Morning light filtered through Shion's curtains, rousing her from a restless sleep. Immediately, her thoughts tumbled back to Akai—and panic fluttered in her chest.
Why did I smile like that? she fretted, sitting up too quickly. A flood of unsaid words raced through her mind, each an avalanche of anxiety:
He's so—so precise. How can I match that? Am I being too obvious? What if he thinks I'm hiding something?
Her lips curved into the same gentle smile she'd worn yesterday at the gate, though inside she was unraveling. Shion pressed her palms into her cheeks, willing her breathing to slow.
She replayed Akai's words in her head: "I'm not the kind of person who likes owing others, so if there's anything—now's a good time to say it."
That remark had been her undoing. A prompt. A permission slip. So she'd babbled about shamanic terms, secret codes her mother had taught her, even the basics of sealing arts—stuff she shouldn't have shared with anyone, let alone this stoic Hyūga–Uchiha hybrid.
And all she'd gotten in return was that inscrutable stare.
Is he suspicious of me? Her stomach clenched at the memory of yesterday's nap time. She'd woken with a start and peeked over the futon only to catch him already awake, watching her. Not in malice—but in analysis.
GAH! she mentally screamed, fluttering a hand in front of her face. Which is it, Akai-san? Do you trust me... or not?
She stood, shaking out her hair, and hurried to dress. Today, she resolved, she would act "normal." No extra smiles. No overthinking every syllable.
At the Academy gate, Akai stood alone as usual. He looked up from straightening his binders when Shion rounded the corner, hair neatly tied, uniform pristine.
"Good morning, Shion-san," Akai greeted, inclining his head. His voice was calm—too calm.
Shion forced a small nod. "Good morning, Akai-san." Her throat felt dry.
He studied her for a beat. "Are you feeling well? You look... pale."
She blinked, careful to keep her voice steady. "I'm fine. Just... early breakfast."
Akai tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear—an almost-maternal gesture that made her heart pound. He withdrew as if remembering himself. "Very well. Shall we proceed inside?"
She swallowed, nodded, and fell into step beside him. The halls were quiet, but her mind churned:
Don't smile too brightly. Don't stutter. Just... remain composed.
Akai glanced at her binder-lined arms. "I've prepared my findings of the cursed imbued glasses we talked about last week. Would you like to discuss them after class?"
His face seemed to changed a bit into a form of disgust when he says "Class". It's not like it was an actual class with all the singing and babbling, playing with toys and multiple potty untrained babies in the whole class.
Shion blinked in surprise. "Um... yes. I'd appreciate that."
As they entered the building together—two "ordinary" kindergartners armed with adult knowledge—Shion promised herself to keep her bluff hidden, even while her heart raced with every cautious glance at Akai-san.
Morning activities were in full swing. In one corner, Ms. Hana led a cheerful song, swaying as a handful of children joined her in singing "Twinkle, Twinkle" while others happily built towers of blocks. Nearby, Mr. Ishida sat cross‑legged with a small group, reading a fairy tale in his gentle baritone: "Once upon a time, in a village hidden beneath the waves..."
Akai, however, was tucked into the opposite corner, hunched over his binder. He sketched two diagrams side by side: a normal synovial joint—its smooth cartilage and lubricating fluid—then, with arrows and annotations, the telltale erosion and pannus formation of rheumatoid arthritis. The memories came in flashes, and he worried each time that a single detail might slip away.
Shion slipped in beside him, eyes bright. "Akai‑san, you're really good with that," she observed quietly, watching his precise pen strokes. Around them, the other children glanced up from their play and smiled—drawn to Shion's easy warmth as much as to the toys.
Akai only blinked and returned to his notes. "It's... basic anatomy," he replied flatly.
Shion leaned closer, whispering, "Ms. Hana asked me to bring you over—join the others, please."
Akai regarded her with his poker face. Shion's expression trembled just a bit—true apology shining in her eyes as she murmured, "I'm sorry, Akai‑san. I really don't want trouble." Inside, she practically chanted, Don't kill me.
Akai sighed softly. "I suppose you're the one troubled. Fine."
Shion's face lifted into a relieved smile. She offered him her small hand. "Come on. Let's go."
Akai hesitated—Holding hands? he thought. That's... childish. Still, he carefully closed his binder and slipped it aside, then took her hand.
Instantly, Shion tugged him upright and practically dragged him across the mat to the circle of children. "Sensei, I got him!" she chimed in a bright, lilting voice. Ms. Hana beamed and patted Shion's head.
Freed from Shion's grip, Akai stood in the center and, on impulse, began to clap—slow, deliberate applause. The other children froze, puzzled by the silent gesture and his unchanging expression.
"What are you clapping for?" Shion asked, eyebrows raised.
"Nothing," Akai answered softly.
He watched Shion step forward to join the circle. In his mind, Akai noted one more thing—Shion is a great actor. But he left the thought unspoken as the group's laughter and playful chatter filled the room.
And as he settled into the circle, for once, Akai allowed himself to simply be a child—if only for a moment.
Shion's bright smile faltered the moment Akai began to clap. Her heart lurched.
What was that? What does that even mean? she panicked inside. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she fought down the rising anxiety.
The other children, caught mid‑play, stared at her and Akai. All eyes seemed to whisper: What's going on?
Shion bit her lip. She could feel her pulse thunder in her ears.
"Shion‑san?" Akai's flat voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. He'd paused his clapping and was watching her with those unreadable eyes.
She swallowed hard, forcing out a gentle smile. "It—it means... good job?" she lied, voice trembling.
His gaze flickered for the briefest moment—almost sympathy—before he settled back into his composed mask.
Shion's chest tightened. That wasn't right.
She glanced at Ms. Hana, who was gathering blocks for the next game, oblivious. She glanced back at Akai. Please... don't be mad.
Shion squared her shoulders and stepped forward, nodding to Ms. Hana. "I'll help set up!" she announced, voice just above normal.
As she busied herself picking up scattered blocks, Shion promised herself: next time, she'd understand Akai‑san better. Next time, she wouldn't need to guess.
Because right now, all she could think was:
Please don't hate me.
.
.
.
It had started with a subtle clue.
Akai had always wondered how the kindergarten floor in the Academy—a place crammed with emotionally unstable toddlers and misfiring chakra—remained so impeccably clear of cursed energy. He wasn't paranoid, just aware. Cursed energy naturally clung to stress and fear, and children were living generators of both. So why was it so... quiet?
He got his answer after school one day.
Shion and Akai were the last to be picked up, as always. Taruho had wandered off earlier to buy a snack or something—typical—only to reappear much later, stumbling dizzily behind none other than Uchiha Shisui.
Shisui, who carried Taruho under one arm like a sack of rice while waving lazily with the other.
"Yo."
Akai gave him a blank, but knowing stare.
Shion, ever the sunshine diplomat, bowed deeply. "Thank you as always, Shisui-san."
Shisui chuckled and reached out to ruffle her hair, making her puff her cheeks indignantly but not retreat. "You're too polite for your own good, Shion-chan."
Akai looked away.
Long story short, they went back to their apartment block together—Akai with his hands in his pockets, Shion skipping slightly ahead, Taruho stumbling behind still trying to regain his balance from Shisui's warp-speed shunshin.
And so, time passed.
A few months at first. Then more. Eventually, a half year slipped by, like sand through open fingers.
A half year of agony for Akai. Not that he showed it. Playing pretend with kindergarteners, singing off-pitch songs, building block towers with sweaty toddlers who sometimes cried because he used the "wrong color" brick... was not his idea of productive reincarnation.
He kept to himself. Mostly in the same corner, sketching down pages and pages of medical diagrams from his memories: anatomy, pathophysiology, pharmacology. Sometimes, he even tried to recreate entire textbook pages. After all, those memories were worth a lot—at least $500k if he were to factor in tuition.
Not that the Leaf Village would offer a student loan forgiveness program for reincarnators.
And through it all, there was Shion.
Sometimes she was there with him. Sometimes she had colds and stayed home. But she never really left his mind.
When she was around, the other kids swarmed her. She was effortlessly kind, nurturing, bright. If this were a classic romcom anime, she'd have sparkles constantly floating around her.
To Akai, she was dangerous.
Because she was too perfect, too tactful, too... careful.
He never missed it.
She always looked at him first before speaking. Always tried to guess his mood. Always made subtle gestures that, frankly, read more like someone trying to handle a bomb than a fellow kindergartener.
He was suspicious. But not in a hostile way. Just... aware.
He remembered one afternoon when she had a cold. He visited her home—because of course Taruho handed him a cold towel and vanished with a smile that screamed, "Good luck, bro."
Akai sat awkwardly beside her bed, cold compress in one hand, her medicine cup in the other.
Shion looked away. Her small shoulders trembled.
"I—It's fine, Akai-san. I-I'm just a little dizzy..."
"You're running a mild fever. Sit still."
She obeyed immediately, like a well-trained assistant. But her eyes darted nervously.
Then, he asked it.
"Shion-san."
She looked up.
"Should we..." Akai hesitated, "...be honest a little?"
Shion blinked, confused. "E-Eh?"
"I think you know what I mean." His tone was flat. Calm. Almost too calm. "About us."
Shion's blood ran cold. Information of the fourth wall was starting to break through.
She sat frozen, as if her entire soul had just jumped out and left the body behind to deal with the consequences. Her throat dried instantly.
So he knew. He knew.
Akai knew she was a transmigrator, too.
The thoughts spiraled instantly. Would he attack her? Would he try to erase her from this story? See her as a rival protagonist stealing his spotlight?
"...I know you're scared," Akai continued after a pause, sensing her reaction. "But relax. I don't care about any of that."
Her eyes widened.
He sighed, putting down the compress and rubbing the back of his head. "I just... I figured I'd say something before you have an ulcer from overthinking. I'm not going to betray you. If anything, I value you as a—well—a colleague. A friend, even."
Her heart clenched.
His voice was awkward, trying not to sound too soft, too sentimental. But the words landed.
He continued, "We've both been stuck here. You're not my enemy. You're the only one here who understands what it's like. That counts for something."
Shion's lips quivered.
All the pressure, all the fear she'd bottled up... shattered.
"U-UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Akai's eyes widened in horror. "E-EH?! YOU'RE CRYING?! DON'T—DON'T DO THAT—"
"Y-YOU IDIOT—WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING SO NICE NOW?!"
"HUH?! HOW IS THAT MY FAULT?!"
Chaos erupted instantly. A fallen towel. A spilled medicine cup. A sobbing mess of a girl and a flailing boy with a terrified expression.
Taruho would later return, find Akai trying to gently pat Shion's head with a trembling hand, and simply smile that same warm, knowing smile like a proud uncle who just watched his kids fumble through their first friendship arc.
Shisui, from somewhere above the rooftop, muttered under his breath: "Ah... young love." Guess he didn't hear all of it either so the misunderstanding seem to continue.
And from that day on, the distance between Akai and Shion—though filled with quirks, awkwardness, and unresolved tension—began to shrink.
They were no longer just playing house with the snotty brats.
They were partners in survival.
"Hic... the towel's not cold..." Shion whimpered, her cheeks puffed and flushed from fever, tears still trickling down the sides of her face. "Hic—! Why is it warm?"
Akai didn't look up immediately. He wrung the towel out with practiced precision before laying it back across her forehead. His voice, when it came, was calm, almost too calm. The kind of tone that tried to mask how much he was overcompensating for being flustered just moments ago.
"Oh? Good question." He cleared his throat.
"For decades, people believed that applying a cold compress to the forehead or body would help reduce fever by cooling the skin, and in turn, lower core temperature. But modern understanding of thermoregulation has evolved. A fever isn't the illness—it's the body's intentional immune response. It's designed to make the internal environment inhospitable for pathogens. Applying something too cold can trigger vasoconstriction—narrowing of the blood vessels—and chills, which could actually make the body raise its temperature even higher to compensate."
Shion blinked slowly, eyes glassy from her fever, sniffling still. "...Hic. You talk like a textbook."
"That's because it's about half of $500k worth of medical knowledge," Akai said dryly, reaching to gently smooth her bangs out from under the towel.
"Hic... you're bad at nursing."
Akai gave a small scoff, raising a brow. "You sure about that? I passed certification in my past life. Almost made it to residency."
"Hic… Your eyes are always so scary."
He paused for a moment, then let out a sigh, leaning back on his hands and glancing away.
"Yeah… I can't really deny that."
Back in the day, his juniors used to call him "the undead." Not because he was pale or anything, but because of the way his cold, unblinking stare haunted the Anatomy lab. As a teacher's assistant, he had this terrifying way of teaching — standing over cadavers, explaining the human body like it was just another routine.
Some of the braver students would joke that one day the cadavers themselves would rise up and start teaching alongside him. But it was never really funny when he was around. One look from those dark-circled eyes, and people swore their souls left their bodies.
Fail your test? Immediate E. No questions asked. Courtesy of the undead. Total power trip.
Shion didn't say anything right away, but Akai could tell she was still watching him.
"...But you're saying all sorts of things now," he added after a moment. "Is that because you've finally stopped trying to please me like I'm going to explode if you say something wrong?"
Shion's lips trembled again—but not from tears this time. She stared at him, wide-eyed, then suddenly—unexpectedly—laughed.
"Fu... ahahahaha!"
It was such an honest, high-pitched sound, cracking and full of relief. Akai blinked, startled. He hadn't expected that at all.
But slowly, unconsciously, he found himself smiling too. Not smirking. Not being sarcastic.
Just... smiling.
He laughed with her.
A little awkward. A little stiff. But real.
And just like that, the storm that had brewed silently for months between them—the anxious thoughts, the suspicious glances, the layers of unspoken paranoia and tension—lifted.
This wasn't a truce.
It was peace.
At last, the long psychological war between Akai and Shion, the cold war of reincarnated minds trapped in tiny bodies, had found its quiet end—marked not by grand declarations, but by shared laughter over a warm towel and a mutual acknowledgment:
They weren't alone anymore.
.
.
.
The classroom fell into an expectant silence as Ms. Hana announced, "Everyone, it might be a bit late, but from today onward, Rinka‑kun will be joining us."
A small figure stepped through the door. Red hair, cropped short. Red eyes, cool and assessing. Rinka Uzumaki. The whiteboard bore her name in neat strokes.
Shion and Akai, seated side by side, felt their hearts flip. In unison, though neither spoke aloud, each mind thundered:
There it is...
Akai's thoughts raced:
Shion's love rival for Sasuke Uchiha—the Uzumaki girl in boy's clothes...!
Shion's imagination sparkled:
Kyahh! The cliche cross‑dressing heroine! Akai Hyūga's future love interest...!
They shared a silent gasp, their eyes locked, as a single name formed on both of their lips:
Karin Uzumaki!
Though, It seems like another misunderstanding is going to happen between the two.
.
.
.
To be continued.