The late afternoon sun was doing its best to paint the Uchiha compound in warm, lazy gold. And in the heart of it, in the patriarch's home, Tajima was indulging in one of his favorite modern pastimes: semi-conscious parenting.
Stretched out on a comfortable cushion, one eye open and the other closed, he was in a state of profound rest, his ears half-tuned to the quiet scribbling and occasional chatter of his youngest.
"Dad," came the voice of young Fugaku, breaking the comfortable silence. He wasn't looking up from his intense artistic endeavors. "Based on my internal sensing... I think big sister's mission is about to end and that she should be back soon."
He finally glanced up, his big, dark eyes shining with the kind of pure, unadulterated hope usually reserved for finding an extra dessert.
It had been almost a full, torturous month—a veritable eternity in the mind of an eight-year-old whose personal hero was his older sister. Unlike the boy, whose emotions were as subtle as a fireball jutsu, Tajima remained the picture of calm.
He cracked his other eye open. As the head of Konoha's police force, his information network was, to put it mildly, efficient. The moment Azula, Sakumo, and a rather injured Tsunade had crossed the village gates, a discreet signal had found its way to him.
"Your internal sensing isn't wrong. Your sister is already within the village walls." He said it with certainty, but he pitched his voice just a little louder, knowing his wife, Asami, who was in the kitchen right now and was once an Elite Jōnin of the Uchiha, heard him.
Fugaku's drawing hand froze mid-stroke. The pencil made a soft clack as it hit the low table. When he looked up at his father again, his entire face seemed to be lit from within, his eyes twin constellations of excitement. "Really?!"
Then, the starry-eyed expression melted into one of pure, mischievous glee. He puffed out his little chest. "Good! I've been practicing! My manga panels this time are way better than anything that idiot Nawaki can scribble. She's going to be so impressed, he'll have to retire in shame."
Tajima couldn't help but smile, a warm, helpless thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked at his son—so earnest, so talented, so wonderfully, blessedly… obedient. The boy was a dream.
If he had been even half as… creative and explosively unpredictable as his big sister, Tajima was fairly certain his hair would have gone fully white years ago, and he'd have developed a nervous twitch.
His only minor, Uchiha-esque flaw was his single-minded devotion to his sister. But then again, wasn't that just the family brand? An obsessive, all-consuming love for one's closest people was practically woven into the clan crest.
Meanwhile, the subject of all this anticipation was, at that very moment, arriving at the front gate.
Or, more accurately, she was arriving near the front gate.
Azula came to a graceful halt on the rooftop opposite her family home, her hands on her hips. It was a thought that struck her every single time she returned: they had a perfectly good, respectable door.
A heavy, wooden, "please-use-me" kind of door. And yet, here she was, a seasoned ninja, perched on a neighbor's roof like a particularly graceful pigeon. It was one of those funny little quirks of the ninja world she doubted she'd ever get used to.
A memory from her past life surfaced. A time of moderate success, not yet that rich, and a moderate house with a very immoderate lock.
How many times had she locked her keys inside, staring up at her own window and seriously contemplating a very ungraceful, very civilian scramble up the drainpipe? Now, the solution was so much simpler and more dramatic. You just… jumped over the problem. Literally.
Of course, there was a practical reason. Ninja were a secretive bunch, and the patriarch's door wasn't exactly a revolving one for casual visitors. A rooftop entrance was simply more discreet. And more fun.
Before even entering, she could sense what they were doing through their chakra.
Her father, whose once intense and brooding energy had mellowed with age into something calm and deep, like a settled lake.
Fugaku, a bright, focused little spark, probably hunched over his latest masterpiece. And her mother, Asami, whose chakra emanated from the kitchen, no doubt already preparing something delicious.
A smile, unbidden and unresisted, curled onto Azula's lips. She didn't try to stop it. Why would she?
Fourteen years. It had been fourteen years since she'd been reborn into this world of chakra and clans. In that time, she had watched the slow, beautiful transformation of the people she now called her own.
She'd seen Tajima evolve from a man who wore a permanent scowl like a piece of armor into the relaxed, almost playful old man enjoying his retirement.
She'd witnessed Asami shed the uncertainties of a younger woman, her love for her children hardening into a ferocity that would make her stare down the Sage of Six Paths himself without blinking.
And she'd seen Fugaku grow from a tiny, cooing baby into the bright, serious boy who was now, by Uchiha standards, practically a young man.
So yes, she was happy. After a long month away, feeling the familiar, loving energy of her family waiting for her just a few feet away, a smile was the least she could do.
She deserved this happiness, and she was going to wear it on her face for everyone, especially them, to see.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
I wanted to show Azula's view on her family, how she deserved all of this, how they have changed over ten years compared to when they were first shown and how she accepted them but not gonna lie, I, myself feel a little cringe because I'm not good at this so I make it shorter.