Uzumaki Rinka.
That was the name she went by now. Not Karin—never again. While the name Karin is not known here, the act itself would be good.
Rinka was cleaner. A boy's name. A boy's face. She'd buried the girl she used to be beneath layers of disguise and detachment, and somehow... it worked.
Even he hadn't seen through it.
Kakashi Hatake, the Copy Ninja, had studied her for all of five seconds and said simply, "I'll take responsibility for this one."
Half a promise. Half an adoption.
Absurd.
She had meant only to pass through Konoha—keep her head down, slip west toward the quieter, chakra-less lands. Maybe the Land of Waves.
But instead?
She stood in front of a kindergarten classroom. A desk, a seat, crayons. Surrounded by toddlers who, in time, would rattle the world.
She stood before them and gave her introduction with smooth confidence.
"Rinka Uzumaki. Pleased to meet you all. I lived near the Fire Temple for a while. Moved around a lot."
Well-practiced lies. Delivered with calm maturity, her tone pitched lower to match her guise. It worked. No one questioned it.
But even as she spoke, her minds went back to the sights she saw from the front gate of the academy earlier—and caught on something she hadn't prepared for.
Familiar faces.
First, the obvious: blonde, blue-eyed, loud. Naruto Uzumaki. The timeline was intact. Good.
Then, another: black hair, aristocratic scowl, still soft with childhood. Sasuke Uchiha.
She'd glimpsed him earlier in another classroom. One look had been enough.
The old ache—the one from when he saved her during the Chūnin Exams—wasn't just gone. It felt like it had belonged to someone else. A past life's fantasy.
If I tried getting close to him now... would that make me a creep?
The thought twisted her lips. Like grooming? Gross. And with this disguise? I'd look like a stalker with gender issues.
She shoved the idea aside.
But then—
Her eyes landed on two more faces. This time, she sees them immediately Not in the past tense.
One boy. One girl.
She froze.
A boy with mismatched eyes—one pale lavender, one deep crimson—sat quietly at his desk.
His coloring book untouched, pencil poised with purpose. Next to him, a girl with soft silver hair and a hesitant smile hummed as she drew a lopsided cat.
Rinka's heart stuttered.
Akai Hyūga.
Shion.
Her pulse kicked up, not with excitement, but calculation.
Them. It's them.
The children who would one day change everything.
The future legends. The pair who introduced cursed energy to the world, who stood together in the Exorcism War when the Five Great Cursed Spirits rose from humanity's despair.
While others crumbled, they stood firm. Light in the dark. Back to back.
Unbreakable.
Rinka remembered. Not from this life, but the last—
A battlefield, skies choked in smoke and shadow.
And those two—hand in hand, glowing with the brilliance of Reversal.
They had turned the tide. Not alone, but together.
They had to stay together.
No matter what happens, I'll make sure they don't fall apart. That bond... that future depends on it.
Without hesitation, Rinka slid into the seat beside Akai, completing the trio: Shion, Akai, Rinka.
The teacher gave her a quick glance, raised an eyebrow at the seating choice—then moved on.
Around them, the classroom buzzed—crayons clattering, laughter echoing—but Rinka's mind raced ahead.
I'll chase after Sasuke-kun later. Other than Naruto and him, These two are the key to a better future after all.
Across the table, another pair of eyes was quietly analyzing.
Akai Hyūga shaded the wing of a sparrow with deliberate strokes. His expression blank. Calm. But beneath his skin, chakra pulsed in silent motion. His Byakugan, ever-active, mapped the room behind his irises like a second skin.
He'd seen it.
The glimmer of recognition in "Rinka's" eyes. The subtle microexpression when she spotted Shion. The calculating edge when she turned toward him.
Intentions, unspoken, hung thick in the air.
Karin Uzumaki.
Even after regression, it seemed she still carried echoes of her fixation. Her story had twisted itself around Sasuke for years—her own growth stunted by that obsession. Even in the old future, she'd sold herself to Orochimaru, all for the same reason.
At least, that's how she is in the fan fiction Shion existed.
Her role was made into a love rival that will later turn into a villainess, most readers then were displeased about it saying she lacked character development as a regressed character.
Akai processed the memory with clinical detachment, but a sliver of pity flickered beneath the thought.
We need her sealing techniques for what's coming, he reminded himself.
Which means... Sasuke can't be Shion's love interest this time.
That complication could be... preemptively managed.
He switched pencils, sketching a second detail—a tiny eye hidden in the tree branch above the bird. A silent watcher. One more contingency. One more measure of control.
Primary objective: Guide Karin toward relevance.
Secondary objective: Steer Shion far, far from Sasuke.
Meanwhile, Shion happily hummed as she gave her cat enormous, exaggerated whiskers.
She could feel it—the weight of attention. Two gazes, distinct.
One was sharp, startled.
The other, calm and cold. Surgical.
Her lips twitched. A spark of mischief lit in her chest.
Fufufu... As expected!
She didn't need chakra to recognize a romantic setup when she saw one. A girl-disguised-as-a-boy, seated next to the stoic male lead? Classic setup! She was inside the trope now—living it!
Her eyes flicked to Akai's profile. So serious. So solemn. So allergic to fluff.
But this? This was fluff incarnate.
A disguised girl. A brooding boy. A front-row seat to unfolding romance.
Delicious.
Shion pressed her pink crayon to the paper again and drew a little heart above the cat's head—subtle sabotage. Her grin widened.
I can work with this. I'll push them together just a little...
Three minds. Three silent schemes. Three plans, none of them shared aloud.
Karin's eyes locked onto Akai. That's it... Those two (Akai and Shion) should definitely...
Akai's brushstroke finished the hidden eye. I should definitely make sure they (Karin and Sasuke)...
Shion's crayon traced a hopeful heart. These two (Karin and Akai) are meant to...
Unseen, their thoughts converged in absolute, misguided harmony:
"...END UP TOGETHER!"
And in the noisy hum of the classroom, filled with crayons and chatter and innocent chaos, three children sat side by side.
One reincarnated.
One transmigrated.
One regressed.
Each plotting the romantic future of the other two, none aware that their goals—though worded the same—were worlds apart.
.
.
.
Karin was exhausted.
She hadn't realized kindergartners could be so loud, chaotic, and impossibly persistent. Even with her body regressed to their size, her mind was still that of an older girl—too sharp, too weary to find joy in finger painting and nap time.
But to avoid suspicion, she had to play along. Smile. Giggle. Pretend. Every moment was a balancing act—keep the disguise, keep the act, don't slip.
Thankfully, not every classmate was a sugar-fueled disaster.
Two of them, seated closest to her, were far easier to deal with. In fact, they acted less like preschoolers and more like... small adults.
It helped.
One was a boy with sharp features and mismatched eyes—one pale lavender, the other dark as ink.
His name was Akai Hyūga, and even here, even now, he carried himself like a fallen lord. She recognized the brand seared into his forehead, half-hidden by his hair.
The cursed seal of the Hyūga clan. In the previous timeline, his lineage had been controversial—a hybrid of Uchiha and Hyūga, denied his rightful place. But Karin knew better.
He was important. A turning point.
The other was a girl with soft blonde hair and wide, unassuming eyes that shimmered faintly like diluted Byakugan.
There'd never been confirmation of her ancestry in Karin's last life, but her chakra signature had always been unique—holy, even.
This was Shion, future shrine maiden of the Land of Demons. The girl who would one day stand atop the battlefield like a beacon.
Both of them had once been distant legends to Karin. And now? They sat beside her, drawing cats and birds with crayons.
And they were mature. Strangely so. Too composed for children their age.
Karin had chalked it up to trauma, maybe pressure from their bloodlines. But the truth—unknown to her—was simpler, and far more shocking:
They weren't really children either.
Not entirely.
Not anymore.
"Rinka-kun."
The voice startled her, soft and polite. It was Shion, her tone formal, her smile bright and disarming.
Karin blinked, adjusting to the fake name she was still getting used to.
"Could I borrow your green crayon?" Shion asked, holding out a tiny, steady hand.
The way she spoke—careful, precise, almost ceremonial—was bizarre coming from someone barely old enough to tie her own shoes.
They really don't feel like four-year-olds, Karin thought.
Still, she smiled, slipping the green crayon from her desk and placing it gently into Shion's hand.
"Of course," she said smoothly. "Take your time."
Their fingers brushed for a moment. Neither flinched. The exchange felt more like a diplomatic gesture between equals than anything happening in a kindergarten classroom.
Karin managed to steal a glance at Akai's drawing.
Yesterday, it had been a parrot—vibrant feathers perfectly layered in crayon strokes so smooth they looked painted. She hadn't even known crayons could do that.
Neither had the other kids, judging by the way some stared down at their own art supplies like they'd been betrayed.
The teacher had even pinned Akai's drawing on the classroom door, praising it with such warmth that the other children had clapped, half in awe, half in envy.
But today?
Today was horror.
Karin blinked, her eyes narrowing at the creature taking shape on Akai's paper. It had the grotesque head of a bug, the body vaguely human—too small, too malformed to pass for a real person—and wings.
Multiple pairs, jagged and bent at unnatural angles. It looked like something dredged from a fever dream, its form etched in jarring colors that reminded her—vividly—of Jūgo's transformations.
It was disgusting. And yet... expertly drawn. The realism of it made it worse. Every line was deliberate. Every color deliberately wrong.
And the face it made—
Stare.
Karin barely suppressed a shriek when she realized Akai was watching her. Silently. Unblinking. Way too close.
Ah? Her mind scrambled. Is he mad that I'm being too chummy with Shion?
Her thoughts spun wildly, memories overlaying her nerves. Even if I look like a boy now, maybe he's possessive already? Future spouse and all...
She quickly composed herself, offering a forced-but-genuine smile and gesturing at his paper. "That's... really impressive," she said, voice steady even though her stomach twisted. "You're good at drawing."
She left out the gross part, naturally.
But Akai wasn't actually thinking about Shion's affections. Not in the way Karin feared. His eyes scanned her, not with jealousy, but calculation.
He was watching for tension.
Testing for instability.
Karin, now going by Rinka, was obviously a regressor.
And he... he had been born into a bloodline mashup with a cursed seal on his head and an innate technique not found in any original lore.
Akai's fingers moved, shading in the grotesque creature's bulging eyes.
His innate technique—Curse Eater—twisted silently within him. He felt it rumble at the thought of nearby curses, faint and half-formed in this peaceful Konoha morning.
Shion, across from him, had no such worries. She thought he was the fictional implant—a med student turned anime hybrid. She was just here to observe, push tropes, and maybe enjoy a little fluff on the side.
Karin in return, didn't know their truths. Only that these two—Akai and Shion—were vital for future purposes.
Pillars of the future war. Heroes in a world shattered by the rise of cursed spirits. She had lived through it.
The Exorcism War.
She remembered Akai—older, darker, wild. Accused of murder during a time when Konoha had no Hokage.
They said he killed an elder. That he was out of control. Some even whispered he'd consumed a fragment of the Nine-Tails and gained its power.
It had spiraled. But just when things were about to break—
Miroku, the high priestess of the Land of Demons, had appeared in Konoha. Not alone. Her daughter beside her.
They vouched for him.
They claimed him.
And a few months later, Karin had watched from the shadows as Akai stood beside them during the historic Kage Summit. It was only then things happened.
The boy who introduced Cursed Spirits to the world.
The one who revealed the Cursed Glasses—tools that let ordinary people see the horrors that had always stalked them, feeding on their fear and sorrow.
It changed everything.
Karin remembered seeing the images. The new enemies. The whispers that Cursed Energy had been here all along. And Akai? He was the center of it all...
Also...
He was often spotted—half-hidden in fog or ruin—eating them. Munching curses. Legs, heads, fragments of writhing hate between his teeth.
His technique didn't just destroy curses.
It consumed them.
Back in the present, Karin sat frozen as the memory collided with Akai's quiet words of respond to her compliments.
"I drew it because I was a bit hungry," he said.
His voice was flat. Unbothered.
Karin's spine went cold.
She looked down again at the insect-human-creature on the page. Its bulging eyes. Its twisted smile.
A fly-head
Her expression didn't betray the shiver running through her, but she shifted slightly in her seat, tensing.
He eats them. Even in this early life? He started seeing curses at a very young age, but I never thought it would be this young.
She haven't unlocked cursed energy like in her past life when a mass distribution event of scrolls about cursed energy and curses happened via the land of demons and Konoha to educate the world about cursed spirits.
But no matter how Karin look at it, she remembered it clearly, A fly head Cursed spirits, while a low rank, it is one of the worst and disgusting out of the whole categories of curses, especially when they had a swarm.
She offered a polite nod. "It's... detailed," Karin said slowly, her voice carefully measured. Too calm, too neutral.
Akai didn't respond.
His eerie stare faded, and he returned to the page without a word, dragging the crayon down the curve of the creature's mangled wing.
The pressure of his hand was precise—controlled—but somehow too heavy for a four-year-old.
Next to them, Shion hummed as she carefully added pink flowers to the tail of her yellow cat, the sound light and sweet. Almost distractingly innocent.
Almost. Karin wasn't sure whether Shion was oblivious, or simply pretending to be.
She exhaled softly, trying to ground herself.
But another thought slipped in.
Not about the present—not about kindergarten or cursed drawings or Shion's careful mannerisms.
It was about the future.
Her future.
The one that had already happened once.
It always seemed to lead back to the Uchihas. To Madara. To war.
But there had been another figure. Someone else who emerged after the final mask shattered.
A man who walked beside the orange-masked Madara—but not for long. He turned on him. No, worse—he surpassed him.
And when the world was already cracking from what they had known as the Fourth Great Ninja War, this man broke it entirely. It turned the tides of everything.
Shinobis aren't the only ones participating. In the first place, there are the samurais, but they're not the odd balls now is it?
There are quite a few.
Cursed Spirits, Exorcists, Shamans.
Karin remembered him, the one who took the spotlight of it all. The one who killed Madara simply because he wanted to be the one to destroy the world.
Tenma.
He wore black. Cloaked like a ruler. Made out of something not-quite human.
His body, his very presence—stitched together with cursed energy so dense, it bled into the air around him.
The battlefield had changed because of him. And Karin, even as a child now, could feel the echo of his influence crawling back through time.
He would come.
And this time, she would be ready.
She glanced at Akai again, watching him shade the eye socket of the abomination he'd drawn.
There was something in the silence. A tension. A quiet sense that the pieces were already moving.
.
.
.
To be continued.