Chapter Text
Yamamoto Lisa stood beneath the cloudless sky, the sunshine warm on her cheeks, the breeze tickling loose strands of her red hair as she tilted her head up to take it all in. It was… perfect.
The Nijigen-no-Mori theme park sprawled ahead of her in vivid colors and larger-than-life detail, tucked away in the peaceful island of Awaji. Specifically, she was at Shinobi-zato, the Naruto-themed section, which today buzzed with excited tourists—kids running around with forehead protectors and plastic kunai, adults nerding out over anime trivia panels and AR missions.
Lisa grinned and adjusted her camera strap over her shoulder, eyes bright as they scanned the attractions. It felt a little ridiculous to be this excited about a fictional universe, but Naruto had always meant something to her. A story of outcasts and orphans, strength through pain, bonds forged in fire. Yeah, it was fiction. But it had helped her once when the world had felt like too much.
And now here she was—19 years old, alive, well-travelled, grounded—and eating actual ramen in a fake replica of Ichiraku Ramen. Peak perfection. She slurped the last of her miso broth and laughed as the elderly man behind the counter, dressed exactly like Teuchi, winked and called her a “true shinobi at heart.” She bowed dramatically and stumbled out of the little stall, clutching her stomach and camera, shoulders shaking with laughter.
This trip had been her mother’s idea.
Lisa had arrived in Japan two weeks ago from Monschau, the quiet little town nestled in the Eifel mountains of Germany. The cobblestone streets and fairytale timbered houses were the essence of peace and stillness. She’d grown up there with her father after her parents divorced. Germany had taught her calm. Discipline. Solitude.
Japan taught her movement. Bright noise. Language like a firework in the air. She loved both. She belonged to both.
But still, sometimes, she wondered:
Did either world fully accept her?
Her mother had smiled knowingly when Lisa voiced that thought aloud one night. "Maybe that’s why you’re meant to walk in both," she had said. "And maybe why you need to travel. Go see what else is waiting."
So Lisa packed a bag and booked her solo journey across Kansai, finally ending up here in Awaji for a self-indulgent day of fantasy nostalgia and sunshine.
She had done it all: the AR missions, the 3D maze with shadow clone projections, and even a shuriken throwing challenge where she scored a pitiful 4 out of 10 and was mocked by a 7-year-old. She’d laughed it off with mock pride and high-fived the kid. Everyone was happy here. So was she.
By late afternoon, the sun began to lower in the sky, casting gold over the wooden panels of the theme park and turning the leaves a dreamy amber hue. She took one last stroll through the sculpture walk where towering stone figures of the Hokage stood, arms crossed, wind eternally sculpted in their cloaks.
She turned to face them and lifted her phone.
Click. A final picture before she left.
A memory to take back to her little hotel room and then on to Tokyo again.
But just as she snapped the image, a strange sensation prickled down her spine.
Her skin began to burn.
Her hands trembled, phone slipping from her grip and hitting the path with a sharp clack.
The air vanished from her lungs.
Lisa gasped, but no sound came. Her throat constricted, like invisible cords had wrapped tight. Her knees buckled. The sky blurred. Her vision spotted black, white, black again. A searing pain, white-hot, raced behind her eyes and through her skull.
Her ears rang.
No, not rang. Screamed. A frequency so high it didn’t sound like anything natural, something wrong, something she could feel in her teeth, in her bones.
She fell. Hands scraping concrete. Mouth open, choking. Crying now from confusion, pain, terror.
What’s happening?
The world around her shattered like glass under pressure, the edges folding inward, darkness blooming like ink.
And then—
Silence.
No air.
No sound.
No light.
Just black.
Lisa’s eyes fluttered open.
Darkness pressed down like a heavy blanket. The air was cold and damp. She tried to move—pain exploded in her side, sharp and merciless. She gasped, a strangled noise escaping her lips.
The world around her was a forest. A dense, sprawling tangle of towering trees with blackened trunks that swallowed the scant light. No sun pierced the thick canopy above. Only the low hum of life stirred, leaves rustled softly, far-off birds called.
Panic seized her like a vise. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
What happened?
Her breaths came fast and ragged as she pushed to sit up but the pain stopped her. Her fingers touched wetness on her cheeks, warm and sticky.
Blood.
A burning gash marred her hip, hidden beneath torn fabric. She pressed her fingers there gently and recoiled at the deep ache. The wound was not wide or long, but deep as hell. She’d never felt anything like this before, never broken a bone or faced a pain this raw.
The overwhelming shock of it made her body tremble. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
Sobbing, shaking, and utterly lost, she curled into herself, a mess of confusion and hurt.
Then she remembered something.
Breathe.
Focus.
She tried to steady herself. Eyes squeezed shut, she counted her breaths. Slow, steady, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She listened.
The rustling of leaves. The distant call of a thrush. A woodpecker hammering somewhere unseen.
She repeated the sounds in her mind:
The soft scratch of dry leaves drifting across the soil.
The sharp tapping of the woodpecker’s beak.
The melodic warble of the thrush’s song.
Her mind anchored to these small pieces of the forest’s symphony.
I’m here. I’m alive.
With trembling hands, she tore a strip from her ripped T-shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound, pressing hard to stop the bleeding. The sharp sting was unbearable, but it worked.
Water.
Her body screamed she needed water. Desperation gave her strength. She forced herself to stand, every movement agony.
Lisa scanned the forest floor for signs—animal tracks, damp earth, anything that might lead her to a stream. She recalled a documentary she’d once watched, about how rivers flow downhill, and animals stay near water sources.
Slowly, she limped forward, the pain a roaring wave beneath every step.
Hours passed like this, darkness swallowing her, breath hitching in her chest, legs trembling.
Then...a faint sound. A distant rushing, like liquid over rocks.
Her heart soared. Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled toward the sound, reaching out as if to grasp hope itself.
But the world tilted, pain overwhelming her senses. She collapsed to the mossy ground, hands brushing cool water at the edge of a small river.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
Yet through the haze, she heard something else.
Rushed footsteps.
Whispered voices.
"Uzumaki lookalike..."
"Her injury... needs help, now!"
A hand ripping her shirt away, revealing the deep wound.
A curse.
Then she was lifted, strong arms carrying her away from the forest floor, the darkness closing in again.
One word echoed in her mind, persistent and sharp:
“Uzumaki.”