Wind rattled faintly against paper windows, sending thin strips of morning sunlight flickering across the tatami floor. The smell of herbal ointment, smoke, and warm rice hung in the air — the scent of a life he didn't remember living.
Shin opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above him was wooden, polished but old, the kind that creaked when someone walked over it. A room he knew, apparently. His body reacted with a strange familiarity to the place, yet his mind was a blank sheet.
He tried sitting up.
The muscles obeyed — strong, conditioned, and careful — but his brain felt like it had missed the memo entirely.
A sharp breath escaped him.
Where… am I?
Movement at the edge of his vision.
A woman knelt beside the futon, expression tight with worry and exhaustion. Her dark hair was tied loosely, and she wore the Uchiha clan crest on her sleeve.
"Shin," she said softly. Too softly. "You're awake."
Her voice held relief and warning at once, like she wasn't sure which one was more dangerous.
Shin blinked. "…I guess so."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you forgot again."
"Again?" he echoed.
Her lips tightened — not anger, but hurt hidden behind frustration. She looked away for a moment, collecting herself.
"Three days," she finally whispered. "You were unconscious for three days. The medic-nin said it was chakra exhaustion, but they weren't sure. You pushed yourself too hard during that mission. Too reckless."
A mission.
His body remembered movement, steel, blood.
His mind remembered nothing.
Shin swallowed. "Right… that."
She hesitated before reaching to touch his forehead. "Are you feeling anything strange? Headache? Disorientation?"
"It's… hard to explain."
He pulled his hand from the sheets. The fingers looked like his. The scars on the knuckles were faint but real. This body had thrown punches, caught kunai, lived a life of routine violence.
But he hadn't.
He was sure of that.
Somewhere under that muscle memory, buried deep, there was another memory:
A streetlight.
A horn blaring.
A moment of weightlessness before everything went dark.
He swallowed again. His throat felt tight.
"Shin," she whispered. "Look at me."
He did.
Her expression was troubled, searching his face for someone who wasn't here anymore — the real Shin, the one she loved, the one whose memories he didn't have.
"You're scaring me," she said.
"…I'm scaring myself."
The admission slipped out before he could think.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared — then let out a shaky laugh, almost relieved.
"At least your sarcasm's still intact."
She stood. "Get dressed. Father wants to see you. And after that, patrol."
"Patrol?"
"You haven't forgotten our clan duties too, have you?"
Shin forced a weak nod.
He hadn't forgotten — because he never knew.
As she left the room, the sliding door clicking shut behind her, Shin stared at his hands again.
A stranger's memories.
A stranger's life.
A clan days away from being wiped out.
He didn't know how he knew that last part — but the sense of dread was already simmering beneath his ribs, steady and cold.
He exhaled slowly, stood up, and began dressing in a uniform that belonged to a man he had never been.
His life had ended once already.
This time, he needed to figure out how to survive.
Because whatever was coming…
it wasn't going to wait for him to remember who he used to be.
———
"A Week Left"**
The Uchiha District felt wrong.
Not dangerous — not yet — but wrong in that way a calm lake looks wrong when you know a storm is coming.
Shin stepped outside, closing the door behind him. His wife lingered inside, watching him through the narrow crack until the door slid shut. Even from outside, he could sense the worry radiating from her.
He took a slow breath and focused on the patrol route his body knew better than his brain.
Houses lined the streets in perfect rows. Trained precision. Practical design. No wasted space. No warmth. The clan's pride hung in the air like fog, thick enough to touch.
Each step echoed louder than it should.
A woman hanging laundry noticed him and flinched before smoothing her expression. She gave a stiff nod. He returned it.
She turned away fast.
Shin exhaled. "Yeah. Great start."
He crossed a small courtyard where two elders sat on a stone bench, drinking tea.
"That boy looks worse every day," one muttered.
Shin stopped mid-stride. "I can still hear you, you know."
They both froze.
Then the second elder coughed. "If you hear us, then act like a proper Uchiha. Straighten your posture."
Shin stared. "My posture is straight."
"Straight-er," the elder insisted.
No winning here. He moved on.
A group of children sparring behind a fence noticed him. Their wooden swords lowered. One whispered:
"Isn't that Shin-san? The jonin?"
"He's strong. My brother said he once—"
"Shh! Don't talk loud. You never know with their mood lately."
Shin raised an eyebrow. "I'm literally right here."
The kids jumped, scrambling back to drills. Their fear hung in the air longer than their voices.
Farther down the district, he reached a vendor's stall. A civilian woman carrying vegetables nearly dropped everything when she saw him. She bowed repeatedly.
"S-sorry, shinobi-sama!"
He stared blankly. "…For what?"
She didn't answer. She just ran.
The vendor leaned closer, voice low and bitter. "Maybe if your clan would stop glaring holes in people, they wouldn't be afraid of you."
"I'm walking," Shin said.
"That's scary enough."
Shin scratched the back of his neck. Was this what living here felt like? Constant friction?
The clan's pride versus the village's fear.
He continued deeper. The tension got worse near the police headquarters.
Two officers nodded toward him. Polite. Resigned. And tired — gods, they were all tired.
A scarred senior officer approached him.
"You're pale. Haven't slept?"
"Not much."
"Mm. Be careful. People are… on edge. Orders are strict. Keep your eyes open."
"What's happening?"
The officer lowered his voice. "Can't say. But watch your back. Even here."
He walked off, leaving Shin standing alone on the street, the warning echoing in his skull.
The last leg of patrol took him to the edge of the district, where village and clan met.
Two civilians saw him coming, stiffened, and turned away as if contact alone was dangerous.
On the rooftops, ANBU masks stared down at him. Not subtle. Not friendly. Watching every step he took.
Were they always there?
Or were they assigned to watch the clan?
Shin walked along the river, letting the cool wind calm his nerves. For a moment, he pretended this world wasn't tightening around the Uchiha like a noose.
He arrived home again.
His wife stood at the porch, arms crossed. Worried eyes. Tired posture.
"You're late."
Not anger — a plea disguised as discipline.
Shin tried for a smile. "Ran into a few admirers."
"Don't joke."
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek.
"You look worse," she whispered. "And you were gone too long."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
Her finger brushed the corner of his eye. "Then come inside. There's something we need to talk about."
Her voice trembled just enough for him to notice.
That cold heaviness returned to his spine.
Whatever she needed to say…
wasn't small.
Wasn't safe.
Wasn't something the old Shin had dared to tell him.
He followed her inside.
The door slid shut behind them.