Two years had passed since that day in the restricted library, and life had settled into a comfortable rhythm of training, study, and careful advancement. I had grown stronger, faster, and more skilled, but always within the bounds of what seemed possible for a gifted child rather than miraculous. My instructors praised my dedication and quick learning, while my father observed my progress with a mixture of pride and caution that had become familiar.
It was during the spring of my seventh year that I first encountered Isuka Uchiha.
The meeting was entirely by accident. I had been practicing advanced shuriken techniques in one of the more remote training areas, working on a particular throwing pattern that required precise timing and chakra control. The technique wasn't supposed to be possible for someone my age, which was exactly why I had chosen to practice it in private, away from the watchful eyes of instructors and family members.
I was in the middle of the sequence, four shuriken spinning through the air in perfect synchronization, when the sound of applause made me lose concentration. The weapons, no longer guided by my chakra, scattered in random directions. One embedded itself in a tree trunk with a solid thunk, another skittered across the ground, and a third...
"Nice reflexes," said a cheerful voice from behind me.
I spun around to find a girl about my own age standing near the edge of the training area, a shuriken held casually in her right hand. She had the characteristic dark hair and pale skin of the Uchiha, but there was something in her expression that set her apart from the usual clan seriousness. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, and her smile was warm and entirely without malice.
"Sorry if I startled you," she continued, tossing the shuriken up and catching it with practiced ease. "I was just walking by when I saw someone doing advanced techniques. Had to stop and watch."
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, embarrassed at being caught practicing beyond my supposed level. "It's not that advanced," I muttered, reaching for the scattered weapons.
"Right," she said with a laugh that was like silver bells. "I'm sure most seven-year-olds can maintain chakra threads on four different projectiles while calculating trajectory adjustments in real time."
The analysis was surprisingly sophisticated, showing a level of technical understanding that impressed me despite my embarrassment. Most of my peers could barely maintain a basic transformation jutsu, let alone recognize the complexity of advanced shuriken techniques.
"You know about chakra threading?" I asked, genuine curiosity overriding my discomfort.
"My father is a jounin instructor," she explained, settling cross-legged on the grass as if we were old friends rather than strangers who had met moments ago. "I've been listening to technical discussions since I could walk. Most of it goes over my head, but I pick up bits and pieces."
I found myself relaxing despite my usual caution around new people. There was something about her manner that was disarming, a natural warmth that made conversation feel effortless.
"I'm Isuka," she said, extending her hand in a gesture that was oddly formal for someone so young. "Isuka Uchiha, though I suppose that was obvious from the hair and the general family resemblance."
"Izanami," I replied, accepting the handshake. "Also Uchiha, also obviously."
"Well, Izanami, would you like some company while you practice? I promise not to distract you too much, and I might be able to offer some pointers. I've been watching the advanced students train for years."
There were a dozen reasons to say no. I preferred to practice alone, where I could push boundaries without observation. I was working on techniques that might raise questions about where I'd learned them. I had carefully cultivated a reputation for being somewhat solitary and focused, and being seen socializing might alter that perception.
But there was something about Isuka that made all those careful calculations seem less important.
"I'd like that," I said, and was surprised to realize I meant it.
What followed was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I'd experienced since my reincarnation. Isuka proved to be an excellent training partner, offering observations that were both insightful and encouraging. She had a natural talent for reading movement patterns and predicting outcomes, skills that would serve her well as a shinobi but also made her valuable as a sparring partner.
More than that, she was simply fun to be around. Where most clan children were serious and competitive, focused on advancement and status, Isuka approached training with a joy and enthusiasm that was infectious. She celebrated successes, laughed off failures, and somehow made even repetitive practice drills feel like games.
"Your form is excellent," she said after watching me complete a particularly difficult kata. "But you're holding back. I can see it in the way you move, like you're constantly calculating and adjusting instead of just letting yourself flow."
It was an astute observation, one that echoed Shisui's earlier advice but with a different perspective. "I don't want to make mistakes," I admitted.
"Mistakes are how you learn," she replied, bouncing to her feet and moving into a ready stance. "Here, spar with me. No techniques, just taijutsu. Don't think about form or proper execution, just react."
I hesitated, knowing that my actual fighting experience was limited to observation and theory. But something in her encouraging smile made me nod and mirror her stance.
The spar that followed was revelatory. Without the pressure of formal instruction or evaluation, I found myself moving more naturally, trusting instinct over analysis. Isuka was skilled but not overwhelming, challenging enough to push me but not so advanced that I felt hopeless. More importantly, she fought with a joy and energy that made the entire experience feel like play rather than training.
We ended up in a laughing pile on the grass, both of us winded and covered in dirt but grinning broadly.
"That was amazing!" Isuka exclaimed, sitting up and brushing leaves from her hair. "You move like you've been fighting for years, but with this weird hesitation that holds you back. It's like you know what to do but don't trust yourself to do it."
Her assessment was uncomfortably accurate. My adult memories provided theoretical knowledge and pattern recognition, but they couldn't substitute for muscle memory and actual combat experience. The hesitation she'd identified was the result of constantly second-guessing myself, trying to reconcile what I knew intellectually with what this young body could actually perform.
"Maybe I just need more practice with people instead of training dummies," I said.
"Definitely," she agreed. "Training alone is good for perfecting techniques, but fighting is about adaptation and reaction. You can't learn that without a partner."
We made plans to meet again the following day, and then regularly after that. What began as training partnership gradually evolved into something I hadn't expected and certainly hadn't planned for: friendship.
Isuka was the first person in this world who seemed to see me as simply another child rather than as a prodigy, a potential asset, or a representative of clan expectations. She was curious about my techniques and impressed by my knowledge, but she was equally interested in my opinions about food, my thoughts on the latest gossip, and my dreams for the future.
It was during one of these casual conversations, perhaps a month after we'd first met, that she asked the question that would change everything.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" she said, lying on her back in the grass and staring up at the clouds drifting overhead.
The question should have been simple, but it sent a chill through my chest. In my previous life, I'd drifted through years without any clear sense of purpose or direction. In this life, I'd been so focused on survival and advancement that I'd never really considered what I was advancing toward.
"Strong," I said finally. "I want to be strong enough that nobody can hurt the people I care about."
She turned her head to look at me, her expression suddenly serious. "That's a good goal. But being strong isn't just about physical power, you know. My father says that the strongest shinobi are the ones who know when not to fight."
It was a wise observation, one that reminded me that despite her cheerful demeanor, Isuka was also a child of the Uchiha clan, raised in a culture that valued strength and strategy above almost everything else.
"What about you?" I asked. "What do you want to be?"
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze returning to the clouds. "I want to be someone who makes people smile," she said eventually. "The world is full of serious people doing serious things for serious reasons. I want to be the person who reminds them that there's still joy to be found, even in dark times."
Her answer was so fundamentally different from anything I might have expected from an Uchiha that it took me several seconds to process. In a clan defined by pride, ambition, and the pursuit of power, she dreamed of bringing happiness to others.
It was beautiful.
It was naive.
And in the world of shinobi, it was probably doomed.
But in that moment, lying in the grass with the afternoon sun warming my face and the sound of her laughter carried on the breeze, I found myself hoping that somehow, against all odds and historical precedent, Isuka Uchiha would find a way to make her dream come true.
I should have known better.
I should have remembered that in the world of Naruto, dreams like hers were luxuries that the strong denied to the weak, and that strength alone was never enough to protect the people you cared about.
But for a few precious months, I allowed myself to forget the darkness that was coming and simply enjoyed having a friend who saw light in everything, even in someone like me