Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She could only see shadows in the room. The silence of the night was broken by shallow breaths and a whispering breeze. 

The sluggish, hazy daze of an infant’s mind was a familiar one. If there had been light, she would have been able to see her hands, once again pale and unscarred. 

Her skin brushed along the soft fabric of her blanket. There was a flutter of movement, of easy, quiet breathing, beside her ears. 

Uchiha Miho slowly turned her head - and stared at the child next to her. 

( The door behind her slowly opened.

“You know,” she began, staring out through her bedroom window. The scent of iron and blood flooded the air. “When they said I had the worst parts between the two of us… I guess they were right.”

There was a pause.

“Miho,” he said wearily. She briefly wondered if he had saved her for last. It wouldn’t be hard to check, to search for their parents’ chakra downstairs - 

Her hands fiddled with origami paper and, almost too casually, she looked back.

She had thought her life would flash before her eyes. Displaying everything she did wrong, the chances she had missed, the signs she hadn’t noticed - 

Instead, Itachi’s tired eyes reflected her own.)

Her fingers clenched the blanket. For an agonizing moment, she envisioned taking the blanket and pressing it against his face, pushing down until his heartbeat stopped - 

She stared into the dark ceiling.

And, just like every other night, she released her grip and closed her eyes.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Uchiha Miho and Uchiha Itachi were born on an auspicious day. 

Twins, the elders hummed, eyes already trained on the firstborn, on the future Uchiha Itachi would bring. 

Before, she had clawed for those stares. She had been desperate - a timer ticking down in her head, the numbers looming beneath her skin. 

Look at me, she had cried, fingers outreached towards Itachi’s distant back. Let me help! 

“Good work, Itachi-sama,” a familiar voice praised, and she returned to the world. “You’ll be fluent in katakana in no time.”

They were sitting under the wooden awnings of her home, a pot of lukewarm tea resting on a low table. 

“Than’ you,” Itachi said, his lisp betraying his three-year-old self. She had once thought that that was the most adorable thing in the world. 

The tutor glanced across the table, to Miho and her half-finished work. 

“And you as well, Miho-hime,” the tutor said, half a beat later. He was just as unsubtle as he had been the first time. 

(She had taken offense to that, before. Her mind had worked frantically, learning whatever she could, finishing everything given to her as fast as possible - just to have the right to stand by Itachi’s side.

In the end, it hadn’t been enough.)

“Thank you,” she quietly said, fingers carefully wrapped around her pencil. She slowly drew out the next character. 

On the other side of the table, Itachi stared at her curiously, eyes wide and bright. The cushion beneath him seemed to nearly swallow his tiny body whole.

Her eyes focused on the worksheets in front of her. 

From the very beginning, she had wanted to bring something warm into his world. Prior knowledge had told her he loved the bright, the friendly, the innocent. 

Itachi-nii-san, she used to call him, with open arms and a grin so wide her cheeks had begun to sting. Her heart had ached to give something, anything, that she could.

It got easier with time - her smiles, her laughs - until it was difficult to tell apart what was real from what wasn’t. 

What would be enough, she had wondered, had desperately searched for, to defy the tragedy of his fate? 

Her pencil paused above the paper. A warm breeze blew through the garden and the open doors, leaving black strands of hair to tickle her ears. 

She turned her head to the world outside. The wind brushed past the tiny koi pond, sending quiet ripples across the water. 

It would be easy, she thought, to fall into the pond and never come out. In a matter of minutes, she could end it all.

(If she let the water pool over her head, would she return to the same moment and restart again?). 

Warm, steady chakra floated toward the front door. There was a clatter and immediately, Itachi’s gaze shot to the side.

She imagined the noise was more for their own benefit. Uchiha Mikoto was far too skilled for it to be anything else. 

“My,” Mikoto said, walking through the sliding doors with silent footsteps. The tutor rose to his feet and gave a deep bow. “I see you two are hard at work.”

“Yes!” Itachi answered, eyes curving into a smile. He wouldn’t learn to stifle his facial expressions until next year. 

Mikoto crouched down, tucking her yukata around her legs. Her eyes creased and a gentle smile rested on her lips.

“Well, I guess I should get started on dinner then,” she finally said, after looking between the two children. “Keep up the good work!”

Standing up in one smooth motion, their mother headed to the kitchen, her chakra as smooth as a sharpened katana. 

Silently, Miho finished another hiragana character and moved on to the next one. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dinner that night, as it had been for the past year, was a quiet affair.

Soft clacks of chopsticks, the summer crickets crooning outside - sounds she had spent over a decade learning. 

“Itachi,” their father said, after a long moment of silence. By his side, Mikoto nearly paused. “I heard you’re progressing well in your studies.”

Across the table, Itachi kept his hands in his lap. “Yes.”

She glanced at his fingers curled tightly into fists. 

A fast learner as always, she thought, taking a slow sip of miso soup. 

Fugaku nodded slightly before turning his attention to her. A lifetime ago, the heavy weight of his stare would’ve been enough to straighten her back. 

“And you, Miho,” he said, something briefly flashing past his eyes. “You must try harder. Already, you’re dragging behind your brother.”

Early, she thought, placing her spoon down onto the table. You’re saying this much earlier than before. 

(By the time they had turned nine, the gap between her and Itachi had grown noticeably wide. The elders and, consequently, her father, had not been pleased.

It was nearly enough to make her crumble - the remaining years till the end had hung above her like a guillotine.)

But that was a lifetime ago. This time, it was difficult to even bother making an effort. 

“I understand,” she said, waiting another moment longer before returning to her soup.

Her father’s eyes narrowed. 

The dinner continued on, and she remained focused on her food. Itachi’s stares pricked at her skin. 

It wouldn’t matter. After Sasuke’s birth, those curious eyes would turn there instead. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The year passed by slower than she remembered.

It was likely because, unlike last time, she wasn’t scrambling to find a solution. Those years of frenzied planning had always made time seem so short. 

“Again,” Fugaku called, face stern and arms folded. 

She rolled her shoulders and tested her straining muscles. On the other side of the training ground, Itachi moved swiftly to the practice targets to pick up his wooden shuriken. 

By the time she reached her own fallen weapons, Itachi was running through his throws again. 

Her fingers curled around the shuriken, the rough wood brushing against her skin. She dusted off the practice weapons and returned to her spot.

Finding the right stance was as easy as breathing - she had already gone through her father’s harsh training once. 

She tested the weight of the shuriken before tossing it forward. It landed a few meters further away.

The motion was familiar, she thought, though the muscle memory wasn’t there yet.

Her next few throws continued in this fashion - slowly, carefully, precisely. 

“Faster!” Fugaku barked. She grabbed her last shuriken. “How can you expect to use real weapons at that speed?”

Ever the dutiful daughter, she threw the shuriken with the same speed as before. It landed right on top of the growing pile of tossed weapons. 

She had often torn her muscles before, to keep up with her father’s demands. It had left spots of bad technique that took her years to fix. 

Behind her, Fugaku’s chakra spiked minutely. 

Quietly, she moved again to pick up her pile of shuriken. From the corner of her eye, she caught Itachi throwing his shuriken with accuracy and an alarming amount of speed. 

Must be nice, she thought dully. The envy she once had - the awe - was long gone.

(You’re amazing, Itachi-nii-san, she had said before, with wide, amazed eyes. Fugaku had frowned at them, but Itachi’s warm, quiet smile had made it worth it.)

At the end of their training, she was pulled to the side. 

"From now on, you'll be training separately from Itachi," Fugaku said. He wasn't particularly tall, but at her age, he seemed to loom over her entire body. "It's clear you're unable to keep up. I cannot have you holding your brother back."

She studied her father's sandals. This hadn't happened before - at age nine, she and Itachi had gone their separate ways and had long since stopped learning from Fugaku.

(I'll do my best, she had promised her father, with shining eyes and a broad smile. Her cheeks had ached from the strain.

Her time had been spent obsessively in the training grounds. It was a search for a single advantage, for another breakthrough, just to keep her father's eyes on her, to unload even a fraction of Itachi's burdens - )

"I understand," she said, because she now knew her best would never be enough. With a bow, she turned around and walked out of the training grounds.

There was a scurry of movement at the gates. A rustle of leaves and the patter of footsteps. 

Without a single glance, she walked past Itachi and headed home.

-o-o-o-o-o- 

"I heard about your training sessions," her mother said one morning, picking through a wardrobe of clothes. 

Mikoto released a sigh. "Honestly. Sometimes, it's hard to understand what your father's thinking."

It wasn't hard at all, Miho thought, waiting patiently in front of a mirror. Uchiha Fugaku was a proud man and that was probably his only personality trait.

"He does care, you know," Mikoto said, before bringing out a deep blue yukata, with white lilies decorated at the hem. "What do you think?"

"That's fine."

After some time, a pair of firm, warm hands grasped her shoulders.

"Would you look at that," Mikoto said, eyes creasing. "Your mother is blessed to have such beautiful children."

There was a girl in the mirror. Straight, raven hair that fell past her shoulders, a set of dark eyes and pale skin - 

It would have been a disconcerting sight, years ago. 

This time, she could only stare at the dark circles under her eyes. 

Long, slim fingers reached out to her.

"It's time we go," her mother said, wrapping a hand around her own. "We don't want to be late, do we?"

-o-o-o-o-o- 

A sudden wail pierced through the streets.

"You're lying! " a woman wailed, hair in disarray. She collapsed to the floor beside a stoic ninja. "I can't - you're lying to me! He's not, he's not dead! He can't be! "

Miho slipped the rest of the coins into the shopkeeper's slack hand. 

She grabbed half of the groceries and said, "Let's go."

Tearing his eyes away from the sobbing woman, Itachi nodded slowly and picked up the remaining bags.

Bad form, she thought, walking past the crowd that had begun to surround the scene. They should've found a more private spot.

The grocery bags weighed heavily against her arms. By her side, Itachi continued on without any visible signs of struggle.

It was a clear sign that Itachi was already subconsciously working his chakra through his muscles. 

She prodded her own pool of chakra. Keeping it under a tight leash was second nature at this point, but she was still too young to make any use of it yet.

There's too much, she realized, poking her chakra a little more. It churned uneasily back and forth. 

It was to be expected. Her first time in this body had left her chakra unbalanced because of the drastic spiritual differences. 

Coming back a second time… probably made it even worse.

She silently clicked her tongue. It wasn't in her plans to train beyond her father’s demands (that was to say, she didn't have any plans), but the potential harm was too great to ignore.

(She remembered collapsing to the ground, lungs heaving and heart thudding violently in her chest. Itachi's hands ran over her arms, trying to find the source of her pain - they had been too young to really understand the cause.)

She continued to walk down the dusty roads and kept to the side. Despite the bustle of activity around them, she and Itachi remained silent.

His chakra bubbled, like water boiling over a stove, until - 

"What was wrong with that woman?"

Miho didn't pause, her feet already moving on from where Itachi had stopped.

When it was clear he wouldn't be moving anytime soon, she turned back around.

"Someone she loved was killed," she said, eyes already straying to the rooftops above her head. Hidden pools of chakra darted around her.

Konoha was approaching the tail ends of the Third Shinobi War. Once the summer leaves turned golden, a new Hokage would be announced. 

And that would be the beginning of the end.

Itachi shifted, too well-trained to fidget but too young to stay still.

"You already knew that," Miho finally said, wondering what it would take to get him moving again. As children of the current Clan Head, they had already attended more funeral services than they could count. This scenario was nothing new.

"I know," Itachi said quietly, eyes trained on her, as if searching for some answer. "I just don't know why…"

His words trailed into the air. The missing words didn't matter; Miho had spent over a decade chasing after a boy who grew up too fast - she could easily fill in the blanks. 

I just don't know why anyone has to suffer like this.

At the age of four, Itachi was well settled into his own beliefs. Soon he would begin to question his way of life, of the meaning behind death and righteousness. It would eat away at his conscience until finally, he would choose the one he loved most over everything else - 

And Miho, who was, frankly, tired of philosophical little boys who agonized over the concept of war, readjusted her grip on the groceries.

(Before, she would have wrapped her arms around him. She'd whisper how it wasn't fair, how life was cruel but also generous. They'd share a moment of understanding, of what they would do, years into the future -)

"That doesn't matter," she told him shortly, already turning away to head back home.

Footsteps followed after her. After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Why doesn't it matter?" 

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Itachi was unusually talkative today. They hadn't shared a single conversation in this lifetime. 

She ignored the question and kept her eyes trained in front of her. 

Behind her, in a soft voice, Itachi said, "It should matter."

Her feet stopped. 

I should've used that blanket, she thought numbly. I should've used it and ended it right there. 

"Why should it?" the words burned past her lips. In a blink, she realized she had already turned back around, staring straight into Itachi's wide, dark eyes. 

"You speak well for someone who only thinks, " she said, unable to stop herself, unable to hold back the heat in her throat. "It doesn't matter because you can't do anything."

I did everything for you, a part of her shrieked, the part she had buried after her death. I did everything and look what happened! How dare you tell me what should matter?

"Do you think your feelings can change everything?" the world around her seemed to vanish, and only Itachi seemed to remain. She was far too familiar with this sight. "Do you think caring will be enough to make it better?"

Itachi took a step back. His chakra shrunk into himself. "No, I - "

"The only thing that matters is what can actually be changed," she said, dangerously quiet. "A single person can only do so much. To talk about what should or shouldn't matter… you must think highly of yourself."

Her grip on the grocery bags tightened. Without another word, she began to walk, leaving Itachi behind in the middle of a bustling road. 

-o-o-o-o-o- 

Their return home was done in eerie silence. It hardly bothered her - she was far too used to long bouts of quiet.

(Before, she used to fill it with words, chattering away by Itachi's side. She would talk, he would listen, and for a few years, she had thought that would be enough.)

It wasn't long before they handed the groceries over to their mother. The distance between the market and their home would become exponentially larger once the Uchiha were relocated to their new compound. 

Another year, she thought mildly, stepping around Itachi and walking to her room. For once, his eyes didn't dig into her back. 

Another year before Kyuubi made its mark across the village. 

(She had agonized over what to do with that, once. Pored over her notes, weighed her options, despaired over the futility of her actions. It was the first lesson of many.)

In the end, she had cowered behind Itachi in a shelter and tucked her head behind his back. She imagined that, though it wasn’t clear to her at the time, she simply hadn’t been willing to break her mask. 

Let’s just go through the same motions, she thought that night, stomach full from dinner. Moonlight splashed across her bedsheets as three steady flashes of chakra danced around the house. If she looked further, she could probably find her other relatives too. 

Despite everything else, she clung to those pools of chakra. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she had imagined the entire thing. Could almost pretend that the night where each of those lights vanished - one by one - had never happened. 

It was wishful thinking. She raised her hand towards the ceiling and curled her fingers inward. 

Less than ten years left, a voice whispered in her mind, a phantom of the ticking countdown that had once haunted her dreams. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, repeating the words she had said to Itachi earlier that day. Her body shifted to the side and she placed the back of her hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to try anymore.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

As if the world was mocking her thoughts, she woke the next day to a familiar, blazing pool of chakra. The moment it entered the compound, her eyes snapped open, fingers curling around the kunai she had stolen from her father. 

A moment later, she returned to her senses and slowly released her grip. Her hands dug into her eyes and she wiped the grime away. 

In the minutes the chakra took to find her house, she slipped out of her bed and changed into looser clothes. Her body ran through the next stretches on autopilot, a habit she had cultivated for over a decade. 

She reached around her leg and relaxed her muscles, the strain barely registering in her mind. Under her tight hold, her chakra sparked restlessly - a reminder that she needed to do something before her spiritual energy overrode her muscles and stopped her heart. 

The temptation to let nature run its course was there. It was a better option than waiting in her bedroom once again, staring out into the blood-soaked streets, while Itachi’s chakra approached slowly - closer and closer - 

She closed the idea and packed it away for another time. Konoha’s medics were a little too talented for her to even attempt it.

Twenty minutes and a quick shower later, she padded down the stairs, passing by the room where Mikoto often entertained her guests.

“Miho!” her mother called. “Come meet my guest!”

How mad would Mother be, she thought, staring deeply into the garden outside, if I ran for it?

Like a mind-reader, Mikoto said warningly, “Miho…”

Swallowing down a sigh, she slid the door open and stepped inside. Immediately, chakra pressed against her skin - not hot enough to burn, but warm enough to remain present.

Sitting across from her mother, in well-fitted armor and sporting brilliant red hair, Uzumaki Kushina beamed. 

“Miho-chan!” Kushina cradled a hand along her cheek. “It’s been so long! Do you remember me?”

“I don’t,” Miho answered, clasping her hands together. She had been two when Kushina had last visited in this timeline. There was no conceivable way she would really be able to remember. 

There was a short pause as Kushina glanced at Mikoto, who simply released a light sigh. 

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” Kushina said, an effortless smile on her face. “You’re growing to be just as pretty as your mom!”

“Thank you,” Miho said. She had once wondered what this body would eventually grow into, back when her desperation had spurred on a sense of hope. 

Now, she was resigned to have the image of a child, forever frozen in her mind. 

Another short pause. 

Kushina leaned slowly back to Mikoto. In a near inaudible voice, she whispered, “... the hell, Mikoto-chan? Both your kids are so gloomy!”

Mikoto creased her eyes. “Miho, why don’t you eat some breakfast? There’s some on the stove right now. Your father took Itachi to the training grounds a while ago.

With a blink, Miho nodded and exited the room. As the door slowly closed behind her, a sharp clang of metal rang through the air. Likely, Mikoto was defending her children’s honor. 

It was easy work to reheat some soup and take out a bowl of rice. The chakra in the room behind her flickered freely - even through the walls, she could feel a faint heat warming her back. 

She had called Kushina something else, once. In the few years before Kyuubi's return, Uchiha Miho had tottered around Kushina with a bright smile and eager eyes. 

(Auntie, she would cry out, tugging at Kushina’s clothes. Auntie, teach me something new! )

Kushina had visited often in that timeline. It was clear she had enjoyed spending time with a reflection of herself - with someone warm and full of life. 

Those days were idyllic. Those were the days when a single person seemed to be enough. 

She ate quietly in the kitchen. The chakra behind her continued to burn brightly, like the sun on a midsummer day. 

(This time, she had no plans on being a reflection for anyone but herself.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later that night, when the moon rose above her mother’s little garden, she knocked on the door to Fugaku’s office. 

“Enter.”

She slid the door behind her, all too mindful of the etiquette lessons she had begun a month ago. From past experience, she knew Mikoto would definitely be able to hear the door slam shut. 

Fugaku’s office was simple and clean. It was the picture-perfect example of practicality, and in the center, sitting on the floor next to a desk full of documents, her father continued to write. 

Though it was her first time in this timeline, Miho had too many memories of visiting this place in a lifetime past. She gingerly knelt down and placed her hands in her lap. 

The silence lasted for a few more minutes. Besides the crackle of a nearby candle and the scratch of pencil, Miho was left entirely to her thoughts. 

Dangerous as always, she thought, sitting patiently still. 

Eventually, perhaps when he had finished his current file (or when he had tired of Miho’s presence), Fugaku looked up at her. “What is it?”

“I’d like permission to leave the compound to train,” she said, without preamble. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn that it was best to remain direct with him. “Especially in the early mornings.”

Fugaku placed a stack of paper onto the side. “Why?”

“It’s less crowded in the mornings,” she answered, aware that she was missing the point of his question entirely. 

Her father’s permission didn’t really matter, in the end. By the time she was eleven, Miho could slip in and out of the compound like a ghost, completely disappearing from any chakra sense. 

(When it had become clear she’d never catch up to Itachi’s unrealistic standards, she had long since turned to other fields, in hopes of having something to offer. Itachi may be many things, but a stealth specialist was not one of them.)

The next best option was politely informing her parents about her potential whereabouts. Sometimes, a lack of chakra was just as alarming as the presence of one, and the last thing she needed was for Mikoto to barge into an empty room while expecting the worst.

“Very well,” Fugaku said, after a long pause. “It’s about time you took your studies seriously.”

“Thank you,” she said, even though her intentions had been completely misinterpreted. Why deny what wasn’t asked for?

She left the office right after and walked up the stairs to her room. There was a flickering chakra above her, like the embers of a warm fireplace. 

Her timing, she surmised, would always be terrible. 

In the hallway, under the soft light of countless stars, Itachi visibly paused, his hands wrapped around a towel.

His hair curled around the side of his face and his cheeks were flushed. Mikoto had always insisted a warm bath after training was tradition. 

She steadily walked past him, her footsteps audible against the wooden floor and eyes trained forward. The door to her room silently closed shut. 

It would have been easier if she could ignore her surroundings. But the world had never made things easier for the Uchiha, and so, she was left to watch as the warm chakra in the hallway remained still, for a while longer, before finally moving once again. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The morning birds chirped in her ears, greeting the sun that had only just begun to rise. With quiet breaths, Miho circled the outskirts of the training grounds a second time, her feet maintaining a steady pace. 

Before, back when she had known nothing about conditioning and had only kept her sight on Itachi’s oncoming demise, she had spent hours perfecting her form. Her muscles would often tear from overuse until eventually, a medic threatened to report her for negligence. 

(I’m fine, she had reassured Itachi brightly, during the few times he was available to visit her in the hospital. The lines between his eyes had become more pronounced, and she was nearly tempted to tell him that she was just as tired as he was. It happens sometimes, so don’t worry, Itachi-nii-san! I’ll be better before you know it!)

It wasn’t worth going through the motions to land herself in the hospital again. The constant strain on her body prevented her from growing as much as she should have - if there was one thing she was determined to have in this life, it was to have a little more height than before. 

Thirty minutes later, she ran through another set of stretches and drank heartily from her water bottle. Then, after probing her chakra once more (still kept tightly together), she began another set of laps around the training grounds. 

Her routine continued on, at a near leisurely pace. The months continued and, at the end of the summer, Konoha celebrated the end of the war and welcomed a new leader into the fold. 

Standing by her father’s side, she shrunk her chakra into herself, carefully coating her ears to block out the flood of noise covering the streets. 

Itachi’s eyes had, once again, returned to prick her skin. 

Further ahead, under a halo of light, Namikaze Minato accepted a wide-brimmed hat and waved at the crowd. A thunder of cheers rang through the air as dozens of feet stamped their approval. 

From a distance, Minato’s chakra shone brightly, like a dancing, spring breeze - even in her past life, she had yet to meet someone with chakra as pretty as Namikaze Minato’s. 

Under the clear, blue sky, hearing the chants of hundreds, the smell of smoke and maple leaves, she could almost imagine that the future was bright. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

In the entrance of winter, she and Itachi were brought to the dinner table for a formal discussion. 

Mikoto’s curved smile told all. 

“We just wanted to let you know,” she began, one hand curled around her father’s. It was moments like these that let a sliver of her parents’ relationship through. “By summer’s time, we might have someone new in our family.”

Having lived through this once, Miho nodded silently. 

Itachi was uncomfortably quick on the uptake.

“You mean,” his eyes slid over to Miho, before quickly returning back to their mother. “A sibling?”

“That’s right,” Mikoto smiled, somehow unsurprised that her four-year-old children knew exactly what was going on. “Hopefully, we’ll get to meet them soon!”

“You’ll do well to guide them through our traditions,” Fugaku added, glancing pointedly at Miho. 

Pretending as if she couldn’t feel the look at all, she let her eyes travel over to the sliding doors that were left slightly ajar, and into the hallway outside. 

Sasuke, huh, she thought, staring after the crescent moon in the distance. 

At the end of it all, would she return to the same spot again, for the third time? How many times would Sasuke be left behind, until the world was satisfied?

She didn’t know if the love of a brother was a blessing or a curse. 

It’s not something I know much about, she thought, glancing briefly behind her and into Itachi’s dark eyes. 

He blinked rapidly as she rose to her feet and bid her parents goodnight. 

Perhaps he had cared, she allowed, as she walked up the stairs. Itachi was a boy who cared sometimes too deeply and sometimes not enough. 

It wasn’t a matter of if he had or hadn’t. Rather, it was a question of why she hadn’t been enough. 

But that was a thought that would only force a responsibility onto her. That was the thought that had spurned her on, an entire lifetime ago. 

(No matter her thoughts, it was important to remember that Itachi would pick Sasuke - over and over again. 

And she was tired of fighting for something that was never hers in the first place.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

(Like a candle blown to dust, another light vanished into thin air. And another. Then another. 

She waited patiently by her windowsill, the screams of her relatives muffled through the walls. Against the glass windowpane, her reflection stared back at her - a thin, pale girl with sunken eyes. 

Farther away, near the corner of another district, Sasuke’s chakra flickered faintly in the distance. He was probably still at the Academy. 

There was someone else near her house, moving rapidly through the streets, quietly snuffing another light, one after the other. The chakra roared like a forest fire, a swirl of flames escaping into the night. 

She knew that one. 

Without a single sound, she sunk her senses into herself and let her mind go blank. From the pockets of her kimono, she pulled out a piece of origami paper, and began to fold. 

After a long moment, the chakra moved up the stairs and into the hallway. Her eyes remained focused on the streets outside, where pools of blood dripped down the road. 

The door behind her slowly opened.

“You know,” she began, staring out through her bedroom window. The scent of iron and blood flooded the air. “When they said I had the worst parts between the two of us… I guess they were right.”

There was a pause.

“Miho,” he said wearily. She briefly wondered if he had saved her for last. It wouldn’t be hard to check, to search for their parents’ chakra downstairs - 

Her hands fiddled with the folded origami paper. Slowly, she looked back.

There was blood dripping from his eyes. Was it for her, or for their parents, or for the only person they’d be leaving behind?

She knew the answer already. 

“I’m tired, Itachi,” she said. 

His grip around his katana tightened. 

“I know,” he said. There was a strange, dull light in his eyes. 

A paper flower rested in her hands. 

“Hey,” she said. It was a wonder he hadn’t already used his sword to end their misery. Was he waiting for Sasuke? 

“Could you do me a favor?”)

She woke up with a flash of red. 

Her body remained frozen still, breaths even and chakra eerily calm. Even in her sleep, it was ridiculous how easy it was to maintain control over herself. 

The house was strangely empty. 

It took her a moment to remember that Mikoto would be at the hospital today for a doctor’s appointment, before she moved to get ready for the day. 

She grabbed a packed lunch from the kitchen and headed out the front door. 

“Good morning, Miho-hime,” an elderly woman called out. 

“Good morning,” Miho answered back, bowing once before continuing on her way. 

Her path out of the compound was only interrupted a few more times, where several adults gave short greetings. She passed by a small group of children, who all gave her a wide berth.

(She used to play with those children and greet her relatives with great cheer. 

It was easy to tell herself it was for information gathering, to reinforce her identity within her clan, to prepare for the day when she would need to settle negotiations. 

In hindsight, perhaps - despite her relationship with Itachi - she had simply been lonely.)

It didn’t take long for her to walk to the training grounds. Though she had no access to the actual grounds as a civilian, the outskirts were free game. 

Her hair, now falling between her shoulder blades, was tied tightly into a ponytail. After a good hour or so, as sweat dripped down her neck and her legs ached, she took a short break and began to stretch.

One more year, Miho guessed, probing her restless chakra. It sparked around her fingers, but she ignored the sting with ease. 

Another year for her chakra to settle meant she’d be around five or six. That… was earlier than expected. 

She hadn’t come across the original issue until she had entered the Academy, years ago. By then, it was a scramble to keep her physical abilities up to par, while keeping a sharp eye on her chakra.

It still hadn’t taken long for her to leave - a year after Itachi’s graduation, she had followed in his footsteps. A strange thought, considering how dangerously close she had gotten to ruining herself for the chance. 

She shook away the memories and stood on her feet. 

“I’ll try the woods this time,” she said aloud, before heading in the right direction. 

A good few hours were spent running through her katas, practicing with wooden shuriken, and testing the corners of her reserves - she switched between each routine with careful precision, making sure to give each muscle group enough time to recover. 

After another long while, Miho packed up her things and headed home. 

She passed by the guards around the compound, nodding once when they gave her a short bow. The same routine from the morning repeated itself and, after a few short greetings, she turned the corner.

Her feet stopped. 

Something isn’t right, she eyed her house, studying the frantic chakra inside. The embers made it clear it was Itachi, but from what she could tell, there was no one else.

She entered the house on silent feet. Gently placing the empty lunchbox onto the kitchen table, she walked slowly up the stairs, her chakra completely invisible.

It wouldn’t hurt to remain concealed - though Itachi wasn’t supposed to learn how to sense chakra until his Academy years, he certainly knew how to use it now. 

The hallway was eerily still. Before long, she found herself close to the wall, her feet sliding over the wooden floor, breaths completely silent and with a lazily beating heart. 

Old habits die hard, she thought, passing by Itachi’s room. Her head tilted to the side as she caught the slightest scent of blood. 

She paused. 

Itachi’s chakra continued to jump up and down, in a pattern that seemed almost reminiscent to her own. 

It didn’t look like he was dying. Ultimately, a course of action could be decided after a shower. Mikoto’s teachings still held firm even a lifetime later. 

After a nice, warm shower, she stepped out into the hallway, dressed in a fresh pair of clothes and damp hair sticking to her face. 

Itachi’s room was suspiciously quiet. 

But Miho didn’t need sound to understand the chakra that was still moving around. 

She headed to her room and closed the door. Running a towel through her hair, she grabbed a scroll for light reading and settled into her futon. 

Like a bug that wouldn’t go away, Itachi’s chakra jolted again, the action repeating over and over, burning against her senses - 

Miho eyed the kunai underneath her pillow. 

Itachi was still young. She could still overpower him at this age, despite his advantage in strength. If she brought the kunai, it would definitely tip the odds in her favor -

She snapped the scroll shut. 

“If you’re going to die,” she muttered. “At least die quietly.”

Her feet stepped silently out of the room, and it took a conscious effort to have them create an audible sound. She walked over to Itachi’s room, knocked once, and, without even waiting for an answer, opened the door. 

Immediately, the sharp scent of blood hit her nose. For a brief moment, her mind nearly flashed back to that night, where she had stood by the windowsill and waited for her turn. 

But she blinked again and instead, a younger Itachi, cheeks still soft and hair still short, entered her line of sight. 

He was completely frozen. Drops of blood had dripped down from his leg and onto the floor. Stained bandages were haphazardly wrapped around the open wound and his hands were completely red. 

They stared at each other for another moment. 

Distantly, Miho thought, was four-year-old Itachi ever taught to dress his wounds? 

It had never been an issue before. Eventually, through the Academy, they would be taught the proper technique of wrapping bandages around open wounds, blisters, and other injuries. It was a standard class that had begun under the instruction of Senju Tsunade, decades ago. 

The words spilled out from her mouth before she could stop herself. “Are you dumb?”

Itachi was still too young to hide the flinch. 

Of all places to dress your wound, she thought, already wondering if this timeline’s Itachi was slower than the previous one. You could’ve gone to the hospital. Or a local clinic. Or even one of the aunties in the compound - ! 

She eyed the ruined bandages around his leg. Without another word, she turned back around and walked to the bathroom. Like her previous lifetime, the cabinet under the sink still held fresh bandages and disinfectant. 

After grabbing those, she snatched several towels, running a few under warm water. In a matter of minutes, she had all her supplies and, with chakra crackling under her skin, returned to Itachi’s room. 

The door was still open. Inside, Itachi was in the same position as when she had left, though his hands were curled into fists and his eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him. 

She unceremoniously dropped her supplies by Itachi’s side. It was enough to startle him and nearly send him to the floor. 

His eyes widened as she sat on the floor, the blood from his wounds seeping into her clothes. “Wait, your clothes - ”

She pressed a warm towel against his leg and Itachi let out an abrupt hiss. 

From then on, it was silent. The blood was swiftly cleaned and the ruined bandages dumped (and, hopefully, eventually burned). After a few minutes, she applied disinfectant and studied the wound.

Long, but shallow, she thought, figuring Itachi’s chances of surviving were unfortunately rather high. Though it was a long shot, she gathered chakra to her fingertips. Unsurprisingly, a flicker of green sputtered to life, before quickly dying away. 

Instead, she carefully wrapped clean bandages around the wound. Though this body didn’t have the muscle memory, her mind remembered the hours she had spent in the hospital. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess how Itachi had gotten hurt. The question slipped past her lips before she could stop it. “Who gave you the kunai?” 

Itachi’s eyes were still trained on her hands. “... Father did.”

Miho paused.

That, she thought, was really unlikely. Despite her own conflictions with his method of training, Fugaku had always been incredibly attentive over Itachi’s growth.

But Itachi wasn’t a liar. Between the two of them, Miho had been the one to grab first place in that field. 

She couldn’t remember Itachi ever having a weapons accident when they were younger. They had trained together under Fugaku’s supervision until they were seven - 

Oh, she thought. I’m not at training sessions anymore. 

Nowadays, her training was often overseen by another clan member or, sometimes, Mikoto. There was a lot of space for self-study, which suited her needs just fine.

But the absence of another child opened up the opportunity to speed up Itachi’s training even further. 

Likely, Fugaku had given Itachi the kunai after a few supervised sessions. It was incredibly easy to fall into the mindset that Itachi could handle anything thrown his way. 

There was another long silence. 

She swiftly finished wrapping the wound and tucked the bandage under the ends. The towels were stuffed into a bag for a more thorough cleaning and she briefly glanced at the blood on the floor. 

Learning how to clean blood was a rite of passage, and she imagined Itachi at least deserved a scolding from Mikoto. 

Behind her, his chakra bubbled in a familiar way. In the quietest of voices, with words so thin they seemed to vanish into air, Itachi asked, 

“Do you hate me?”

Yes, the word burst onto her tongue and nearly escaped her lips. How could I not?

But that would be an admission of what she had before , and that wasn’t something she planned on sharing. 

She tied the bag of dirty towels shut and silently walked out of the room.

Chapter Text

The tea nearly scalded her tongue, the heavy scent of jasmine flooding her mouth. 

“Great as always,” Kushina said brightly, cradling a steaming cup in her hands. She shook her head. “You really should’ve married me instead, Mikoto-chan.”

“It’s one of my greatest regrets,” her mother said serenely, pouring tea into her own cup. 

At the other end of the table, Miho sat obediently on her knees. 

She stared blankly at the cup in her hands. 

What am I doing here?

Kushina tilted her head before a sly grin made its way onto her face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re making little Miho-chan do this too,” she said, and turned to the subject in question. “Your mom used to practice making tea every day, and guess who was her favorite test subject?”

“You, Kushina-san,” Miho said dutifully. 

Kushina banged a fist onto the table. The silverware rattled from the impact. “That’s right! And I’ve never been the same since!”

“Oh, please,” Mikoto said. “Tea can’t change you.”

Actually, a voice whispered in Miho’s mind. Depending on the kind of tea, it can. 

She ignored the reminders of a previous lifetime and quietly sipped her tea. 

“Miho has already started on her lessons,” her mother added, readjusting the spoons back to their appropriate places. “I’m sure she’ll follow well in my footsteps.”

Kushina sent Miho a ridiculously sympathetic look. 

It was unneeded, she thought, because she had gone through Mikoto’s brutal regime once before. Running through them a second time only reinforced the memories she already had. 

“She’s actually been doing very well so far,” Mikoto said with a smile. “Isn’t that right, Miho?”

“Thank you,” Miho said, for lack of better words. It would be awkward to mention that her apparent skills came from years of hard work. 

“Speaking of doing well,” Kushina said, pulling out a scroll from her vest and unrolling it onto the table. “How’s the baby doing?”

“Everything’s right on schedule,” Mikoto answered, already leaning over the table to get a better look. “Is that - ?”

Sanitation seals, Miho noted, glancing over the scroll from the corner of her eye. It was a costly additional layer of protection for pregnant women, but it probably wasn’t much for someone like Uzumaki Kushina. 

“Yeah, but I’m trying to figure out how to add another barrier on top,” Kushina said, biting her thumb. “I’m thinking about layering the locks on the outside - ”

“I’ll take my leave, then,” Miho said, rising to her feet. She gave a short bow. “Have a good day.”

Knowing Kushina’s level of skill, it would take another week to find the right answer, she surmised, closing the door behind her. 

(Before, she would’ve stuck her nose right by Kushina’s side. She’d have pored over the sealing notes, studying late into the night - Kushina had often invited her to dinner to discuss even more theories.)

It wouldn’t matter, she thought, bringing a hand up to her eyes to block the harsh winter sunlight. 

In less than a year, Uzumaki Kushina would follow the written rules of her death; some time later, Miho would join her for, hopefully, the very last time. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

She ducked under Itachi’s arm and slid her feet forward. Unsurprisingly, he leapt back before striking again. 

They exchanged blows several more times, leaving her muscles straining under the force of his hits. 

With the coming approach of summer, Itachi and Miho would turn five once again. His young age didn’t seem to stop his drastic rise in skill. 

Must be nice, she thought again, a little absentmindedly, while raising an arm to stop another swing to her neck. The blow wouldn’t have landed even if she hadn’t blocked it - Itachi had always been so afraid to do any real harm. 

But no, that was the case before. Here, in this timeline, where she wasn’t bright, wasn’t the person from before… she supposed anything could happen. 

(Spars like this had once been common. Back when she had fought to be seen as Itachi’s equal, they would often train together, up till his promotion into ANBU.)

Itachi abruptly kicked a leg out, somehow moving even faster than before. It was a little ridiculous, coming from a four-year-old, but she caught his ankle and twisted it anyways. 

Instead of falling to the ground (as most four-year-olds were supposed to do), Itachi turned, using her hand to bring up his other foot and swipe at her head. 

Rude, she thought, releasing his ankle and leaning back, the heel of his foot barely missing her nose. The tactic was enough to tell her that he was farther along in the clan’s taijutsu style than before. 

Itachi landed neatly on his feet and, without pause, moved forward again. It was a telling sign from a boy who usually planned his movements ahead carefully.

Despite his unchanging outward appearance, it was clear Itachi was tiring. She hadn’t spent over a decade studying his habits just to ignore the cues. 

It wouldn’t be difficult to turn the spar in her favor. Stamina had never been Itachi’s strongest suit and that was exactly what Miho had been building in this life. 

Four-year-old Itachi still lacked the necessary aggression. If she kept up with his attacks and struck the moment he slipped up - 

She brought her hands up a second too late and, very graciously, allowed Itachi to drag her body to the ground. 

As expected, she thought, because even in the last timeline, this body could barely keep up with Itachi’s. 

They stared at each other for the shortest of moments. She waited for him to quietly catch his breath as his shoulders heaved. 

It didn’t take long for Itachi to quickly stand up, arms returning to his side before, a little haltingly, reaching out a hand. 

It was the polite thing to do, she noted. The spar wasn’t official and, even more importantly, Fugaku was watching from the sidelines. 

Those were all factors that would have driven her on before — the chance to stay by Itachi’s side, the opportunity to show their father her maturity, her ability as a proud member of the clan. 

They were factors that she didn’t need (didn’t want) anymore.

And, with that thought, she rose to her feet. Itachi’s hand slowly fell to the side as she dusted off her clothes. 

“Enough,” Fugaku said, with pinched eyebrows. “Itachi, go clean up. Miho, stay behind.”

It wasn’t long before she stood before her father, as Itachi disappeared off into the distance. 

His chakra, however, hovered close by.

(Really, she thought dully, who does he think he’s fooling?)

“Your improvement is minimal at best,” Fugaku began, arms clasped behind his back. “I was right to separate the two of you before, but I won’t have you dishonor the clan with your lack of ability. Try harder.”

There was a still moment of quiet.

Is that it? Miho studied the dusty ground. Are we done now?

She was familiar with this kind of exchange. After having heard variations of the same thing for ten years, it was hard to find the will to care. 

(I’ll try harder, Father, she had often promised, back when staying in his good graces had actually meant something. It was easy to drown under his standards, stacked high from having a son like Itachi. 

But by the time she was thirteen, kneeling before his disapproving eyes, a different set of words began to cling to her throat. Three months before her oncoming deadline, it was harder to keep the mask up entirely.

What does it mean to try harder? What do you want me to do? Where’s the limit?)

She had swallowed those words before. Be good, be bright, keep trying. 

“I understand,” she slowly said. These days, she wondered where she stood now, without a set of smiles to hide behind. 

She was dismissed quickly after and, by the time she exited the training grounds, Itachi’s chakra had long since disappeared. 

(Without the need to chase after a futile plan, Miho’s list of desires was now sparingly short. Rather, it was near non-existent. 

At the very least, it was nice to have a good idea of what she didn’t want.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Hold for three counts,” Mikoto called. “Then turn and - ”

Under several layers of heavy silk, Miho gave a low bow, arms curved and raised above her head. 

Mikoto clapped softly.

“Good,” her mother said, and Miho took this as a sign to relax her arms. “Smooth as always, Miho. I’m always surprised at how well you can control your body.”

“Thank you,” Miho said. 

Mikoto brought a hand to her cheek and released a sigh. “If only we could do something about your face.”

Miho blinked at the unexpected attack. Her face? The face her mother had always been so proud of?

“Not in that way,” Mikoto smiled, sitting in a wooden chair. Her hands rested on her swelling stomach - in two months, Sasuke would finally be born. “A smile goes a long way in presentation, you know.”

Having intimate knowledge on presentation (and the use of smiles), Miho said, “I see.”

“It might be unfamiliar to you now,” Mikoto continued. “But let’s try it anyways. The elders expect much from you.”

That seemed unlikely. The Uchiha held onto tradition with a tight grip but these additional requirements seemed to come from her mother entirely.

But she was stuck either way, so she bowed and returned to her starting position. A lifetime ago, she had gone through Mikoto’s lessons with little struggle. Slipping on a mask, entertaining guests - it was easy to adapt to those lessons when she had been using them her entire life.

A smile, she thought, as Mikoto counted off the steps. Her fingers pressed into her stiff cheeks for a brief moment. 

She couldn’t remember if she had ever smiled in this timeline’s body before. There hadn’t been a need, hadn’t been a desire for it. 

(It was almost a relief.)

But there was a glint in Mikoto’s eyes that was rather familiar and, a little resignedly, Miho raised her arms and began to dance. 

It was a simple routine meant for the summer, when the sun burned bright and their family would gather around burning incense. Under the towering shrine, Miho had once danced to the lone koto, the twang of the strings filling her ears.

A smile, she thought again, feet moving steadily back and forth. After a moment, she lowered her eyelids and curved her lips slightly upwards. 

She kept up the pace of the dance. Years of experience told her to let her lips fall naturally in certain steps, before rising again during the more exciting moments.

A few minutes later, she stopped in the same position as before, hands raised above her head. Her gaze focused on the wooden floor beneath her feet and only the tiniest of smiles remained. 

Mikoto clapped furiously.

“That was wonderful!” her mother said, eyes creasing in delight. Immediately, Miho straightened and let her face relax. Her cheeks strained from the use - had it always been this exhausting before?

“You have a lot of potential here, Miho,” Mikoto said warmly. “We’ll continue working on it, but this is already a great start.”

“Thank you,” Miho said. 

They moved to the dining table, where Mikoto placed down a pot of jasmine tea and a plate of mochi.

“Now, tell me,” Mikoto said, gesturing to the tea. Miho dragged her eyes away from the mochi and carefully picked up the kettle. “How are your studies holding up?”

“As well as they can be,” Miho answered, steadily pouring out some tea into Mikoto’s cup first. She was still studying the academic basics with Itachi, but that would eventually finish in a few months’ time. 

All lessons related to the clan were currently being overseen by Uchiha Hansei. It had originally been her father in the previous timeline, back when she was still training side-by-side with Itachi, but things were bound to change with Miho’s… scarce amount of talent. 

(The idea of having to go through the same motions, to listen to the elders drone on and on, to have all eyes on her, constantly comparing her abilities to Itachi’s ever growing skills - 

It was as utterly unappealing as it had been the first time. 

Only now, there was no reason to endure the probing stares. Adjusting her strength, her speed, her technique to that of an average four-year-old was child’s play at this point.)

Once it was clear she wouldn’t be progressing as fast as Itachi, Hansei had lost whatever little interest he originally had in Miho’s training. 

She thought that was a fair assessment. Their time was now spent on the structure and history of the clan, which was far more interesting than pretending she had no knowledge of the basics. She could certainly work on that in her own time. 

But that wasn’t something she was planning on sharing with her mother.

“I see,” Mikoto said, quietly sipping at her tea. Miho settled into her seat, waiting till Mikoto set her cup down to drink her own tea. “I’ve heard Hansei-san does not think much of your progress.”

Miho remained silent. 

“I always thought that was strange,” Mikoto continued serenely. “You pick up on your lessons with me very quickly.”

Miho slowly sipped at her tea. As always, Uchiha Mikoto was the most dangerous member of the clan, if only for her ability to see. 

(She imagined this was where Itachi had gotten his own skills. It certainly couldn’t have been from their father.)

Mikoto delicately picked up a piece of mochi. “What has Hansei-san been teaching you these days?”

“The history and rituals of the clan,” Miho answered.

“That certainly does have its own importance,” Mikoto said, humming lightly. “Do you enjoy it?”

That… was a rather strange question. She couldn’t remember there ever being a time (in this life or the last) where her mother had been this invested in her learning. 

She had spent the previous timeline focusing entirely on broadening her skill set, which meant that she’d never really had the chance to learn the inner workings of the clan, beyond the surface level politics between the elders. 

Such topics were meant for the current heir, and she hadn’t envied Itachi’s position when he was called for those lessons. Strange as it was for Hansei to teach them now, it was likely he didn’t see the worth of doing much else with someone at Miho’s current skill level. 

“It has its merits,” Miho said slowly, realizing she was probably stranded in the middle of a minefield. 

“That’s good,” Mikoto said, as if she wasn’t casually placing down another exploding tag right by Miho’s metaphorical feet. She raised her cup to her lips and smiled gently.

The afternoon continued in relative silence, which only meant that Miho would have to sleep with one eye open for the foreseeable future. 

There was a familiar glint glimmering once again in her mother’s eyes, and an even more familiar pit of dread began to sink in her stomach.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She wiped her forehead, chest heaving for air and sweat sticking to her neck.

With a heavy sigh, she trudged to a nearby clearing and ran through her usual stretches. Like always, her chakra hummed beneath her skin, moving at a slower pace than before. 

Strange, Miho poked it curiously. It’s settling in faster than before. 

There were several possible explanations. Training her body consistently - precisely - gave her body the opportunity to recover and readjust. An earlier start might also be the reason.

A few more months and I can try some control exercises, she thought, letting her body fall onto the ground with a quiet thud. Then I can - 

She stared at the fading blue sky above. 

Then, she frowned, what?

Returning to the beginning, where the timer reset, was a reminder of the futility of her own actions. Fighting for strength, searching for allies, appeasing the clan - the day before her death, she had wondered about what she could have done differently. 

The option to try another way, to give Itachi - to give herself - another chance, was there. She could train harder, make better friends, stronghold her relatives into a better standing with the village. 

But the ticking numbers above her head no longer haunted her every living moment - and this time, Uchiha Miho had no desire to live for the sake of someone else. 

(The idea of dying by Itachi’s hand again, however, was still unappealing as ever.)

I missed my chance with that blanket, she thought sardonically, slowly sitting up. 

Killing Itachi wouldn’t prevent the clan’s inevitable rebellion, and the consequences from doing it now would be too messy. 

Even more importantly, she imagined she was the better twin if she didn’t have Itachi’s blood on her hands. 

(The same couldn’t be said for him.)

She sighed, running a hand through her tied hair. Her fingers moved through the strands without any trouble - a prime example of her mother’s genetics working in her favor. 

Eight more years, she thought as she rose to her feet. What am I going to do for eight more years?

It was a curious idea. For the first time in nearly two decades, her mind was clear - free from the terror over Itachi and her own oncoming demise. 

What would it be like, Miho wondered, to live without dreading over Itachi’s every move?

Would her limited years be the same as before? Would it be different? Would she like it?

She grabbed her things and left the clearing.

For once, Miho had the time to figure out the answers on her own. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The morning of June 9th began in a harrowing way. 

“If you’ll come with us, Miho-hime,” an elderly woman said, the wrinkles around her face creasing. Around the room, several other women rushed forward with unknown products in their hands. 

Even after having done this dance and song before, Miho stared at the bubbling bathtub with a sense of dread. 

Just close your eyes, she told herself, fingers digging into the bathtub as fingernails raked across her scalp. The wood beneath her hands creaked ominously. Just close your eyes and it’ll be over soon. 

(It would be even worse on her seventh birthday - today might be Itachi’s shichi-go-san, but in two years, all eyes would be on her.)

Her chakra sparked restlessly under her skin. It was less because of any spiritual imbalances and more because of her hidden turmoil. 

An eternity later, Miho stood before a floor-length mirror, her skin flushed and hair tied neatly around an ornamental hair piece. 

“Oh, you look wonderful, hime!” the same woman cried out. “A spitting image of your mother!”

Miho studied her reflection. A young girl with pale skin and soft cheeks stared back, a bright red kimono draped on her shoulders.

I don’t see it, she thought dully. Her eyes were sharper than Mikoto’s and left a different impression. 

She was escorted out of her house and deeper into the compound, where the Uchiha shrine stood proudly above a set of stairs. 

(The shrine, along with everything else in the compound, would eventually be displaced and moved to the outskirts of the village in several months.)

At the foot of the stairs, Mikoto watched her approach with a warm smile. 

“You look lovely, Miho,” she said, eyes creasing in delight. “I imagine you’ll steal the spotlight, even though it’s Itachi’s shichi-go-san.”

That would be a problem, Miho thought, carefully taking her mother’s outreached hand. Mikoto’s fingers gently wrapped around hers.

They walked in tandem up the short set of stairs, with Miho’s body having no trouble keeping up with Mikoto’s steps. It was a good reflection of the training she’d gone through in the past year.

At the top of the stairs, a crowd of relatives bustled around the shrine. The sea of chakra was nearly blinding - the first time around, she had almost collapsed from shock. 

This time, she would almost dare to say it was a near comfort. 

Her feet padded down the neatly placed cobblestone. Countless stares pricked at her skin but her eyes remained focused on the road in front. 

She eventually reached the heart of the shrine, where Itachi and Fugaku were already waiting by a towering, golden bell. 

Mikoto finally released her grip and, after another moment, Miho tottered over to stand by Itachi’s side. 

“We celebrate this day for the future of the clan,” Fugaku began, and already, her mind was starting to wander.

Under the drone of her father’s voice, she focused intently on the cracks between the granite stone, where tiny tufts of grass were beginning to stick out. 

“ - and under the sun’s guidance, we will endure,” Fugaku finally said, marking the end of his convoluted speech. It was a sign to finish the ceremony and, placing her arms on top of each other, Miho turned to face Itachi.

“Blessings on this day,” Itachi said quietly, bowing smoothly. He wore a deep blue kimono and she wondered if that had been done on purpose.

“Blessings on this day,” Miho repeated, following the same routine. 

As they rose from their bows, she briefly met his gaze head on. Immediately, Itachi’s eyes darted down to the floor. 

At Fugaku’s signal, the crowd began to freely move around the shrine, leaving parents to congratulate any other children who had turned the appropriate age this year.

“Congratulations, you two,” Mikoto said, leaning down with two paper bags full of candy in hand. A lone, white crane decorated the red paper. “And happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Itachi said, a soft smile on his lips. He accepted the paper bag a little more quickly than what was appropriate. 

Miho echoed the same words, mouth already watering at the sight of the bag. It was unfortunate this body had such a strong sweet tooth. 

Fugaku nodded sternly. “It’s important to remain strong and healthy for the clan.”

Itachi bowed and Miho followed the action, a heartbeat too late. 

A wave of relatives approached closer, marking the start of an already exhausting day. But the incoming party of guests didn’t stop Mikoto from smiling down at them expectantly.

Resignedly, Miho turned to face Itachi. 

“Happy birthday, Miho,” Itachi said quietly, eyes still focused on the floor. 

(She knew what she would’ve done, years ago. 

Happy birthday, Miho, Itachi had once said, eyes creasing and a warm smile on his lips. 

Happy birthday, Itachi-nii-san, she had answered without hesitation, grasping his hands with her own and giving a wide grin. I hope we’ll stay happy this year too!)

Under Mikoto’s pointed stare, Miho said, just as quietly, like an exhale, “Happy birthday, Itachi.”

(She didn’t know what to make of his wide eyes, or his tightening hands. But for the very first time, it occurred to her that she didn’t have to. 

And that was enough for her.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

She handed over the correct number of coins to the cashier. “Thank you.”

“Uh,” the cashier said, eyeing the large number of bags on the floor. “Do you need - ”

Chakra flushed through her arms, Miho picked up the groceries with relative ease. 

Finally, she thought, straightening her arm to prevent the bags from hitting the floor. It was about time her chakra settled enough into her system for conscious use.

She moved to leave the store, only to pause at the entirely too large man standing right at the entrance. 

It’s been ten minutes, she thought, staring blankly at the man she had sensed while she was still shopping. She had purposefully taken an even longer time getting everything to avoid a confrontation. 

Her eyes trailed down to the groceries in her hands. Mikoto had requested a bunch of apples, but hadn’t specified how many. Surely the loss of one, single apple wouldn’t be missed -

“Excuse me,” Miho said instead. The apple would never land, first of all, and it was always a bad idea to grab the attention of Nara Shikaku. 

“Hmm?” Shikaku glanced down at her, before looking back up at the sale selection of alcohol, which, for some reason, was placed right next to the doorway. 

Insufferable as always, she thought uncharitably. It hadn’t occurred to her that this marketplace was close to the Nara compound. 

(You’re a strange one, he had once said, studying her as if he was picking apart every single layer beneath her skin. 

Her smile had widened so far her muscles had begun to ache. I’m not sure what you mean by that, sensei.)

It was clear Shikaku was choosing to be as much of a hindrance as possible. She imagined his original target was the salesman sweating bullets behind the counter. 

(Though she wouldn’t put it past the man to act petty around a random five-year-old.)

But this time, Miho had no obligation to maintain her manners. Shikaku was no longer her jounin-sensei and, even more importantly, Mikoto was nowhere in sight. With Sasuke’s birth approaching on the horizon, her mother was under house arrest for the next few weeks. 

With that in mind, she readjusted her grip on the groceries and walked right up to Shikaku’s leg. She raised her head to stare directly at him. 

He slowly looked down. 

Silently, Miho squeezed around his legs and made it a point to step on both of his feet. Her eyes remained trained on his face.

Once she had successfully crossed over to the entrance, she blinked slowly. Then, she turned on her heels and exited the store.

If I ever have to see him again, it’ll be too soon, she thought, ignoring the eyes boring into her back.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Mikoto smiled behind the prepared cup of tea.

“This is very good for your first obon temae,” she said, taking a slow sip of the tea. “I think eventually, you’ll do well to learn how to conduct a formal tea ceremony in the future.”

Sounds exhausting, Miho thought, arms already aching at the thought of having to practice a four-hour long tea ceremony. She had never gone this far in her lessons before, but it seemed Mikoto was determined to impart all her knowledge in this lifetime. 

“Now,” Mikoto said, placing down her empty cup. “Pack up your things. Let’s head outside.”

“Outside?” Miho repeated, barely able to hide her mild alarm. At the tail end of June, Mikoto was heavily pregnant. 

Mikoto hummed. “Only to the garden. Don’t worry.”

Strange, Miho thought, swiftly cleaning up her supplies and storing them properly away. Everything about this is strange. 

Actually, from the previous year alone, her mother had been behaving very differently from the other timeline. There had never been this much… interest in Miho’s outside life before. 

Not long after, she stood out in the garden, right beside the koi pond she had once considered to end this reset timeline. It was too shallow for her to use now. 

Mikoto hobbled over to the edge of the house, sitting gently on the wood framed floors. 

“This is for you,” her mother said, pulling out a wooden practice sword. 

Miho stared at the stick. 

“I,” she said. “What?”

Mikoto laughed brightly. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you so surprised.”

Gingerly accepting the practice sword, Miho ran a hand over the polished wood. “But why?”

“Why not?” Mikoto countered, placing her hands on the floor to better rest her body. “I don’t know what you do so often outside the compound, but I’m sure it has something to do with training, right?”

Miho didn’t answer. Instead, she carefully studied the practice sword. 

“How about we try for a bit?” Mikoto asked, though it didn’t really sound like a request. “Indulge your mother a little, Miho.”

In no time at all, Miho found herself standing still, grasping the sword between two hands. 

“Good,” Mikoto called, watching from her seat on the floor. “Widen your stance a little and - ”

It wasn’t much work to fall back into a somewhat familiar position. She had once chased after Itachi all the way into ANBU, where it was mandatory to learn the basics of kenjutsu.

(Unlike Itachi, who had remained under Hatake Kakashi’s supervision for the most part, she had been passed around different teams for nearly two years.

It left her with no time to really go beyond those rudimentary basics, while Itachi learned under the best Konoha had to offer.)

An hour passed with Mikoto giving sets of verbal instructions, guiding Miho through a series of stances and katas. 

“Just as I thought,” Mikoto said, which was an alarming phrase to hear considering the person it was coming from. “Run through them every day this week and I’ll check them this weekend, okay?”

“Yes,” Miho said, after a beat of silence. She glanced down at the sword, the skin on her palms bright red. 

It wouldn’t hurt to add this to her schedule - she had a whole eight years of time to fill up anyways.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The weeks passed by and her lessons with Hansei eventually evolved into a study of the clan’s budget and supply list. 

(“It’s befitting for someone who might become the matriarch,” Hansei had said, as he watched her sort through their many warehouses. 

She wondered what exactly his plans were. They barely spent any time on shinobi basics - it was a miracle she already knew what to train for.)

Her time under Mikoto’s supervision, however, grew in fast spurts. It felt meaningless to pretend she was learning the basics again for the first time - she imagined Mikoto would eventually catch on either way.

(“You’re very good at this,” Mikoto had mentioned once, eyes creasing as she poured out another cup of tea. “After your sibling’s birth, it’ll be fun to try out a spar.”

“With you?” Miho asked, pointedly avoiding the comment on her abilities. 

“Yes,” Mikoto had said. “I’m sure Itachi is a bit too busy to indulge us.”)

She says that, Miho sat very still, keeping her hands in her lap, and yet here we are. 

“Good work, Miho,” her mother said, hands resting below her large stomach. “Now what do we say?”

Miho stared at the cup in Itachi’s hands. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Itachi said, a little unsurely. He knelt across the table as an active guest for her practice tea ceremony. 

Mikoto cleared her throat. 

I should’ve poisoned the tea, Miho thought mildly, before batting the thought away. 

She raised her head and looked directly into Itachi’s eyes. 

(Eye contact is important for informal guests! Mikoto had once said.)

Miho creased her eyes and lifted the corners of her lips. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she injected as much warmth into her voice as physically possible (which wasn’t much), and said again, “Thank you for coming.”

It was almost reminiscent of her life before. 

Itachi’s grip on his teacup slackened slightly. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, after a long beat of silence. The tips of his ears were tinged pink. 

I want to leave, Miho thought, already staring blankly at the door. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Mikoto asked, clasping her hands together. “Itachi, you’re more than welcome to join us if you have the time. We can always use a practice guest!”

Please don’t, Miho thought. 

Itachi smiled gently at his tea. Then, as if it had always been his destiny to make her life worse, he said, “I’d like that.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Uchiha Sasuke was born on a cool summer evening, entering the world with an ear-piercing wail that only served to reinforce the kind of boy she knew he would become. 

She sat patiently in the waiting room, as only one family member was allowed in the hospital room during labor. Next to her, Itachi remained absolutely still, the only sign of his unease shown through his jumping chakra. 

(Last time, they had held hands, their fingers interlocked together to keep away the nerves. 

She’ll be okay, she had said, plastering on a bright grin in reassurance. Itachi’s returning smile had been so warm, it made the strain on her cheeks worth it.)

Her hands remained firmly in her lap. Soon after, a medic entered the lobby and called their names. 

Itachi quickly got to his feet and together, they followed the medic up the stairs to where Mikoto’s chakra flickered sluggishly. It might have been faster if Miho led the way, but that would only raise another set of flags she didn’t need in this lifetime. 

Inside the room, Mikoto lay across a bed, her skin pale, cheeks flushed red, and hair sticking to the side of her face. It was only during childbirth that her mother would ever look this undignified. 

At their entrance, Mikoto brightened, with Fugaku standing close by her side, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Come, you two,” she said, glancing down at the white bundle in her arms. “Meet your little brother.”

“Brother?” Itachi repeated, already joining the bedside. Sasuke’s gender hadn’t been announced ahead of time. 

Mikoto hummed. “We wanted it to be a surprise. But his name is Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke.”

“A legacy passed on from the Hokage,” Fugaku added. It was an ambitious choice to name Sasuke after Sarutobi Hiruzen’s father, but it fit her father’s one-track mind.

Mikoto glanced at Itachi and smiled. “Would you like to hold him?”

Itachi blinked. “Can I?”

After giving some quick instructions, Mikoto passed on the baby bundle and, with incredibly careful hands, Itachi held Sasuke in his arms.

Itachi studied Sasuke’s tiny body, his dark eyes wide and chakra bubbling imperceptibly. 

The moment of truth, Miho thought dully, already tired of this whole event. It wasn’t as impactive as it had been the first time around. 

Her mind almost sagged in relief. With another sibling, with Sasuke, Itachi’s attention would be redirected to another place and she could finally have some peace.

Mikoto turned to her with a gentle smile. “Would you like a turn, Miho?”

(Before, she would’ve said yes. She’d cradle Sasuke’s little body into her arms and marvel at his tiny fingers, wondering at the pain he was written to go through - )

I’d rather not, Miho thought, and said, “Maybe next time.”

“Nonsense!” Mikoto said brightly, completely overriding the refusal. It begged the question as to why she even bothered asking. “Here, it’s easy.”

Under strict directions, Itachi gently handed Sasuke over, a little more clumsily than before. Like accepting a sack of potatoes, Miho tucked Sasuke into her arms. It was easy adjusting his weight - she had once taken turns babysitting Sasuke with Itachi before.

She stared down at the sleeping infant, with squished cheeks and pink skin. 

Ugly as always, she thought. It still beat Sasuke as an eight-year-old - he had always been a terrible whiner. 

She considered the baby in her arms. 

Getting rid of Sasuke had always been an option, for the sake of forcing Itachi’s hand. The blanket might not work on Itachi anymore, but it was still viable for an infant like Sasuke. 

The idea was tucked away for a later time. It held messy consequences and fratricide wasn’t as appealing as it had been five years ago. 

She raised her head, ready to get rid of the weight in her arms. Her training for the past year allowed her arms to remain steady without much trouble, but it was still a hassle. 

Across Mikoto’s bed, Itachi watched her (or, probably, Sasuke) with eyes as wide as the full moon. His chakra flickered like a warm fireplace. 

As always, she ignored his stares with ease and handed Sasuke back to their mother. It was entirely likely this Itachi was slightly defective compared to the one from before.

Eight more years, Miho thought, studying the yawning infant that marked another slot on the ever-ticking countdown. Eight more years, and then I’ll finally be free of this mess.

Chapter Text

She pressed a hand curiously onto the tree trunk. Chakra humming around her skin, she pulled her arm with a heave - and smiled when her hand remained where it was. 

Her reserves were much larger than she remembered at this age, but she imagined this was due to a number of reasons. 

It didn’t take long for her to climb the tree with just her hands. After a good hour or so, she was walking comfortably up and down with her feet as well. 

(That much was expected, at least. Her control - over chakra and otherwise - had been one of the few things she could hold over Itachi.)

Right, Miho thought, grabbing her backpack and heading over to the river. Water walking’s next. 

Before, she would’ve had to take a break before starting again, but these larger reserves were working in her favor here. 

By the end of day, lying down on top of the Naka River, she raised a hand up towards the sky. 

Very slowly, the faintest of green chakra sputtered to life.

“Nice,” she said aloud, allowing the jutsu to fade away. It was a good sign she could run through a stricter training regime, now that there wasn’t a need to rush to the hospital for a proper diagnosis after every training accident.

She sat up and dragged a finger across the water below. 

There really wasn’t a need for physical training anymore. With her chakra finally settling down, she could probably live the rest of her eight years almost idly. 

But that would mean staying in the house for longer periods of time and hearing Fugaku’s nagging even more often - so staying outside it was. At least it staved off the boredom.

Pulling herself away from the riverbank, Miho packed up her unused set of clothes and headed back home. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Kushina beamed. “He’s absolutely adorable!”

“He is,” Mikoto said, cradling Sasuke in her arms. “But he’s very fussy at night.”

Miho silently snatched a piece of mochi from the table. Kushina’s visits often meant a surplus in tea and snacks. If she couldn’t leave, she might as well take advantage of her situation.

“Aren’t all babies?” Kushina waved a hand. She leaned forward and eyed Sasuke hesitantly. “Did it - ” she gulped. “Did it hurt?”

Mikoto laughed. “It did, yes. But it’s definitely worth it.”

She sent Miho a warm look.

“I don’t doubt it,” Kushina said, shifting to the side to ruffle Miho’s hair. Standing at the bottom of the food chain, Miho endured the action with great reluctance. “You’ve got a cute one here already!”

“That I do,” Mikoto said, eyes creasing. 

Kushina grinned. “I can’t wait until - ”

She abruptly paused, one hand already wrapped around her own stomach. Miho assumed this was because Kushina’s pregnancy was an open secret. 

“I feel the same way,” Mikoto said lightly, shifting Sasuke around. “Would you like to hold him?”

A masterful change in topics, Miho thought, already reaching for her third mochi. Across the table, Kushina took Sasuke into her arms, a pinched look on her face. 

“It’s so weird,” Kushina whispered, staring at Sasuke’s sleeping face. “What if it’s still weird after I - ?”

“You’ll know what to do right away,” Mikoto promised, smoothly taking Sasuke back. “Trust me.”

Not very subtle, Miho thought, sipping quietly at her tea. Her eyes strayed to the door. Has it been long enough for me to leave?

“Oh!” Like usual, Kushina pulled out a new scroll. This time, the circles around the edge marked a type of barrier seal. “What do you think about this one?”

Mikoto hummed in interest. “I see.”

Then, without any warning, she passed Sasuke over to Miho. 

So that’s what this is, Miho thought, glancing down at Sasuke’s traitorous face. I’m just a glorified babysitter. 

As if privy to her thoughts, Sasuke let out a wide yawn that mocked her very existence. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The smell of burning incense floated through the air. With great care, Miho placed the freshly made cup of tea in front of her guest. 

Why are you here, she thought dully, returning her hands to her lap. 

Itachi studied the cup curiously before taking a slow sip. 

“It’s very good,” he said politely.

“Thank you,” Miho said, following the rituals of the ceremony. If Itachi hurried, they would be able to end this entire thing in ten minutes. 

Itachi kept a firm grip on his cup and took another drink, appearing as if he had no intentions of hurrying at all. 

They continued to sit in utter silence. Her fingers curled tighter into fists. 

With the presence of a newborn like Sasuke, Mikoto had given instructions for Miho to practice running through the motions with guests on her own.

(“It’ll be a good experience for you,” Mikoto had said, eyes creasing. “And Itachi was nice enough to agree!”)

A few more minutes passed by, and she imagined it was a comical sight - two five-year-olds, sitting together in deathly silence and drinking tea. 

Itachi’s chakra bubbled, even as his face remained pleasantly still. 

Please don’t, Miho thought, already recognizing this pattern from before. 

He set his cup down onto the table. Quietly, he asked, “What can I change right now?”

It didn’t take much to realize that Itachi was continuing the conversation they had had over a year ago, in the marketplace. 

Are you serious, Miho thought, staring at his relaxed fingers. Do you think a normal five-year-old would remember that?

It was unfortunate she didn’t quite fall under that category. It was doubly unfortunate Itachi didn’t either. 

She exhaled slowly. 

Why are you asking me this?

(They used to lie down on the grass and stare at the skies together. 

The world is full of harsh things, Itachi-nii-san, she had said to him, heart pounding in her ears because what could she say? What would be enough? 

I’ll change it then, Itachi had said, eyes determined and hands outreached towards the clouds. They had been six and young, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that his future - their future -  was written to end tragically.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she wasn’t sure if she could do anything about it.)

“You can’t,” she finally said, releasing the tight grip she held on her clothes. “You’re too young.”

Itachi’s eyebrows pinched together. “But what about the future?” 

Nothing, was the response that lingered on her tongue. Itachi might have been the weapon but the ones who had directed him couldn’t be overthrown in less than a decade. 

Not for the first time, she wondered if Itachi had ever felt that same sort of suffocation - if he was feeling it at this very moment. The sensation of rope tightening around his neck, his fingers clawing at skin, feet dangling in the air - 

At her silence, Itachi pressed onward. “You said one person can’t do much. Then what can they do?”

Her eyes strayed to the side, where the sliding doors were firmly closed shut. She could leave right now - consequences be damned - and Itachi wouldn’t be able to stop her. 

Itachi’s fingers tightened around his cup, as if he was completely aware of her thoughts. 

I don’t owe you anything, she realized. Answers or otherwise. 

But her legs remained tied to the floor. Like chains rising from the grave and wrapping around her ankles, it seemed she couldn’t free herself completely from Itachi just yet. 

By this point, the water in her teapot had long since cooled. She lifted the pot from the table and placed it gingerly on the floor.

“You know what your problem is?” she asked. The words eagerly fell from her lips, desperate to escape her thoughts from years ago. “I said so many things, but you focused on that one thing. On what one person can do.”

Her eyes travelled across the room and distantly, dully, she asked, “Do you know why?”

(Her fingers curling around his cloak, barely grasping fabric, as if he had already long since vanished like mist - 

I’m sorry, he had said, carefully removing her hand from his arm. But this is something I need to do.)

“No,” Itachi said, after a long moment of silence.

Her lips nearly twisted. “It’s because you only rely on yourself.”

“At the top of a mountain, even villages will appear small,” she then told him, placing her tools back into a supply box and slowly closing the lid shut. 

“You’ll stand there, someday,” she said, staring into Itachi’s bottomless, dark eyes. This time, the corners of her mouth lifted sardonically. “At a tall place no one can reach.”

And there, Itachi would never think to look for help. He had always struggled to make allies and that’s where she had stepped in, a long time ago. 

(But even with tempered smiles and a bright laugh, Miho hadn’t been enough. Perhaps it would’ve been different, if it was someone else. If it was someone who could smile without reserve.

Shisui had been better at the job, but - well. That was another thread of fate that couldn’t be cut.)

“You’ll decide that’s your burden to carry,” she rose to her feet and moved the supply box into a closet. Like a prophecy, she told him, “And that’s where you’ll fall.”

There was an ocean full of what she wanted to say. A thousand accusations and a thousand grievances. She imagined it would’ve been enough to fill up her remaining eight years here. 

(Those words had clung to her throat before. Staring after Itachi’s ever-moving back - she had once wanted to grab a kunai and dig it into his heart. 

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better if she had said something, done something, instead of holding onto this bottomless pit of poisoned words.)

But those thoughts were useless in this lifetime - the Itachi who had struck her with his sword wasn’t here.

And yet, still, in memory of that cold metal sinking into her skin… her lips burned to speak. 

“I see,” Itachi finally said, eyes fixated on the cold tea in his hands. 

“Do you?” she asked, remembering those days when she had hoped to live past her thirteenth birthday. Exhaustion crept over her shoulders. 

What did it say about this world, when the fate of dozens rested in the hands of a child?

We were doomed from the start, she thought. 

And despite the scolding she’d probably receive later on, Miho walked out of the room, closing the door shut on a silent room.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She grit her teeth even as her feet slid across the ground. Her arms ached at the strain, but she gripped the practice sword even tighter and kept it raised. 

“Hmm,” Mikoto hummed, standing further away. She creased her eyes and lowered her own sword. 

Miho relaxed her stance before exhaling slowly. Sweat clung to the back of her neck as she rolled her shoulders. 

“I think we’ll stop here for today,” her mother said, giving the wooden sword another swing. Her lips curved upward into a gentle smile.

She looks like she just took a walk around the garden, Miho thought dully, staring down at her lightly trembling hands. Instead of spending the better part of the hour smacking her daughter around. 

It wasn’t a bad trade-off, she conceded, after a moment of thought. Avoiding Itachi in this lifetime meant she had a significant drop in viable sparring partners. 

She moved to join Mikoto by the garden side, kneeling on the wooden floors under the roof awnings. 

“Good job today,” Mikoto said, a warm smile on her lips. “Now tell me what went wrong.”

“I blocked when I should have ducked,” Miho answered, already familiar with this routine. “I had the disadvantage in strength and height. I should be using the sword to redirect blows, instead of blocking entirely.”

“That’s correct,” Mikoto said. “Tackling the problem head on - it’s not like you.”

Miho kept silent. Two years of prior kenjutsu experience still wasn’t enough for her to have all the right answers. 

“Well, progress is still progress,” her mother continued. “We can move on to the next set soon. That’s faster than what Hansei-san usually says about you, you know.”

Well aware of the predator casually circling around its prey, Miho focused on the blisters on her hands.

In the first place, Hansei’s lessons were now almost entirely focused on the monetary funding of the clan. The times he would teach anything shinobi related were now few and far between.

He’s definitely planning something, she thought, keeping her mouth firmly closed shut. Why else would he teach a five-year-old how to budget? 

Was he bored? Had an elder of the Uchiha clan finally cracked?

At her silence, Mikoto’s smile widened. “As I expected. You’re not one for trouble, are you, Miho?”

There were many ways to answer this non-question. And, having over ten years of experience as Mikoto’s daughter, Miho continued to not say a word. 

(Considering the amount of trouble she had been in before, it was probably best to not give anything away.)

“Keep up your routine for now,” Mikoto finally said, perfectly unperturbed by this one-sided conversation. “We’ll do this again tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes,” Miho said, bowing her head shortly. 

You just gave birth last month, she thought silently, watching the unmoving image of her mother. Shouldn’t you be taking a break?

In response to Miho’s unspoken thoughts, Mikoto poured herself a cup of tea and serenely took a long, drawn-out sip. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Like in the previous timeline, Sasuke was an incorrigible crybaby.

Standing by his crib, Miho sighed and picked him up into her arms. 

He was fed an hour ago, she thought, going down the list with the usual experience of a babysitter. I just changed his diapers too. 

She covered her eardrums with chakra to block out his piercing wails. 

No one’s in the house right now, she considered, staring contemplatively at the blanket in Sasuke’s crib. Her hand patted his back absentmindedly.

Eventually, Sasuke's cries died away, leaving him to sniffle over her shoulders. She would’ve found it endearing, years ago. 

(Mi! Sasuke used to cry out, back when he was three years old and still figuring out how to speak. Mi, come play!

Her chest had tightened at the sight of his soft cheeks and messy hair. It had been an adorable sight, a reminder of his simple innocence, and it brought her fingers to curl around his neck, brushing against skin and - 

What if, she had thought, for a terrifying moment, eyes boring into the back of Sasuke’s tiny head, Itachi chooses you? 

Am I going to die… for you? What makes you better? What makes you more special? What if you just - 

Disappeared? )

She stared at the setting sun, clouded through the windows, nearly blocked by the walls of the compound. Off in the distance, a familiar, warm chakra flickered through the main gates. 

“It’s about time,” she said aloud. Her feet padded silently across the floor. Shifting her arms, she slowly placed Sasuke back into his crib. 

He mumbled slightly, a breath gurgling from his tiny lips, his eyes tightly closed. Her fingers lightly grazed his cheeks, brushing up against soft skin. 

Do it now, a voice hissed in her head, and the kunai within her sleeves burned through her bandages. End it quickly! Before he gets you again! 

The front door opened with a tiny creak. Within moments, Itachi’s chakra approached the stairs. 

Her hand pulled back and curled into a fist.

She left the room soon after, entering the hallway and quietly closing the door shut. Behind her, Itachi paused at the top of the stairs. 

It only lasted for a moment. By the time she returned to her room, Itachi had long since vanished from the hallway, leaving behind an empty space that would only continue to grow over the years. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The problem with rebuilding muscle memory was the inevitable mistakes that would come with it. 

She frowned at her bleeding fingertips. Further ahead, a set of shuriken were embedded deep into a practice target. 

You’d think living through this body once would make it easier the second time, she thought, pulling out a clean towel from her pouch and wiping away the blood. 

There were still flashes that overtook her sight - memories and instincts bred for a body much taller than this one. It just proved she would need to spend more time readjusting to these tiny hands. 

She eyed the cuts along her skin curiously. They would heal naturally in a few days but - 

Chakra bubbled up to her fingers and, very slowly, a faint green covered the open wound. In a minute or so, the light died away to reveal unblemished skin. 

Not bad, she thought, taking stock of the sudden dip in her reserves. Those hours spent in the hospital seemed worth it now.

(Shikaku had once dumped her into the rudimentary medic courses, years ago, when she was still a genin. She imagined it was because he had gotten tired of seeing her collapse from overexertion. 

It had caused an uproar through the clan. 

Your time is better spent elsewhere, Fugaku had harshly said. It’s a disgrace to your skills and the clan.)

She studied the rough pads of her fingertips, the callouses from training already beginning to form. 

It felt good then, she remembered, stretching out her fingers and feeling the pull of skin. It felt good to hear him say that I was worth something, at least. 

But that was a lifetime ago, and Fugaku’s approval meant something else here. Something much less of worth. 

She shook her head and resumed her training. The rest of the day followed her usual routine: running through katas, building up stamina, refining her chakra control, practicing with a wooden sword - 

Even through it all, the memories wouldn’t leave her alone. 

Under the darkening sky, Miho left the forest, mind blank and chest heavy. Her walk back home led her past the training grounds and, unwittingly, she froze in her steps. 

It was almost impossible to drag herself away. Resignedly, she stepped around the foliage and approached a familiar, cracked stone. 

She remained a good distance from the Memorial Stone. Even still, it was easy to see the names engraved into granite. Her eyes trailed down the empty space where a good number were missing. 

(Miho, he had whispered, fingers trembling around her hands. His eyes shone like dull glass. Please.

She had been eleven. Eleven and old and still not ready for what this world demanded of her and yet, even still, she had raised the kunai above her head, eyes flashing red, blood dripping down her face and - )

This time, she thought, in the quiet of the night, Shikaku can have someone else on his genin team.

The wind blew past her hair and through the leaves above. It was a faint reminder that summer was ending and that, as always, time would never wait for someone like her.

And that's fine, she told herself, giving a short bow before leaving the grounds altogether, because it doesn’t matter anymore.

(She wondered how long it would take until she no longer needed the reminder.)

-o-o-o-o-o-

Kushina inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of freshly brewed tea. After a long moment of silence, she gave a warm smile. 

“It’s good!” she said, cradling the cup in her hands. “Maybe you’re a genius, Miho-chan!”

“Thank you,” Miho said, choosing not to mention the hours spent under Mikoto’s careful eyes. 

“She’s better than you were at that age,” Kushina said slyly, nudging Mikoto’s side. “Isn’t that right, Mikoto-chan?”

Miho drank silently from her own cup. It was best to let Kushina dig her own grave. 

“You just might be right,” Mikoto said, eyes creasing. In her arms, Sasuke quietly slept under a swath of blankets. 

“I’m a little sad though,” Kushina said morosely, bringing a hand to her cheek. “I can't visit that often for the next few months. You’ll have to endure without me, Miho-chan.”

“I understand,” Miho said, pointedly not looking at Kushina’s growing stomach. 

Kushina squinted her eyes. “Do you?”

Are you asking me to say it or not?

“Yes,” Miho simply said, because she was no fool. 

There was a short pause. Then, with a hum, Kushina pulled out the usual scroll. 

“You should take a look at this,” she said, rolling it across the table towards Mikoto. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Already used to this routine, Miho resignedly accepted the bundle from her mother and held Sasuke in her arms. 

“Still?” Mikoto asked, peering over the thick paper. From the corner of her eyes, Miho caught a glimpse of the sealing array. 

It looked like some sort of lock. A barrier to keep something in - or out. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in quiet discussion with little result, much to Kushina’s disappointment. It was hardly surprising - there wasn’t anyone in Konoha, barring the Fourth Hokage, who understood seals as well as Kushina did.

Mikoto was often used as a sounding board, but when it proved too large of a task, the seal was usually pocketed away for a later time.

Except, this time, Kushina began to visit far more often in the following weeks. 

It was a poor decision for someone who was now heavily pregnant. Miho imagined Namikaze Minato was probably pulling his hair out at this point.

“I just need to get this right,” Kushina loudly complained, resting her hands on the floor and leaning backwards. 

“I think you should wait until after everything is over,” Mikoto said, voicing the opinions of everyone in the near vicinity. There were two sparks of chakra above their heads - probably ANBU guards assigned to Kushina. 

“But it’s relaxing here,” Kushina protested, shifting her weight further onto her arms. “Back home, it’s always ‘oh, let me get that for you,’ or ‘oh, Kushina, don’t hurt yourself.’ I’m close to punching him in the face.”

“I’m sure the Hokage has your safety in mind,” Mikoto said demurely, ever the middle-man. 

“He should start minding his own safety,” Kushina growled.

Across the table, Miho carefully grabbed another piece of mochi. 

“Perhaps it’s time for a change of pace,” Mikoto said, very clearly alluding to the unborn child in Kushina’s stomach. “Maybe you’ll have a fresh perspective after… everything.”

Miho stared at the amber liquid in her cup. Who exactly were they still trying to pretend for? 

“A fresh perspective,” Kushina repeated. Her bright eyes slowly slid over to Miho.

Please, Miho thought, keeping her face utterly still, no. 

Almost abruptly, a familiar scroll was pushed up to her face. 

“Kushina,” Mikoto said wearily. 

“Why not?” Kushina countered, a smile growing on her face. “Maybe Miho-chan absorbed something from our talks!”

“That’s not how it works,” Mikoto sighed, echoing Miho’s own thoughts. 

“If you need me to go over what it means, just tell me,” Kushina said, completely ignoring the protests sent her way. “Sometimes, children see better than us adults.”

Kushina’s lips curved into a wider smile. “And something tells me Miho-chan has the clearest eyes of them all.”

Miho froze, her cup paused between her lips. 

“Well,” Mikoto said, her chakra humming pleasantly. “You’re not wrong. Our Miho is definitely quicker than she looks.”

Warm jasmine tea filled her mouth as her heart beat steadily inside her chest. 

A coincidence, Miho thought, drinking slowly before gently placing down her cup. It wouldn’t do to react to every little thing that poked at her past.

Her chakra twinged under the expectant eyes. 

I’ll just take a look, she thought, quietly picking up the scroll - it was almost too big for her hands. And then I’ll give it back.

It wasn’t a seal she was familiar with. The outer layer seemed straightforward enough - a lock attuned to the sealer’s will. 

She had seen something similar in the hospital, when a team of medics needed to operate on an unconscious ninja. It was better to lock the body in place rather than risk the shinobi waking up in the middle of the surgery, delirious and unaware of their surroundings. 

Miho squinted her eyes. The center was a little too complex for her to read. It outlined a perimeter of a certain distance, to catch every - organic life? No, the writing was too specific for that. It was almost as if it was targeting a certain form of organism - 

She blinked slowly. 

Was Kushina trying to replicate the Nara Shadow Possession jutsu?

If the seal covered a certain amount of ground and targeted chakra signatures, Kushina could, theoretically, halt all movement in the area. 

She stared at the swirling symbols. Am I qualified to look at this?

Qualifications or not, this was way above her pay grade. And as a five-year-old, she didn’t even have a pay grade. 

Kushina loomed closer. “Well? What do you think?”

“I,” Miho began, glancing to the side where her mother sat. Mikoto smiled warmly - which was enough of a warning sign for her to switch tactics. “You said that the seal wouldn’t activate.”

“That’s right,” Kushina said with a smile. 

New seals followed a three-part process, as Kushina had often mentioned years ago. Creation, activation, revision - it was a continuous loop of risky adjustment. 

A seal that won’t activate, she thought, remembering those lessons from a lifetime past. Either there’s a missing link or Kushina hasn’t fully written out the controls for it. 

Miho stared at the scribbles of ink on the scroll. Neither was a likely possibility when it came to someone as good as Uzumaki Kushina. 

Her knowledge wasn’t enough to completely decipher the seal. What she did know was Kushina’s overzealous tendencies, where she would often layer seals to the point of convolution. 

She scanned the seal’s outer layer another time, picking out the parts she could better understand. There was a rudimentary lock that caught her attention, since it was sketched out in three separate places on the seal.  

Three locks to set a perimeter? Miho let the idea run through her mind. 

Would that overload the seal or create a new type of barrier? It was hard to tell.

“This looks very complicated, Kushina-san,” Miho slowly said. There really wasn’t much that could be said that Kushina didn’t already know. “Would you say that everything on this scroll is essential?”

Kushina blinked. “Essential?”

“Mother says that the key to success is efficiency,” Miho said, reciting the same words Mikoto would say during sword training. “I hope each part of this seal achieves exactly what you need and nothing more.”

There was a pause.

“It’s like Aunt Mito all over again,” Kushina breathed out, before resting her head in her hands. “I can almost hear her voice scolding me from the grave.”

Miho remained silent and took another sip of tea, if only from the sheer fact of not knowing what to say. 

“I always thought Miho had the soul of an old woman,” Mikoto said lightly, eyes glimmering in bright humor. “I suppose the scolding was well-deserved.”

Her hands completely still, Miho did not change the timing of her breaths - doing anything else would be an admission of something no one in their right mind would look for. 

Kushina let out a bark of laughter. Her chakra flared through the room, an undeniable heat that pressed against Miho’s skin. 

“Don’t worry, Miho-chan,” she said, wiping a finger under her eye, lips curved into a broad grin. “You just reminded me of someone I used to know. I’ll probably need to start from the ground up and do some more revision.”

“I see,” Miho said, deciding it was unwise to mention that she knew exactly who Kushina was talking about. Uzumaki Mito was a legend who had been overshadowed by Konoha’s awe for the First Hokage. 

(She was like a grandmother to me, Kushina had once said, in another lifetime, eyes distant and a soft smile on her face. I think she would’ve liked you a lot.)

“Well, it’s about time I head out,” Kushina said, rising steadily to her feet. She glanced down and gave a bright grin. “When everything’s all over, you should come over, Miho-chan! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Warm, she thought, Kushina’s chakra dancing around the air. As always, it’s unbelievably warm. 

“Thank you,” Miho said, a second too late. She stared into her stained, empty cup. “I’ll look forward to it then.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

That was the last time Kushina ever visited the compound. It was likely the Fourth Hokage was no longer willing to take any chances, since Kushina was now dangerously pregnant. 

The night before October 10th, Miho sat by her windowsill, studying the glimmering stars and full moon above. 

It was strange, she thought distantly, wrapping her arms around her knees. She had assumed she’d feel the same, the second time around. The same gut-wrenching guilt, the sting of fear, the heavy weight of her decisions, but instead - 

She pressed her cheek onto the cold glass.

“I’m tired,” she said quietly, her breath fogging up the window. 

Her room stayed silent. If she closed her eyes, the memory would creep into her line of sight, of her last few moments, standing in front of Itachi, waiting in line, waiting for the scent of blood to come closer - waiting and waiting and - 

-o-o-o-o-o-

She opened her eyes, the heavy sunlight brushing past her lashes. With a slight wince, she lifted her head, the skin on her cheek nearly sticking to the glass window. 

Tiny goosebumps crawled across her neck as she walked over the cold, wooden floor. Like clockwork, she ran through her usual morning stretches, mind blank and a flood rising above her ears. 

Her arms weighed against her as she changed into her usual clothes. She tightened the bandages around her ankles and, for a brief moment, looked into the mirror in her room. 

Dark, sunken eyes stared back at her - it was a familiar sight. 

She continued her routine, walking down the stairs and eating breakfast on her own. Like every other morning, she packed a simple lunch before leaving the compound. 

(Last time, she had cowered in her room for nearly the entire day. The premonition of what was to come had haunted her thoughts and dragged her to the ground.)

It wasn’t a good day to train. Still, she found her usual spot in the local forests and, after a good hour of shuriken training, laid down on top of the riverbank. 

It’s so bright, she thought, lifting a hand to block the sun’s rays. Little waves rippled beside her and the wind whistled through the trees. 

It was as if the world itself was mocking what was to come. 

Another hour passed by as she remained motionless. Distantly, she thought, I should train. 

But a heavy weight pressed onto her body, a little reminder of her lingering desperation, the phantoms that still whispered in her chest. 

Her lips curled inward at the timer that tried to return. 

Quietly, Miho snarled, “Don’t you dare.”

“You’ve dug your own grave,” she hissed, fingers digging into the water below, a cutting cold that stung her skin. “Now lie in it.”

The sun rose higher and higher, leaving her to listen to the soft chirps of birds and the rustle of leaves. Eventually, when it fell onto the horizon, she rose to her feet, head spinning at the sudden movement. 

When she returned home, Mikoto had long since started making dinner. 

“Welcome home,” her mother said, eyes creasing. By the kitchen table, Sasuke gurgled happily in his crib. 

“I’m home,” Miho answered, sliding the door shut behind her. Sliding off her sandals, she walked straight to the bathroom to follow Mikoto’s usual ritual. 

She shrugged off her backpack and moved to take off her clothes - only to pause. Her eyes remained trained on the cabinet under the sink. 

Before another thought could cross her mind - before she could even consider what would be the best response - Miho opened the cabinet and, in one swift motion, stuffed the remaining bandages and medicine into her bag. 

It would’ve gone to waste, she reasoned with herself, turning on the water. In roughly three hours, Uzumaki Naruto would enter this world and, with it, this part of her house would be destroyed anyways. 

Today, those hours were idly spent. Before, she had jumped at every sound, fingers clenched around her clothes, barely able to keep down her dinner. 

This time, she sat at the kitchen table, staring at her rice and listening to Sasuke’s babbles. 

(The food, however, still tasted like ash.)

“My final appointment at the hospital is tomorrow,” Mikoto said, repeating the same words as before. Like in the previous timeline, Fugaku was working late and wouldn’t meet up with them until everything was over. “Can one of you stay behind and watch over Sasuke?”

There was a short pause. 

Odd, Miho thought, glancing at Itachi, who continued to eat his dinner as his chakra fidgeted slightly. Didn’t you jump at the chance last time? 

After an even longer silence, Miho finally said, “I’ll do it.”

It wouldn’t matter in the end. Konoha would be upturned in an hour’s time and the next few months would be spent relocating to the old Uchiha compound in the village outskirts. 

Itachi set his chopsticks down and said quietly, “I’ll join too. It’s more fun when there’s more people, right?”

“Right you are, Itachi,” Mikoto said, a smile on her lips. Miho dragged her eyes away from Itachi to keep from staring. “The both of you are being very responsible.”

What are you planning? Miho thought, eyes focused on her fried fish. They hadn’t spoken since the practice tea ceremony. Another ambush?

It didn’t matter, she then reminded herself, forcing down another bite of rice. There was no chance Itachi would be able to pull off his plans when Kyuubi would wreck them all tonight. 

The rest of the meal finished quietly, leaving Miho and Itachi to wash the dishes. Since they were still too short to reach the sink, they stood on a pair of stools instead.

It was quiet, save for the sound of running water. In that solemn silence, Miho took a washed plate from Itachi and began to dry it with a towel. 

Anytime now, she thought, studying the painted blue flowers decorating the ceramic plate. A quarter of their house would be destroyed and, in the midst of the chaos, Mikoto would lead them out to the mountains for shelter. 

Like last time, the anticipation was even worse than the actual event. Kyuubi’s rampage would only take an hour before the Fourth Hokage transported it somewhere else, but the effects of its rage would last even up till Miho’s inevitable death. 

It would’ve been better, she thought, if she could live through these moments without knowing what would come next. 

Even with these thoughts, Kyuubi’s arrival was just as abrupt, just as visceral, and just as terrifying as it had been before. 

There was a loud crash and she blinked. Her vision blurred and suddenly, she was on her knees with pieces of ceramic scattered across the floor. Heavy, burning chakra crushed her lungs and she let out a gasp, her breath clogged in her throat. 

Bright, white sparks danced around her vision and, even worse, the memories began to return.

(But this time, instead of visions of her possible death, Miho was once again running around the compound, the sun just beginning to set along the horizon. Her fingers skirted around the edges, against invisible walls as her senses stretched out further and further, searching desperately because she was trapped - 

And, for the very first time, she could only think about how much she wanted to live, oh god, please, please just let me live - )

Warm, small hands wrapped around her arms. 

“Miho?” Itachi’s voice seemed so far away. “Miho? What’s going on?”

There was no time to answer. An ear-shattering, guttural roar shook the house, sending a tremor through the ground and Itachi stumbling to the side. 

Lava rising above her head, Miho nearly gagged as she desperately tried to take another breath. Shaking off the past was, as always, harder than expected.

She needed - she needed to move. Staying still would leave her heart vulnerable to the corrosive chakra and that would be a painful end to her pitiful five years.

Her chakra sputtered under her skin. It crackled through her veins and the sudden rush left her head spinning. 

It was enough to send her keeling over again and upending her dinner onto the floor. Acid stung her throat, but it helped to clear her head and, in moments, she hobbled to her feet. 

Meters away, Itachi clung to a nearby cupboard to keep his footing as another tremor shook the earth. 

Chakra shot through her feet and stuck to the floor. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Miho dared to loosen her grip on her chakra to get a better sense of her surroundings. 

Outside, dozens of chakra signatures flickered around the compound, disappearing and reappearing, like a cascade of fleeing butterflies. The roof above her head groaned, an ominous sound that she had long since expected. 

Like magnets on polar ends, Miho’s eyes dragged to the side, and she met Itachi’s gaze with her own. 

It only lasted for a moment. But perhaps blood shared a connection because in the very next second, Miho dashed out of the kitchen, with Itachi hot on her heels.

Another earthquake nearly sent her sliding to her knees, but she shifted her weight into a crouch before running up the stairs. 

Sharp cracks rang through the air as the sound of splintering wood caught up with them. Without another thought, Miho flung open the door to her room, Itachi running past her to find Mikoto, likely. 

Her fingers wrapped around the straps of her backpack and - 

The house shook again and she flung herself into the hallway, right as the floor in her room collapsed inward. Clouds of dust filled the air and, bringing her shirt to cover her nose, Miho took several careful steps back.

The floorboards under her feet groaned, a sign that she needed to get off the second floor right away. Glancing down at the jagged, broken stairs, she covered her bare feet with chakra and quietly jumped onto the ground.

Three, agitated chakra signatures flickered nearby and, to the sound of Sasuke’s cries, Miho fished her outside shoes from the remains of the front door. 

Last time, she had been too slow - when the house began to collapse, Itachi had been the one to shove them both to the side. By the time she had regained a semblance of control, they were forced to leave the compounds with only slippers and blisters to show for the journey. 

Miho tugged on her sandals and pulled her backpack over her shoulders. The crunch of broken wood and a familiar, burning fireplace approached from behind. 

Without turning around, Miho pulled out two more pairs of sandals from the dust. She tossed one pair over her shoulders, a soft thump letting her know that Itachi had definitely kept up with his weapons training. 

She turned and walked past him, ignoring his furrowed eyebrows, his eyes trained on the sandals in his hands. 

Close by, Mikoto spoke rapidly with another clan member, a bundle of cloth in her arms. Her hair was in disarray and the scent of blood was in the air. 

Miho let her feet step over the scattered, broken wood, an audible crack under the alarms screeching through the village.

“Thank you, Miho,” Mikoto said, as the clan member - a distant relative, Miho recognized - bowed and disappeared with a swirl of leaves.

Dirt smeared her face and clothes, but Mikoto still had an incredibly calm expression on her face. She readjusted her hold on Sasuke, who was still bawling his eyes out. “Help me put them on?”

Miho crouched down, unsurprised to see Mikoto’s yukata torn at the ends and blood trickling down her leg. It seemed even in this timeline, the walls had caved into Sasuke’s room and caught Mikoto at the last minute. 

(Itachi hadn’t needed her help pulling their mother out from the rubble last time, and she had expected that would be the case now.)

She examined the wound, already aware that Mikoto was well enough to run, at least. It was deeper than what she remembered and though the bleeding had slowed down, it would pick up again once they got moving.

There wasn’t any time to do anything for it right now. Slipping the sandals over her mother’s feet, Miho tightened the straps and stood up, fingers curling around her backpack. 

“Thank you,” Mikoto said again, before her lips twisted into a grim line. “We’ll need to head for the mountains for shelter. Itachi, Miho, stay close and do not leave my side.”

Harsh winds blew past Miho’s hair, sending dust and rubble flying towards the sky. She walked through the remains of her house, as screams, some distant, some far too close, rang through the air. 

Farther ahead, a group of clan members, all children or the elderly, huddled around the demolished front gates. Miho already knew that all other members of the clan, shinobi or otherwise, were searching the area for any survivors caught in the debris.

Together, they began swiftly moving down the streets, following the flow of the other fleeing civilians. 

Still, it was impossible to ignore the beast that towered over the village. The image of Kyuubi, roaring in the distance, swiping at buildings as if they were mere toys - was a sight she could never (would never) forget. 

The heat of its chakra flared against her back. It was a powerful thing, Miho acknowledged dully, the memories of her past crawling down her back. No wonder Konoha had hoarded its jinchuriki till the very end. 

The Kyuubi’s shrieks ringing ceaselessly through the air, Mikoto’s pace quickened into a near run, her hands clutching Sasuke close to her chest. There were crowds of people rushing ahead, all scrambling for shelter under the hoarse yells of shinobi on higher ground. 

“Please!” a man desperately cried out, clinging onto a young genin. The boy swallowed deftly, panic rising in his eyes. “My daughter - she’s still in there! She can’t get out, I need to get her out, please, please, please - ”

Miho turned away from the sight, keeping her eyes forward and avoiding the stampede of feet around her. This, at least, was easier the second time around. 

True to Mikoto’s demands, she remained close by her mother’s side, with Itachi a mere step ahead. The smell of sulphur and ashes was overwhelming at this point. 

Eventually, they took shelter in one of the caves hidden within the mountains, joining the rapidly growing crowds inside. Several of her clan members huddled into the cave, while many others separated to fill up the space somewhere else. 

The screams never seemed to stop. Even sequestered away from the village, the wails of children, the sobs of the injured, the broken, the terrified - only grew stronger with time. 

By her side, Itachi was deathly quiet. He brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, eyes focused sharply on the stray rocks on the floor. Mikoto, on the other hand, rocked Sasuke gently side to side, trying to calm his wails. 

It was tempting to turn away from the cave’s entrance. Tempting to pretend as if she knew nothing about the destruction outside, about the sea of lights flickering silent at Kyuubi's every move.

Miho squeezed past another woman and crouched before her mother, shrugging off her backpack onto the cold floor. 

“My,” Mikoto said, as Miho pulled out her previously stored bandages and medicine. Her mother’s voice remained light despite the harsh lines drawn on her face. “When did you have time to take these?”

“I didn’t,” Miho answered, the lie slipping off her tongue with ease. She had lied for so long that it was doubtful even the Sharingan could catch her now. “They were packed for training in the morning.”

It was a fairly deep cut, but it didn’t take long to wipe Mikoto’s torn leg down and wrap bandages around the wound. Her hands moved carefully, well aware of the eyes trained on her, as she tightened the final knot. 

“Not bad,” Mikoto said, twisting her leg to get a better look. There was a hint of something else coloring her tone. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“I had practice,” Miho said, because sometimes, saying less was more. Beside them, Itachi let out an imperceptible flinch. 

Imperceptible to those who weren’t looking.

“I see,” Mikoto said, eyes now trained on Itachi’s huddled form. The distraction was nice, but unneeded - Miho had learnt the first time around that no one really considered the idea of past lives as an answer. 

With a hum, Mikoto shifted before smoothly rising to her feet. 

“Here,” her mother said. She passed Sasuke (who was still bawling his eyes out) into Itachi’s arms. “Stay here and watch your brother carefully. I’ll have Miwa-san watch over you two.”

Miho paused, even as Itachi blinked, glass eyes moving sharply into focus. 

Strange, she thought, watching Mikoto eventually disappear from sight, slipping through the crowds and towards the jounin at the cave’s entrance. 

(Here, her mother had said last time, long after the Kyuubi was sealed shut. She had torn off parts of her clothes to stave off the heavy bleeding from her wound. Watch over your brother, please. I’ll be back soon.

It was a sobering moment, feeling the soft cotton through her trembling hands. Her fingers had clenched the fabric tightly as Sasuke slept restlessly on.)

Still, the timing of Mikoto’s departure held little importance in the end. 

Miho dusted off her clothes, grabbed her backpack and settled into the tiny space by Itachi’s side. 

With a silent exhale, she leaned against the cave walls, the sharp rocks digging into her back. Slowly, unwittingly, her head turned to the side, out towards the cave’s opening, outside where the Kyuubi continued its rampage. 

It was too far away for her to sense the shinobi attacking it. Still, she kept her eyes trained on its corrosive, bright red chakra. 

Even when she was jostled to the side, even when the Kyuubi’s chakra burned her eyes, even when the screams of the dying were all she could hear - 

Miho remained still. And she did so, unblinking, unmoving, until at last, as the full moon rested high above the stars - the Kyuubi vanished.

There was a murmur of confusion, of shifting bodies and dead silence. 

But Miho knew exactly what that single moment entailed. 

And, already aware of the written ending, she slowly turned her head away - and closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

The hours that followed Kyuubi's disappearance were some of the longest in Miho’s memories. As it turned out, this wouldn’t change the second time around. 

With a quiet exhale, she shuffled forward, her gaze set firmly on the ground. Under the eyes of her relatives and beside Itachi's flickering embers, she followed the crowd steadily exiting the cave. 

Sharp, chilled air stung her nose the moment she reached the outside world. It forced her lungs to expand with a single breath - a clear sign that winter was only a short distance away. 

And yet, despite the streaks of light painted across the pale sky, there was little that could hide the destruction left behind.

Miho slowed to a stop as those in front of her stilled completely. 

It was an expected reaction, she thought, her ears ringing at the deafening silence that filled the air. Like an unwilling sailor drawn to sirens in treacherous waters, her head turned towards the village below. 

The image she found, under the mountains where she stood, was more vivid than the one in her memories. An endless amount of smoke rose towards the sky, its clouds barely covering the kilometers of destroyed buildings, torn to an unrecognizable point.

Upturned stalls littered the cracked roads, with lingering fires scattered across the village. The smell of ash and sulfur filled her every breath and, worst of all, not even distance could hide the bodies buried under blackened soot. 

A familiar nausea leapt at her throat as the lights around her flickered rapidly. 

(Before, the world had stuttered to a grinding halt. Itachi had taken Sasuke from her hands when she began to choke from the chakra - frantic, blinding chakra, born from the despair of the hundreds around her. 

It had been a condemning sight. Staring at those faceless corpses, with the taste of salt on her lips, she had been struck by her own naivety.

How easy it had been, just days before, to live as if those mangled faces were nothing but tragic numbers written in her memories. She had spent months agonizing so much over her own pitiful circumstance that not a single thought had been given for the dead who would soon lie beneath her feet.)

Amidst those bitter memories, Miho swallowed down the bile and raised her head towards the clear sky. 

What I would give to skip to the very end, she thought, blinking slowly at the meandering clouds above. It was difficult to maintain a sound mind with the sea of chakra flooding her senses.

By her side, Itachi was unnaturally still, though his chakra shuddered violently back and forth. He clutched Sasuke tightly to his chest, while his eyes were trained on the remains below. 

Yes, she thought again, looking away for the last time. I think I’d give up anything for it.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It wasn’t long until she and Itachi were ushered into the shelters at the bottom of the mountains. They were placed with a dozen other children, some of whom were her cousins, under a tent made of cloth and wood. 

This, at least, would last for another few days. The first week after Kyuubi’s attack was spent collecting the dead and counting the living. 

“Here you are,” Miwa, an elderly relative on their mother’s side, said. The lines around her eyes deepened as she gave a wan smile. “Make sure to eat a lot.”

“Thank you,” Miho murmured, accepting the warm bowl of broth with two hands. Itachi repeated her words a heartbeat later, his hands struggling to keep Sasuke, who had been fed by a distant aunt a few hours prior, from squirming out of his lap. 

Their meal was given to the backdrop of crying infants - the soup was both bland and lukewarm, with the taste of dust filling her mouth. Still, it was the first time she had eaten in hours, and so Miho quickly dug in without another word. 

Itachi, unsurprisingly, was unable to eat at all. As always, Sasuke was unmatched when it came to his fussing. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Itachi said quietly. The embers of his chakra grew brighter as he looked over Sasuke’s scrunched up face.

A charming display, Miho acknowledged dully, as she took another spoonful of broth. 

Perhaps there was an appeal in seeing Itachi take care of his younger sibling. A lifetime ago, she supposed her chest would have tightened at the sight. 

Her heart had always ached for Itachi’s careful gestures. She had once fixated on his furrowed eyebrows, on the bright sparks of his chakra, on the soft turn of his lips. 

They had been such gentle displays of love. And, long ago, she had once believed that if he gave it so freely to Sasuke, then surely that had to mean he felt the same towards her - 

She looked down at the food in her hands. 

(Despite its brief appearance, it seemed the Kyuubi and its corrosive chakra were enough to drag out memories she no longer needed.)

It’ll be a long week, she decided, her fingers fiddling with a wooden spoon. A bitter aftertaste was left to linger on her tongue.

She continued to eat in silence and swiftly finished the rest of her food. By the time she swallowed her last bite, Sasuke had already long since begun his ritual of breaking the eardrums of those around him.

She covered her ears with chakra in a poor attempt to block out the noise. For once, she almost missed the days when Sasuke knew how to weaponize the art of complaining. 

Knowledge of the future (and subsequently, of her brother’s eventual ability to keep his mouth shut) didn’t stop her from eyeing the spoon in her hands. 

While her stolen kunai was a lost cause, couldn’t this wooden utensil work just as well?

What a tempting thought.

“Give him to me,” she said instead. As always, the concept of spilling family blood was only appealing if she ignored how that would make her just like Itachi. 

(But surely stuffing Sasuke’s face with a towel couldn’t hurt...)

At her words, Itachi stilled. He slowly turned, his chakra bubbling furiously as he looked at her, forcing her words to ring through the air.

After a moment, Sasuke was passed over without protest. The silent compliance was unusual, but welcome, so Miho cradled Sasuke like a sack of potatoes.

He squirmed unhappily in her grasp, and his screams were even more shrill when he was right by her ears.

(She suddenly found herself wishing she had taken the next level of courses at the hospital. If she had, maybe she would’ve learned something more useful, like how to knock infants out cold.)

“Eat,” she told Itachi, over their sibling's impressive set of lungs. “You can take him back when you’re done.”

And end our misery while you’re at it, she thought, readjusting her grip to a more comfortable position. The last thing she needed was their relatives’ nagging being added onto the constant noise in the tent. 

From the corner of her eyes, she watched as Itachi carefully picked up his forgotten bowl, his chakra growing unbearably warm. The grip on his spoon was tight, though his eyes seemed to glaze over the food in his hands.

With an exhale, Miho pressed a firm hand to support Sasuke’s neck, while using the other to rub slow circles on his back. 

And, gradually, the infant on her shoulder eventually quieted, his gurgled breaths warm against her neck. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next two days continued in a similar pattern. Through an unspoken agreement, both Miho and Itachi took turns holding Sasuke, with some help from the caretakers nearby. 

It was the longest they had ever spent together - in this lifetime, at least. Unlike before, where the hours had passed by steadily with conversation, the silence within their corner of the tent stretched endlessly on. 

Instead, they blended seamlessly with the other children, who were kept relatively entertained by whatever stories were told throughout the day.

“And so, the mountains shook and rivers raged,” Miwa said in a hushed voice. By her feet, over a dozen children sat quietly on the floor, completely enraptured. “The lands trembled from the presence of Susanō-no-mikoto, who forced the heavens to cry out.”

“‘You dare to invade Takamagahara? ’ yelled his sister, Amaterasu-ōmikami. Her hair shone brightly as she drew her sword. ‘I will not stand by if you step foot onto this land.’”

“‘I wouldn’t dare,’ protested Susanō. He raised his empty hands in a show of surrender. ‘Instead, I have come to say goodbye to you, sister, before I depart for the world below. If you doubt my words, let me prove my sincerity to you.’”

“And so, both gods took an item from the other. Begrudgingly, Amaterasu accepted her brother’s sword and washed it with holy water,” with an upturn of her lips, Miwa leaned forward, “Then, she began to chew on it, before spitting it out!”

“Ewwww!” several children shrieked, though many others erupted into laughter. 

“And that’s not all!” Miwa gave a stern look. “From her mouth came three goddesses: Tagirihime-no-mikoto, Ichikishimahime-no-mikoto and Takitsuhime-no-mikoto.”

“‘Since gentle goddesses were born from my sword, I have won this trial,’ declared Susanō. ‘Allow my passage into Takamagahara, as we had agreed upon.’”

“But how can people be made from swords? ” one child called out. “That doesn’t make sense! Amaterasu ate it!”

“It works differently for the gods,” Miwa answered. “Now, listen to how these goddesses, born from the a gentle sword, were sent out to the seas - “

With a yawn, Miho passed Sasuke over to Itachi, having finished her turn for the next few hours. For once, Itachi accepted the bundle with a distracted look, his attention focused on the stories Miwa effortlessly weaved from one to the next. 

How dull, she decided, massaging her arms in an attempt to bring back some circulation. When will they start using new material?

(The Uchiha had always favored the old myths. They had been recited at nearly every family function - the consequence of having relatives with eidetic memory, she supposed. 

Those tales had been easy distractions, once. But she knew better now. 

If she allowed herself, perhaps she would remember the scent of ink and paper, rotten and old, the suffocating damp air within a cold room, her vision crimson under the words written before her - )

Annoying, she thought, pushing away the cobwebs of a time long past. 

Rather than hearing these repeated tales, Miho laid on her back and clasped her hands over her stomach. 

She ignored Itachi’s curious glance and, to the cadence of Miwa’s familiar voice, to the warmth of the fireplace by her side, she allowed her eyes to slowly close shut.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It took only several more hours for a familiar chakra to flicker past her senses, its presence quickly approaching the shelter. 

Early, she noted, as moments later, Mikoto emerged from the entrance of the tent. She’s a whole day early. 

(It left her to wonder what exactly her mother had been doing the first time around.)

Still, the sight of Mikoto - unharmed and well - settled a certain tension within Miho’s shoulders.

"I’m glad to see you three," their mother said without preamble. She took Sasuke from Itachi's arms before giving them a brief, yet tight, embrace. “Thank you for being so patient."

"We’re all okay," Itachi said, always quick to reassure. The lines between his eyes immediately relaxed. "Is Father - ?"

"He's well," Mikoto said. Her eyes creased as she readjusted her hold on Sasuke. "We'll go see him soon, alright?"

True to her words, after another hour, they followed their mother out of the tent and headed north. They walked through an outlined dirt path instead of the usual roads, the way clear of debris and any visible bodies. 

Eventually, they reached a post where Fugaku was found conversing with several relatives, all donning vests with a four-point star embroidered on their shoulders. 

“ - patience,” her father said, his frown as severe as ever. “These are trying times for everyone.”

With muttered responses and bows, the rest of the Police Force dispersed, leaving Fugaku to briefly close his eyes. 

He opened them again soon after and caught sight of Mikoto’s approaching figure. Immediately, like a dying forest fire, his chakra settled into a steady flame. 

Miho paused.

Perhaps this, she allowed, was a detail she had failed to catch last time. Back then, the months following the Kyuubi’s attack had left her disoriented beyond compare. 

“I’m assuming there were no issues,” Fugaku said, joining them with unhurried footsteps. His probing eyes wandered between them all before returning to Mikoto. 

There was nothing on his face that reflected the change in his chakra. 

Mikoto’s lips curled into a small smile. “You assume correctly. I will lead the children to join the others as we discussed.”

Fugaku gave a short nod. “We won’t remain there for long. The old compound is a counterproductive place to serve the village.”

At this point, Miho turned her eyes to the scattered remains around her.

The hope of returning to their former home would die a quiet death as the years went on. In spite of the clan's efforts, the Uchiha would remain on their ancestors' land till the very end. 

"Come along now," Mikoto called, leaving Miho to turn back around. 

She joined her mother's side, where Itachi was already patiently waiting. They left without another word, though Fugaku's eyes rested on their backs until they disappeared completely from sight. 

Time passed slowly as Mikoto guided them through several paths. As they approached the outskirts of the village, many more buildings were found intact, somehow left untouched by the Kyuubi's rampage.

Their walk continued on quietly, leaving Miho's gaze to wander, each landmark becoming more familiar than the previous. It was no wonder - she had once spent nearly a decade in these streets. 

And, all too suddenly, a familiar set of walls appeared before her. 

Miho’s throat tightened as the weight of heavy stones sank in her stomach. 

“We’re almost there,” her mother said. "I know we might not be here for too long, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a home for us.”

They approached the worn, wooden gates far too quickly - the fading uchiwa fan etched upon oak was one she had seen every day for years on end. 

A warm hand wrapped around her own fingers and steered her into the compound. She didn’t know who was guiding her, didn’t know how she was moving her own legs. 

There weren’t any guards at the gate, she noted distantly, as her surroundings changed from dirt paths to broken cobblestone. Was it because no one had been assigned to the task yet?

Like flashing sparks, her thoughts scattered, her eyes unable to keep track of the world around her. 

Rather, what she saw were images that had yet to come - gardens that would eventually be planted, stores that would soon be built, homes that would house the cousins she had yet to meet.

(For once, she was surrounded by ghosts of the future.)

And at last, before she knew it… Miho found herself in front of a familiar home. 

“Not too bad, right?” she heard someone ask. The world seemed to shrink with every breath she took, shorter and shorter as she stood before her final resting place, sun spots and fields of white filling her vision.

(She stumbled, barely able to catch herself from falling as sheer terror grabbed hold of her throat and choked her. Short gasps escaped her lips, her mind shattered to pieces because she couldn’t find an end, couldn’t find a single - 

Dirt stuck under her fingers, red, warm liquid seeping from her nails, a breathless, hysterical laugh - 

The click of an unlocked seal, six meters, six meters, six meters - 

A roaring fire, the maddening scent of blood, a completely empty compound, dark and cold, save for the blinding light that slowly approached her bedroom door - )

A warm hand brushed against her fingers. 

“Miho.”

With rapid blinks, she crashed back into reality, her vision dissolving into an abstract picture of her mother. 

Like fragments of glass scattered through the wind, she slowly became aware of her surroundings. The autumn breeze caressing her cheeks, the sharp caws of a nearby crow, the faint scent of smoke and sulfur from her mother’s clothes - 

“Miho,” Mikoto said again. “Where are you right now?”

“In the compound,” she heard herself say, her voice cold and distant. 

“That's right,” her mother said. The warmth of her hands was still pressed lightly against Miho’s fingers. “I was going to ask you two to pick out a room. Would you like to take a walk instead?”

Yes, Miho immediately thought, the words nearly slipping from her lips. Anything was better than staying here. 

But what would be worse, another part of her argued, was ending up with the same room she had before. 

"The room first," Miho said, her words steady compared to the frantic leaps of her heart. 

There was a pause.

"Or I can pick one for you," Mikoto said. Her voice seemed softer than before. "Would you like that instead?"

"Anything on the first floor," Miho blurted out, her grip on her mother's fingers tightening. It was better to die before the rest of her family than wait, wait for an eternity in that same cold room - 

"First floor it is," Mikoto said easily. "Shall we go together to the gardens we passed by earlier?" 

The desire to say yes nearly overtook her. But there was no way her siblings would be left alone and right now, more than anything else, the thought of staying near Itachi was enough to make her hurl.

"I'll go by myself," Miho said. Her own voice still sounded so far away. "Please."

A longer pause.

"Very well," Mikoto said, gently pulling her fingers from Miho's hand. The sudden loss of warmth sent chills down her skin. "Stay within my sight, okay?"

"Yes, I understand," Miho answered, her feet already turning the other way. Distantly, she was aware of the flickering lights around her, of her relatives trickling into the compound, of the calm breaths that escaped her mother's lips, of Itachi's unbearable heat, burning brighter and brighter - 

And, before she was aware of it herself, Miho vanished, completely and utterly, from the compound that had strangled her a lifetime before.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Somehow, she ended up in the outskirts of the northern forest, close to where she had often trained during the past year, right by the riverside. 

In a matter of moments, she was lying flat on top of the water, chakra keeping all but her fingertips dry from the waves.

The cold sting against her skin was a welcome sensation. It was a reminder that, despite the memories buried underneath, she was inexplicably still alive today.

After a long silence, she raised a hand and dropped it over her closed eyes.

If only there was a way to forget, she thought, as tiny river droplets rolled down her face. 

In hindsight, it shouldn't have been surprising that the old compound could unearth her final moments with relentless ease. They had seemed so distant before, and now - 

(“I’m tired, Itachi,” she said.

His grip around his katana tightened. 

“I know,” he said. There was a strange, dull light in his eyes. 

What a joke, she thought, rising to her feet. His katana remained by his side, as if she wasn’t a threat, and had never been one from the start.

“Hey,” she said, with a rasping voice. “Could you do me a favor?”

He blinked slowly as she walked closer, the bloodstains on her shoes peeking out from under her kimono. And, with Sasuke’s light already halfway to the compound, she reached out a hand and grasped Itachi’s own. 

It was as if he was made completely out of stone. Itachi watched blankly as she uncurled his fist and placed the paper flower within the palm of his hand. 

“If you have any respect for the dead, you’ll burn this before you leave,” she told him, and silently relished how his fingers violently twitched - )

She stared at the harsh, burnt rays of the setting sun. 

I should've burned him alive when I had the chance, she thought distantly. 

If she had, would the world have seemed less constricting today? Would facing Itachi in this lifetime have been easier, if she had his blood on her hands as well?

Not for the first time, she wondered at the futility of her remaining years. What was the point, if she was to die by Itachi's sword yet again? 

Perhaps, it would be better to let this river swallow her whole. Perhaps, if she tried hard enough, there would finally be an end to this god forsaken timeline - 

Her stomach grumbled obstinately, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

Despite everything else, Miho covered her eyes with the palm of her hands and let out a sardonic laugh. 

“I need to make it to the end of tonight first,” she said aloud. Her words echoed, hollow and thin, through the empty forest. 

With heavy limbs, she slowly rose to her feet, cold water dripping down her arms as her vision gradually came into focus. 

(At the very least… if this body could still rise from the temptation of these waters…)

She ran a hand through her hair, unsurprised to feel the dirt and grime found within the strands. 

A warm shower would be good, she decided, though her stomach plummeted at the thought of returning to the old compound. 

It was counterproductive to have such visceral reactions with the place she would have to spend the rest of her remaining years in. Counterproductive, but what other choice did she have?

I need to find a way to get out of there, Miho thought, her feet heavy as she trudged back to the compound. 

The idea became more appealing the longer it lingered in her mind. There were only a few ways to stay away from the compound but, more importantly, it would drive Fugaku up the wall if she continued to ignore his nagging.

(Years ago, she had dreamt of escaping altogether. 

Surely, she had thought, even Itachi would struggle to follow her to the ends of the earth. Surely, if she just left soon enough, left quietly enough, she'd be able keep this heart beating for another day. 

It was merely one fantasy out of many. Until the very end, Miho was completely and utterly trapped.)

The reminder of the past, of her waylaid plans, seemed fresh, as if they were flowers plucked straight from her mother's garden.  

These memories sunk into her eyes as she stood, yet again, before the compound's gates. 

This time, she lingered along the aging wooden doors, the dull red of the painted uchiwa fan barely visible under the rising moonlight. 

Debris and dust lined the dirt path leading into the compound. This would eventually be cleared as time proved to the Uchiha that they would be stuck here, in the outskirts of the village, for good. 

But for now, Miho remained at this very entrance, her vision filled with the flickering chakra of her relatives. 

How quickly did they all bleed out before? Would it be just as swift this time? Would it be just as swift for her? 

She clenched her hands into tight fists. 

Eight more years, she reminded herself. 

Then, with a shuddering, quiet inhale, she stepped into the compound, her breath kept tight in her lungs - 

And released it right after. 

There’s nothing here, she thought distantly.

There was nothing, save for the heartbeat pounding in her ears. 

The night remained still as she slowly relaxed her hands. 

It took some time before her feet began to move again. Though soon enough, under the lights of her relatives, Miho walked slowly back to her family home in a near parody of her last moments. 

She slipped through the front door, her fingers lifting it slightly to keep it from rattling.

The inside was just as she remembered. She moved easily through the entranceway, as if the memories of the past were ingrained into her muscles. 

And yet, nothing was enough for her to miss the tray of food inside the kitchen. 

For a moment, Miho stared blankly at the carefully wrapped miso soup and rice. 

She glanced upwards, to the second floor, where her mother's chakra flickered steadily, unlike the muted, sleeping lights of her siblings.

Unwittingly, a heavy breath escaped her lips.

It wasn't long before she entered what had once been Sasuke's old room. Stomach full and hair free of dirt and grime, she slipped into the covers of an old futon, the hard wooden floors pressed against her back. 

Eight more years, she thought again, her eyes blinking at the dust illuminated by the faint light of the half moon. Eight more years and this will haunt you no more. 

The thought circled through her mind like a mantra, like a chant whispered by the most devoted monks. 

And surprisingly enough, contrary to her expectations, Miho's eyes drifted quickly shut, the lights scattered around her acting as a guiding constellation to a dreamless sleep. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The morning after, Miho woke to her mother's chakra moving downstairs to the first floor. 

In a split second, she was already sitting upright, her eyes scanning the room around her. It took only a moment for her to recognize the unfamiliar, bare walls - a sore difference from the bedroom she had years before. 

A knock at the door dragged her from her thoughts.

"Are you up?" Mikoto asked. It was clearly a rhetorical question when she added, "It will be a busy time for all of us, so please come to the kitchen right away.”

“Yes,” Miho said, a heartbeat later. She began to move only after her mother stepped away, goosebumps trailing along her skin when she rose to her feet.

Her head felt strangely empty. There was a chasm within her mind, as if an ocean had swallowed her memories whole.

But as always, routine trumps all and in a matter of time, she was properly dressed, her feet grounded before her bedroom door. 

She brushed her fingers against the wooden ridges of the door handle. 

Would she repeat the events of the previous night once more? The thought of having such terrible control over herself, of letting Itachi have such control, left an acrid taste on her tongue. 

She stared at the faded bamboo sheets before her. Should I just make a run for it? 

Though she couldn't escape Konoha altogether, it couldn't be too difficult to disappear from the compound for a few short hours.

"Miho," her mother called, as if she could read minds from a distance. “Everyone’s waiting.”

With a click of her tongue, Miho briefly slid her eyes shut. Then, with a deep inhale, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. 

Under the rays of the morning sun, the empty corridor before her was nearly too bright. 

Everything, from the missing furniture to the overgrown garden outside, brought an inexplicable tug at her chest. 

How often will I see the same thing over again? She walked steadily over to the kitchen on bare feet, the cold of the wooden floors barely registering in her mind. 

Eventually, she reached the kitchen, where there was an old set of tables and chairs in one corner. The rest of her family, sans Fugaku, were already seated, with Sasuke sleeping on Mikoto's shoulder.

It was inevitable for her eyes to cross paths with Itachi's hunched form. He sat quietly, his hands in his lap and dark creases around his eyes.

(She used to dream of seeing such a defeated look.

I would give anything, she had once thought, staring at his tall, straightened back, to see you stumble into the abyss. 

Maybe then, maybe if she had seen Itachi fall to his knees even once, the bitter pill of death would’ve been easier to swallow.)

Now, there was nothing but the swell of roaring waves in her head.

What a wretched sight, she thought instead, before looking away. 

"Things will be busy from now on," Mikoto began, once Miho took her own seat at the table. "Everyone is going through a very difficult time, so we need to be patient and understanding."

"Your mother needs to help everyone else settle in," she continued. Her gaze moved from the people present to the empty kitchen around them, before returning once again. "So we will all need to take part in lending out a hand, okay?"

After seeing their nods, Mikoto readjusted her hold on Sasuke. She gave a tired smile. "Thank you both. It won't be easy, but our family is always stronger when together."

"Itachi, you'll bring Sasuke to Miwa-san. Please help her with whatever she needs," Mikoto continued. "And Miho, you'll be coming with me."

Miho blinked.

"Yes," she said slowly. 

Before, both she and Itachi had been sent to their relatives to help out with their younger cousins. They had spent a good amount of time clearing out debris and drying out laundry - between those tasks, they had often sparred together to keep up with their training.

The separation was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Perhaps it was because Miho already showed signs of being a runner. 

"You will both need to take turns looking after Sasuke," her mother said. "But we can figure out an appropriate schedule after today."

"Yes," they answered dutifully. 

Mikoto smiled again. "Good. And don’t forget - from these ashes the Uchiha will always prevail.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The following week was a flurry of activity for the entire village. Distributing emergency provisions, clearing the wreckage, setting up immediate shelter and tending to the wounded - there was an endless amount of work to recover what the Kyuubi had taken an hour to destroy. 

With Konoha’s current forces stretched thin to keep it from becoming an easy picking for other nations, much of the recovery work was left in the hands of the Police Force. 

The internal affairs of the clan were yet again split between Mikoto and the elders. As large as it was, the Uchiha’s ancestral compound was old and secluded from the village - it required attention to become habitable again. 

“We will clear out the northern sector and use the old ceremonial building to store whatever we can salvage from the shrines,” Mikoto said.

They were standing by a clearing near the compound’s entrance, where several Uchiha nodded before departing. 

Miho’s eyes trailed after her relatives. It was tempting to slip away with the group, but her mother’s lax hand on her shoulder deterred her plans. 

She swallowed down a sigh. Run away once and they think you’re gonna run away every single time. 

“Let’s continue,” Mikoto said, motioning for an older aunt to join her. “Asami-san, I need a survey of the families we already have in the compound. Compare it to the census and we’ll distribute houses accordingly.” 

Unsurprisingly, her mother was just as meticulous with clan affairs as she was with her lessons.

In a matter of a day, Mikoto had divided nearly all available Uchiha to prepare food and housing, salvage the remains of the ruined compound, and ration out clothing and other supplies.

Miho kept half an ear on the conversation above her head. It was clear that her presence was unneeded, seeing as the clan would successfully recover, just as it had before. 

That is, until her mother’s voice grabbed her attention. 

“Miho,” Mikoto crouched down and presented a folded scrap of paper. “Asami-san needs one of your cousins for a task. You can find him with Sumire-san in one of the shelters.”

It’s probably Yoshinori, Miho thought. He was the only child out of Asami’s three that was old enough to carry out the supplies she needed.

“Okay,” she then said, accepting the paper easily enough. Acting as a gopher was a small price to pay to be able to leave the compound. 

Her mother stood up with a smile and said, as if it was a warning, “I’ll see you soon.”

Miho gave a slow nod. In this situation, it was better to not say anything at all. 

She left through the entrance, her feet only stuttering once as she passed by the faded uchiwa fan. 

The moment the old, towering doors were behind her, the air around her became much clearer. She took a steady, easy breath, feeling the knots in her stomach steadily unwinding. 

This time, it was easier to keep moving forward.

Mikoto’s directions soon led her to a bright cluster of chakra signatures, where several tents were set up next to each other. 

The entire area was pandemonium. Several people were barking orders at once, while others were hauling water into the tents before leaving with buckets of bandages covered in blood. 

A make-shift clinic, Miho realized, making sure to stand clear of the way. Considering how part of the hospital was destroyed in the attack, it made sense that the village would be stretched to its limits to help the wounded. 

It was difficult to pinpoint Sumire’s chakra within the crowd of others. Still, Miho had once spent an entire lifetime memorizing the Uchiha’s fluttering lights. 

She entered the second tent on quiet footsteps, the scent of blood and antiseptic clogging her nose and throat. 

Inside, Sumire’s presence was made clearer by the sound of her voice. 

“And how many times do I have to show you?” an older woman snapped. Her cropped black hair was pinned to the side, revealing a scowl that could scorch an entire field. “Your job is to stop the bleeding - do you even realize how much gauze you’ve wasted today?”

“That’s not fair!” a young boy with a long face and lanky features protested. It seemed Yoshinori had already drawn the short end of the stick. “It’s my first time here, auntie!”

Miho slid past the adults who appeared to be completely ignoring the ongoing argument, and stepped around rows of neatly placed blankets to join the duo. 

“ - it’s exactly the same as I’ve told you!” Sumire dragged a hand down her weathered face. 

She caught sight of Miho, which had the scowl quickly returning to her face. “And what does she want?” 

Miho wordlessly passed on Mikoto’s note. It took only a moment for Sumire to read through it before she crumpled it in her hands.

“Your mother is asking for you again,” Sumire said. She tossed the note to Yoshinori, who fumbled to catch it. “They know I need more hands, yet here they are, taking away what little I have.”

Yoshinori quickly read through the note, and looked up with hopeful eyes. “But the clan needs me too.”

“And I have people bleeding out on the floor,” Sumire retorted. “The clan comes second to that.”

Yoshinori blinked, a frown twisting on his lips. “You can’t mean that, auntie.”

From the sidelines, Miho studied the woman before her. 

Uchiha Sumire was a relative she had rarely seen during her previous life. She was known well enough as the clan’s best clinician, though she spent most of her time outside the compound. 

(Miho barely remembered her only meeting with her distant aunt. The day after her entire world turned red, she had awoken to a hand covering her line of sight. At the time, Sumire’s cold chakra had been a source of relief against the burning heat behind her eyes. 

Unsurprisingly, there was an unspoken practice for every single Uchiha shinobi to pass through the woman’s hands at least once.)

In any case, Miho wasn’t one to ignore an opportunity when it presented itself on a silver plate. 

“I’ll stay,” she said, loud enough to interrupt the conversation. 

The silence that followed was marred by the hushed mutterings of the volunteers moving around them. 

Sumire slowly peered down at her. 

“You?” she asked. “I need a pair of hands, not a kid who just finished learning how to walk.”

“I finished learning two years ago,” Miho corrected. It wouldn’t do for the family doctor to have inaccurate information. “I can do Yoshinori’s work. You only need to show me once.”

Sumire snorted. “Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound right now?”

Her cousin in question turned to her with wide eyes. “You can’t, Miho-dono! What would your mom say?”

Probably a lot, Miho thought. 

“I can read and take notes,” she said, staring into Sumire’s eyes. “I know how to clean small cuts and wrap them too.” 

In the end, the outcome of this conversation didn’t matter. Miho had no plans of returning to the compound - staying with her aunt was just the least complicated path to take. 

Sumire pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she could read Miho’s exact thoughts. 

“I don’t get what a kid like you wants to do here,” she said. “But it’s better than you wandering off and creating headaches for me later.” 

“You can stay for now,” Sumire decided, her lips twisting into something rather threatening. “If you cause problems, I’ll drag you to your mother myself.”

Miho nodded. It was a generous trade-off, so she kept silent as her aunt proceeded to kick Yoshinori out of the tent. 

“Follow me,” she told Miho, leading them both outside to the center clearing. “The tents are numbered one to four, from left to right. They’re divided by the severity of the injury - you’ll be directing patients after someone else takes a look.”

They entered the farthest left tent, where the cluster of chakra signatures was the brightest. Within five minutes, Miho was sent to a civilian nurse, who blinked twice before rattling off a series of instructions. 

Contrary to her expectations, Miho was tasked with moving towels and buckets, along with the occasional message to another tent. She suspected it was because her current appearance was hardly one that instilled much confidence. 

A fair conclusion, she considered, seeing as she was only five. Still, anything was better than being surrounded by the compound’s walls, so she completed her tasks without complaint. 

At this point, Sumire had long since vanished, effectively washing her metaphorical hands of Miho. 

Instead, her chakra could be found glowing across the other side of the shelter. Judging from the stuttering lights close by, she was spending her time on the severely wounded, some of whom were family members.

The hours passed by quickly, and Miho eventually faded into the background, becoming one of the many helpers working in the shelter. There were enough young children around that she blended rather well with the rest. 

Her success was enough for her to consider spending the night within the tents altogether - until Sumire’s shadow loomed over her by the early evening. 

“Go home,” her aunt commanded. “I don’t have the patience to deal with your mother if she starts creating trouble.”

Creating problems seemed most unlike Mikoto’s personality. Still, Miho knew she had overextended her aunt’s patience, so she gave a bow and left the shelter without protest. 

The walk back was swift and silent. It wasn’t quick enough, however, to avoid a familiar chakra signature that burned patiently by the compound gates. 

Damn, Miho thought. Should I just hide somewhere else?

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Konoha would sooner raze forests to the ground than let an Uchiha slip past their fingers. 

(She knew this from personal experience.)

All too soon, Mikoto’s figure became clearer, her arms folded across her chest. 

“I trust you had an enjoyable time,” her mother said, looking down with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

… Damn, Miho thought again. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The walk back home was done in utter silence. It continued as they entered the kitchen, before Miho was led to the dining table. 

“So,” her mother said, after they both took a seat. “Would you care to explain?”

Miho blinked. 

A fair question, she conceded. Her running count for escaping the compound was two for two so far. 

There were a dozen excuses she could give. Mikoto was lenient in ways that Fugaku never would be, which opened a number of doors.  

But what was she to say? It was difficult to consider what words would be needed to describe the bottomless pit in her heart, the suffocation these walls brought. 

From the quiet, Mikoto gave one, heavy sigh. 

“I gave you the task of delivering the note to see if you’d disappear again,” she said, bringing her hands together on top of the table. “I’m disappointed to see that you met those expectations.”

Well, what else was she supposed to do? Come back to the compound? Willingly? 

“This is a dangerous time for everyone,” her mother continued. “I cannot afford to worry about where you will be every time I turn around.”

It was a conundrum for both parties involved. Unfortunately, Miho had long since stopped giving promises she couldn’t keep. 

(Meters away, a chakra signature bubbled at the top of the staircase and, once again, she wondered when this Itachi would learn to start minding his own business.)

Mikoto briefly rubbed her temples, a clear sign her patience was running thin. 

“Since you cannot be trusted with even the simplest of tasks, I’m afraid you will need to be supervised throughout the entire day,” she said. Her hands returned to the table, her pale fingers loosely intertwined with each other. “I’ll be sending you to Hansei-san tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” Miho said, biting down the urge to click her tongue. Hansei was a far more difficult opponent than the elderly Miwa. 

“You will come with me to meet him at the front gates,” her mother said. Her voice seemed rather unsympathetic, as if she knew of Miho’s exact thoughts. “Dinner is on the stove. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

Mikoto then departed without another word, leaving behind a gaping silence within the kitchen. 

In turn, Miho watched as her mother’s figure disappeared around the corner. 

(She wondered what Uchiha Mikoto would have done if she, instead of her unruly daughter, had come back to the beginning. 

Would she have also laid her fingers around Itachi’s throat, like the loose threads of a rope? Would she have fled the compound walls as if fire was biting after her ankles?)

No, Miho decided, after another moment. She would have stayed till the very end. 

Because Uchiha Mikoto was an Uchiha above all else. 

And Miho… well. She had already tried that once. 

“Must be nice,” she said with an exhale, before grabbing the leftovers for dinner. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

Unsurprisingly, it was impossibly more difficult to escape Hansei’s grasp than her own mother’s. 

This was less because of Mikoto’s capabilities and more due to the elder’s laser focus on Miho’s every move. 

“Now count these,” Hansei commanded, his weathered hands clasped behind his back. He gestured towards the bags of rice stacked neatly on one side of the warehouse. 

“Yes,” Miho said. She was barely large enough to carry the scroll in her hands, but she still dutifully marked down the correct number. 

“And then add these to the tally too,” the old man said without pause. 

Miho looked at the piles of supplies before glancing outside of the single window. Sunlight brushed through the glass, which meant that she was stuck here for at least another few hours. 

“Yes,” Miho repeated belatedly, after she saw Hansei’s expectant glance. 

The elder shook his head and clicked his tongue once. 

She gave a halfhearted attempt at a shrug. It wasn’t like she particularly enjoyed this babysitting assignment either. 

But regardless of how either party felt, Miho was stuck by Hansei’s side for the foreseeable future. 

The day eventually finished with Hansei tucking her finished survey away into a hidden pocket. 

“Serviceable,” the old man said. “Tell your mother we can store a third of the rice here and give the rest to the minor branches.”

“Yes,” Miho said. 

“And why would we do that?” Hansei asked her. 

Miho stared at her shoes, almost hoping that if she looked long enough, the elder would lose his interest in asking rhetorical questions almost as quickly as he had gained it.  

From the corner of her eyes, she saw his foot begin to tap incessantly. 

She resisted the need to rub her face. “Because… of supply and demand during the winter?”

“Hmph.” Hansei began walking out of the warehouse, and Miho followed. “The Hōkage is dividing the available supplies across the major clans first. But your mother turned down the offer.”

Miho felt her eyebrows rise a few centimeters higher. 

This, she thought, was something she hadn’t been aware of. 

“The Uchiha don’t need any outside help,” Hansei continued. He paused at the entrance of the building to lock the wooden doors. It was more for show than anything else, but that didn’t stop him from using the metal key to turn with a dull clink. “We are the foundation for the village - not the other way around.”

“Yes,” Miho said, because it was clear her older relative liked verbal responses for everything he said. 

She followed him back to the center of the compound and, after she left with a bow, she ran through the image of the warehouse again. It was one of several, where countless heavy bags of rice were piled high inside. 

It wasn’t unusual for clans, especially one as big as the Uchiha, to store food for future emergencies. She had seen her mother distribute these rations in two lifetimes already - where else would Mikoto have gotten them, especially so soon after the Kyuubi’s attack?

Miho walked back to her family home with steady feet, her eyes slowly blinking. 

This isn’t strange at all, she thought, somewhat aware of how her shoes pressed into the loose dirt beneath her. 

But the image continued to roll gently within the pockets of her mind, tumbling through the night until she rose again at dawn. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

She found Hansei waiting for her in the late morning, when the sun had already parted through a chilly thin fog. 

“Come,” he grunted and gestured for her to follow. 

For the rest of the day, Miho continued to count the available rations. It would’ve been nice if she had completed those tasks in utter silence - but unsurprisingly, Hansei enjoyed filling the quiet with the sound of his own voice. 

“They never stop asking for more,” he said. It was the third time he was complaining about the shelters camped near the compound. “Do they think we don’t have our own to worry about? Utterly thoughtless.”

“So thoughtless,” Miho repeated dully, while marking down another number on her scroll. 

It wasn’t a challenge to act like a parrot, but she wondered if Hansei ever ran out of things to whine about. 

The process repeated for a week as she followed the elder from one warehouse to the next. She would mark down the inventory within each building, stop for lunch, deliver scrolls and other miscellaneous tools in the afternoon, then leave for dinner. 

It kept her busy and, more importantly for her mother, kept her from leaving the compound without causing a disturbance.  

A fair trade, Miho begrudgingly supposed. It was better than spending time with Itachi, who was with Sasuke and their other cousins to help with laundry and meal preparation. 

She found herself staring blankly at the ceiling with every passing night. Had her days felt this long before? Back then, they had slipped past her fingers so easily. 

When the sun rose into the sixth day, she felt her father’s chakra enter the compound. It was a sign that no matter the circumstance, time would still melt like snowflakes dropping into Mikoto’s favorite garden pond.

She and the rest of her immediate family were gathered at the kitchen table by mid-morning, where Fugaku announced that a village-wide memorial service would be held in two days.  

Makes sense, Miho thought. She vaguely remembered the service from before, but she imagined it was necessary to keep any sort of remaining morale afloat. 

“We will hold our own at a later date,” her father said, his chakra flickering back and forth. “For now, we will continue to recover what we can.”

Miho studied a crack in the wooden table as both her mother and Itachi nodded. 

Did this mean she didn’t have to see Hansei from now on? Was this a sign she could finally leave the compound without any trouble - 

“Great,” Mikoto said. She smiled and shifted Sasuke from one arm to another. “That means the two of you can stay and help me clean out the rest of the house. We should finish this up while everyone else is getting settled.”

“Yes,” Itachi said. 

“Yes,” Miho echoed, suppressing a deep sigh. 

Now, she thought, clasping her hands together with a frown, what should I do to convince Mother that Hansei is in dire need of my help?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Unsurprisingly, Mikoto was too difficult to bargain with. The option to run away was still there, but she wasn’t sure if it was worth having someone breathing down her neck for the next eight years. 

To quote an age-old adage: sometimes, it was worth losing a battle to win the war. 

Her mother, however, was amiable enough to allow Miho to clean out the outside yard instead of joining the rest of her family on the second floor. 

The overcast sun was enough to warm the back of her neck. She loosely tied her hair before crouching down to pull out every weed she could find. 

It was mind-numbing work, which was always a welcome relief to the heat of the chakra signatures burning brightly nearby. Not for the first time, she dreamed of the possible ways she could spend the rest of her years outside of the compound. 

Something drastic, she considered. Her lips curved at the prospect of seeing her father fuming from her decisions. Either public or above his pay grade. 

(It was a nice dream. At the very least, it was something that seemed attainable within this lifetime.)

Her hands continued to dig through the dry soil, even as the sliding door to her right opened. 

“Mother said to bring Sasuke outside for a break,” Itachi said, after a long pause. “She’s grabbing more things from the storage.” 

So what? Miho thought. Her eyes were trained on the withering grass before her. 

The silence continued onward and was only interrupted at times by Sasuke’s fussing. 

She quickened her pace, if only because the pressure of Itachi’s stares prickled against her head. 

It was after another quarter hour that she sensed a bright chakra signature rapidly approaching their home. 

Her hands paused over the pile of plucked weeds by her side. 

This, she thought, was an encounter she'd prefer to avoid. 

Her eyes bore into her dirtied palms. What excuse would her mother accept for her escape?

In the end, the decision was made for her. True to her distant memories, the sound of running footsteps reached her ears, loud enough to catch Itachi's attention. 

Then, amidst the rustling branches of their mother's makeshift yard, a child emerged from the bushes. Unsurprisingly, it was a young boy with a familiar face.  

(It was unfortunate that she couldn’t pinpoint the events of the previous timeline to the exact date.)

"Phew, I thought I'd never lose her," the boy said, glancing behind him. His voice was higher than she remembered.

The curls in his hair flew back and forth as he shook off stray leaves. It was a strange enough sight that Itachi brought Sasuke closer to himself. 

"Who are you?" Itachi asked carefully. The fan on the boy's shirt made it clear he was a relative, but those were a dime in a dozen.

The boy blinked, turning back around to face them properly. A perplexed expression crossed his face, as if he had just been made aware of his surroundings, before a knowing smile found its way on his lips.

"Would you look at that!" he said, while surveying their house. "I should've known when that grandma didn't follow me here!"

Itachi's nose twitched. "Grandma?"

I haven't seen that smile in years, Miho thought distantly, staring at the dimples on the boy's cheeks. To think I'd have to see it again. 

(I guess we can call you our lucky charm, he had said, years ago. His lips curled upwards as he creased his eyes. It suits you. 

They were kind words, back then. And yet, the shuttered light underneath his eyelashes was impossible to miss.

She had given a bright smile in return. It almost felt like she was baring her teeth. You think so?

His laugh was light and filled with humor. It still couldn't hide the way his chakra flickered sharply, as if eager to consume her whole. Of course! A perfect fit for my favorite cousin.) 

The boy clasped his hands together and with it, Miho returned to the world. "This must be what they call a fateful encounter!"

He then pointed at himself and said, “I’m Shisui. Uchiha Shisui, of course!"

As expected. She looked away, while Itachi's eyes grew a fraction wider. The overbearing heat between Shisui and Itachi was a familiar one. I should've just taken the chance and ran when I could.