Morning light spilled gently through the paper screens, glimmering across polished wood. The capital had woken early — the muffled sound of merchants calling to one another, the faint clatter of cart wheels, the endless heartbeat of commerce.
As I awoke, I looked and saw that both Karin and Kanna were still fast asleep. I admit, I was slightly jealous of how early little Karin started to sleep through the nights; my own boys… they hadn't been even half as well behaved as she was.
Maybe… I should have had a girl instead? Well… Zetsu was my shadow and will… and I was female, so didn't that make him a girl? Though thinking about Zetsu like that was just… strange.
Since the moment I awoke in this new world, and instantly got myself sealed inside the moon, I had always thought of Zetsu as male — likely due to the anime knowledge — and, well… trying to change that now was a bit late.
So I just shook my head and decided to let them sleep. Kanna still wasn't used to walking all the time; I could see it in her body, the strain that was slowly building up.
She was still getting better, recovering from the torment of Kusagakure's care, but it would take a while longer before she could walk for a full day while carrying little Karin without getting tired.
So, letting them sleep for a bit longer, I had myself dressed and went downstairs.
The inn was small and only had a handful of rooms, all clean and cared for, and downstairs, there was a small area for eating and drinking — not quite a bar, but close enough.
As soon as my feet touched the floorboards, I was greeted by the owner.
"Good morning, miss, can I get you anything?"
"Breakfast, for myself. The others are still sleeping, so for now they don't need it, but I expect you to prepare some for them when they awaken," I said as I moved silently toward a small table.
The innkeeper bowed quickly, disappearing into the back. The faint sound of clinking pans soon followed, and before long, the smell of grilled fish and rice drifted through the room.
I was slightly impressed with his attitude; it was a rare one these days. The man had fully committed himself to serving others — to making their day better — and that was what made his days worth the effort.
He was a rare kind of person, one that I could appreciate.
Plus, the fact that he noticed me coming down so quickly despite my making no sound spoke to how long he had been doing this. It had become an instinct for him to know when a guest approached.
The same kind of instincts high-ranking shinobi might get towards danger. He truly was someone who loved what he was doing.
From my seat by the window, I could see outside — not that I needed it, as the walls didn't block my sight — but it did allow the warmth of the sun to fill my face, drawing a slight smile from my lips.
The innkeeper returned with a tray: rice, miso soup, grilled salmon, and pickled radish. A plain meal, but well made. "I hope it is to your liking."
"Any meal made with true love is always worth enjoying," I said, slightly praising the effort he had so clearly put into his work.
The man bowed, a flicker of pride softening his face before he retreated again.
I picked up the chopsticks and took the first bite.
Perfect balance.
The rice was firm but fluffy, each grain distinct, and the salmon's skin had just the right crispness. It wasn't the food of royalty, but it was the food of someone who cared — and perhaps that made it better.
Even when I ruled, I often made my food myself, cooking for my children with my own hands. I wasn't good at it, but I too had cooked with love. It was the most important ingredient, whether that was cooking for someone you loved, or sampling loving cooking itself.
I finished slowly, savoring the last of the miso soup, before setting the chopsticks aside. "It was very good," I said as the innkeeper reappeared. "Your hands bring honor to your trade."
The man froze for a heartbeat before bowing deeply. "You are far too kind, my lady."
"I am merely honest," I said with a faint smile. "So take it as the compliment it is."
After the meal, I sat there with a pot of tea, just slowly drinking it while watching the city.
People were all waking up; children were playing in the streets or in parks. It was funny how, even across worlds, kids all played the same games.
Tag, hide-and-seek, kicking and throwing balls. I saw the joy and wonder on the faces of boys when they found sticks that looked like swords. A simple joy.
Beyond the young, the old too began their days — playing Go, or sitting and knitting, or working. Many people started working as I sat there watching.
The clatter of soft footsteps behind me broke the quiet. Kanna appeared, still looking half-asleep, her hair slightly disheveled, with Karin balanced on one arm.
"Kaguya-hime," she said softly, bowing her head. "I didn't realize you were already awake. I'm sorry—"
"There is nothing to apologize for," I interrupted gently. "Sit. Eat. You'll need the strength for the day ahead."
"The day ahead?" she asked hesitantly as she took a seat.
"Yes. Shopping." I poured her a cup of tea and motioned toward the tray the innkeeper brought moments later, identical to my own. "You and Karin both need proper clothing. I don't intend for either of you to continue looking like wanderers."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Kaguya-hime, that's really not necessary—"
"It is," I said firmly. "If you walk beside me, then you represent me. You will be dressed accordingly. I tolerate humility, not poverty."
Kanna blinked, unsure whether to feel insulted or grateful. "Of course. Thank you, Kaguya-hime."
"Good," I said, sipping the last of my tea. "Eat quickly. I don't like waiting."
Karin cooed softly, tugging at her mother's sleeve, and Kanna smiled, the tension easing from her face. She fed the little girl small bites of rice, laughing quietly when Karin tried to grab the chopsticks.
I watched them silently, arms folded across my chest. There was something grounding in the sight — a tiny, ordinary moment of family life. Something I had once known and lost.
When she noticed my gaze, Kanna hesitated. "You're staring," she said softly.
"Am I?" I asked, setting down my cup. "I was only thinking that you should enjoy this while it lasts. Children grow too fast. One day they're in your arms, and the next, they're strong enough to walk away."
Her eyes softened. "You sound like someone who's been through that."
"I have," I said simply. "And it never gets easier."
We left the inn soon after.
The air outside was fresh, carrying the scent of early spring flowers and distant smoke from street vendors preparing their morning meals. The streets had come fully alive — hawkers calling prices, men hauling crates, the sharp ring of a blacksmith's hammer echoing from somewhere down the avenue.
Kanna followed behind me, holding little Karin in her arms, while the little girl tried to squirm out and interact with everything she saw around her.
From what I had heard from Kanna, Karin had never been allowed out much — always trapped inside with her — so this trip was one of the first times she really saw lots of other people, and this city stood out among the small towns we had been in before.
So I understood the curiosity in those small eyes as she stretched her arms out toward everything.
We turned onto a broader street, lined with painted banners and shop signs carved from polished wood. The silk district. Bright fabrics hung in the open air like flags of every imaginable color, rippling softly in the wind.
Karin let out a delighted sound, pointing with both hands. "Red!" she said, though the word came out more like "Reh!"
Kanna smiled. "Yes, red."
Little Karin laughed and then pulled on her mother's red hair, while repeating the word "Reh." It was a heartwarming sight; even those around us couldn't help but smile at it.
The tailor's shop was spacious but quiet, its interior filled with the scent of sandalwood and the faint rustle of silk. Rows of fabric rolls lined the walls like trophies — reds deep as wine, whites pure as snow, and blacks with the sheen of raven feathers.
As the door closed behind us, an apprentice looked up from a low table, startled by the sight of me. He froze for a heartbeat before darting toward the back curtain. Moments later, an older man emerged — slender, gray-haired, and dressed in a pristine blue robe that spoke of both pride and long years in the craft.
"Welcome, honored lady," he said, bowing low, his voice smooth from years of speaking to nobles. "You grace my humble shop. May I know how I can serve you today?"
"By showing me your finest work," I said, my tone soft but carrying the weight of command. "Nothing cheap, nothing common. I want quality, not mediocrity."
"Of course." The tailor clapped his hands, and his apprentices began unrolling bolts of cloth onto the central display table.
The colors shimmered like liquid light — golds that caught the morning sun, silvers that gleamed faintly even in shadow, and blues that seemed to breathe as the silk shifted.
Kanna hesitated at the threshold, clutching Karin, clearly unsure whether to step farther in. I gestured sharply for her to follow.
"Don't linger at the door. You'll only draw attention."
"Y-yes, Kaguya-hime," she said quickly, bowing slightly before hurrying after me.
The tailor watched her for a moment, curiosity in his eyes, but wisely said nothing.
I trailed a hand over the fabrics. My fingertips glided across the silk — soft, perfect, almost alive. "Good thread," I murmured. "Imported, yes?"
"Yes, my lady. Silk from the Land of Flowers; the silkworms there produce the finest silks. We also have our own Fire Country silk, but—"
"Yes, that is for those who just want to wear silk, not knowing what it means," I interrupted. "Show me what you reserve for the nobility."
The man hesitated, then smiled faintly. "As you wish." He motioned for another apprentice, who carefully brought out a single roll from a chest wrapped in paper seals. The moment the silk touched the table, I could feel the difference — not just in texture, but in the faint hum of chakra woven into it.
"This," the tailor said, "is called Divine Weave — chakra-thread spun by a seamstress clan from the Land of Lightning. It shifts its weight depending on movement and temperature. Very few can afford it."
I touched the fabric. It almost breathed beneath my palm. It was the real deal, the very same as all my own clothes were made from — silks that cost their weight in gold ten times over and couldn't easily be gotten.
At least in Konoha, only my clan name had gotten me enough for all my clothes.
"Underclothes made of this, but not for the outer clothes; it would have to be custom-made to be worth such silk, and I haven't the time for it," I said, waving him off.
The tailor quickly bowed his head and motioned for his assistants to carry out my request. "A full wardrobe for them both, my lady?" he asked, having quickly caught on to what was happening.
"Yes. These are members of the Uzumaki clan, and should be dressed as someone of their station — and let's show off their pride in their line," I explained.
Kanna gasped, having clearly wanted to hide that, afraid of what would happen if people realized what she was.
But I never intended to hide it.
The tailor's eyes flicked briefly to Kanna, then widened. "Uzumaki? Then I am doubly honored, my lady. I have heard their line is as old and noble as they come."
"They are," I said, my tone smooth but dismissive. "So find something appropriate, and if needed, add the clan symbol to the outerwear."
The tailor bowed deeply, and his assistants quickly unrolled a new set of fabrics — crimson, black, and white. The colors of the Uzumaki crest. "For the lady and her child, then, we will begin immediately."
(End of chapter)
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