The sound of rain hadn't stopped, but it had softened. A low, rhythmic drizzle kissed the roof, no longer loud enough to drown out the creaks of floorboards or the whistle of wind through worn shutters. The room was faintly brighter—gray light filtered in through thin curtains, and the oil lamp had been extinguished, replaced by the soft smell of cooled wax.
Hikari stirred slowly beneath the quilt, her body heavy but clearer. Her fever had broken, and though her limbs still ached with lingering fatigue, her mind was her own.
She sat up, breathing in the damp air, and glanced around the quiet space. The desk where she'd found the photo and papers stood nearby, its drawers now firmly closed. Her fingers twitched with the memory of seals and scrolls—of what she knew and what she could build. But for now, the morning asked for smaller ambitions.
From beyond the paper-thin walls came the low clatter of dishes and the muffled scrape of a pot lid. The smell of boiling barley tea and reheated rice drifted through the house, grounding her with an odd comfort.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and padded quietly to the door.
---
The kitchen was small, dimly lit, and neat in the way only old women maintained: jars aligned perfectly on a narrow shelf, a faded cloth hanging above the stove, polished ladles set by size. Yumiko moved with calm precision, her sleeves rolled up and her white hair pinned back.
But she wasn't alone.
At the short wooden table sat a man—broad-shouldered, his back straight despite the wear of age. His left sleeve hung empty, tied off neatly at the shoulder. He wore a dark, patched yukata and fingerless gloves on his remaining hand. His face bore the signs of old battles—light scarring across his jawline, crow's feet from squinting too long in rain or sun.
He looked up as she entered and gave a short, surprised laugh. "Well look who's awake. Morning, little spark."
Hikari blinked at him. Her brain stirred faintly—memories in the girl's voice, not her own. The smell of grilled fish. Someone ruffling her hair. A rough chuckle after her father scolded her for sneaking sweets.
"Morning," she said hoarsely, voice still scratchy.
Yumiko turned, face softening. "Don't overdo it. You're still recovering."
The man reached into a satchel on the table and slid out a slightly damp but neatly folded newspaper. "Brought today's news," he said. "Bit thinner than usual. Rations tightening again."
"Of course they are," Yumiko muttered under her breath as she poured tea into chipped ceramic cups. "Greedy bureaucrats can't keep their hands out of the rice bins."
The man grinned. "Don't say that too loud, old bat. They'll think you're a rebel."
"Let them come. I still have my ladle."
They bickered like this easily—comfortably—and Hikari found herself watching them like a ghost at a family table.
Yumiko set a tray in front of her. A bowl of rice and seaweed soup, thinner than the night before, with a half-pickled radish and a barely warmed sweet potato on the side. Humble. Stretched. But… warm.
"I didn't know we had a neighbor," Hikari said after a moment.
"Used to be your father's shop guard," Yumiko said without looking up. "Didn't leave even after everything fell apart."
"Name's Daiki," the man added, raising his tea in greeting. "Retired. Mostly. But I keep watch for Yumiko here."
"In exchange for breakfast," Yumiko snapped lightly, "don't let him make it sound noble."
Daiki laughed, then looked at Hikari seriously. "Glad to see you breathing again, kid. For a while, it didn't look good."
Hikari nodded faintly and took a small sip of the soup. It was mostly water, but there was salt and warmth in it. It was enough.
She glanced at the newspaper on the table, where the ink was slightly smudged from rain. Her eyes scanned the headlines. Nothing she fully understood yet, but words jumped out.
"Rainfall Continues."
"Civilian Market Cutbacks."
"Disputed Border Activity."
"I want to help," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.
Both Yumiko and Daiki looked at her.
"You'll have your time," Yumiko said gently.
Daiki just smiled faintly. "If you're anything like your folks, I'm sure we won't be able to stop you."
---
"These," she said as she set them on the table, "would've cost at least twice as much in the market."
Yumiko glanced at the bundle and gave a nod. "Granny Ren always knows what she's doing."
Hikari stared at the vegetables a moment longer, fingers tightening around the basket. Internally, she felt the weight of their financial situation sink further into her gut. If food was this expensive… how long could they really last?
Trying to keep her tone light and childish, she tilted her head. "Yumiko, do you think we could maybe grow some vegetables? Like in pots or outside?"
Yumiko paused, a worn ladle in hand, and gave her a look.
"Everything that grows close to the village gets picked clean fast. The wild stuff out by the lake's been gone since the last ration cut. And anything that's still out there is too far and too risky. I'm not letting you wander out there alone."
Hikari lowered her eyes. "Oh… okay."
She forced a tiny smile and nodded, but inside, disappointment prickled. She had hoped to help, to contribute something. But she was still too weak, too small.
Later, she retreated to her room and pulled out the notebook she had found tucked behind some sealed boxes. The pages were yellowed with time, corners soft and slightly curled. Her fingers brushed the cover—simple, worn leather, with a seal pressed into the flap.
She opened it slowly, and her breath caught.
The handwriting was fluid and old-fashioned, yet precise. In the front, a name: Mito Uzumaki.
Mito Uzumaki. The first jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails. Wife of the First Hokage. But this book… it was from before all that. Before Konoha. Before politics. When she was just a girl learning her clan's art.
Every seal was broken down in her words—how it worked, how it failed, what she learned.
Hikari's hands trembled. This wasn't just some practice book. It was legacy.
She turned to the last few pages she hadn't used yet, only to freeze. The paper had started to wrinkle and spot—humidity creeping in from the poorly sealed walls. If she wasn't careful, it would mold or tear. And she didn't have many blank sheets left.
Her eyes darted to the drawer near her desk. She pulled it open slowly and found a small bundle of sealing paper—five sheets, folded and tied with red string.
Just five.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. Not enough. Not for failure. She would have to practice sparingly—and succeed faster.
I need money. And fast.
The notebook open in her lap, she began to trace the wrist movements illustrated beside each seal. Her hand moved in the air, fingers forming shapes and motions, muscle memory building quietly.
Her eyes flicked to the ink pot, nearly dry.
Paper. Ink. Time.
All things she needed to restart the family business. But to do that, she needed capital. Her thoughts turned back to what Granny Ren had said about her mother's side work.
Warm hands. Fire-natured chakra. Relief for aching joints.
In a village like this—one battered by cold rain, with older civilians suffering from arthritis and former injuries—it could be valuable. Especially since there were so few fire-users in the Rain Village.
A knock at the doorframe pulled her from her thoughts.
"Hikari. Dinner."
She blinked, shut the notebook, and tucked it under her blanket. "Coming."
She joined Yumiko at the table. The meal was quiet at first, the warm broth simple but soothing. Finally, she cleared her throat.
"Yumiko… could I maybe… do what Mama did?"
The older woman looked up, brows drawn.
"You mean the massages?"
Hikari nodded quickly, trying to look more innocent than scheming. "I remember a little. From her hands. And I… I think I could do it too."
Yumiko set her spoon down. "It's not a game, you know. People trusted your mother."
"I'd only help a little. Maybe just the neighbors. If it could help us earn something. And I have fire chakra—right?"
The old woman studied her carefully, then nodded once. "That much is true. Very rare here. Most here have water or wind… if they have anything."
"So maybe I can help," Hikari said quietly. "Even just a little."
Yumiko didn't respond at first. Then she reached out, smoothing Hikari's bangs from her forehead.
"We'll try it. Slowly. One step at a time."
Hikari smiled faintly. And for the first time since waking in this strange, new life, she felt the flicker of purpose.
And heat—deep in her palms—ready to be shaped.
Later that night, after Yumiko had gone to bed and the oil lamp had been trimmed low, Hikari sat cross-legged on the tatami floor. The Mito notebook lay open before her, pages weighted down with smooth stones scavenged from the garden path. The quiet crackle of rain against the shutters echoed in her ears, but her focus stayed on her hands.
Fire-natured chakra… heat without burning. Flow through the palms, not the fingertips.
She hovered her hands above each other, focusing, channeling her chakra slowly down from her core. The warmth sparked unevenly, but it grew steadier with each breath. Her brows furrowed. It was frustrating—like trying to light a damp match—but it wasn't impossible.
She remembered the way her mother's hands had moved. Slender fingers. A warm touch. Not the medical kind of healing—but something soothing. Personal. Useful.
Even if it's not my original body, the nerves remember.
She pressed her hands together and then pulled them apart. The warmth stayed, flickering.
"I can do this," she whispered. "But how much is it worth?"
---
The next morning, she brought it up over barley porridge.
"So… Yumiko," she said lightly, "do you remember how much Mama used to charge for the massages?"
Yumiko didn't look up. "Depends on who was asking."
"I mean… like, the neighbors? The regulars?"
The old woman paused in her stirring, then sighed. "Your mother usually asked two hundred ryō for basic work. Hands and shoulders. Five hundred for full-body relief or if she had to go to their homes. It was always side money—extra to stretch what little your father brought in."
"And people paid that?"
"Some paid more. Especially when they realized how rare her fire chakra was here. Most folks in Ame have water or wind if they have anything at all."
Hikari nodded slowly. "I was thinking I could… maybe try it. Like her. Just a few people."
"You're her daughter," Yumiko said after a long pause. "If you're serious, you'll make it work. But you've got to do it properly. No undercutting. No rushing."
---
[Time Skip – A Few Days Later]
She sat down after her first trial with Daiki, her bowl of porridge cooling in her hands. As she ate, she drew her focus inward, quietly searching for her chakra again.
One-third… gone.
That single massage had used more than she'd expected. Not dangerously so, but enough to leave her body sluggish and her limbs heavier. Her eyes trailed to the meal—barley gruel again, thin and stretched, just enough to keep her stomach quiet.
Poor meals, slow recovery. I can't rely on natural chakra replenishment like this.
She chewed thoughtfully, mentally calculating. She needed better nutrition if she was going to make this a real side hustle.
Later that night, while drying dishes with Yumiko, she raised the topic again.
"Are there other people who might want help?"
Yumiko gave her a sideways glance. "Plenty of sore backs around here. You want to try more?"
"I was thinking… two clients. Just enough to see what I can handle."
After a quiet pause, Yumiko nodded. "Old man Jirou lives just a few streets down. Retired scout-nin. Hurt his leg years ago. Doesn't get around much anymore. Then there's Madam Kiku—the tea seller. She's got more money than sense and always complains about her back. If she likes your hands, she'll talk. Just don't overpromise."
---
Jirou's house smelled like sake, rain, and dust. He sat by a low brazier, massaging his wrapped thigh when Hikari entered. His eyes were sharp—suspicious—but he let her set up without a word.
She worked in silence, mimicking the strokes from her mother's memory and letting her fire chakra flow gently from her palms.
"Feels real," he muttered halfway through. "Just like your mama used to do."
That hit harder than she expected—but she didn't stop.
When it was over, he handed her a small pouch with three hundred ryō. "That's good enough to come back."
---
Madam Kiku's home was a different world: clean, elegant, all smooth floors and papered walls. The woman herself was middle-aged, wrapped in layered robes with rings on her fingers and perfume in the air.
"You're her girl?" she asked skeptically.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Hmph. We'll see."
Hikari used her gentlest heat, focusing on the woman's lower back where tension knotted like rope. Kiku didn't speak much during the session—but her sigh of relief afterward was impossible to miss.
"You've got her hands," she said softly. "Five hundred."
As Hikari walked out into the street again, her arms weak and her chakra strained, she smiled faintly.
Not bad for a first week.