Devil Fruits gave power with a hook in it. In the other life I remembered, the ocean itself pulled you down. Seawater and a certain mineral turned your limbs to stone.
If that weakness followed me here, fights near rivers—or missions on boats—would end with me sinking.
So I tested it.
The village gave me cheap things and not many of them, but a wooden barrel worked fine. I dragged it beside the cot, filled it from the pump, stripped, and climbed in. Cool water wrapped my knees, then my chest. I squatted until my chin touched the surface and held still.
One second. Two. Ten.
My heartbeat stayed even. No foggy head. No dead weight in my arms. I rolled my shoulders under, let my ears fill, counted to thirty, and came up.
Nothing.
Relief loosened something between my ribs. Maybe in this world the fruit turned into a bloodline without the curse attached.
I stood to climb out—still dripping, still grinning—when my door flew open.
"Naito‑kun! Are you home?"
Red hair and a round face peeked in. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth worked once.
I froze like a rabbit in a field.
"I can explain," I said, which made it worse because there was nothing to explain except I am in a barrel.
Kushina's brain finally caught up with her eyes. Color hit her cheeks like a flare.
"W‑W‑Wah—! AHHH!" She yanked the door so hard the frame rattled. It slammed. The echo probably reached the next building over.
"If you show up at school tomorrow, you are so dead!" she shouted through the wood.
I sagged against the barrel, water sloshing over the rim. "She's the one who barged in…" I muttered, fishing for my shirt. "And my door is the victim."
By the time I got dry and dressed, I had enough dignity to open the door myself. Kushina still stood there, fists balled, her face an angry tomato.
I lifted my hands, palms out. "Do you want to say anything else, or should we pretend the last thirty seconds didn't happen?"
She puffed out a breath, looked anywhere but at me, and thrust a small cloth bag into my chest. "I'm not here for that. I brought you something."
I blinked. "For me?"
"For tomorrow," she said, cheeks still hot. "You'll need it."
Tomorrow. Right. The one‑on‑one testing day.
For most students, the teachers stepped in fast. Bruises were lessons, not trophies. But outsiders like me didn't get the same care. As long as no one died, the academy let "learning experiences" run long. It was a quiet way to nudge the problem children out.
I loosened the tie and looked inside the bag. Salves. Bandage rolls. A small jar that smelled like mint and heat. "You made these?"
Kushina tossed her hair. "The med‑nin at the orphan block showed me. I asked for extra." Her voice softened. "You get hurt a lot."
I didn't know where to put that. "Thanks, Kushina."
Her eyes flicked up. "Who wants your thanks, you lazy baka!" She turned half away to hide her face, which didn't work because her ears were just as red. The tiny spike of killing intent she gave off was more bark than bite, but I kept my smile small anyway.
Kushina and I had been in Konoha for about the same amount of time. We noticed each other because we were the only ones who weren't from here. Her accent showed when she got excited. Her hair was the color of a warning banner.
She'd come from the Hidden Whirlpool, an ally village. People were careful around her in a way they weren't with me. But when the whispers got loud, she'd sat with me at lunch anyway. That counted for a lot.
"Listen," she said, quieter now. "Even if you can't do ninjutsu yet, I can still watch your back. Don't do anything dumb tomorrow. If it goes bad, surrender fast."
I studied the knot on the bag so I didn't have to look her in the eyes and say the thing I meant.
"I'll be fine."
"You always say that." She shifted on her feet. "You don't have to prove anything."
I do, actually. I needed to prove it to myself. To the teachers. To the part of me that remembered smoke lying flat over a village and a hand dragging me through a door that wouldn't stop burning.
Kushina glanced past me into the room and then cleared her throat. "Anyway! I'm going. Lock your door, Naito‑kun." She jabbed a finger at me as if it were a kunai. "If you don't, I'll— I'll yell worse next time."
"I believe you."
She took two steps, then stopped and looked back. Her anger had settled into concern. "I mean it. Please don't try to be a hero."
I didn't answer. Not because I wanted to be a hero, but because I wasn't going to be a ghost either.
She made a face like she could hear the words I didn't say and headed off down the hall, braid swinging.
I leaned on the doorframe until she turned the corner. The night swallowed the last bit of red.
"Thanks," I said again, to no one.
I set the salves on the chest and wiped up the drips I'd left across the floorboards. The barrel stood there, proof of the test I'd passed.
No curse here, I told myself, but my brain liked certainty. I'd try again later with salt water just to be sure. For now, that was a problem for the morning.
The bigger problem wore a teacher's flak vest and liked to test "outsiders" hard.
I flexed my hands. The joints still ached from the night's training. The ache felt like a promise. Surrender fast?
"Not this time," I said, and blew out the candle.