Chapter Text
No one says it, but living forever is monotonous.
That is something Haru learned the worst possible way: by living.
More than a thousand years have passed since Kakashi’s death, and Haru is no longer sure what she has been doing with all that time since then. It feels as though she has merely been surviving for the sake of surviving.
It is strange to suddenly find herself facing the same existential dilemma as all those people she had known in her youth, like Haku and Gaara. All of them needed some higher purpose to live, and Haru had never been able to understand that—until time passed and everyone she cared about died one by one, leaving her alone.
Times have changed.
The Ōtsutsuki returned twice after that first time—which ended the Fourth Shinobi World War—to try that whole world domination business again. Surprise: they lost both times, and in the last one they were properly wiped out. She made sure of that personally.
(Ōtsutsuki meat is quite tasty.)
With the threat to the world’s existence eliminated, there were fewer and fewer reasons to maintain shinobi customs. The clans did not disappear completely, but they adapted. They changed.
Chakra still exists, but most people live their lives as civilians, never learning how to manifest or control it. Some people still do, but they are few, and none of them know the history behind it—they use chakra only for small tricks here and there.
Haru is a living fossil. A shinobi in the modern era, where conflicts are fought with mechanical weapons and digital technology.
One—arguable—advantage of her immortality is that she has time to learn all sorts of things.
She has an enviable collection of books and scrolls from the Ninja Era, from which she can learn chakra-based healing techniques, improving her iryo-ninjutsu, which had always been mediocre at best. She practices katas—though the lack of a partner makes it look more like a slow dance with very strange movements.
And Fūinjutsu.
Haru is not Naruto; she has no natural talent for it. But after a thousand years of boredom, she had the motivation to learn how to decipher those Uzumaki hieroglyphs. It took time and was frustrating, but she felt less lonely while keeping herself occupied.
Especially as the summoning creatures were slowly abandoning the Summoning Realm and permanently entering the human domain. They were becoming normal animals—perhaps a little smarter and stronger than truly normal ones, but after a few generations? Even those differences began to fade.
Not even her foxes or the wolves Kakashi had given her before he died remained.
Of course, the descendants of her summons still roam her land, since she lives in the middle of a forest, a day’s walk from the sea. It is common for her to go for a walk and come across a passing wolf pack or a fox or two peeking curiously at her house.
Both animals accepted Haru’s presence there without question. After all, she had always been there. She always would be.
On a particularly monotonous day, she decided to run a few tests on her Hiraishin seal—it was not a new seal, just a teleportation technique. But for her, who is no master, it was a big step.
There is always the possibility that the seal might transport only part of her body. That would be painful—but again, immortal here!
Haru can barely remember the last time she truly feared for her life.
(She wonders if she will ever die.)
(Even the Bijuu, whom she thought would always be there, are gone.)
So, without thinking too much about it, Haru placed a seal on a tree on the far side of her property and walked away from it. When she thought she was far enough, she activated the technique and—
PAIN.
She screams and thrashes in agony, screaming even more desperately when she feels hands grabbing her and the sensation of being lifted into the air. That sinking feeling in her stomach she has always hated.
Her chakra nature is Earth, damn it! Haru prefers her feet firmly on the ground, thank you very much!
Her lungs burn every time she breathes, and she feels something sticky on her skin.
“She is a healthy child, Tajima-sama,” a soft female voice says. “Strong lungs.”
“My first little girl,” a male voice murmurs close to Haru, and she feels an uncomfortable sensation at the back of her mind, because all of this sounds as if—
“Anata, what will her name be?” a breathless female voice asks.
“Hm… how about Haruna?”
“Uchiha Haruna,” the tired woman says carefully, and Haru feels a shiver of foreboding.
Haru begins to cry with renewed vigor.
Fuck. She reincarnated.
Worse: she reincarnated as an Uchiha during the Warring States Era.
She is never touching Hiraishin again. Never.
“Haruna-chan, come back here right now!” a shout rings out behind her, but Haru doesn’t stop running, laughing.
The irritated shouts of the adults she passes mix with the laughter of the children.
Her legs may be short, but no one is better at stealth than her. Haru knows how to disappear in plain sight better than anyone.
“Imouto,” a familiar voice calls from beside her, and Haru feels a shiver—the kind that warns of a superior predator.
“Mada-nii.” She turns to Madara and gives him her most innocent smile, which only makes her older brother narrow his eyes suspiciously. “Is there a problem?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the clan elders’ hair, would you?” he asks, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed.
“No. What happened?” Haru tilts her head like a curious little fox.
“It’s pink.”
She presses her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Even Madara has to make an effort to keep a straight face.
“What an interesting choice,” Haru manages to say.
“If they find out that you—”
“Nii-san isn’t suggesting that I, your dear and beloved imouto, would have done something to our esteemed elders, is he?” Haru asks, her lower lip trembling in a pout. “How would I even have done that?”
By crushing some red-colored larvae and producing, after weeks of work, a dye in a suitably extravagant shade of pink. It had been weeks of hard work, putting her knowledge of fauna, flora, chemistry, and physics into practice.
People underestimate the knowledge and intelligence required to pull off a good prank.
“I have no idea how, but I suggest you behave. The elders are not happy,” Madara sighs.
He approaches Haru and picks her up easily. There is a five-year age gap between them.
Haru rolls her eyes. As if she cared about the elders’ fragile feelings!
“Where is Izu-nii?” she asks, swinging her legs at Madara’s sides as he holds her up.
“What do you think? He’s hiding somewhere laughing at the elders’ expressions when they walked through the compound with pink hair, shouting about intruders,” Madara’s mouth twitches as he struggles to contain a smile at the image.
“What terrible intruders. We should capture them before the whole clan turns pink,” Haru nods seriously. “We’d lose a lot of intimidation points that way.”
Madara holds Haru with one hand while the other reaches out to flick her forehead, but there is a lightness about him.
“You’re a little brat,” he murmurs, and this time Haru can see the small smile finally breaking through his scowl.
“Lies and slander,” she mutters, but she wraps her arms around Madara’s neck, rests her head on his shoulder, and yawns.
Pranking is exhausting.
Haru falls asleep in the arms of a nine-year-old Madara.