The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glow over the polished floor. A five-year-old Itachi Uchiha paced silently just outside one of the maternity rooms, his small sandals making the softest squeaks with each step.
His dark eyes, usually unreadable, now shimmered with a rare unease. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a firm line. He kept glancing toward the closed sliding door, where faint, pained cries filtered through.
His mother was giving birth.
To anyone else, it would have been an odd sight—this young boy, behaving more like a contemplative adult than a child. Itachi Uchiha, the prodigy of the Uchiha clan, known for his unnatural maturity and calm presence, was not one to display emotion easily.
But right now? He was worried.
His fingers fidgeted at his sides.What if something went wrong? What if she was in danger? What if the babies didn't survive?
The questions clawed at his mind. He didn't have the knowledge or words to soothe his own fears, only the growing tightness in his chest that made each breath feel heavier than the last.
Then, suddenly—Click.The door slid open with a soft mechanical hiss.
Itachi's head snapped toward the doorway. Standing there, framed by the white light of the room behind him, was his father.
Fugaku Uchiha.
Tall, composed as always. But even he looked changed. His usual stern expression had softened. His eyes—so often critical—held something Itachi couldn't quite identify at first.
Pride? Relief? Joy?
Then Fugaku spoke, voice lower than usual, almost reverent.
"Come meet your siblings."
Itachi hesitated for just a heartbeat, then gave a short nod and followed his father into the room.
The first thing he noticed was the smell—clean linen, antiseptic, and something else. Something warm and human.
The second thing he noticed was her.
His mother. Mikoto Uchiha. Her hair, damp with sweat, was fanned out on the pillow. Her skin glistened, her breathing shallow but steady. And yet, despite the clear exhaustion on her face—she was smiling.
Smiling at him.
In her arms, she cradled two small bundles, each wrapped tightly in soft blankets. One blanket was light blue. The other was pale grey.
Itachi stopped, frozen at the sight. A strange lump formed in his throat.
"They're both healthy," Mikoto said softly, her voice hoarse, but warm. "A boy and a girl."
Fugaku gently placed a hand on his son's shoulder and nudged him forward.
Itachi stepped closer, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He peered down at the babies for the first time.
Two tiny faces peeked out from the blankets. The boy had tufts of black hair sticking up like soft spikes, a scrunched-up face, and was quietly asleep. The girl was smaller—delicate and still, her eyelids fluttering as though dreaming.
"They've been waiting to meet you," Mikoto whispered, looking at him with pride. "Do you want to hold one?"
Itachi's eyes widened. "C-Can I?"
Mikoto chuckled softly. "Of course."
With careful hands, Mikoto shifted the boy toward him. Itachi stepped closer, reached out with trembling arms, and received the tiny bundle. The weight was so light it startled him—he'd expected something heavier.
The baby stirred in his arms, made a small noise like a sigh, then stilled.
He looked down, and for a moment, everything in the world went quiet.
The boy's face was peaceful, fragile, and somehow… familiar.
Fugaku knelt beside Itachi and spoke low. "You're the eldest now, Itachi. They'll look to you someday. Protect them. Teach them. Guide them."
Itachi nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on his new brother. "I will."
His words were quiet, but his tone was firm.
A silent vow.
Fugaku, meanwhile, stood back up and crossed his arms and declared, "His name will be Sasuke. Named after a great shinobi, the father of the Third Hokage." a name he was given permission to use by the Third Hokage himself.
Then he looked to the other bundle—the girl still tucked against Mikoto's side, eyes open but unmoving.
"And her name will be… Tamamo." He announced after a 20 second pause.
The baby girl visibly sweatdropped.
She didn't cry.
She didn't move.
Inside the girl's mind, however, it was chaos.
Okay. Okay. Let's all just take a breath here.
She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even twitch a pinky. But her internal monologue was at DEFCON 1.
This isn't right. I was just in my apartment. I had dinner in the microwave. What the hell is this—why am I small??
Her wide baby eyes darted across the room. Sterile walls. Sliding doors. A woman with suspiciously flawless hair. A man who looked like he hadn't smiled since the invention of fire. And—
Her gaze landed on the little boy.
Why is there a five-year-old giving me the eyes of a tired war general?!
Then the grim man—Dad??!—said the baby boy's name.
"Sasuke."
Her brain screeched to a halt.
Sasuke? What kind of name is that? Is that even a real name? It sounds like someone tried to say "Scott" and sneezed halfway through.
She turned her eyes to the spiky-haired bundle beside her. He looked like he came out of the womb ready to file a complaint with HR because they didn't serve tomatoes at the cafeteria.
He looks like he already has a backstory...
Then came her turn
.
"And her name will be…"
10 seconds later.
Whats with the long pause?
5 seconds later.
... Don't tell me he's making one up on the spot...
Another 5 seconds later.
"Tamamo."
Tamamo? That duck butt gets the name of a respected warrior and I get this this?? Oh, perfect. Named after some sneaky fox spirit. Because nothing says 'welcome to the family' like being doomed to cause chaos and break hearts before you can even toddle. Just what I always wanted.
Fantastic. Great. That sealed it. I have a name. A family. A swaddle blanket. And apparently no say in any of this.
What is this? A cult? A live-action fantasy novel? Did I get kidnapped by a group of over-committed LARPers with a nursery setup?! Is this one of those Isekai things? No—no, I didn't even die! I was heating up chicken nuggets! I wasn't done, damn it!
She wanted to scream. To wave her tiny fists and demand a refund from the universe—for her uneaten, hot chicken nuggets. But all she could do was lie there, blinking slowly like a judgmental dumpling.