They say people get used to anything.
The first few days, work at the teahouse and sleeping in a shared room with strangers were a burden for Sarada. But on the fourth day, she walked past the invariably brawling drunks on the sewer street like it was home. She just still wondered if that homeless guy with hair over his face was watching her.
The weather improved; days grew warmer. Shinko eyed the black sweater doubtfully and more than once suggested taking it off, but Sarada refused so fiercely it was like they were trying to skin her.
On the fifth day, Sarada worked at the teahouse, serving drinks and snacks, taking orders. She set teacups and sweets on a table, bowed politely, and wished the guests bon appétit. It was crowded, but Shinko, after checking the terrace to greet new customers, lingered. Met friends or something?
"Sarada," Ketsu grumbled. "Where's Shinko? Call her!"
"Got it."
Sarada ran to the terrace.
Shinko, hugging an empty tray, was talking to a twelve-year-old boy. The stranger's long black hair was in a ponytail, stray strands escaping over his forehead protector. Symmetrical lines from his nose bridge to cheeks gave his face a sickly look.
"You're excellent at concealing your presence," the boy said quietly. "Why not become a shinobi again?"
Dark unremarkable clothes; the high-collared t-shirt seemed familiar—Sarada had seen them before.
If only she could remember where.
"Wha-at? No thanks, yeah," Shinko replied in her usual accent, then noticed her. "Oh, Sarada?"
"Ketsu wants you."
The stranger looked away from the empty table. Cold black eyes peered straight into her soul.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Sarada recognized him.
She froze, unsure what to do. Run? Pretend nothing's happening?
No more little kid clutching a baby bundle. In his place was a boy with a calm, attentive gaze.
Uchiha Itachi.
Sarada kept staring into his eyes, unable to break the invisible bond. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shinko slip into the teahouse, ignoring her little helper frozen like a rabbit before a snake.
Moments merged into minutes. Minutes wove into hours.
But Uchiha Itachi tilted his head and said:
"Have we met before?"
A calm, curious voice.
"How did you end up in the garden?" echoed a childish voice from the past.
Years had passed for him, but only a week for Sarada. Memories of their first meeting were still fresh.
Uncle's question shattered the trance and brought her back. Sarada shook her head furiously, hair whipping her cheeks. Itachi's piercing gaze clouded over. Like a door slammed shut in his mind, breaking the hypnotic link.
"Then forgive me. Goodbye."
He stood and left the terrace. Sarada watched the short, thin figure walk unhurriedly from the teahouse, mesmerized. The white-red Uchiha crest stood out on his dark high-collared t-shirt.
"Like him, yeah?" Shinko asked slyly.
"Huh, what?"
Uncle was right; she really hid her presence perfectly. Sarada hadn't noticed sempai back on the terrace.
Shinko burst out laughing.
"The whole first class went crazy for him at the academy. And some still... ahem."
Sarada had composed herself and adjusted her glasses.
"Nonsense."
"Not even a little?" Shinko teased with mock disappointment.
"Not a bit," Sarada declared flatly.
Clutching the tray to her chest, she strode regally back into the teahouse.
Finishing work on the evening of the fifth day, Sarada folded her apron in the storeroom, said goodbye to Shinko, and stepped out as if nothing happened. But a surprise awaited at the entrance. Naruto Uzumaki paced along the building like a sentry and peered curiously at the open teahouse door. Spotting Sarada, he beamed.
"Sarada-nee-chan!"
"Nanadaime?!" Sarada blurted, then caught herself, but too late.
He heard.
"Huh?" Naruto stopped, looking at her questioningly. "Nee-chan, why'd you call me Nanadaime?"
Sarada scratched her head, grinning foolishly and scrambling for an excuse on the fly.
"Well, we already decided you'd be the Seventh Hokage. Right?"
Naruto's puzzled face flushed with delight.
"What are you doing, Sarada?" she scolded herself mentally.
Sarada had avoided the little Nanadaime as much as possible. Yes, she had adapted somewhat to life in past Konoha, but mostly around strangers. Encounters with people she knew from the future threw her off completely.
Sarada navigated the village, avoiding Ichiraku Ramen and that bench where they slept with Naruto by a wide margin to not cross paths, but Naruto apparently realized his new ramen buddy had ditched him and went looking elsewhere.
"Damn, and he found me," Sarada thought irritably.
This was all wrong. The Seventh shouldn't get attached to her. Not now. Not here. She clearly saw history spiraling into a new loop, deviating toward her, Sarada.
"Nee-chan, why don't you come eat ramen anymore?" Naruto muttered sulkily, glancing at his friend from under his brows.
"I'm working," Sarada cut off and headed confidently to the flophouse.
But the sharp reply didn't faze the Nanadaime. He tagged along, skipping lively around her.
"Where do you live?"
It was still weird watching five-six-year-old Boruto's dad. But with each minute, Sarada compared the boy less to the man she knew from the future and more accepted him as just an annoying kid.
"Why is he so clingy?" she thought angrily. "No, my fault. Shouldn't have slept on the bench with him or let him nap on my lap. Lucky no patrol caught us."
But could she have done otherwise? Push him away. Disappoint him. No. Not Naruto. Definitely not him.
Too late to keep history on its original path; nothing would be the same. All she could do was try not to make it worse. And that would be easier if she knew the history. All of it.
But Sarada didn't know even many key events. They were classified in archives, not taught at the academy. Parents and their friends kept silent. And even that wasn't enough to keep history on track. History wove from tiniest coincidences, thoughts, decisions not even in secret docs.
Ordinary people can't know it all. Only a deity maybe.
"Deity!" Sarada remembered.
Their old talk in the dusty room came alive again.
It's all in your hands, Sarada. But the forces shaping history are usually stronger than our desires. Worlds don't want to change.
"Does that mean we'll still win the Fourth Shinobi World War, and Naruto Uzumaki will become Seventh Hokage? Please, Donna, I want you to be right!"
Sarada thought and recalled Mom again. Worlds don't want to change. If Mom is supposed to die, she will anyway? No. Ideal if the big picture stayed the same, but Mom got saved.
Anyway, if worlds don't like changing, then...
"Want ramen?"
If you're gonna shatter, shatter. She'd wanted to do this for ages.
"Huh?"
Naruto froze, staring distrustfully. Sarada stopped too.
"My treat. So, let's go?"
Joy lit those huge blue eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, dattebayo!"
He ran toward Ichiraku Ramen.
Sarada smiled, thinking: "How easy to make a Hokage happy."
"Report ready, Danzo-sama," the shinobi in the white tiger mask whispered, kneeling on one knee and bowing his head respectfully.
The Root leader's office was as dark as his soul: only a candle on the desk lit the workspace. Corners drowned in gloom; people and furniture cast long shadows on the floor.
Danzo opened the folder and skimmed the document.
"Stand, Suguru."
The subordinate rose and stood at attention.
"Did you check thoroughly? She's not from the clan?"
"No, Danzo-sama," Suguru's voice was dry and cracked from an old vocal cord injury. "No such child among the Uchiha. No documents. No censuses."
"And the records? You checked old records?"
"Yes. She's not on surveillance footage from the last year."
"And before?" Danzo asked irritably.
"I... Forgive me, Danzo-sama. I didn't finish them all. I was watching the girl."
"Fine, clarify it."
Danzo stood and pushed his chair under the desk.
"Clanless Uchiha," he muttered. "Interesting. Do the Uchiha themselves know about her?"
"First evening, she didn't hide the crest. That's how we spotted her."
"Then they must know. What fool wears a clan's crest if they don't belong? How did this happen? Unregistered Uchiha with Uchiha crest but not clan-affiliated. Yet they don't try to take her back?"
"No Uchiha contacted her except Itachi."
"He knows?"
"Unlikely. They met once, at the teahouse. Customer and waitress. Nothing more."
"Fine. Who else has close contact?"
"Inari Shinko, teahouse worker. Former genin."
"Former?"
"She quit shinobi career three years ago."
"Right. Anyone else?"
The tiger mask hesitated.
"Suguru? What's wrong?"
"The jinchuriki too."
Danzo's eyes flashed.
"Clanless Uchiha met the jinchuriki?"
"Yes."
"You know what that means?" the man muttered to himself.
"Yes," Suguru replied.
Darkness stirred uneasily in Danzo's heart.
The Uchiha clan. Malignant tumor growing since Konoha's founding. Uchiha always a problem, a threat. Even Second Hokage Tobirama sensed it and sidelined them from village governance, founding the Leaf Military Police. That policy should have continued. But Hiruzen and Minato weakened.
Danzo was certain the Sharingan caused the Kyuubi attack on Konoha; Root data screamed Uchiha plotting.
Only one Uchiha earned Danzo's deep sympathy—Uchiha Itachi.
Danzo regretted the genius kid belonged to that cursed clan, but even that didn't taint him. Uchiha Itachi was key to his dream: eliminate Uchiha threat at any cost. Danzo couldn't figure how to quietly claim the young prodigy. Then this girl. Of course, Uchiha crest on her dress back meant nothing. Stray kid could find or steal it. Wear it without Uchiha ties. But intuition told Danzo the girl bore Sharingan blood, not just a random stray.
"Well, well. Does Hiruzen know?"
"I don't have that info, Danzo-sama."
Danzo narrowed his eyes.
"Don't take your eyes off her. Have someone else check old records; you watch her. If she's unconnected to Uchiha beyond the dress pattern, we leave her be. But if she's Uchiha..." He touched the bandages hiding his right face half. "Well, one more Sharingan won't hurt."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan