#hatake!reader

You wake up in silence.

Not the kind of silence you know from your shinobi life, the tense, vibrating stillness before a blade strikes or the breath before a jutsu is cast.

No. This is dead silence. The kind that feels like it's been stretched too thin, like the house itself is holding its breath.

You open your eyes.

The ceiling is pale wood, carved with quiet elegance. The walls are shrouded in dark silks, and the furniture looks more expensive than anything you owned. You don't recognize any of it.

Your limbs are stiff, smaller than they should be.

You sit up abruptly.

Your hair falls into your face, black, not silver.

Your hands are small, delicate. The skin is pale, your fingers elegant, like they've never held a kunai or wrapped a bandage in wartime. Panic starts low in your stomach and climbs.

Where are you?

You swing your legs off the bed and catch a glimpse in the mirror across the room. The boy staring back at you is unfamiliar: raven hair pulled back with a paper fan tucked behind one ear, eyes dark and slanted, lips pressed in that faint, aristocratic stillness.

But they widen with your shock.

You whisper your name aloud, your real name: "Y/N Hatake."

The boy's lips move with yours.

You try to focus your chakra, feel the familiar rush through your tenketsu. But it's… strange. Your chakra feels off, like it's warped or hollow. And beneath it, something else pulses. Something colder, tighter. A strange, thin wire of energy, like a thread wound around your very soul.

Before you can make sense of it—

Click.

The door to the room creaks open.

You don't even hear footsteps. He's just there, in the doorway: tall, lean, his eyes round and black and utterly without warmth. His presence makes your skin crawl. His aura is suffocating, not in strength, but in how still it is.

Like death standing politely in the corner.

"You're awake," he says, voice low and flat. "What happened?"

You instinctively rise to your feet, ready for a fight, but your balance is off. This body isn't yours. You're slower. Smaller.

"Who are you?" he asks again, stepping forward. "You're not my brother."

You freeze.

Brother?

You try to speak, your voice trembling more than you'd like.

"I… I don't know where I am. I—I'm not your brother. I'm—my name is Y/N Hatake. I'm from Konohagakure. My brother is Kakashi. I—"

His aura changes.

It spikes, just a fraction, enough to press against your skull, like an invisible blade. He's still not blinking.

"You are in Kalluto's body," he says coldly. "But your aura is wrong. Your voice, your posture, your soul…It's not his."

Your breath catches. You don't understand. Kalluto. That's the name of this body?

"I don't know who that is," you manage, heart thudding.

For a moment, he simply studies you.

Then—

Snap.

He's gone.

But the room is cold now. Something was left behind, his presence, or his warning.

And you know, without needing to be told:

You are not alone in this house. You are not welcome. And whoever these people are…

They are not going to let you walk away without answers.

Your legs tremble as you stumble forward, eyes fixed on the full-length mirror in the far corner of the room.

You reach it slowly, heart pounding like a drumbeat that doesn't belong to you. Your reflection blurs as your eyes sting.

You lean in, nose nearly brushing the glass. The boy staring back at you looks delicate. Refined. Pretty, even. Like a porcelain doll dressed for mourning in his black pyjamas. High cheekbones. Long lashes. Soft lips that twitch when yours do.

You raise a hand to your face. So does he.

But it isn't you.

You're Hatake Y/N, youngest of the Hatake clan. You've tracked enemy shinobi across snowfields. You've bled beneath enemy blades. You're a shinobi.

So who the hell is this?

Behind you—

"You stare like you've never seen yourself before."

You whip around.

The tall man from before is back, watching you from the doorway. Unblinking. His voice is monotone, but there's something sharp behind the calm.

"Get dressed," he says, nodding toward the wardrobe. "We're going to talk. Properly."

He leaves without another word, vanishing so silently it chills you.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, fingers clenching into fists before slowly opening again.

Your body feels wrong. Too light. Too small. You don't recognize the way your center of balance shifts with every step. Even your breath sounds different, too soft, too shallow.

You move to the wardrobe.

It opens smoothly, hinges whispering open with barely a sound.

Inside, rows of nearly outfits greet you. Dark-colored kimonos with subtle flower patterns at the sleeve and the end. No pants. No boots. No armor. Just silk and shadow.

You hesitate. Then reach for one.

It takes longer than you'd like to get dressed. Your fingers fumble with the obi. The sleeves feel strange. You avoid looking down as best you can, you already know you're not in your own body. You don't need more proof.

Still, even without looking, you feel the truth.

You're in a boy's body.

But everything about you looks soft. Slim waist, long lashes, delicate collarbones. Your new face could pass for a noble girl's. It's jarring. Even cruel.

You glance at the mirror again, fully dressed now. The kimono fits perfectly. You look like someone meant for tea ceremonies, not battlefield carnage. Not for kunai. Not for blood.

You reach out and gently touch the edge of the mirror's frame.

"You admire yourself too much."

The door opens again, and the voice pulls you away from your thoughts.

He's standing there once more. The tall one. The one with the black, soulless eyes.

You steel your spine.

"Follow me."

You do.

You trail behind him through a winding corridor, your feet padding against dark wood flooring. The air is cool, tinged with incense. The house is large, massive even, but closed-off and silent. Like a temple. Or a tomb.

Everything is dark. Walls in black, navy, crimson. Rich fabrics, elaborate carvings, paper doors that look like they haven't been opened in years.

You take a few steps too loud. Your heel taps instead of gliding.

He turns his head slightly, not stopping.

"You're walking too loudly."

You flinch.

"I—I'm sorry. I used to be better. My steps were silent in my own body."

That gets his attention.

He stops. Turns fully to face you.

"Explain."

You breathe in carefully, watching his eyes. He's unreadable, like a shadow wearing skin.

"I was a shinobi," you say. "I trained to move silently, walk without leaving traces, hide my presence, mask my breathing. I could run over leaves without making a sound. But... this body—this isn't mine. It moves differently. My center of gravity is wrong. I can't even tell where my steps fall until I hear them."

A pause.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Then:

"You speak the truth. Or at least, you believe it."

He starts walking again.

You follow, trying to move softer.

"You said you're a shinobi," he continues, voice flat but probing. "From where?"

"Konoha. The Hidden Leaf Village."

"I never heard of it." His tone doesn't mock you, but it doesn't believe you, either.

"What? But… most people know it. It's in the Land of Fire—one of the Five Great Ninja Villages."

He only stares at you with unblinking eyes.

You clench your hands inside the sleeves of the kimono. "I don't expect you to believe me. But it's the truth. It's all I have. I can't give you any proof right now… but if you let me go home, if I could just talk to my brother, he'd confirm everything. He knows who I really am."

He doesn't respond. Just continues walking.

The silence stretches as you descend a staircase and enter a deeper part of the house.

You have no idea where you are.

But you can feel it in your gut: You're in a den of monsters.

And you're wearing one of their faces.

The air grows colder the deeper you go. The walls shift from dark wood to smooth stone. The ceilings rise. The scent of old incense and paper-thin blood lingers on the air, and you realize that despite the stillness, you are not alone.

He walks ahead of you, silent as a falling leaf, his long hair swinging like shadow behind him.

You try to match his pace.

"I forgot to introduce myself," he says suddenly, not looking back. "My name is Illumi."

The name settles in your chest like a stone.

You nod once, quietly. "It's nice to meet…"

"Through this door," he interrupts.

You stop in front of a tall door, black lacquer with a delicate silver emblem carved into the center, a swirling Z. Before you can even ask where you're going, he opens it.

The room beyond is vast. Cold. Beautiful in a way that feels surgical. It's a sitting room, technically, but everything about it feels like a throne room built for execution.

There are already people inside.

A man with silver hair and a massive build, standing tall near the far wall. His presence is magnetic, commanding. His expression is unreadable, but you can feel his power just from his stance.

A woman sits beside him, dressed in sweeping gothic robes, her lips curled into a faint scowl. She wears a kind of mask, something that hides her eyes, paired with a large hat that obscures the rest of her upper face. Because of the mask, her expression is unreadable.

Near the side of the room, on a velvet chaise, lounges a heavyset boy with short hair, eating chips straight from the bag with one hand and lazily swiping through some device with the other. He looks up, uninterested, until his eyes widen slightly. You feel him scan you like a database processor, running through something in his head.

And at the back, tucked almost too comfortably into the shadows, sits an elderly man, thin and precise, sipping tea from a tiny porcelain cup. His eyes are closed, but his presence is loud.

Illumi gestures for you to step forward.

"This is the rest of your family. Or rather—Kalluto's."

You hesitate.

"Go on," he says. "They won't hurt you. Not yet."

You take a step. Then another. You bow stiffly.

"My name is Y/N Hatake. I'm not your family. I woke up in this body, and I don't know how or why—but I'm not Kalluto. I was born in a village called Konoha. I'm a shinobi. My brother is Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage. If there's a way to contact him… I'm sure we can figure this out. Maybe Kalluto ended up in my body somehow. A jutsu we didn't recognize, something that switched us, or… changed everything—"

"You claim to be a foreign soul," the man with silver hair studies you. His voice is calm. Heavy. Like judgment dressed as observation.

"Yes," you say. "I know how it sounds. I have no proof, but I swear I'm not lying."

The woman tilts her head, smiling a little too widely.

"He's sweeter," she hums. "Kalluto never smiled like that. Never hesitated. Never sounded so small… Do you remember me, dear?" she coos.

You shake your head.

"No."

The heavyset man, Milluki, Illumi offers in a flat whisper, snorts and sets down his device.

"This is a freak show. Are we sure this isn't some weird Nen possession? Like, memory overwrite? Maybe a parasite-type specialist?"

Illumi shakes his head.

"I can feel his aura. It's shaped like Kalluto's, same root, but the flow, the refinement, the instincts are foreign. Off-pattern. Like a different artist copying the same brushstroke."

The old man in the corner finally opens his eyes. You freeze. They're sharp. Merciless. Wise. But also… curious. "And what do you want, foreign child?"

You swallow.

"I want to understand what happened. I want to go home, want to talk to my brother."

The silence after that stretches long.

Finally, the silver-haired man nods slightly. "We will not harm you. You are still… our son's vessel. His body. Until we understand what's happened, we will treat you as Kalluto-adjacent."

"I… appreciate that," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "Also, I'm a girl. So, uh… hearing 'him' when you talk about me feels a little weird. I mean, I guess I am a him right now… but still."

There's a pause. Not a long one, just long enough for you to regret saying anything.

Milluki lets out a short, snorting laugh from the corner. "Hah. That's rich. A ninja princess in Kalluto's body. This just keeps getting weirder."

You don't respond, but your jaw tightens.

The woman's lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, more like curiosity turning over in her mouth. "So delicate," she murmurs. "It's almost fitting."

Silva raises a brow but says nothing. He doesn't seem amused or offended, just processing, the way someone might observe a new species.

The old man sips his tea with no reaction at all, as if gender identity is the least interesting part of this strange puzzle. It probably isn't, if you're honest. 

Illumi, still standing beside you, finally speaks. "If that's what you prefer," he says tonelessly. "It doesn't change anything. But I'll note it."

Silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable.

You start fidgeting with your hands, the silk of the sleeves slipping between your fingers. "So, uh… is there any way to contact my brother? Or any shinobi from Konoha? Even the Kazekage from Suna, if that's closer. I'm sure Gaara could help. He knows me."

The old man finally stands, his movements slow but purposeful. He crosses the room with a slight hunch. "I know this world well, child," he says, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet. "And I've never heard of any of those places."

He stops a few feet in front of you, tilting his head as he studies you more closely. "This may be more interesting than I thought."

"They're real," you insist quietly. "Two of the most famous shinobi villages. Konoha in the Land of Fire, and Suna in the Land of Wind."

"I looked it up," Milluki mutters, holding up his device. "There's nothing. No such names. Not on any network."

Illumi turns slightly, his aura flaring in an instant. It's sharp, pressurized, like a needle pricking the back of your neck.

"So you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" you shoot back, startled. "I am from Konoha. How would you even look it up with that thing? Wouldn't you need… a map?"

Milluki scoffs. "A map?" he repeats mockingly. But the smirk fades when he realizes you're serious.

"Wait… don't you know what this is?" He holds the phone up again, more confused than smug now.

You blink at it.

"...No?"

A beat.

"You don't know what a phone is?" Illumi asks, and for the first time, there's something just slightly off in his voice. Not quite surprise, but close. Like the needle of his perception has tilted.

You shake your head.

The family exchanges glances, brief, quiet, unreadable. Not panicked. Not angry. But calculating.

The tall man finally speaks.

"How about you start from the beginning," he says, nodding toward the long dining table visible through an open set of doors. "Tell us where you came from. And what you are."

You nod, slowly.

And so, you all sit.

The table is far too long, the air too heavy, but they let you speak.

You begin to explain: Konoha, the hidden village in the Land of Fire. The shinobi system. The Hokage, your brother, Kakashi, now the Sixth. You talk about the structure: Genin, Chūnin, Jōnin. About how you reached your rank. The ANBU. Missions. Chakra. Hand signs. Seals. You tell them about the Akatsuki (or what was left of them) and the Fourth Shinobi World War. Surely they've heard of it, right? Something that big?

But as your words settle into the room, you're met only with silence. Calculating, speculative silence.

And slowly, you begin to realize:

They really don't know.

None of it.

You're completely alone here.

That evening, the silence of the room wraps around you like heavy fog.

Kalluto's room.

Yours now, apparently.

It's quiet, too quiet. Not the soft kind that brings peace, but the type that amplifies the ache in your head, in your chest. The shadows stretch long across the floor.

You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely clasped, head bowed.

It hurts.

Your head hurts from the flood of information. Names, systems, power structures. Technology Milluki had shoved into your hands with an eye-roll and a scoff, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Phones, networks, internet. He'd laughed at your confusion. "That was just basic stuff," he said, snorting as he clicked through app after app. "You haven't seen anything yet."

And he was right. Because even after just a glimpse, you'd felt your chest tighten with how alien this world was.

And then there was Nen.

Illumi had brought you to a cold training chamber. His instructions had been precise, detached, but strangely patient. He'd studied your reactions, observed how quickly you'd learned the basics. Aura control, the feel of Ren and Zetsu under your skin. Like chakra, but not. More visceral. Wilder. And yet, your shinobi training made it… accessible.

Not easy. Never easy.

But possible.

Still… it wasn't familiar. It wasn't home.

You lie back slowly on the bed, staring at the high ceiling, arms sprawled over your stomach. The kimono bunches slightly at your waist. Even your body, this body, feels unfamiliar. Smaller. Lighter. You caught your reflection again earlier, and your breath had caught in your throat.

Pretty. Petite.

Delicate features, soft lines, long dark hair. You knew you were in a boy's body. You felt it. But it didn't change how alien it looked in the mirror, like someone had dressed your soul in someone else's porcelain doll.

And still, it wasn't what unsettled you the most.

It was the emptiness.

You missed them. Your team. The long walks through the village, the scent of ramen in the air. The warmth of laughter, the comfort of banter. Your brother's rare but genuine smiles, the warmth of his presence even when words were few.

Were they looking for you now?

Could they?

Was Kalluto in your body? Had your family noticed the difference? What if they hadn't? What if he was there, quiet and distant, and no one even realized you were gone?

Or worse, what if your body was just empty?

Were you dead?

Were you dreaming? Comatose? Was there another version of you out there, walking the streets of Konoha, completely unaware of what you'd left behind?

Tears prick your eyes, sharp and sudden. You cover your face with both hands and take a shaky breath.

You don't cry.

You can't cry.

You're a shinobi. You've faced war. You've buried friends.

But this… this kind of isolation, this displacement from everything you've ever known, it's not a battle.

It's a slow, silent drowning.

You let out a quiet exhale and roll to your side, curling slightly, trying to shrink the world down to just the soft whisper of the sheets.

For now, all you can do is survive.

And hopefully find a way back.

It's been a week since you woke up in this unfamiliar body, in a house that feels more like a fortress than a home. Every day, you tread carefully, watching, listening, learning.

You're not sure if they see you as an intruder, a threat, or just a ghost wearing their son's skin. But you've made a decision.

If you're stuck here, for now… then you'll try to live here. Try to be useful. Try to be kind, even if no one quite knows what to do with that.

You start with something small.

One morning, after breakfast—if you could even call that silent, stiff ritual a meal—you linger in the kitchen. The servants give you sideways glances, clearly unsure of your presence, but you smile anyway.

"I can cook," you offer gently. "I mean, I know it's not exactly professional, but I used to make ramen back home. Just… simple stuff."

The chef, clearly unsure whether he's allowed to let you, hesitates. But you press on, tying your sleeves back and getting to work.

It feels good. Familiar. The way the steam curls, the warmth of the broth, the rhythm of your hands.

Later, you bring the bowls to the living room on a tray, hopeful.

"I thought… maybe everyone might want some lunch?"

Silva glances over from where he's seated, a thick file open in his hands. His stare is impassive, unreadable.

"That's unnecessary," he says simply. "Meals are handled."

You nod quickly, the tray still in your hands.

"Right. I just thought…"

But he's already looking away.

You find the garden one late afternoon.

The quiet there is different, not heavy, not judgmental. Just… quiet. You kneel beside a patch of overgrown green, rolling up your sleeves and carefully pulling weeds. The dirt gets under your nails. It feels real.

"You shouldn't be out here."

You turn to see Kikyo standing a few feet away, arms folded, her mask gleaming in the afternoon light.

"I was just helping," you say softly. "It's peaceful here."

"You'll ruin your hands," she says curtly. "And Kalluto never bothered with dirt. He had refinement."

You glance down at your fingers.

"Right. Sorry."

She doesn't move.

"You keep trying to act like you belong. Like you're one of us," she continues, voice tight. "But you're not. You're soft. I can see it. Too soft. Too breakable."

You swallow.

"I just thought… I could try."

"Don't."

She turns and disappears into the house.

You're invited into Milluki's room exactly once.

He's surrounded by tech. Screens, wires, a small mountain of half-empty snack wrappers.

"You ever played Hellstorm IV?" he asks, shoving a controller into your hands before you can answer.

You try. You really try.

But the buttons are foreign, the graphics too fast. You're dead in under a minute.

"Wow. You suck," he says with a cackle.

"I've… never played games before."

"Yeah, no kidding."

He doesn't invite you back.

Zeno practically lives in the library.

You tried asking him once about history here, about maps, about anything that could help you understand where you are. He shut the book he was reading, stared at you for a long moment, then opened a new one without a word.

You got the message.

Now, you only pass by quietly.

Illumi is different.

You can't say better, just different.

Sometimes he watches you for minutes at a time without speaking. His expression doesn't change, but you feel the scrutiny like a weight on your skin.

He still trains you in Nen. Corrects your posture. Tells you to focus.

He praises your progress in vague, clinical tones.

"Kalluto was not this quick. You've adapted well."

Sometimes, when you're sitting alone after training, he lingers at the doorway. Like he might say something more. But he never does.

You wonder if he thinks you're a parasite.

Sometimes you wonder if he's right.

That night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, hands cupped in your lap. The room is dim, lit only by a flickering lamp.

No one came to check on you. No one knocked. No one asked what you needed.

You try to hold the memories of home like water in your hands.

Naruto's laugh. Sakura's teasing. Kakashi's silent presence at your side.

You wonder if they're missing you. If they've noticed you're gone. You wonder if you are gone.

You whisper your name aloud, just to hear it, your real one.

And then you say it again.

Quieter.

Just for yourself.

Because right now, it's the only piece of you left.

You're peeling vegetables in the kitchen when Silva calls you.

No warning. No preamble. One of the servants enters, bows stiffly, and says, "The head of the family requests your presence."

Your hands pause, a strip of carrot curling over your thumb. You wipe your fingers quickly and follow.

The house is colder than usual.

You're led into a smaller sitting room, one you've never been in before. Silva sits in an armchair, his long hair tied back neatly, arms crossed. Illumi stands behind him, motionless. Kikyo sits off to the side, veil pulled even lower than usual. Zeno isn't here. Milluki isn't either.

No one speaks for a moment. You stand quietly, hands tucked inside your sleeves like always.

Finally, Silva exhales through his nose. "This… isn't working."

You blink.

"What?"

"You're not Kalluto," Kikyo says sharply, voice brittle behind her veil. "Not in soul. Not in spirit."

"We've given it time," Illumi adds. "We've watched you. Studied you. You're gentle. Too kind. That's not who our Kalluto was."

That stings. You knew it already, of course. But hearing it like that, spoken so plainly, sends a cold weight into your chest.

"So what does that mean?" you ask softly. "What do you want me to do?"

Silva's gaze hardens.

"You will leave. You'll take that body and go live in the world. Learn it. Survive it. Do what you must to keep Kalluto's body strong and capable."

Kikyo shifts, clearly on the verge of saying something cruel, but holds back.

"You're not being exiled," Silva clarifies. "You are simply… no longer ours."

"But you're letting me live." It's not a question, but it kind of is.

Illumi nods.

"You've done nothing to endanger us. And you haven't mistreated Kalluto's body. That's enough for now."

He steps forward and hands you two things: a slim phone and a sealed envelope.

"Use the phone only in case of emergency," he says. "If you contact me for anything else, I won't answer. I don't have time to babysit you."

You accept both items with trembling hands.

"The envelope contains money," he continues. "And a location. Yorknew City. Start there. Blend in. Stay alive."

You stare down at the envelope.

Yorknew.

The name feels familiar.

Of course…It was mentioned in a few old newspapers you found in the library. Something about the biggest heist in history, pulled off against the Mafia by some organization. You don't remember their name, but apparently, they're some of the most dangerous people around.

Kind of reminded you of the Akatsuki.

You try to meet his gaze, but as always, Illumi's face is unreadable. Not cruel. Just… detached.

Silva finally stands. His towering presence fills the room.

"You can leave in the morning. A car will take you to the city's edge."

You want to ask if this is kindness. Or just practical mercy.

You don't.

Instead, you bow. Not because they deserve it, but because you do. Because you won't let their coldness harden your heart.

"Thank you," you whisper.

They don't reply.

That night, you pack what little you own: a few kimono, a change of clothes you bought online with Milluki's help weeks ago, and the envelope Illumi gave you.

You sit on the edge of the bed—his bed—and trace the phone with your thumb. It feels alien in your hand. Like everything else.

You wonder if Kalluto's soul is still alive, trapped in your old world.

You wonder if your brother's looking for you. If he feels the gap you left behind.

"I'll come back," you whisper into the quiet. "I'll find a way home."

But first you'll learn how to survive in this strange world.

Even if it's without a family.

Even if you're starting with nothing.

Tomorrow, Yorknew awaits.

And who knows what you'll find there?

You don't know what you expected.

But it certainly wasn't this.

The airship hums beneath your feet, wind pressing against the window in gentle pulses. Your hands are clutched tightly in your lap, knuckles pale beneath the sleeves of your kimono. You haven't moved for most of the ride.

You've scaled mountains, sprinted across treetops in the dark, survived ambushes and assassins and far worse.

But nothing—nothing—prepared you for flying.

Your stomach had lurched the moment the ship lifted into the sky. The sensation of weightlessness, the distant curve of the world visible from the window…It all felt wrong. Like defying gravity should come at a cost.

You'd thrown up twice in the small bathroom.

Now, you sit silently, the smooth, mechanical sounds vibrating through your bones. The pilot had barely looked at you when you boarded, and you didn't dare ask questions. You're used to silence now. It wraps around you like a second skin.

The closer you get to Yorknew, the more the world below changes.

No more dense forests or quiet rivers. No farmland or open spaces.

Just buildings. Roads. Noise.

So much noise.

The moment you step off the airship, it hits you all at once.

The smell of oil and exhaust. The rush of people. So many voices overlapping, none of them familiar. Towering skyscrapers stretch toward the clouds, blinking with lights and shifting billboards. Music blasts from unseen speakers overhead, some upbeat tune you can't understand, all bass and glittering synths.

It's loud. Too loud.

The streets buzz with strange machines, cars, Milluki had explained, racing by in bright colors. The crosswalk blinks red. Then green. Then red again. You barely catch the rhythm in time to follow the crowd.

You're swept along like a leaf in a current.

People bump into you. Some apologize. Most don't.

You can't help it, you stop right in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at a glowing ad where a giant digital woman twirls in slow motion, holding a perfume bottle.

She smiles, fake and perfect.

You blink.

You've never felt so small in your life.

A few people grumble as they have to walk around you, but you stay rooted to the spot for a moment longer, clutching the strap of your small bag.

You whisper to yourself,

"It's okay. Just a new kind of battlefield."

You remember what your brother once told you."When you're overwhelmed, focus on what you can control."

So you do.

You find a bench. You sit. You breathe. Slowly, one inhale at a time.

You pull out the phone Illumi gave you and open the folded note tucked in your sleeve. It's a map, simplified and hand-drawn, with a red circle around a neighborhood in southern Yorknew. A start.

You still don't know where you are.

But you're here. You're alive. And for now… that has to be enough.

You get back on your feet, and you start walking.

The hotel isn't much.

Faded wallpaper peels at the corners. The mattress sags. The little bathroom barely runs warm water. But it's clean, and it's yours. A door that locks. A place to sit and think without being watched.

A start.

You drop your bag beside the bed and sit down slowly, trying to ignore the way your thoughts churn.

Illumi's envelope had been thick with bills. No goodbye. Just instructions.

"Only call me in an emergency. You'll figure the rest out. Start in Yorknew."

So you came here, to a city that hums like a live wire. That moves like it doesn't care if you fall behind.

You step into the daylight the next morning, determined.

You need a job. A plan. A place in this world.

You start simple. Asking vendors. Shopkeepers. People outside buildings.

But they all pass you by.

Too busy. Too rushed. Too indifferent.

Someone laughs in your face when you ask if they're hiring. Another pretends not to hear you at all.

You try to swallow the tightness in your throat, but it keeps climbing. You duck behind a line of vending machines and lean against the cold metal, head tilted up toward the sky.

You miss the trees.

The wind.

You miss Kakashi's dry remarks. Naruto's boundless energy. Even Sasuke's brooding silence had a kind of comfort.

And now? You don't know what you're doing. Not really.

This isn't Konoha. There are no missions. No team. No orders to follow.

You wipe your face with the sleeve of the borrowed kimono.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cry.

You're still standing there, blinking furiously and pretending to read a city map, when a voice breaks through the noise of traffic and conversation.

Clear.

Sharpened by disbelief.

"Kalluto?"

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

That name. Again. It still doesn't feel like yours.

Slowly, you turn.

A boy with silver-white hair stands a few steps away. He's younger than most of the people around, but older than you, at least in this body. His presence is sharp, aware.

His eyes lock onto you, narrowed and uncertain.

Beside him, another boy stands with a curious, friendly expression, dark-haired, bright-eyed, his whole posture open and relaxed.

"Hey," the white-haired one says. "Why are you… out here?"

You blink at him, uncertain. "Do… I know you?"

That throws him. Just slightly.

"…What?" he says, his voice low. "What are you talking about?"

"I—I mean, I don't… I don't know who you are."

His eyes narrow further, flicking over you, your posture, your clothes, your voice.

Then he steps a little closer. Not threatening, but… focused. Watching you like you're a puzzle that suddenly changed shape.

"You're not Kalluto," he says after a long moment.

Your heart stings.

"…No," you say quietly. "I'm not. I'm just… in his body. Met his family, they kicked me out."

There's a long silence between you.

The world keeps moving, people passing, cars humming in the distance, a song playing faintly from somewhere nearby.

But this moment feels suspended. Unmoving.

Then the other boy steps forward with a bright smile.

"Well, if you're not Kalluto… who are you?"

You end up at a small ice cream shop tucked around the corner of the busy street, just far enough from the noise that it doesn't make your skin itch. The smell of sugar and cold cream lingers in the air, and the bell above the door jingles softly as the three of you step inside.

Gon immediately heads to the counter, eyes shining at the rows of brightly colored flavors. "Let's get mint chocolate! Or maybe… ohh, they have melon!"

Killua doesn't say much. He keeps a step behind you, arms crossed, watching you carefully even as he orders a plain vanilla cone. You just get something small, vanilla, too. It's simple.

You take a seat at a small table near the window. Gon flops into the seat across from you like he's known you forever. Killua sits with more restraint, his eyes never quite leaving your face.

"So…" Gon grins. "You said you're not Kalluto. But who are you?"

You hesitate, glancing down at your cone before answering. "My name is Y/N. Y/N Hatake."

You take a breath and continue. "I'm… from a different world. Or another universe, I guess. I don't know how I got here. I woke up in that big house, the Zoldyck mansion. In this body. In Kalluto's body."

Gon tilts his head. "What kind of world?"

"I was a shinobi," you say. "A ninja. From a village called Konoha, short for Konohagakure, in the Land of Fire. My brother is Kakashi Hatake. He was the Sixth Hokage. Basically, the leader of the village."

Killua frowns. "That doesn't sound real."

"It is," you say softly. "It was my life. One day I went to sleep in my body… and woke up in this one. Illumi was the first to notice something was wrong. He was in my room before I could even figure out what was happening. He—he knew right away that I wasn't Kalluto."

You swirl your spoon through the softening ice cream.

"They interrogated me. The whole family. I tried to explain, but it's hard when you don't even understand it yourself. Still, they didn't hurt me. Not physically. I think they were more curious than anything. But I was…" you hesitate, forcing a smile, "too soft, I guess. Too nice. Not like Kalluto. I didn't belong there."

Killua is quiet, his mouth a thin line. Gon, however, leans forward like he's listening to a fairy tale.

"And then they sent you away?" Gon asks.

You nod. "Illumi gave me money, a phone, and told me to survive. Sent me to Yorknew. Said I should 'keep the body healthy'."

Killua finally speaks. "That sounds like something he'd say."

You let out a tired laugh. "Yeah… That's been my life for the past few weeks. Now I'm trying to find a job, trying to figure out where I fit in. This world is… a lot. So fast. So loud. There's so much technology I don't understand. People are cold. Everything feels too big."

Gon's expression softens. "That sounds really lonely."

Your throat tightens. You nod. "It is."

For the first time, Killua looks at you, not just observing, but seeing. The weight in your eyes. The effort it's taken to hold yourself together.

A pause. Then, Gon beams again. "You can hang out with us! We're in town for a while. And if you're trying to figure this world out, maybe we can help!"

You blink. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," Gon says brightly. "You're Killua's little brother. Well… kinda? Used to be? This is really confusing, huh?"

Your heart skips. Brother?

"We're… brothers?" you ask, the words slipping out before you can help it. There's a flicker of hope in your voice, something fragile. Maybe, just maybe, there was someone here who could still be family. Someone who wouldn't flinch when you smiled too warmly or spoke too kindly.

Killua glances at you, and something shifts in his eyes. "I'm not like them," he says, cutting straight through your thoughts.

You blink, startled.

"You wear your emotions all over your face," he continues, matter-of-fact. "It's easy to tell what you're thinking."

"Oh."

"It's not a bad thing," he adds with a tilt of his head. "Gon's the same way."

"Hey!" Gon protests with a huff. "I'm very mysterious, thank you!"

That starts an easy back-and-forth between the two of them, a little round of teasing and mock indignation. You watch them, quiet and smiling, warmth blooming in your chest. It's familiar, like the way Naruto would provoke Sasuke, or drag Sakura into another pointless argument. Loud, chaotic affection. A kind of love that never needed to be spoken aloud to be understood.

You hadn't realized how much you missed that sound.

Then Killua turns back to you, licking the last bit of his cone. "You're weird," he says simply. "But not dangerous. So… yeah. We'll help you out."

The smile that grows on your face is small, uncertain, but real.

For the first time since waking up in this strange, bright, terrifying world you don't feel quite so alone.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wandering the sun-drenched streets of Yorknew. You trail just behind Killua and Gon as they point out various shops, snack stalls, and towering skyscrapers with the casual confidence of boys who've seen more of the world than most adults.

It's overwhelming, the noise, the people, the lights. But somehow, with them beside you, it's also okay.

They talk easily, excitedly, telling you stories so outrageous they'd sound like lies if you didn't feel the truth radiating from both of them.

Killua grins as he describes the Hunter Exam, how they dodged death more times than they could count, survived poison, illusions, murderous opponents, and a tournament at the end that nearly broke them.

Gon tells you about the Heavens Arena, how they trained there for weeks, learned about Nen—Killua rolls his eyes and interrupts to add that they also got beaten to a pulp by a couple of freaks but learned a ton in the process.

"And then we went to Yorknew the first time," Gon adds. "There was this group, really dangerous, like super strong. We tried to stop them."

"Got our asses handed to us," Killua admits, not even embarrassed. "But we helped some people. Learned some stuff. Got smarter."

"And then, you won't believe this, we got sucked into a video game," Gon says, his eyes wide with remembered excitement.

You blink. "What?"

"A literal game. Like, inside it," Killua confirms, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "Greed Island. We collected cards, fought monsters, completed quests. It was wild."

You stare at them. "That… That sounds insane."

"Right?!" Gon laughs. "But it was awesome. I even learned a new move there!"

It all sounds surreal. Dangerous. Unbelievable. And yet, your chest aches with something sharp and wistful.

This is a life. This is adventure, purpose, laughter, friends. Not that cold mountain mansion, not those silent dinners.

Not being forgotten just for being kind.

As the three of you take a seat at a low fountain and watch the passersby, your phone buzzes.

You fumble it open, still not quite used to the sleek, glowing screen, and read the message.

Did you find him?

Just that. No name. But you know exactly who it's from.

Your fingers hover awkwardly over the keys. You're not even sure how to respond, or if you should.

Wordlessly, you show the screen to Killua.

His face twists. "Tch. That bastard."

Gon leans over to look. "Illumi?"

"He sent you here on purpose," Killua mutters, glaring off into the street. "He knew I'm here, that I'd find you. He probably guessed I'd feel your aura. It's still Kalluto's body, after all."

You shift uncomfortably. "So… this was all planned?"

Killua shrugs, teeth clenched. "Not exactly. He's not that smart. But he's manipulative. He set this up, still keeps track of me. Knew I'd come if something felt off."

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. There's a weird twist in your gut. You were never really free, not even when they kicked you out.

Gon nudges you gently. "Hey. That doesn't change the fact that we met! Which is still kinda cool, right?"

You smile weakly. "Yeah… It it."

Later, as the sky begins to darken, as you three sit down on a bench close to your hotel. 

"We've been tracking Gon's dad," Killua finally says. "We found a new lead after finishing Greed Island. Could bring us straight to him."

Your eyes widen. "Your dad?"

Gon nods. "We've been looking for him forever. But we're not in a hurry. Thought we'd stick around Yorknew a few more weeks. Relax, explore, have fun."

Killua smirks. "We're kind of rich now."

Now?" Gon laughs. "You've always been loaded."

You can't help but laugh, too. There's something surreal about it, like a dream you haven't quite woken up from. But for the first time in weeks… it doesn't feel like a nightmare.

And just maybe, you're not alone anymore.

The next week in Yorknew passed in a blur of color and noise, laughter and light.

You crash in your small hotel room at night, aching in places you didn't know could ache, sore from training, full from snacks Gon insists on buying, and, maybe most shocking of all, content.

During the days, they show you around the city. Not just the tourist spots, either, though those are fun, but the weird, exciting corners only two hyperactive, curious teens like Gon and Killua would find. A hidden arcade on the fifth floor of a laundromat. A dumpling stand run by a woman who says she met god once (Killua rolled his eyes at that). A bookstore where the owner sleeps behind the counter and lets you read anything if you promise not to make too much noise.

And all the while, you train.

Killua's surprisingly patient when it comes to explaining Nen again, breaking it down so it makes more sense to someone not born into this world. Gon's less technical but eager to help, offering encouragement and clumsy demonstrations that somehow still work. Together, they help you refine your control. Focus your aura. Strengthen what Illumi brushed over.

It's hard work, but it's fun, too. Like the old days in Konoha, training with Naruto and the others. Sweating and laughing and feeling yourself slowly, finally, grow into your own skin again.

And then it happens, completely by accident.

Gon is in the middle of showing off his "Janken". Rock, paper, scissors, powered by Nen. You're watching with a crooked smile, sipping on some weird melon soda he made you try, when the thought hits you:

That looks fun.

Not practical. Not stealthy. Not anything you would have used in battle. But it looks fun.

So you try it.

You mimic his stance. Lift your hand. Concentrate. You feel your aura shift—no, reshape—and then, to everyone's shock, a low buzz of energy hums in your palm.

"Ja—ken…" you say slowly, almost as a joke. "Gu!"

A shock of focused aura blasts forward, smaller than Gon's version, less refined, but unmistakably similar.

The soda slips from Gon's hand and bursts across the sidewalk.

Killua stares at you.

"…You copied it?" he asks, eyes wide.

"I… didn't mean to," you mutter, staring at your own hand like it betrayed you. "I just…watched. It felt like something I used to do. Back in my world. My…Sharingan." That's when you realise the almost similar feeling to back then. No real Sharingan, but a similar chakra. 

It somehow… followed you.

Not exactly as it was. Not an eye technique. Not visual. But something deeper. A specialist ability, hidden until now. The same instinctive, reactive mimicry that once made you a feared shinobi… now adapted to this world. To Nen.

Gon is grinning so hard it looks like his face might split in two.

"THAT'S SO COOL!"

Killua looks less enthused. More worried.

"That's… not normal," he mutters. "Specialist, maybe. Or something even weirder. You're sure you didn't use any abilities from before until now?"

You shake your head. "I didn't even think I could."

He looks at you for a long second, expression unreadable.

Then he sighs. "Well, whatever it is… don't show it off. Not yet. You have no idea what kind of attention that's gonna draw."

You nod. His words are serious, but there's no edge to them. No fear. No rejection.

Just concern.

Care.

You tuck the moment away, like a precious gem. Along with Gon's wide smile, and the sticky warmth of spilled melon soda on your fingers, and the dizzying joy of not being alone anymore.

You don't know how long this will last. Or what comes next. But for now… you're safe. You're seen. You're you.

It happens over breakfast, if you could call three sweet buns and two cans of soda a meal.

Gon's foot bounces under the table as he digs through his backpack, finally pulling out a card. He holds it up proudly, grinning at you.

"We're gonna use this," he says, "to find my dad."

You blink. "That's… what exactly?"

"An Accompany card, from Greed Island," Killua says, chewing lazily on his straw. "Won it at the end of the game. It's supposed to lead Gon straight to his father as soon as we activate it."

"Or at least close enough to keep the trail warm," Gon adds, eyes bright.

You don't know what to say at first. You've only known them a few weeks, but in that short time they've made this strange, disorienting world bearable. Their energy filled the empty space in your chest left by Konoha. Their bickering reminded you of home.

And now they're leaving.

Gon's eyes land on you again. "You should come with us!"

You smile. It's soft. Genuine. But sad. "This is your adventure," you say. "I can't follow you on this one. Not when I still don't know who I am in this world."

Killua doesn't argue. He just gives you a long look, understanding, if a little reluctant.

"You should head to Heavens Arena, then," he says. "You'll earn some money, and get stronger while you're at it."

"Heaven's Arena? The combat tower you told me about?" you echo.

"Exactly," Gon says, beaming again. "It's really tall! You fight, and if you win, you move up."

"Apparently Kalluto's been there before," Killua adds, glancing at you. "You get two entries per person. So technically… you've still got one left. You can earn a lot of money there"

You nod slowly. The idea of a structured environment, one where you can test yourself—and maybe earn enough to keep going—doesn't sound bad at all.

"But don't use your weird Shari—whatever—copying thing," Killua warns. "People are gonna start talking if you do. It's too flashy."

"Stick to basics for now," Gon agrees. "Focus. Precision. You're already strong, Y/N. Just be careful. And don't go up to the 200th floor, it gets too dangerous there."

There's a beat of silence.

You don't know what to say, how to tell them you'll miss them. That, somehow, they've become your tether here. Your first friends.

So you just nod.

"I will."

They both grin.

That afternoon, they walk you to the station, watch you disappear through the crowd. Gon waves so hard he nearly trips stumbles into a lantern. Killua pretends not to care, but keeps looking at you, his blue eyes landing on yours.

Then they're gone, as you got swallowed by the crowd.

And you're alone again.

But it's different this time.

Because now you have a plan and a direction.

Heaven's Arena.

You slip your hands into your sleeves and start walking. Toward the unknown. But not without hope. Not anymore.