all heroes end up martyrs. NARUTO

“I don’t want to forget, but. . . I don’t want to remember either. “

"Namida?"

Kakashi’s voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile as the wind slipping through the cracks in the Hatake compound. The full moon bathed the room in silver light, casting shifting shadows of the cherry tree against the wooden walls, swaying like ghosts.

"Hmm?", Namida’s response was just as quiet. She lay on her side, then turned onto her back, her gaze locked onto the moon beyond the window. Its pale glow reflected in her weary navy blue eyes—eyes that had seen far too much for someone so young.

Kakashi shifted slightly on his futon, his silver hair catching the moonlight. His voice, when he spoke again, was hesitant, thoughtful.

"What made you wish for a different world?"

Namida didn’t answer right away. Instead, her fingers curled against the blanket, her breath deep, steady—like she was searching for something, something just out of reach. Something beyond these walls, beyond this life that had already demanded too much from them.

Finally, she exhaled. A slow, measured breath.

"Because this world was never meant for people like us."

The words hung between them, heavy, irrevocable.

She didn’t look at him, her gaze still fixed on the vast sky, as if somewhere in its endless expanse, she could find the answer neither of them would ever truly grasp.

Then, softer this time, her voice barely more than a breath—"People like us… we are born with blood already staining our hands. Before we even understand what life means, we’re taught how to take it away."

Her voice was steady, but Kakashi could hear it—the exhaustion, the quiet grief buried beneath each syllable. It wasn’t just sadness. It was resignation.

Kakashi swallowed, his throat tight, his heart heavier than it had been moments before.

He knew what she meant. He had always known. Because he, too, had felt the weight of blood on his hands before he even knew what it meant to live.

Kakashi swallowed, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his blanket.

"But we fight for the village, for our home," he said softly, as if saying it aloud would make it true, make it something solid he could hold on to.

Namida finally turned her head to look at him. In the soft glow of the moon, her eyes gleamed—not with anger, not with sorrow, but with something deeper.

"For how long?" she asked.

And Kakashi, only six years old, had no answer.

He watched her in the dim light, her gaze fixed on something far beyond this room, far beyond him. There was something in her expression—something distant, something unreachable. And he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to comfort her. So he just listened.

Namida’s voice, when she spoke again, was barely more than a whisper, carried away by the night.

"I dreamed of a world where we weren’t just tools. Where children weren’t raised to fight battles they never started. A world where we could just… be children."

Her fingers curled tighter, nails pressing into the half-healed wounds on her palm. A sharp sting bloomed beneath her touch, grounding her. A reminder. She welcomed the pain—it told her she was still here.

"But with dreams," she murmured, her voice hollow, tired, "comes the harsh price of nightmares."

Nightmares that haunted her every night. Nightmares that felt too real—so real that she would wake with silent screams caught in her throat, her body trembling, her breath ragged. Memories that did not belong in the mind of a child.

Her eyes burned in the darkness, a familiar throb pulsing behind them. But she was grateful—grateful that, for tonight, her Sharingan had not awakened with her.

The room fell into silence again, but this time, it was heavier. It settled in Kakashi’s bones, and seeped into his skin. He turned his head toward the ceiling, his small hands gripping the blanket as if holding on to something—anything—to keep the weight of her words from crushing him.

And for the first time, Kakashi wondered—if they were fighting for the village, for their home…Then why did it feel like they were losing themselves?

A single tear slipped from Namida’s eye, vanishing into the fabric of her blanket as she stared through the hazy ceiling, lost in burdens too heavy for a child to bear.

Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper, fragile and aching.

"Those nightmares… they felt so real. So painful." Her breath trembled, the weight of it pressing against her ribs. "I swore—I swore I wouldn’t let anyone else live through them."

Her fingers clutched at the thin fabric beneath her, trembling with a quiet desperation. She was so small, yet burdened with thoughts far too vast for her little frame.

"Why are humans so cruel?" she asked, and the question cracked in her throat like broken glass. "Why do they destroy lives as if they mean nothing? As if people are just tools—used, discarded, and forgotten?"

Her gaze drifted, unfocused, searching the shadows for something—anything—that could make sense of the senselessness.

"Humans… we’re filled with emotions, with dreams," she whispered, a bitter laugh barely escaping her lips. "We’re not just ashes scattered after each war."

Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Then—

The rustle of fabric.

Kakashi shifted, dragging his futon closer, hesitant yet deliberate. His small hands, roughened by training but warm in a way that surprised even him, reached for hers. He took them gently, carefully, as though afraid she might shatter under his touch.

His ears burned beneath silver strands, but he was grateful for the mask hiding the telltale heat for once.

"My father…" he murmured, voice barely above a breath. "He used to hold my hand when I was sad. To help me sleep."

His grip tightened—just slightly. Not to hold her down, not to restrain, but to anchor. To steady her. To remind her that she was still here. That she was not alone anymore.

Namida blinked at the gesture, her breath hitching as something unfamiliar curled in her chest. Then, slowly, hesitantly, a small smile tugged at her lips. It was weak, fragile—like something long forgotten, like an old wound struggling to heal.

"No one has ever held my hand before," she admitted, voice quieter than the moonlight spilling through the window.

She hesitated for only a moment before swallowing the lump in her throat.

"My mother…" The words faltered, the ache settling deep. "She’s too sick… too lost in her own mind to hold me without hurting me."

Her fingers twitched, then curled slightly around Kakashi’s—uncertain at first, then just a little firmer. As if testing the warmth, the comfort. As if afraid it would be taken away.

Kakashi held on.

"Then," he said, steady and sure, "I’ll let you hold my hand whenever you want."

A promise, quiet but unshaken. A vow made not in grand words or sweeping gestures, but in the simple, steady warmth of a hand held in the dark.

Namida’s breath hitched, her eyes widening ever so slightly. The sincerity in Kakashi’s voice, so quiet yet unwavering, caught her off guard.

For so long, her hands had known only pain—emptiness, blood, the coldness of a world that had never felt kind. But now, for the first time, they were simply… held.

Warmth and soft, all Namida ever seeked. 

A small, shaky breath escaped her lips. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, past the unfamiliar ache in her chest.

"Thank you, Kakashi."

His eyes softened, curving into something warm, something gentle. And for the first time, Namida wondered—what did he look like beneath that mask? Would his face reflect the quiet kindness in his eyes? The warmth in his touch?

She didn’t know. But she was certain of one thing—he was beautiful. Not just in the way he looked, but in the way he felt, in the quiet steadiness of his presence.

And for the first time in all of Namida’s nights, she didn’t feel so alone.

She shifted slightly, moving closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me, Kakashi?"

He hummed in acknowledgment, his grip still warm around her hand.

"Why do you want to be a shinobi?" she asked, her curiosity slipping through the exhaustion in her voice.

Kakashi blinked at the question, as if it had never been asked before. He turned his head slightly, the tips of his ears burning beneath silver strands.

"I want to be like my father," he admitted, his voice quiet but resolute. "To be a strong and respectable shinobi, like the White Fang."

Namida hummed softly, her gaze drifting to the moonlight spilling through the window. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she turned her attention back to Kakashi, her fingers still intertwined with his.

"Tell me, how is your father?"

The question hung in the air, fragile but full of intent. It had been three days since Sakumo had rescued her from Danzo’s clutches. Three days of quiet recovery, of wounds slowly knitting back together under Kakashi’s gentle care. When Namida had awoken from her unconscious state, it was only Kakashi by her side, tending to her with a quiet determination.

Sakumo, the man who had saved her, was gone—off on another mission ordered by the Hokage, his absence leaving a lingering void.

Kakashi had stayed, never once leaving her side. He had skipped the academy for days, his small, steady hands tending to her bruises, the tender care he offered softening the sharp edges of her pain.

He blinked at her, a touch startled by the question. His small fingers tightened around hers for a brief moment, as if searching for the right words.

"My father…" Kakashi began, his voice steady but tinged with something wistful. He hesitated, the weight of the thought settling on his chest. He hadn't spoken of his father much, not in a way that felt real. But here, in the stillness of the night, with Namida beside him, the words felt like they might find their way.

"He’s…" Kakashi trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if seeking the right way to describe the man who was so much a part of him. "He’s strong. Kind. But he’s also distant… like he’s always carrying something heavy that no one can see. He fights for the village, for us, but I think sometimes he’s… lost, too."

He shifted, uncomfortable with the weight of his own emotions, but his grip on Namida’s hand remained steady.

"I want to be like him," Kakashi said quietly, his voice softening as he finally met her gaze, "but sometimes, I wonder if he’s lonely, too. I wonder if he ever feels like the village doesn’t really see him."

Namida’s heart ached as Kakashi spoke, each word an echo of a sorrow she knew all too well. She understood the weight of being unseen, of existing in a world that seemed to turn a blind eye to her very existence.

Her mind wandered to her own life—the Uchiha clan’s coldness, the sharp sting of rejection, the cruel silence that wrapped around her and her mother. They were nothing more than outcasts in a family of bloodlines and legacy, cursed by their own blood. The village, with its towering walls and haughty ideals, had long since discarded them.

They were ghosts in the eyes of those who should’ve been their kin, nothing but shadows of a past no one wished to remember.

Her mother, Aeri, once beautiful and fierce, was now a broken shell of a woman, deemed nothing more than a mad outcast. No one spoke of her, and when they did, it was always with cold eyes, like she was something to be feared, something to be whispered about in dark corners.

And Namida? She was nothing more than a mistake in the eyes of the Uchiha—an afterthought, born of grief and madness, whose very existence was an insult to the proud bloodline she hailed from.

They looked at her with venom, like she was a stain on their legacy, like she was nothing more than a curse.

Her fingers tightened around Kakashi’s hand, a small but determined gesture. They had been abandoned, discarded by the world. But somehow, in this quiet moment, with Kakashi’s warmth still wrapped around her hand, she felt just a little less invisible.

“People like us,” she whispered, her voice thick with sorrow but laced with something fierce, something that refused to die, “We’re always seen as burdens. The village… they turn their backs. The Clan… they act like we don’t even exist.” Her words were like knives, cutting through the silence of the room, yet she spoke them with a quiet defiance, as though she were speaking not just for herself, but for her mother, for the years of pain they had endured.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, though it held no joy.

“And yet, we still carry on, don’t we? We still fight to be seen.”

Her eyes met Kakashi’s, the pain of her words now a deep fire burning in her chest, but somehow, still a sense of resilience mixed in the hurt.

"I promise you, Kakashi," Namida whispered, her voice filled with quiet resolve, "One day, we will be seen. You, your father, and I—we will matter. We will build a world where children are protected, not used. Where no one is cast aside or forgotten, where there is no hatred, no war—only kindness, only acceptance."

Her forehead brushed gently against his, a soft, fleeting touch that carried the weight of her vow. In that moment, she didn’t just speak of hope—she spoke of a future she would fight for, a future where their pain and the pain of others wouldn’t be in vain.

Kakashi’s heart clenched at Namida’s words, her vow lingering in the air like a fragile promise that somehow, despite everything, felt real. It was a dream—a beautiful, impossible dream that, for the first time, didn’t seem out of reach when she said it. Her voice, soft yet full of conviction, wrapped around him like a warmth he had never known, like a beacon in the darkness of their world.

Her forehead pressed gently against his, a touch so tender yet strong, as if she were sealing her promise not just with words, but with the very essence of who she was. Her hands, still clutching his, trembled ever so slightly, but the fire in her eyes—the same fire that had carried her through so many nights of suffering—burned brighter than ever.

Kakashi could feel the weight of her words, the heavy, beautiful truth they carried. He could see it in her eyes, this vision she had—of a world free from the horrors that had shaped them both, of a future where children were not used as weapons, where their lives meant something more than just pawns in a cycle of endless war.

His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. The air between them was thick with something almost sacred, a bond forming between them in the quiet night, a bond that transcended pain, loss, and fear.

"One day," Namida whispered again, her voice barely audible but unwavering, "we’ll build it. A world where kindness wins, not hatred."

Kakashi wanted to believe her. He wanted to hold onto that hope, to let it grow within him like a seed that could sprout into something real, something better. He wanted to believe that, one day, he wouldn’t have to live in the shadow of his father’s legacy, that Namida’s dream could be more than just a dream.

He stayed silent for a long while, his chest tight, the weight of their shared grief and hope pressing against him. Finally, in a soft voice, barely above a whisper, he replied, “I’ll help you, Namida. I’ll help make it happen. No matter what.”

For the first time in a long time, the ache in Namida and Kakashi heart felt a little lighter.

Obito’s onyx eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing as he watched Kakashi step into the classroom—with Namida Uchiha right beside him.

His mouth nearly fell open when Kakashi, without hesitation, walked up to a Nara girl, fixed her with an unrelenting glare, and wordlessly demanded her seat. The girl hesitated only for a second before reluctantly standing and moving away, leaving the spot open. Without so much as a word of thanks, Kakashi gestured for Namida to sit before taking the seat beside her.

Obito hadn’t seen Kakashi for days—not that he particularly missed him. In fact, he'd been secretly glad to have Rin all to himself without the ever-arrogant Kakashi getting in the way. But now, as he watched his so-called rival sit next to Namida as if it were the most natural thing in the world, something about it didn’t sit right.

He barely had time to process it before Rin leaned in, her voice quiet, uncertain.

“How long has Kakashi been close with Namida Uchiha?” she murmured, her brown eyes wary as she studied the two.

Obito had no answer. Because, as far as he knew, Kakashi didn’t get close to anyone. And yet, here he was, beside Namida Uchiha—close enough that even Rin had noticed.

"I heard that Aeri Uchiha was arrested!" a girl whispered from the back of the classroom, her voice hushed but urgent.

"There were ANBU everywhere!" another boy exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "My mother said they found three dead men!"

"Tch. Uchiha always causing problems," a Hyūga boy scoffed, arms crossed as if the entire affair was nothing more than a trivial annoyance.

Obito’s blood burned. His hands curled into tight fists beneath his desk, nails biting into his skin as his glare locked onto the Hyūga like a blade drawn in warning.

"What did you just say?" he growled, his voice low, seething.

The Hyūga boy smirked, undeterred. "I said, you Uchihas are always at the center of trouble. Destruction follows you like a shadow." He tilted his head, his tone turning mocking. "Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Namida Uchiha turns out just as insane as her mother."

Silence. Cold. Suffocating.

The other Uchiha in the classroom did nothing. No defense, no outrage. They sat still, unbothered, as if Namida was a ghost in their presence. As if she wasn’t one of them.

Obito’s blood ran colder.

"Ne, Namida," the Hyūga taunted, turning towards her with a sneer. "Tell me, is it true? Are you just as crazy as your moth—"

Thud.

The sharp hiss of metal sliced through the air. The entire room froze.

A shuriken embedded itself into the wooden wall—an inch from the Hyūga’s ear.

"Mind finishing your sentence?" a calm voice asked, almost indifferently. But his eyes gleamed with something razor-sharp—a quiet, unspoken threat.

A breathless pause. Every eye turned.

Kakashi.

He sat still, his expression unreadable, his mask cast across his face. His fingers twirled a second shuriken lazily, but his grip was anything but careless.

The Hyūga boy scoffed, trying to recover his pride. "Tch. Throwing weapons in a classroom? How barbaric."

Kakashi tilted his head slightly, his eye narrowing. "You speak as if you value life," he murmured, twirling the shuriken between his fingers. "But if you did, you wouldn’t run your mouth so carelessly, right?"

The Hyūga paled.

Obito Uchiha pinched himself, hard. He blinked once. Twice.

No, he wasn’t dreaming.

Kakashi—Kakashi Hakate—had just defended someone. Not just anyone, but Namida Uchiha.

Obito’s mind reeled. The same Kakashi who scoffed at emotions, who always acted like he was above everyone else, who lived by cold logic rather than feelings—that Kakashi had just thrown a shuriken at someone for another person.

Had the world gone mad?

Rin, beside him, shifted uncomfortably. “Did… did Kakashi just—?”

“Yeah,” Obito muttered, still staring.

The classroom was silent, tension thick in the air. The Hyūga boy, for all his arrogance, had gone stiff, clearly weighing his next move. But Kakashi? Kakashi was utterly calm. Unbothered. As if throwing a shuriken at a classmate was just another part of his day.

Obito's gaze flickered toward Namida. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even reacted with surprise. She was just… watching Kakashi. Her expression unreadable, but her fingers curled slightly against the desk.

What the hell is happening?

At lunch, Obito searched for Kakashi, his curiosity gnawing at him. He found them in the training ground, sitting under a tree. 

Kakashi. Eating lunch. With Namida.

Under a tree. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Obito came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the training ground, staring. The sight was so bizarre he almost turned around, convinced he had walked into a genjutsu.

Kakashi never ate with anyone. Never.

And yet, there he was, sitting cross-legged in the shade of an old oak tree, his bento in his lap. Namida sat beside him, her white hair catching the afternoon light, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze.

They weren’t even talking. Just sitting together. Eating in comfortable silence.

Obito felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

For three days, Kakashi had been absent. For three days, it had just been him and Rin. And now Kakashi was back… but not really. Not in the way Obito expected.

Obito clenched his fists, his feet moving before he even realized it. He stomped over, stopping right in front of them, his shadow casting over their lunches.

Kakashi sighed without even looking up. "What do you want, Obito?"

"What do I—?! What do I—?!" Obito sputtered, throwing his hands in the air. "What are you even doing?!"

Kakashi finally looked up, his eyes half-lidded with disinterest. "Eating."

Obito twitched. "With her?!"

Namida blinked at him, unfazed. "Yes, with me," she said, deadpan. She plucked a piece of rice from her bento and popped it into her mouth, as if his outrage was no more than a passing breeze.

Obito gawked. "Since when are you two friends?!"

Kakashi exhaled through his nose, clearly done with the conversation before it even started. "Since when was it your business?"

Obito scowled. "Since you were gone for three days, and suddenly you’ve got a best friend I didn’t know about!"

Kakashi’s chopsticks paused.

Namida tilted her head. "You sound jealous," she mused.

Obito went rigid. "I—I am not!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

Kakashi shook his head, setting his bento down. "Obito." His voice was oddly calm. "Why do you care so much?"

Obito opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Why did he care so much?

He had no answer.

Suddenly, Namida burst into laughter at his expression, clutching her stomach as the sound echoed through the training ground. Her laughter was light, carefree—something rare, something she hadn’t felt in so long.

"Kakashi," she teased, her voice bubbling with amusement, "You didn’t tell me Obito loved you this much?"

Her smile stretched wide, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced between the two boys. The playfulness in her voice was contagious, and for a brief moment, everything felt lighter, as if the weight of the world could just… fade away.

Kakashi, already used to Namida’s sharp wit, simply rolled his eyes. "It’s not like that," he muttered, but there was a faint curve to his lips that betrayed him.

Obito, on the other hand, was red in the face, stammering in frustration, unable to form a proper sentence. "I—I don’t—!"

Namida laughed even harder, her amusement ringing in the air, and for a moment, it felt like everything was a little less dark.

Obito nearly choked on air.

"WHA—?!" His face turned an alarming shade of red. "I DO NOT LOVE KAKASHI!"

Namida only laughed harder, clutching her stomach as she doubled over. It wasn’t the polite, restrained laughter of a proper Uchiha—it was real, full, and unfiltered. The kind that made her ribs ache but her heart feel lighter.

Kakashi, on the other hand, just sighed, setting down his bento with the patience of someone used to dealing with fools. "Namida," he muttered, side-eyeing her. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Obviously," she wheezed between laughs.

Obito stomped his foot, glaring at them both. "YOU TWO—! I CAN'T BELIEVE—! THIS IS—!" He threw his hands in the air, utterly exasperated.

Namida wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, finally calming down. "Sorry, sorry," she said, still grinning. "It’s just—you are funny, Obito."

Obito scowled, crossing his arms. "Tch. Whatever. I don’t care. Do what you want."

And with that, he turned on his heel, storming off, his ears still burning.

"Wait," called Namida. "Do you want to eat lunch with us?" 

Obito froze mid-step, his back still turned to them. He could feel the weight of their gaze on him, and despite himself, he hesitated.

The offer was unexpected, and his pride urged him to keep walking, to act like he didn't care. But something about Namida's genuine tone—maybe it was the slight teasing edge, or maybe the fact that no one had ever bothered to ask him before—made him stop.

He slowly turned back around, his expression as stoic as ever, but his cheeks were still a little pink. "I—"

He caught himself, glancing from Kakashi to Namida, the question hanging in the air.

Namida smiled a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "We have plenty," she said, motioning to the spread of food they had under the tree. "It's not like I was inviting you to join us forever or anything."

Obito raised an eyebrow. "Right. Not forever," he muttered, but the edge of his words softened. He couldn't ignore how alone he'd felt lately, how he couldn't even remember the last time he'd eaten lunch with anyone without feeling...isolated.

"Fine," he said, walking over, though his voice was reluctant, "But don’t think this means I like you two." He tried to sound gruff, but his words lacked the usual sharpness.

Kakashi merely nodded without looking up from his food. "Sure, whatever," he said, his tone flat.

Namida smirked and patted the ground beside her. "Suit yourself, Obito. You’ll be missing out on Kakashi's legendarycooking skills, though."

Obito snorted at that, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Legendary, huh? Guess I’ll see for myself."

As he sat down, the silence between them didn’t feel as awkward as it usually did. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the strange bond they were beginning to form, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t eating alone.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the start of something different. Something better.

"I found you cool, you know," Namida murmured softly, her eyes fixed on Obito, a faint smile playing at her lips as he went on about how he wasn’t cool because he failed his Chakra paper test.

Obito froze mid-chewing, his words catching in his throat, the food still in his mouth. His mind struggled to process what she had just said, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

"W-What?" His voice cracked slightly, confusion swirling in his onyx eyes.

He glanced at her, as if searching for some sign that she was joking. Him? Cool? Didn’t she see Kakashi, with his effortless confidence? Or Itachi, who was practically a prodigy? Hell, he was sure she didn’t even know Shisui!

Namida’s gaze didn’t waver, her voice steady and gentle, filled with a quiet sincerity. "Yes, you’re cool. You’re not like the others in the Uchiha clan. You’re funny, kind, and determined. You want to be Hokage, right?"

She tilted her head, her smile softening the edges of the moment, her words weighted with something deep, something raw. "I know you’ll be an awesome one."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile promise, a hope that seemed too big for someone so young to carry. Yet, there it was—so clear, so sure.

In that moment, Namida made Obito feel seen, truly seen for the first time, and it was as if a heavy burden he hadn’t realized he was carrying had been lifted, even if just for a fleeting second.

Obito sat there, blinking, lost for words. For once, he didn’t know how to respond. The admiration, the warmth in her voice… it was more than he had ever expected from anyone. And somehow, in that quiet moment, it meant more than any of the accolades from the people he thought were important.

"Ugh, now thanks to you, Obito won't stop gushing about how extra cool he is," Kakashi grumbled, shoveling another spoonful of rice into his mouth, his voice laced with mild annoyance but also a hint of amusement.

Namida grinned mischievously, glancing at Kakashi with a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, come on, Kakashi. You know it’s not my fault Obito’s finally realizing how awesome he really is."

Kakashi scoffed, rolling his eye as he shoveled another bite of rice into his mouth, his tone teasing. "Great. Now every time he sees me, it’s going to be ‘Kakashi, did you know I’m cool?’ I can already hear it in my head."

Obito’s voice broke the silence, his face flushed with indignation. “Hey, I don’t sound like that!” he exclaimed, crossing his arms and glaring at the two.

Kakashi glanced up briefly, an eyebrow raised, while Namida just smiled softly, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“Sure you don’t,” Kakashi murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

"What happened to Aeri? Is it true that your mother was arrested?" he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with genuine curiosity. 

Obito's question hung in the air, sudden and sharp, causing the group to freeze mid-step.

Namida's steps slowed, and for a moment, her usually unshakable expression faltered. She glanced briefly at Kakashi, then at Obito, as if weighing whether to answer.

Kakashi, too, stiffened at the mention of Aeri, his gaze hardening as he caught the edge of Namida’s discomfort.

Namida’s silence stretched on for a heartbeat before she spoke, her voice low, as though she was pulling the words from some deep, reluctant place inside her.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes distant, “It’s true. She was arrested.”

There was a coldness in her tone, a heaviness in the air around them. The weight of the truth hung between them all, and Obito felt the awkwardness settle in. He hadn’t meant to strike a nerve, but the quiet tension that followed was palpable.

Obito’s voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “What did she do?”

Namida’s body tensed, her fingers curling into fists as she fought to steady her breathing. The tremble in her voice was impossible to hide when she finally spoke, her words barely escaping as if she had to force them through the weight in her chest.

“Nothing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She did nothing. Those men assaulted her. They tried to kidnap me... sell me. And she did nothing wrong, except be a victim. And now, she’s the one locked away, held captive... because of their crimes.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a pain that seemed too vast, too unjust to bear. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her emotions raw and exposed. The memory of it all was so close to the surface—too close—and it made her feel like she might crumble under the weight of it.

Obito didn’t know what to say. His usual words of comfort felt meaningless in the face of such a deep, suffocating sorrow. He looked between Namida and Kakashi, both of them silently holding their pain in a way that made him feel helpless.

“Namida…” he murmured, unsure of how to make this right, or if anything could be. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be her, to feel that kind of injustice.

But in the moment of their shared silence, he realized something: sometimes, there were no words to fix it. Sometimes, the best you could offer was just being there.

“Namida is living in the Hatake compound with me and my father. My father took custody of her while her mother is… being held,” Kakashi explained, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something deeper in it—a protective warmth, perhaps, that he had never shown to anyone before.

Namida’s eyes flickered to Kakashi, a small, fragile smile tugging at the corners of her lips as he spoke. His words were calm, matter-of-fact, but they carried a weight that settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t find it within herself to say anything, but somehow, his presence beside her, his quiet understanding, made everything feel just a little bit more bearable.

The words stung, even though they weren’t new. Namida’s chest tightened, the sense of displacement heavier now than ever. She had known this was her reality, but hearing it aloud, seeing Kakashi speak of it so openly, made it feel more real than she had been ready to accept.

It was one thing to feel alone, but another entirely to realize just how much of the world seemed to have turned its back on Namida Uchiha.

Obito’s expression softened at Kakashi’s words. He looked at Namida, his usual bravado gone, replaced with a quiet understanding. “I didn’t know…” he murmured.

There was a long pause as the three of them walked toward the classroom, the weight of their shared silence filling the space between them. 

Itachi Uchiha stood still, his sharp gaze locked onto Namida as she lingered at the edge of the training grounds, watching in silence as their classmates took turns demonstrating their ninjutsu. The air was thick with murmurs, praises thrown carelessly at those who excelled, quiet scoffs at those who faltered.

Then, Kakashi Hatake’s name was called.

Itachi’s dark eyes flickered toward him, but only for a moment. He already knew what to expect. Kakashi was a genius, a prodigy that even the proud Uchiha Clan couldn’t dismiss. His movements were swift, precise—flawless. The others whispered in awe, but Itachi barely heard them.

Because he wasn’t watching Kakashi.

His gaze remained on Namida.

She stood apart, her expression unreadable, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Kakashi had spoken to her just before stepping forward—Itachi had seen it, the way his silver-haired classmate leaned in, murmuring something only she could hear. Reassurance, maybe? Encouragement? Whatever it was, Namida’s face softened slightly. 

Itachi felt something twist in his chest.

He wanted to speak to her. To approach her. But what would he even say?

Would he apologize for what happened to her mother? For the way the Uchiha Clan had turned its back on her and Aeri? Would he tell her that he disagreed with his father’s silence, that he had demanded an explanation and received nothing but a dismissive shake of the head?

He clenched his jaw.

When he learned that Namida was no longer living in the Uchiha compound, that she had been taken in by Sakumo Hatake instead, a bitter taste had settled on his tongue. The clan had abandoned her. His father had abandoned her. And Itachi—too young, too powerless—had been left to swallow the injustice like a mouthful of ash.

Still, he hesitated.

Because in the end, what could he say that would ever make a difference?

Nothing.

He was just a six-year-old boy. A child who had seen the horrors of war at four. A boy burdened with the crushing expectations of an entire clan, molded into the perfect heir before he could even understand what that truly meant.

Itachi was nothing against the will of the Uchiha Clan. Nothing against the elders who whispered in hushed voices about pride, duty, and vengeance. Against the silent, unshakable authority of his father, Fugaku.

All he had left—his only solace—was his will to protect his little brother.

Sasuke, barely three years old, still untainted by the weight of their world. Still laughing, still clinging to their mother’s kimono, still chasing fireflies in the summer without a care.

But for how long?

Itachi was afraid. Terrified, even. That one day, Sasuke would see what he had seen. That one day, Sasuke’s tiny hands would be forced to grip a kunai before they ever learned to hold onto something as fragile as peace.

That the village would claim him, just as it had claimed Itachi, just as it had claimed Namida, just as it had claimed every child born into its endless cycle of bloodshed.

That one day, Sasuke would step onto the battlefield, and there would be no one left to shield him.

"I will be the one to change it," Namida said, her voice unwavering, resolute. "I will break this cycle, Itachi. Your reign will not be one trapped in hatred and war—I swear it. This world, this cursed destiny… I will change it all."

And for the first time in his young life, Itachi Uchiha wanted—desperately—to believe in someone's words. But he can’t.

Because belief was a fragile thing, easily shattered under the weight of reality. Because he had already seen too much, understood too well that the world did not change for the will of a child, no matter how determined, no matter how much fire burned in their eyes, how much blood and tears were shed.

Because history was written in blood, and the hands that held the pen were tainted.

And yet—Gods, just for a second, he wanted to believe her.

To believe that a world like that could exist. A world where Sasuke wouldn’t have to wield flames and steel at the village’s command. Where he wouldn’t bear the curse of the Sharingan burning into his soul, wouldn’t carry sorrow too vast, too cruel for a child.

But Itachi had seen too much.

Shisui’s tears and blood-streaked smile flickered in his mind, a memory that never left him. His dear cousin—kind, brilliant Shisui—who carried the weight of the Uchiha name in his eyes and the warmth of his heart in his laughter. Shisui, who at only eight years old had been destined for greatness.

Shisui, whose hands were already stained red.

Shisui, who smiled through grief.

Strong, unshakable Shisui—who wished, more than anything, to turn back time. To unsee, to undo, to unlive the moment his Sharingan awakened in the death of a friend.

And Itachi would never forget. Never forget the way Shisui’s voice had cracked, raw with something beyond grief. How his hands trembled no matter how tightly he clenched them. How his cheeks had been streaked with blood—some his, some not—and the sorrow that had sunk so deeply into his bones that even his smile could not hide it.

Shisui, who carried the weight of his gift like a curse.

Shisui, who was only eight years old.

"Namida has awakened the Sharingan," his father said, his voice even, unreadable.

The office was dark—too dark. Shadows stretched across the room, swallowing everything whole, leaving only the faint gleam of Fugaku Uchiha’s eyes visible in the dim candlelight.

Itachi stood still, waiting. Listening.

Was his father angry? Furious that the daughter of the woman he despised had unlocked the very power that defined their clan? Or was he disappointed that Itachi, the heir, had yet to awaken his own? Or, perhaps, just perhaps… was he grieving?

Grieving the loss of another child’s innocence to the curse of the Uchiha legacy.

Itachi didn’t know. And maybe, he never would.

His onyx eyes flickered toward the white-haired girl.

Did she wish to turn back time? To undo the curse of the Sharingan before it ever took root in her soul? Did she cry crimson tears, just like Shisui had? Did she smile—broken, raw—while grief clawed at her heart?

Itachi wondered, but he did not ask. Because he already knew the answer.

Every unfortunate child born into the Uchiha Clan knew the answer, thought Itachi with bitter clarity.

"Did you hear what happened inside the compound a few days ago?" Izumi's voice broke through Itachi's thoughts as she approached his side.

Itachi acknowledged her with a brief glance, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Aeri Uchiha was captured, and Namida... she left the—"

"I know," Itachi interrupted her, his voice tight, the weight of the news already settling within him.

Izumi's eyes narrowed, her gaze cold and calculating. "But did you know it was Namida who killed the three men?"

Itachi froze, a shock running through him at her words. He hadn’t heard that part. He hasn't even considered it.

Izumi's voice dropped lower as she continued, "It’s my mother who told me. She heard it from my uncle, who said that Namida brutally killed the three men... with her Sharingan. Apparently, she left them unrecognizable, their deaths almost... savage."

The words struck Itachi like a blow, his heart clenching as his thoughts whirled.

Izumi glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing again. "It’s surprising, isn't it? The face of an angel, and yet, capable of such... monstrous acts."

Itachi’s chest tightened, his thoughts racing. Namida... killed?

"Her mother was beautiful, too," Izumi continued, her tone almost gleeful in its cruelty. "My own mother even envied her. Yet, beauty meant nothing against the madness that ran in her veins. Perhaps it’s true, like mother, like daughter."

Itachi flinched, his blood boiling at the insinuation. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the anger that surged within him.

"Stop it, Izumi," he cut her off, his voice sharp, cold. "Don’t speak of her like that."

Izumi seemed taken aback by his sudden intensity, her gaze flickering with surprise. But Itachi didn't care. The words she had said left a bitter taste in his mouth. Namida had suffered enough without being reduced to cruel, careless gossip.

Izumi, taken aback by the sudden shift, blinked in surprise, her gaze softening just a touch. She knows Itachi, seen the way he carried himself with the weight of their Clan's expectations on his shoulders. She knew he was intelligent, perceptive, a genius. But this… this was different. She hadn't expected him to become so defensive over someone like Namida.

"I... I was just saying what I heard," she muttered, her voice smaller now.

Itachi’s eyes hardened, but he didn’t take his gaze off her. “You don’t understand. Namida... she’s nothing like her mother. She’s not the same person.”

Izumi looked at him skeptically. "So you're defending her now?" she asked, an edge creeping into her tone. "Is this about some misplaced sense of sympathy, Itachi? Or are you truly blind to the truth?"

Itachi clenched his jaw, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he remained silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Sympathy? I’m not defending her. I’m just... trying to understand. I don’t know the whole story, but Namida’s not the monster you make her out to be. I don’t care what anyone says about her or her mother,” Itachi said, his voice calm. "We are all born into a cycle we can’t escape. You of all people should know that, Izumi."

Izumi’s expression faltered, guilt flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it. She didn’t respond right away, unsure how to handle his shift in tone.

The walls she’d built around her own perceptions of Namida were starting to crack, but the resentment, the bitterness still lingered like a shadow over her judgment.

After a long silence, Itachi turned his gaze away from her, looking toward the horizon, as if seeing something far beyond their present moment.

"Don't be so quick to judge," he added quietly, more to himself than to her. "Because, in the end, none of us are innocent, Izumi."

And with that, he turned away, unwilling to hear more. The weight of the conversation pressed heavily on him, but he refused to let her words corrupt his thoughts of Namida. 

A memory blazed in Itachi’s mind, vivid and painful, one he would never be able to forget.

"Killing someone, taking someone’s life, is never easy, Itachi," the soft voice of Shisui echoed through his thoughts, the memory flickering as clear as though it happened just yesterday.

Itachi could still see Shisui standing before him, a quiet breeze playing with the dark curls that never could be tamed, just as Shisui’s spirit could never be contained. The wind tousled his hair, the scent of the forest clinging to him as he twirled a kunai between his fingers, each movement deliberate, calm—his usual serenity masking the weight of his words.

At six years old, Shisui was more than just a prodigy—he was a soul wiser than any child had a right to be. His eyes had known far too much for such young years, yet he spoke with the gravity of someone who had seen the world break and rebuild itself in pieces.

Itachi stood there, watching, absorbing, as Shisui continued, his voice steady but heavy with experience far beyond his age.

"When you take someone’s life, you take everything with you. It’s a burden that most men don’t understand," Shisui explained softly, his gaze distant, as if remembering something far deeper than what his words conveyed. "You don’t simply end their life, Itachi. You take their dreams. You steal their nightmares, their memories, the very essence of who they were. Every laugh, every tear, every fleeting thought. You take everything that made them human, and leave nothing but silence in its wake."

The words landed like stone in Itachi’s chest, weighing him down, sinking deeper with every passing second. He had heard them many times, but now, in the echo of Shisui’s voice, the weight of their meaning hit him with unbearable force.

Shisui had never been naive. Even as a child, he understood what war, what violence, what death truly meant. He had always known the cost of taking a life—how it fractured you, how it twisted you from the inside out. He had seen the shadows of the past haunt those who lived with blood on their hands.

And yet, in those moments, Itachi could see the pain behind Shisui’s eyes, a pain he never allowed anyone to see, never allowed anyone to truly understand.

Itachi had always looked up to Shisui, admired his wisdom, his grace. But now, as the words replayed in his mind, he understood them—not just intellectually, but with the weight of his own soul. He knew now, as the world around him shifted and bled, that Shisui wasn’t speaking of something abstract. He wasn’t speaking of distant enemies or vague ideals. He was speaking about the very essence of who you became when you were forced to spill blood, when you were pushed to take a life.

Itachi’s chest tightened, the memory suffocating him. How could anyone—how could he—carry that weight, the burden of a death that could never be undone?

And the face of his younger brother, Sasuke, flashed before him. The face of innocence. Could he protect him from ever having to understand this truth? Could he shield Sasuke from the heavy burden Shisui had tried to warn him about?

As the memory of Shisui’s voice lingered, a bitter resolve formed deep within Itachi. He had to shield Sasuke. He had to protect him from the horrors of the world, from the chains that bound them to a never-ending cycle of blood and pain.

But how?!

Shisui’s wisdom was as sharp as it was sorrowful. Itachi knew it wasn’t just words—it was a truth that would live with him, a truth he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried. And for the first time, he wondered if the price of peace could ever be worth the cost of taking another life.

As he thinks of Namida he can't help but wonder; Was she like Shisui now? Did she, too, feel the weight of those lives she took, heavy on her chest, impossible to erase?

She knew it was him before she even had to lift her head from the pages of her book, sitting in the gardens of the Academy, the soft rustling of leaves accompanying the silence between them.

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite now, Itachi?" she spoke quietly, her voice carrying the weight of a question she had been holding inside for a long time. "Do you believe I'm just another liar, preaching about a world free of loss, blood, and war, when my hands are as tainted as those who revel in it?"

Her words were soft, but they hung in the air, sharp with a truth she wasn’t sure she could face. She didn't lift her gaze, still lost in the pages, the words blurring as her thoughts collided with the reality of everything that had happened.

"No," he answered softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the word alone was too much to bear.

Itachi paused, his gaze lingering on her, watching her fingers tighten around the pages of the book as if they could hold her together, keep the world from crumbling at her feet.

"I don't think you're a hypocrite, Namida," he continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I think... you're just trying to believe in something that feels impossible. Something no one has the courage to reach for."

His eyes softened, his words fragile yet filled with an understanding he hadn’t expected to find, not from her, and certainly not from himself. "But no one... no one is ever truly free from what we’ve lost. Not you. Not me."

Namida let out a humorless laugh, her voice bitter and quiet, as if she were speaking to herself more than to Itachi. "Yet despite everything I've done, I will not stop. I will reach what I'm aiming for," she said, her words firm, but her hands trembling as she gripped the book tighter. "The foundation we shared—I will make it right. I will bring it alive, no matter what."

The conviction in her voice was unmistakable, but the tremor in her hands told a different story. Behind the resolve, there was fear, a deep fear she couldn’t hide. The weight of her vow pressed on her, yet her eyes burned with a light that made her seem far older than her years.

Itachi didn't speak for a moment. He studied her, feeling the gravity of the silence between them. It was a vow that carried the kind of cost even a child like her couldn't fully understand, but he could see that she wasn’t going to turn away from it.

"Even if it costs you everything?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes flickered to his, the unspoken weight of her answer clear. Yes.

Namida’s voice was low, almost lost in the weight of her own words, as if they were both a confession and a battle cry.

"To lose everything is to have something," she whispered, her eyes distant, the pain of her past lingering in her gaze. "I had my mother. She may have never loved me the way I wanted, but she was still my mother." Her voice faltered for a moment, but she continued, her resolve tightening with each word.

"She is gone now," she continued, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. "Taken, arrested... and no one protected her except me." Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "I failed her. But I won’t fail again. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring the world I’ve dreamed of into existence."

Itachi stared at her, the weight of her words settling deep within him.

"You have so much faith in this dream, in the kindness you seek… I wonder why?" Itachi murmured, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Namida smiled—softly, so softly that something inside him trembled at the sight. There was no arrogance in her expression, no defiance. Just a quiet, unwavering belief that made Itachi feel something dangerously close to longing.

"I had a dream once," she said, her voice like the whisper of wind through the trees. "The village was different. There were no children forced to fight wars, no cold adults shaping their sons and daughters into soldiers, no hatred festering between clans, villages, and nations. It was a world where kindness was not a weakness, where peace and justice existed—not as illusions, but as truth."

Itachi’s brows furrowed slightly.

"But it’s just a dream," he said, his voice steady, logical. It was the first time in his life that he found himself unable to grasp something completely.

Namida exhaled softly, tilting her head toward the sky as if searching for answers hidden in the clouds. "I know it’s a dream," she whispered. "But isn’t that how everything begins? With a dream—an impossible one, something no one believes in until someone dares to fight for it?"

She turned to him then, her gaze steady, unwavering, yet filled with an ancient sadness, as if she had lived a thousand lifetimes and seen the same mistakes repeated over and over again. "Maybe it is foolish. Maybe it is impossible. But it’s all I have left."

Itachi was silent for a moment before he finally admitted, "I don’t understand."

"When Madara Uchiha and Hashirama Senju fought, despite the war, the bloodshed, the hatred, they still believed in peace. They dreamed of it. And they created Konoha," Namida said, watching him closely.

"But they failed," Itachi whispered, his voice quieter this time. "There is still hatred. There is still war."

Namida laughed then, a quiet, aching sound—not mocking, not bitter, but something sad and knowing, like the remnants of a song that once carried hope.

"They failed," she agreed, her white hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. "But that doesn’t mean the dream was wrong, Itachi. It only means they weren’t the ones who could see it through."

Itachi studied her, his sharp mind turning over her words. And then, with genuine curiosity, he asked, "What makes you different from them?"

Namida’s lips curved into a smile, wide yet aching, as if she were holding onto a truth that had always been there, waiting to be spoken.

"I am a woman," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of something unshakable, something written into the very fabric of time.

Namida’s smile didn’t waver, but there was something behind it—something unshaken, something absolute. A conviction so fierce it felt like fire, and yet, it was wrapped in the quiet tenderness of a dreamer who refused to let the world steal what little light remained.

"I am a woman," she repeated, softer this time, but no less resolute. "And history has always been written by men. Wars waged by men. Kingdoms and empires torn apart by their hands. But change?" Her fingers curled slightly, as if she could hold the very concept in her palms. "Change comes from those who are told they have no place in power. It comes from those who are overlooked, underestimated. It comes from those who see the world differently because they were never meant to shape it in the first place."

Itachi didn’t know what to say. For all his intelligence, all his wisdom beyond his little age, Namida spoke with a certainty that left him with nothing to argue against. He had spent his whole life being shaped by the expectations of his clan, by the heavy hand of history that had already decided what path he would walk. But Namida—she spoke of breaking that path entirely.

Her laughter from earlier echoed in his mind—soft, sad, but determined.

"Madara and Hashirama dreamed of peace," she murmured, "but they built their dream on the foundation of war. They tried to force peace through strength, through power." She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "I won’t make that mistake."

Itachi narrowed his eyes slightly, studying her. "Then how will you do it?"

Namida’s lips parted, as if she wanted to answer. But then she simply smiled—that same knowing, aching smile.

"I don’t know yet," she admitted, "but that’s the beauty of a dream, isn’t it? I'm just a little girl, after all, aren’t I?" Namida grinned, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Itachi’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming despite himself.

"Namida," came Kakashi’s voice from behind.

At the sound of it, Namida’s expression softened, her fingers tightening slightly around the book in her hands as she rose to her feet. She turned toward him, the sunlight catching in her pale hair.

"You finished your training?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Kakashi nodded, stepping forward. His gaze flickered briefly to Itachi—just a glance, nothing more—before settling back on Namida, as if Itachi didn’t exist at all.

"Let's go," he said softly, extending his arm toward her. "Father is coming back this evening from his mission."

Namida’s eyes brightened at the news. Without hesitation, she slipped her arm through Kakashi’s, letting their warmth intertwine. "How about we make dinner for him?" she suggested gently.

Behind his mask, Kakashi’s smile was subtle but genuine. He nodded, and without another word, they turned, walking side by side toward the Hatake compound, leaving Itachi behind in quiet contemplation.

"Wait," Itachi called out.

Namida froze mid-step, her grip on Kakashi’s arm slackening slightly. When Kakashi turned to glare at him, sharp and unyielding, Itachi felt something unexpected—hesitation. Why was Kakashi looking at him like that? As if he were an enemy.

"Is the Hatake Clan treating you well?" Itachi asked softly. The words felt heavy on his tongue, weighed down by the guilt that had been gnawing at him. His father had turned his back on Namida and her mother. The Uchiha had abandoned them.

Before Namida could answer, Kakashi spoke, his voice edged with quiet steel. "Better than the Uchiha ever did."

Namida didn’t react to his words, didn’t scold Kakashi or defend the clan that had forsaken her. Instead, she turned to Itachi with a gentle smile. And that smile—so warm, so forgiving—made something twist painfully inside him.

She should hate him. She had every right to. Yet, she didn’t.

"Yes," Namida said softly, her voice like a passing breeze. "More than anyone else. Thank you for asking."

And with that, she turned away, linking her arm through Kakashi’s once more, leaving Itachi standing there, watching as they walked away together.

Namida blinked through the haze of her dream, her vision blurred from the Sharingan as she took in the sight before her.

A woman—red-haired, beautiful—sat cradling a baby in her arms. In the dim candlelight, her long hair shimmered like an eternal flame, flickering softly with each movement. Her blue eyes, filled with sorrow, glowed through the shadows as she gently brushed her fingers through the baby’s soft blond curls.

"I'm sorry, my son," the woman whispered, her voice trembling with raw grief.

Namida felt something in her soul stir, shaken by the depth of emotion in the woman’s words.

"I'm so sorry, Naruto," she continued, pressing a kiss to the infant’s forehead. "For bringing you into a world that isn’t kind. For not being there when you grow, when you reach your birthdays year after year. For not taking you out for noodles with me and your father."

Her voice cracked, the weight of her sorrow heavy enough to seep into Namida’s bones.

"But know this," she breathed, tightening her hold on the child, as if trying to etch the moment into eternity. "No matter what happens, no matter where you go… I love you, Naruto. Me and Minato—we love you more than anything in this world."

"Be strong, be kind, and above all… keep smiling at the world," she whispered, her voice trembling, breaking under the weight of her sorrow. A quiet hiccup escaped her, and she buried her tears into her child’s soft hair, as if trying to hold onto him for just a moment longer.

"I'm so, so sorry," she choked out, her body shaking. "Please… forgive me. Don’t hate me. And above all… don’t hate your father."

Her fingers curled protectively around the tiny form in her arms, her breath uneven.

"Minato is a good man," she continued, her voice barely above a breath. "A good father. He loves you, Naruto—more than anything."

Then—screams. Cries. Chaos erupts all around her.

Namida whirls, eyes darting frantically as the village she grew up in shatters before her very eyes. Buildings crumble like sand, flames lick at the sky, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke and fear.

Then comes the roar.

A deafening, bone-shaking sound that reverberates through the night, and Namida feels her heart stop. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifts her head—and there, looming above the destruction, is a monstrous figure.

The Nine-Tails.

Its massive form is bathed in the glow of fire, its tails whipping through the air like razors, carving devastation wherever they land. Its crimson eyes blaze with fury—an anger so raw, so consuming, that Namida feels it deep in her bones.

The beast is angry, she thinks. But this isn’t just rage.

This is something deeper. Something ancient.

Something filled with hatred so profound, so absolute, that for the first time in her life—Namida understands what true wrath looks like. And she wonders...Why?

The woman’s tears glisten in the dim candlelight as she lifts her gaze to the shattered sky. Her breath catches, her body trembling—not from fear, but from grief so deep it threatens to consume her.

She feels it. The absence. The severed bond.

"Minato is gone," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the chaos outside.

And yet, there is no time to mourn. No time to scream or wail or beg the heavens to give her back the man she loves.

The air shifts around her, heavy with power. A crimson chakra—furious, wild, yet fading—emanates from her broken body. Her hands move instinctively, forming the seals, weaving the last of her life into a desperate act of love.

With a final whisper, soft as the wind, she presses her trembling hands to her son.

A seal. A burden. A fate he never asked for.

"I'm so sorry, Naruto," she breathes, her voice barely holding together. "Forgive me."

The last of her strength slips away as the Nine-Tails is sealed within her child. And with that, Kushina Uzumaki closes her eyes—whispering love, whispering goodbyes, whispering forgiveness—until she speaks no more.

Namida didn’t even realize it at first, but she was crying. Cold tears traced silent paths down her pale cheeks, her body trembling under the weight of emotions too vast to name.

She stared, wide-eyed, at the devastation around her—the village she had known, reduced to ruins, bathed in fire and sorrow. But her gaze was drawn away from the destruction, landing instead on the small basket amidst the chaos.

A baby. A crying, golden-haired baby, his tiny fists curled as wails of grief and confusion echoed through the night. Her breath caught as she saw it—the seal, glowing faintly against his small stomach.

He was hurting. She could feel it. But was it the pain of loss, the unbearable ache of a soul severed from its mother? Or was it the weight of the vengeful beast now sealed inside him, clawing at his very existence?

She didn’t know.

And neither did the child named Naruto.

So, Namida wept—silent, aching sobs as blood-streaked tears ran down her cheeks. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the pulsing burn of the Sharingan behind her lids, but it was relentless. It throbbed with the grief, the anguish, the unbearable weight of a tragedy too cruel for a child to witness.

The cries of the orphaned baby echoed in her ears, mixing with the ghostly whispers of a mother’s last goodbye, a father’s silent sacrifice, and a village drowning in its own sorrow. All she could feel and hears was the cries of a child sealed with the curse that would poison his existence in the wrath of the beast sealed inside him.

She woke for the first time from her strange visions without screaming.

Breathing in, then out, she let the Sharingan fade away, its eerie glow disappearing into the darkness of the room. Only silent tears remained, trailing down her cheeks like remnants of a dream too heavy to bear.

Namida stared at the ceiling, her mind still trapped in the echoes of a history that did not belong to her. Beside her, Kakashi slept in his futon, his breaths slow, steady—completely unaware of the storm raging inside her. His hand, warm and firm, was still wrapped around hers. Even in sleep, he hadn’t let go.

"Did you have a nightmare, Namida?" Sakumoto's voice was soft, gentle, carrying an underlying concern.

Namida blinked, disoriented for a moment, then sat up slowly, the weight of the dream still lingering in the corners of her mind. She turned to her right where Sakumoto was leaning against the window, engrossed in a book. His eyes flicked to her, full of reassurance, but there was also a quiet worry in them that didn’t escape her notice.

She looked away quickly, not wanting to dive into her emotions just yet.

"Welcome back. Did you eat what I and Kakashi prepared for you?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremble she felt inside. And added, "Kakashi wanted to wait for you all night, but since he was tired, I reassured him to go to bed."

Sakumoto smiled kindly, his gaze softening. "I'm glad you’re there to look after him since I’m not around," he replied. Then, he nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, thank you. I ate it."

Namida's gaze drifted to the cherry blossom tree outside the window, its delicate pink petals swaying gently in the breeze, filling the garden with quiet beauty. She stared at it for a long moment before speaking again, her voice soft but tinged with a distant sadness.

"My mother was never truly present," she began, the words slipping out like they were trying to make sense of the fractured memories. "Always lost in her own mind, murmuring names and things I couldn’t understand. But there were times, rare times, when she'd stand up and stare at the cherry tree in our garden for hours, never leaving it. I'd watch her, wondering what held her attention so completely."

She let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound barely audible.

"A tree," she continued, her voice almost distant, "could hold her attention better than I ever could. And I... I hated it, in a way. A tree, something so simple, could capture her mind and heart, while I, her daughter, couldn’t. But other times, I’d just wonder, what did that tree have that I didn’t? What was it that made her so engrossed in it?"

She paused, lost in thought, staring at the cherry blossoms as if searching for the answer herself.

Sakumoto's expression softened as he listened to Namida’s words, his gaze thoughtful. He set the book down on the nearby table and moved closer, taking a seat across from her. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the cherry blossoms outside.

“I think… sometimes,” Sakumoto began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “we find comfort in things that don’t ask anything from us. A tree doesn't judge or expect anything in return. It simply exists. Your mother might have been looking for something constant, something that could be still while everything else in her world was chaotic.”

He glanced out the window, his eyes following the swaying branches of the cherry tree.

“Maybe she saw in the tree a kind of peace she couldn't find in herself, or in others. And in her mind, that tree was something that could be trusted, even if she couldn't trust her own thoughts.”

He met Namida’s gaze, his eyes kind, his words gentle yet firm.

“Don’t blame yourself for that, Namida. People, even mothers, sometimes lose their way. It’s not about what you could have done differently—it’s was never your fault." 

(Yet Sakumoto didn’t say the unspoken words that lingered heavily in his mind. He didn't mention that it was the same tree where Kazuya Senju, a name that now felt so distant yet still filled the halls with its shadow, had once stood and demanded Aeri’s hand in marriage. 

The same tree, perhaps, where Aeri and Kazuya had shared their first kiss under the soft, pink blossoms—a moment of love and hope, before the harshness of the world twisted everything apart.

The tree, for all its stillness, held so much of their history. It held the memories of joy and sorrow, love and pain, buried deep in the roots).

Sakumoto smiled softly at Namida, his gaze lingering for a moment longer as he gave a slight nod. "Go back to sleep," he said gently, his voice warm yet firm. "Tomorrow, we begin our training."

Namida, though exhausted, couldn’t help but feel a small sense of comfort from his words. Her body was heavy with the weight of her thoughts, but she still held on to the moment, her hand still tightly grasping Kakashi's. As she leaned back into the futon, closing her eyes, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something still lingered in the air. She turned her head, her gaze meeting Sakumoto's one last time.

Before she let sleep take over her mind, her voice was soft but insistent. "Did your mission go well?"

Sakumoto blinked, caught off guard by the question. It was rare for anyone to ask about his missions, let alone show concern. The thought made him pause, and for a brief second, he wondered how long it had been since someone had asked him about his well-being, beyond just the expected formalities.

A small, appreciative smile crossed his face as he whispered back, "Yes, thank you for asking."

Namida simply nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as the weight of the day finally pulled her into a peaceful sleep, her heart lighter for the brief connection.

Team 8 – Namida Uchiha – Mikai Nara – Natsumi Uzumaki.

Namida blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time.

A Uchiha, a Nara, and an Uzumaki… on the same team?

Before she could fully process the thought, a familiar voice broke through her confusion.

"Aww, Namida, you're not on our team?" Obito pouted, standing beside her with a slight slump to his shoulders.

Then, he blinked again, his gaze shifting to Natsumi Uzumaki. His eyes narrowed as if trying to confirm what he was seeing.

"You’re on Natsumi’s team?" he whisper-yelled, his voice laced with disbelief—and maybe just a hint of fear—as he gulped, glancing at his white-haired friend.

"Yes, And?" asked a confused Namida.  "She seems cool."

Obito gawked at her, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal.

"Cool?!" he hissed. "She broke my nose three times, Namida! Three!" He held up three fingers as if that would emphasize the horror of it. "And don’t even get me started on what she did to that poor Yamanaka kid. He still flinches whenever he sees a beetle!"

Namida only smiled sweetly at his dramatics, tilting her head.

"She sounds fun," she mused, biting back a chuckle when Obito choked on air.

Obito threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fun? Fun?! Namida, she’s a menace! A terror! A walking disaster!" He gestured wildly toward Natsumi, who was currently arguing with a very distressed-looking Mikai Nara. "Look at her! She hasn’t even been put on a mission yet, and she’s already bullying your teammate!"

Namida hummed thoughtfully, watching as Natsumi poked Mikai’s forehead with a mischievous grin while the poor boy looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"Well," she said, crossing her arms, "at least I won’t be bored."

Obito groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re insane, Namida. Absolutely insane."

Kakashi smirked at the smile playing on Namida’s lips before turning to her. "I can ask the teacher to switch me with Natsumi," he offered casually. "That way, we can be on the same team."

Namida glanced at him, her expression softening. Without hesitation, she reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"It’s okay, Kakashi," she said with a small smile. "My teammates seem pretty cool."

Kakashi raised a brow, glancing at Natsumi, who was now putting Mikai in a headlock while the poor Nara boy weakly protested. He then looked back at Namida, unimpressed.

"Cool?" he echoed dryly. "That’s an interesting way to describe that."

Namida only squeezed his hand reassuringly, her smile soft but certain. "I’ll be fine, Kakashi," she murmured. "Besides, you’ll have your own team too. We can’t always be together."

Kakashi frowned slightly at that but didn’t argue. Instead, he just sighed, squeezing her hand back before letting go.

"Just don’t let Natsumi break your nose," he muttered.

Namida chuckled. "No promises."

It hadn’t even been fifteen minutes since Namida had met her teammates, and already, Natsumi had broken her nose while Mikai Nara had taken refuge in the branches of a tree.

Namida blinked, feeling the rush of blood from her nose and the sharp sting spreading through her face. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Natsumi, who stood smirking, arms crossed, her wild orange hair catching the light.

"Wow, I didn’t know Uchiha were this weak," Natsumi teased, tilting her head. "That was just a little headbutt, and I didn’t even see you there, Namida Uchiha."

Namida only smiled, lifting her sleeve to wipe away the blood. "It’s okay," she said lightly. "It doesn’t even hurt."

Natsumi made a dramatic gagging motion at the sight of Namida’s smile. “Ugh, I have an allergy.”

Namida tilted her head, still smiling. “Oh? To what?”

Natsumi scowled. “To overly optimistic people. So do me a favor and wipe that hideous thing off your face.”

Blinking in confusion, Namida obediently wiped away the blood from her nose. Yet the smile remained.

Natsumi groaned louder, throwing her hands up. “Ugh! You’re impossible!”

A voice, sweet yet loud, rang through the air, brimming with warmth.

"Dattebayo! What a cute team you are! Minato wouldn’t believe his eyes!"

Namida froze.

Her breath hitched. Her heart plummeted. And then—her eyes burned.

Slowly, she turned, and all she saw was red.

Red like the blood that never left her hands, never left her dreams. Red like the cursed eyes of the Uchiha. Red like the legacy that haunted her very existence.

But this red—this burning, living red—was different.

It was fire, it was warmth, it was grief so raw it shook Namida to her core.

Red like the hands of a woman who once held a child and whispered apologies through her tears.

Red like the blood that had stained her trembling fingers over her child.

Red like a woman who had left a curse behind—no, not a curse. A child.

Naruto.

Namida’s navy eyes locked onto the blue eyes of the figure before her.

The woman grinned, bright and wide, like a sun that refused to burn out—even if it exploded into a million cosmos.

It was blinding. It was fire.

Like the crimson red of her long hair, gleaming under the relentless sun of their training grounds. Like something untamed, something unstoppable.

And then—

"I'm your sensei, Team 8!" she announced, voice ringing with warmth and energy. "My name is Uzumaki Kushina, Dattebayo!"

Namida could only stare.

Red like fire. Red like blood. Red like life.

Red like a dream she thought was only a dream. Yet a bitter thought lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind—what a fool she was. Dreams don't exist. The shinobi legacy knew nothing but the cruel rhythm of reality.

This woman, vibrant and full of life, her name—Kushina Uzumaki—was real. She was alive, right here, standing before her.

But she haddied.

Namida wondered if the madness that had consumed her own mother had already begun to seep into her, if it had started to unravel the fabric of everything she thought she knew.

Namida’s thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a loud retch. She looks down in surprise as Natsumi stumbles back, a grimace on her face. To Namida’s horror, Natsumi has vomited on her sandals.

With a groan, Natsumi wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and glares at Kushina, who is still beaming brightly at the team.

"Oh hell no, an optimistic teacher?" Natsumi mutters, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is gonna be a nightmare."

 “People’s feelings are memories that transcend time."