[6 months ago...]
The scent of ink, ash, and old wood lingered in the Hokage's office as Hiruzen stood by the window, watching the clouds drift over Konoha's roofs. Behind him, a lone shinobi waited, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture relaxed but ready. The white ANBU mask hung at his hip today, not on his face. Hiruzen smiled faintly.
"If you keep this up," the old Hokage muttered, "you'll be captain in no time."
Kakashi blinked, one visible eye neutral. "Was that an order, Hokage-sama?"
"Just a comment." Hiruzen turned around, the familiar glint of warmth and weariness in his eyes. "Your performance has been exemplary. I've received more commendations than complaints lately... and that's saying something."
Kakashi nodded silently. Captain. A promotion. It didn't excite him. It was just another layer of responsibility. Another set of names he might have to watch die. Still, it meant something. Maybe a step toward living again, rather than simply enduring.
Hiruzen picked up a scroll and held it out. "Before your day off tomorrow, I'd like you to deliver this to the northwestern outpost. A solo errand. Consider it a light mission."
"Understood." Kakashi took the scroll. A solo mission was better than staying idle. He bowed politely and vanished from the room in a blur of leaves.
The northwestern outpost was nestled near the border to Kusagakure, its walls just tall enough to offer a sense of security. After delivering the scroll to the stationed jōnin in charge—a stocky man named Daisuke who complained about the cold even though it was spring—Kakashi lingered at the edge of the observation deck, looking down into the stretch of forest below.
There was nothing interesting here. The guards rotated shifts. The patrolling ninja made their rounds. Even the wildlife seemed disinterested in making noise.
He pulled out the tattered orange book from his hip pouch, thumbed to his bookmark, and leaned lazily against the post. The story was just getting to the ridiculous hot springs scene when a loud voice echoed from below.
"Movement! Perimeter breach, southwest tree line!"
Kakashi tucked the book away and leapt down to meet the commotion. The guard, a younger chunin named Genma—not the one with the senbon, another one—was pointing past the border line, sweat trailing down his neck.
"I sensed chakra. Fast, erratic movement. Not animal. Could be a scout or a runaway."
Kakashi's Sharingan flickered to life beneath his mask. He scanned the distant trees.
"There," he said flatly, and without waiting, blurred forward.
.
.
.
Red hair. Red eyes. Red hands—though that part hadn't happened yet.
Karin Uzumaki remembered too much.
Not just Kusagakure. Not just the pain of being bled dry. She remembered Otogakure. The war. The endless screams of a future that hadn't happened yet—and might never happen again.
Today, those memories surged back, raw and searing, like chakra drawn too fast into a fragile seal.
She stared down at her hands.
Small. Soft. Four years old.
But her mind wasn't.
Her breath came sharp and shallow as she darted through the trees, her cracked glasses bouncing against her nose. One lens was shattered. No matter. She could see chakra. She could feel it like a pulse in the earth, and there was nothing within her range yet.
Good. That gave her time.
Maybe eight hours. No more.
She'd hacked off her hair with a stolen kunai, the uneven strands barely brushing her ears now. The red would still stand out, but less so. She'd passed a river earlier and cupped water into her mouth, glimpsing her reflection. A child stared back—round cheeks, wide eyes—but behind the cracked lens, there was nothing innocent in her gaze.
She didn't look like a survivor.
But she was.
Karin had known hell once. She would not walk back into it.
Bitter? Yes. She didn't want to leave her mother. Not again. But staying meant one thing: her mother would die by morning, and Karin would follow soon after. Not with a blade. Not in a blaze of glory.
She would be drained. Bitten. Used.
Again.
No. Not this time.
She ran harder.
Far behind, in the wet green guts of Kusagakure, a team of shinobi gathered beneath thick canopies. Five total. Four of them lounged, making bets on how fast they'd catch the brat.
Only one didn't laugh.
Zōsui's frown looked like it had been carved into his face by years of failure. He knelt over a map, fingers drumming.
"One hour. No sign." His voice was low, tight. "With that body, she should've collapsed halfway through the forest. Unless..."
He rose to his full height and turned, glare sharp enough to cut.
"You idiots underestimated her!" he barked. "She's hiding something. Move. We're burning daylight!"
Karin stumbled once—just once—but kept moving. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, but her range flared again. She could sense chakra now.
Behind her—Zōsui. Closer.
Ahead—more chakra. Unfamiliar. Organized. A formation.
A patrol?
Maybe... Konoha.
She didn't slow to guess. Didn't dare. Blood thundered in her ears. Her fingers dipped into her pouch. Inside were five scraps of paper, each drawn with careful seals. Childish work—unrefined, unstable—but functional.
She couldn't summon the Adamantine Chains. Not yet.
So she made substitutes. A portable version of it. Obviously, it was limited, with the amount of chakra she has now, she might only be able to use it once or twice.
But desperation had its own edge.
Just get across the border, she thought. Just—
Pain ripped across her side.
A kunai grazed her ribs. She gasped, veering sideways, barely catching herself on a branch. Blood warmed her shirt.
Then—
"There she is! Move!" Zōsui's voice split the trees.
She didn't think. Just moved.
Chakra burst from her feet and she hurled herself toward the distant signature ahead—strong, steady chakra, not hostile. So close.
But not fast enough.
Something slammed into her side. A blur. A hand. Weight crashed down and sent her tumbling. Her head smacked against a root. The world spun.
Papers scattered.
She lay there, body screaming, vision swimming. A shadow loomed over her.
"Fast little runt," the Kusa-nin growled, grabbing her collar.
Snap.
A paper tore in her hand.
The seal ignited—brilliant red chakra flaring.
Chains. Five. Jagged. Lethal.
One punched through the shinobi's arm. Another stabbed his leg. A third found his chest—his heart. The rest missed, lashing wildly. Zōsui ducked just in time, one chain slicing his cheek.
His fury exploded.
"T-THIS LITTLE—"
Crack.
Not from her.
From the trees.
A flicker. Movement.
Three figures appeared. Two in jōnin flak. One behind them wore a porcelain mask shaped like a hound.
ANBU.
The Kusa-nin froze.
"Tch," one spat. "Konoha?"
The nearest jōnin stepped forward, voice like iron. "She crossed into Fire Country. She's under our protection now."
Zōsui caught up, his boots pounding the earth. "She's ours. A runaway from Kusagakure. We're taking her back."
The ANBU said nothing. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
His voice was low, calm, precise. "Border crossers are interrogated before any repatriation. You know the law."
Zōsui's eye twitched. "We found her first—!"
The ANBU raised a hand—and pulled his mask just high enough.
One eye. Red. Spinning.
Sharingan.
Karin stared, half-conscious, wide-eyed.
The ANBU didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You want to challenge Konoha?" he asked. "Here? Over a child?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Zōsui's lip curled, but even he knew when to retreat.
"...Tch. Keep her," he muttered. "She'll die anyway."
And just like that, they were gone.
Karin lay where she'd fallen, bloody and bruised, shivering in the dirt. Relief didn't come. Not yet. Her body shook too hard. Her nerves were too raw.
Even after escaping, the storm hadn't passed.
The ANBU crouched beside her.
"Maa... You're safe now," he said quietly.
She didn't answer. Didn't nod.
She just passed out.
.
.
.
The outpost's clinic was small—two rooms, one cot, and a cabinet that rattled every time the wind shoved against the thin wooden walls.
Clean, if cramped. The red-haired boy—girl—lay curled on the cot beneath a beige sheet, glasses still cracked, her short hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. A faint wheeze slipped from her nose with each breath.
Kakashi stood by the open doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. He hadn't moved in nearly twenty minutes.
"You're not even gonna let the medic handle the questioning?" asked Daisuke, the jōnin in charge of the outpost, approaching from the hallway with a clipboard in one hand and a half-empty cup of tea in the other.
Kakashi's response was flat. "Maa. He's a kid. Medics would just scare him."
Daisuke gave him a skeptical glance. "You sure he's even worth questioning? Kusa said he's just a runaway. Probably just scared."
Kakashi's eye narrowed slightly. "He might be trained."
That made Daisuke pause mid-sip. "...Come again?"
Kakashi pushed off the wall and stepped into the room. His thoughts churned while looking at her. The minor cuts had already begun healing. The chakra control was refined. And those... chains.
He crouched beside the cot. The "boy" stirred faintly.
"I'll just ask him a few questions," Kakashi said quietly, almost to himself.
Daisuke lingered for a beat, then left without another word.
Alone now, Kakashi pulled a stool over and sat at the bedside, studying the sleeping child with his visible eye. Red hair. Unusual. Even rarer paired with regenerative traits. Not impossible—but notable.
"Uzumaki," he murmured under his breath.
The girl—mistaken as a boy—stirred again, her brows twitching. Fingers clenched slightly, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Panic surfaced across her face.
"Maa," Kakashi said, voice soft and steady. "About time you stop pretending to sleep, hmm?"
Her eyes shot open—wide and wild. Red irises darted across the room, scanning. Calculating. Fear, sharp and raw. She remembered the ANBU mask. She remembered a glimpse of red—like his eye had spun.
"Urk—"
Kakashi didn't move. He sat calmly, gloved hands resting in his lap.
"You're still bleeding a little. Don't move too much," he said evenly. "The Kusa-nin are gone. You're safe for now—this is a clinic just across the border."
She blinked. Breathing shaky. She didn't relax.
Kakashi tilted his head. "Can you speak?"
A pause. Then a slow, cautious nod. "Yes."
Her voice was hoarse but light. Still hard to place. Kakashi didn't press.
"What's your name?"
Another pause. She looked away. Her fingers dug into the blanket.
"I'm not asking for your life story," he said more gently. "Just a name."
"...Rinka."
A lie. He could tell. But he made no comment, only filed it away—bracketed with "(fake)" in the back of his mind. Familiar, maybe even recycled. Without a surname, it was only part of the puzzle.
"You're from Kusagakure?" he asked.
She nodded.
"You defected?"
"I—" Her voice caught. Then: "...I'm not even a genin. I didn't defect. I wasn't supposed to be there in the first place."
"Maa... not-even-genin types usually don't have chakra control like that. Or knowledge of fūinjutsu."
"...You can deport me if you want," she said sharply. "The Kusa outpost is deeper in, so I'll just walk the border. Slip past. Try my luck somewhere else."
Kakashi tapped his chin, then shook his head with a small, closed-eyed smile. "Sorry. Protocol says illegal refugees get interrogated first."
"..."
He leaned in slightly. "What was it, then? Why did you leave?"
She glared at him. "...Why do you care?"
"Maa," Kakashi raised an eyebrow. "So I know whether to take you to Konoha or not."
She hesitated but eyes went wide. Looked down at her bandaged hands—still stained faintly with dried blood. In the end she still need a place to go.
Her voice, when it came, was a whisper.
"Because if I stayed... I'd end up like livestock."
Kakashi nodded. "Maa. I believe you. For now."
That caught her off guard. She looked up at him—really looked, this time. Only one eye visible, but it wasn't cold.
He leaned back again, arms crossing.
Seal knowledge. Red hair. Chains... not many left who match that profile.
She tensed at those words.
"You're an Uzumaki, aren't you?"
Silence. Her thoughts flashed back—Orochimaru's labs, the researches. She also took part in some experiments, after all she is one of his guinea pigs.
At some point she also read about the clan her and her mother used to have. And then, softly:
"...Yes."
Kakashi didn't smile, but something lighter entered his tone. "Thought so. We don't get many of you anymore." His mind drifted.
There was another—blond, with whiskers—who used to throw vegetables off his plate whenever Kakashi secretly snuck them on the boy's dinner table, during those times he delivered the allowance from Lord Third himself, when the usual chūnin was absent.
He stood slowly. "Rest up. I'll bring you something better than field rations."
He turned to leave.
"...Thank you," she said behind him, hesitant.
Kakashi didn't turn around. "Don't thank me yet."
And then he was gone, leaving Karin—still mistaken for a boy—alone with the noise of her thoughts and the wind rattling the cabinet.
"...Wait, if it's Konoha then" A memory slipped to Karin, no... Rinka's mind. Two certain shinobis from the future she regressed from. A bad memory.
"Those two would be there."
.
.
.
Karin didn't believe in luck.
Not anymore.
Kusagakure had treated her like a bandage with legs—bite here, heal there. That was her worth. A living medkit. Why would Konoha be any different?
She lay motionless on the cot, feigning sleep as the wind teased the cabinet door with soft creaks. The medic had already come and gone. Kakashi hadn't returned. But his voice still echoed in her thoughts—calm, unreadable.
Too calm.
Her brow twitched.
What the hell is he doing here?
This wasn't the capital of the Land of Fire. This was the outskirts—a forgettable speck on the map. And yet he—Hatake Kakashi, the Copy Ninja—just happened to be stationed here? Lounging with a smutty book and sipping field tea like it was a casual afternoon?
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
"...That's no coincidence," she murmured.
Because if this was Fire Country soil, then that meant—
Her stomach clenched.
Two names. Two faces. Branded into her memory from a war that shouldn't exist in this world.
A boy with eyes like dying stars, and a blond idiot who smiled like he could drag the sun through a hurricane.
"Sasuke... Naruto," she whispered, eyelids tightening. "You're alive here, aren't you?"
In her last life, both had fallen. Sasuke—burnt out by vengeance. Naruto—burned away standing against the apocalypse.
They'd been the fulcrum of it all. The ones who might have changed everything.
Her eyes snapped open.
This is a second chance.
Maybe she hadn't been a game-changer herself, but she knew the board. Without those two, everything ended in ash.
And now—
I won't waste it.
She shifted onto her side, curling her arms beneath her. Her ribs ached. Her fingers trembled. But her mind had never felt sharper.
Konoha.
She'd been there before. Captured. Dragged in. Shackled to a chair while Ibiki Morino loomed like a thunderhead in a trench coat. The interrogation room was cold. The table colder. But her mouth—reckless as ever.
"If you want answers," she'd snapped, "I want a fried pork cutlet rice bowl. Extra crispy."
One of the nervous subordinates—clearly new to the business of intimidation—had stammered, "W-Would ramen be okay instead?"
Ibiki had pinched the bridge of his nose like she was giving him a migraine.
She remembered laughing.
Konoha was... strange. Not soft, but warm in a weird, clumsy way. Like Naruto. Like sunlight filtered through a cracked wall. Not home—but almost.
Still—
Her jaw clenched.
One name cracked through her resolve.
"Danzō," she whispered.
The name left a bitter taste.
She remembered the moment like a knife: Sasuke, a vengeful ghost, lightning in his hand and murder in his chest—cutting her down without flinching. Just to get to him. That fossil of a man who saw people as cogs for a machine he thought could never break.
If she went to Konoha... she'd have to avoid him at all costs.
But...
If I can help them—Sasuke and Naruto—maybe this world doesn't end the same way.
Maybe this life can be different.
Her eyes slid closed again. Not from fear. From calculation.
This time, she wouldn't just survive.
She'd move first.
Well...
She said she'd move first.
She meant it.
Really.
But confidence dried up faster than a puddle in the Land of Wind. Two days into the journey, and she still hadn't managed to speak a single word of her grand plan to Kakashi.
They were already halfway to Konoha.
During every rest break—whether to eat, set up camp, or just breathe—Karin spent the time silently rehearsing imaginary speeches. Each one worse than the last:
"My name is Karin Uzumaki. I'm a refugee."
"I'd like to request asylum in Konoha."
"I can help. I have... potential. Eventually. Maybe."
She dragged her hands down her face.
I sound like a Genin fumbling through a mock trial.
Kakashi, for his part, hadn't said much either.
But he watched her.
No—him, he corrected mentally. Rinka. The sharp-eyed stray with too-bright chakra for someone that scrawny. Guarded. Skittish. Barely spoke beyond grunts.
He glanced over at the firelight where the child sat curled up, toying with a strip of dried meat instead of eating it.
Closed off, he noted. But that's fine. The orphanage is used to this.
With chakra like that, Rinka would fly through the Academy. Maybe less than a year. Quiet. Precise. Observant. Odd, yes—but they all were.
Then another memory tugged at him.
That boy.
The one Hiruzen had explicitly barred from clan adoption. Loud. Radiant. Stubborn. The kind of kid who filled the silence with noise and left something behind when he finally shut up.
Kakashi exhaled softly.
Maybe this one will be different.
They reached Konoha at night.
Karin kept pace beside him, quiet as snowfall, feet barely whispering against the dirt. But when the village walls appeared on the horizon, she faltered—just a moment. Just enough.
Light. Motion. Life.
Home, something inside her whispered.
And then—
"WAH—HEY!"
Her feet left the ground as Kakashi scooped her up under one arm like a sack of rice. Before she could yell a proper insult, he vaulted into the air, chakra boosting his steps, bounding across rooftops with lazy ease.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" she shrieked, legs kicking uselessly.
"Stop squirming, Rinka," he said mildly, ignoring her struggles.
Dangling from his grip like luggage, Karin caught her first real look at the village—the rooftops, the lanterns, the clustered homes glowing like starlight.
Even from this angle, even while being carried like mail—
It was beautiful.
—
"Adoption?" said a voice—old and dry, with smoke curling from a pipe.
"...A-Adoption?!" Karin echoed, voice cracking.
"Maa," Kakashi said, head tilting like this was self-explanatory. "Adoption."
Their voices clashed like a slapstick skit echoing through the Hokage's office.
Moments ago, Kakashi had touched down outside the Hokage Tower, still holding the child like a stubborn parcel. He waltzed inside, breezing past the secretary with a wave, and entered the Hokage's office like he owned the place.
Hiruzen looked up from the last of his paperwork, pipe in hand, weariness hanging off him like a second robe.
"...You're back early."
"Mission's done," Kakashi replied, dropping a scroll onto the desk. "Here's the report. Also, this one followed me home."
He nodded toward the small figure now sulking in the corner, arms crossed and cheeks puffed in frustration.
"...And you want to keep him?" Hiruzen asked dryly.
"Not like that," Kakashi replied. "Name's Rinka. Found him near the border. Alone. High chakra reserves. Quiet. Doesn't bite."
"I think I'll bite now," Karin muttered under her breath.
Hiruzen regarded her—him—with a long, measured look.
"...So, you're suggesting adoption?"
"Of a sort," Kakashi said. "Technically under the orphanage. I'll file the paperwork. Just need an identity and documentation."
In other words: sneak them past the front door with the paperwork already rubber-stamped.
Hiruzen leaned back, lifting a brow. "You even have the papers?"
"Yes," Kakashi said, perfectly deadpan.
"...How old are you now?" the Hokage asked.
"Eighteen," Kakashi answered.
"Still too young to be a parent."
"Maa, not a parent. I just kinda like this one, Hokage-sama." he said, completely unbothered.
Hiruzen sighed. "Fine. I'll approve a temporary placement under the orphanage. But he needs to be screened. Background, chakra stability, the works."
"I'll pick him up after."
"And," Hiruzen added pointedly, "you're responsible for weekly updates. You brought him in. You follow through."
Karin blinked, completely lost in the bureaucratic whirlwind. He still thinks I'm a boy. What the hell is even happening?
"...Wait. This is actually happening?" she said flatly. "I'm going to the orphanage?"
Kakashi tilted his head at her. "Huh? What are you talking about? You're living with me."
"But he said—"
"Maa."
Kakashi waved a hand lazily.
"Welcome to Konoha."
Hiruzen let out another sigh and reached for his pipe. Whatever this was, the only thing heavier than his fatigue... was the paperwork.
.
.
.
To be continued.