not ever.” Next to him, his mother squeezes his hand in silent support.
“I can do it,” he says quietly. “This is my choice.”
His father exhales, long and slow. He looks like he wants to protest, but when he opens his mouth all he says is, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Aozen repeats, looking between them.
Kaa-san nods. “Okay,” she affirms. Sometimes, he supposes, it’s as simple as that.
Tou-san pulls back and goes back to his seat. Kaa-san finds the pot of tea in order to pour him a cup. They don’t celebrate, and they don’t even hug, which is less usual for them. But they do sit together in peaceable silence and drink their tea.
For him, that’s more than enough.
╪
There was a certain amount of anxiety in preparing for his first day of school. It has a certain weight to it, and not just because of the implications of him being there when he is. As an Uchiha, he has his Clan to think of. When he puts on his navy coat, he will always be cognizant of the Clan’s symbol displayed proudly on the back. The long horizon of the future is bearing down upon him, and he has no choice but to look it in the eyes.
Ultimately, it's his parents who put him at ease. Kaa-san makes dinner like it’s any other morning, and the scent of Tou-san’s favorite incense fills the air. He prays at their kamidana³, asking Amaterasu for good luck, and they both walk him there.
On the way down, he elects to hold both of their hands, because it was nice to be able to do that sometimes.
The exterior of the Academy reminded him of any other school. Plenty of other children were walking with their parents just like he was. Families congregated in swarms on this most special of occasions, the prodigal ‘first day’, though plenty of students, especially the older ones, trotted on alone. Talk and laughter filled the air.
It was… incredibly mundane. Normal.
In only a few short years, many of these children would be soldiers. The thought made him frown.
“Thinking, Ao-kun?” Tou-san queried. According to them, he had a ‘thinking face’ that he made when he was deep in thought, and it was this that made them prompt him on occasion. If he didn’t want to answer, he’d usually just grunt an affirmative to their technically-a-question and move on.
“They are very young,” he comments.
Tou-san chuckles and suddenly lifts him up, placing him on his shoulders. He can’t help but smile. His behavior confuses even him sometimes; mentally an adult one moment, and filled with the mania of a child the next. He liked the indulgence of it, though. The ability to forget and move carefree from one situation to the next.
“You’re also very young,” Kaa-san points out, humor audible in her voice.
“I’m old where it counts,” he protests, a genuine response - more genuine than either of them knew.
“That you are, Ao-kun,” Tou-san said, and his parents both exchanged a glance. He affected not to notice it.
His parents left after they’d signed him in with hugs and kisses, and he was directed to classroom 2B. It was all very -- civilian.
It was strange to be walking alone. He’d been alone around the Compound before, of course, but an adult was never far, and for the most part he was never in any unfamiliar places without supervision.
Not to mention, he was shorter than he thought he was, and though the true difference between him and his classmate was barely a few inches at most for the older kids, maybe an inch for his yearmates, it was noticeable.
“I - is this classroom 2B?” Aozen asked a little lamely, and redundantly. It was very clearly the classroom in question because the sign outside the door said so.
His new teacher, a tall, lanky man with light brown hair, gave him a faintly amused look, but nodded.
“Yes, it is. Take a seat wherever. We’ll begin whenever everyone arrives.” The classroom layout was as standard as could be. The sensei sat at a desk upfront, and there were neat, orderly rows of chair-desks (desk-chairs? you know the ones) that could probably seat about twenty-to-thirty kids.
Aozen chose a seat on the column closest to the door, the second row back. Close enough to clearly see everything, but also to have a look around without having to do a one-eighty. There were only a few other students in the room but none of them looked familiar nor stood out, so he didn’t bother with more than a cursory glance.
He watched as new students entered, trying to see if he recognised any clan markings or neat hair colors — because those were as important as the clan, sometimes, if not more so.
He thought there was a blonde girl who was likely a Yamanaka (was Inoichi old enough to have children yet? Did Ino ever have siblings?) and who he assumed was a Nara who slouched his way to a seat in the back (did the Nara slouch count as a kekkei genkai?).
He looked on with interest when he spotted the familiar features of another Uchiha student. He caught himself before he started trying to wordlessly convey that the Uchiha should sit next to him. Was he really so susceptible to the classroom air? He might’ve laughed.
“Alright, looks like you’re all here,” came the steady voice of their teacher. “My name’s Kohaku Tajiro. You all can call me sensei or Tajiro-sensei. Got it?”
He and some of the other children chorused, “Yes, sensei.” About ninety percent of the class did not. Tajiro-sensei leveled the most unimpressed look Aozen had ever seen at those of them who didn’t say anything and cleared his throat.
The rest of them all hurried to say “Yes, sensei!”, though not in anything nearing unison. Aozen personally thought that was amazing, because the sensei hadn’t even had to say anything. He wondered if he could learn how to do the same thing with his eyebrows.
Tajiro-sensei went through a long list of disclaimers. First among them was: no, he will not be teaching the children anything to do with chakra until they were ready. That would be the end of second year. Yes, they would be training with weapons. No, they were not allowed to use those weapons on people they didn’t like. Yes, even your mean older brother.
Disappointing, but not unsurprising. Giving small children dangerous magic was a surefire way to set… everything on fire. Or injure them with chakra exhaustion trying something they weren’t prepared for. That sounds like a mistake he’d make.
“Now, all of you are going to introduce yourself and tell us something about yourself. Likes, dislikes, what have you. We’ll start over here, by the door.” Ah, yes. He had forgotten that this was a thing that students did.
In the Before, he’d just been getting into college, with professors that didn’t actually care about that sort of stuff. Now he was four years old. Might be a nice change of pace.
“My name’s Nishitake Momon,” said the boy in front of him. “I like chocolate.” Normal enough. Aozen, naturally, was next.
“My name is Uchiha Aozen,” and wasn’t that weird to consider, even after all this time, “and my favorite color is green. I would like to learn more of everything.” He said, trying to be earnest. His response didn’t garner much more than a few looks, even those were mostly because of his size, and the process quickly went on. He paid attention to the others, but no one said anything of particular interest.
“My name is Uchiha Mohira. My… favorite color is red. I would like to learn taijutsu.” He caught Mohira’s eye and offered what he hoped was an amicable nod. He didn’t know how it looked, but the boy nodded back.
The introductions went on. He was right in having guessed after a Yamanaka and a Nara, but most of the rest were from minor clans or civilian-born. It seemed likely that he wouldn’t react with any or even most of them. Maybe the Uchiha – he seemed nice.
He… wasn’t really sure how that worked, but he had never been a big social butterfly. And in some weird, nonsensical way, these were all children to him. But he was also a child? The world didn't make very much sense right then.
As soon as Tajiro-sensei dismissed the class to go to the gym for the start of their conditioning period, nearly all of the kids began scrambling for the door. Most of them had already found others to chat with, or at. The sudden increase in volume was surprising, but Tajiro-sensei didn’t offer any reprimand as they left.
Aozen rose quietly, slinging his satchel over one shoulder and following behind his noisier constituents in a much more measured fashion. He was most of the way down the hall when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Hey – wait up!” came a voice that wasn’t quite a yell. He turned.
Uchiha Mohira was typical of their clan, with dark eyes, dark hair, and pale skin. He, like every other one of their classmates, was taller than Aozen, and no doubt older than him too. Aozen expected that the clan uchiwa was emblazoned on the back of his coat just like his.
“You’re Uchiha, right?” said Mohira, a little redundantly. He slowed to a stop next to him.
Aozen gave a small nod. “As are you.” Somehow, this made Mohira grin. He seemed less shy now that they weren’t surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Together, they began walking.
“I was sitting two rows behind you. I didn’t expect there to be another clan member in my class. Cousin Fumio said I’d be the shortest one. But I’m not. You are.” This seemed humorous to him, and Aozen graciously decided not to be insulted.
“Only for a little while,” he protested evenly. “My father tells me that most others in my family are tall.”
“Yeah, otou-san is pretty average, I guess. Hey, you talk a little funny,” Mohira switched topics without skipping a beat. “Like you’re day-dreaming about something else.”
“Maybe I am,” contends Aozen, shrugging one shoulder.
“You didn’t really say anything in class. Well, not after the introduction. I thought you might’ve gone mute, or something.”
Aozen considered this for a few seconds. “I was just… observing.”
Mohira brightened. “Yeah, we Uchiha are good at that, huh?” A beat passed. “What do you think we’re going to be doing next period?”
“Tajiro-sensei said we would begin with physical assessments. I would guess stretching and running.” They passed through an exterior part of the Academy, a small courtyard crossed with stone paths and lined with shrubs. A tall oak tree stood in one corner.
“That doesn’t sound so bad… I’m kind of good at running. What kind of shinobi do you want to be when we’re older? And, you know, stronger?” Aozen gave him a sidelong glance. It seems he wasn’t as shy as Aozen had first thought. Other Uchiha kids were quieter.
“I don’t know,” Aozen said. A few moments passed, and he reconsidered. “Maybe a kenjutsu specialist.”
“Woah,” said Mohira, “that sounds cool.” A beat while he visibly thought of his own answer. “I want to be fast. Not the fastest ever, or anything. Just fast enough to get in, do the job, and get out. No dragging stuff out.”
“Efficient,” Aozen offers.
“Yeah,” he grins. “Like lightning. Bzzt – gone.”
Aozen gave a small smile. “That is a pretty good goal.”
They walked on through the doors of the main gymnasium, where – somehow – Tajiro-sensei had gotten to first, ready to start them on the next stage of their first day in school.
Later, when Aozen was about to fall asleep, he thought back to the conversation with Mohira. It was the first time he’d spoken with anyone where he hadn’t felt like they were judging him, or assessing him. He’d forgotten how easy it was to be a kid. How simple.
It was… nice.