Azula's POV
People in the village talk about orphans like it's the worst fate a child can suffer. Lonely, miserable, pitiful.
I've always thought that was ridiculous.
I'm an orphan. Kazuki's an orphan. And life in the Uchiha orphanage was nothing like the stories outsiders whispered.
The orphanage was woven into the heart of the Uchiha compound, cared for like any household in the clan. We had hot meals, clean clothes, proper training, and elders who didn't treat us like burdens but as the future. They never looked at us with pity — they looked at us with expectations.
And then there was Kuroha.
Kuroha Uchiha — the matron, the one who kept the orphanage together. To the world, she was simply the director. To me and Kazuki, she was mother. Strict when we needed it, firm in discipline, but with warmth underneath it all. She'd scold me for skipping my studies, then make sure I had soup when I came down with a cold. She'd snap at Kazuki for being reckless, then bandage his scrapes herself.
To me, she wasn't "practically" family. She was family.
So no, being an orphan never felt like a tragedy. It didn't define me as less. If anything, it gave me freedom. Freedom to define myself not by bloodline inheritance but by what I make of myself.
And I intend to make myself unforgettable.
I'm Azula Uchiha. I won't be remembered as an orphan. I won't even settle for being remembered as just another kunoichi. I want my name whispered the way Madara's still echoes through the decades. A name that scorches itself into history, not to be pitied, not to be overlooked, but to be feared and admired.
That's the fire I carry. Always.
And with me, always, is Kazuki.
If I am fire, he's the calm that keeps it from burning itself out. But he isn't dull like water. He laughs, he teases, he enjoys life — he just carries himself with a maturity I can't fake. That's why Kuroha made him the "big brother."
"Azula, you listen to him," she said once. "He's also a moron but he is more mature than you. So, you should listen to him as big brother."
I didn't argue. She wasn't wrong. Kazuki is more mature than me. But that doesn't mean I like it.
I trust Kazuki and I don't mind listening his advice but I only have one problem — I wanted to be the big sister. I wanted the title.
And yet, every time he pats my shoulder and tells me, "Don't cause trouble, Azula," or "Be careful out there," I can't help but smile. Not a forced smile — a real one. Because I like it when he worries, when he spoils me with his concern.
But deep down, part of me wishes it was the other way around. That I was the one spoiling him. That I was the one who got to act like the elder, not the younger.
Spoiling Kazuki, or being spoiled by Kazuki — that's my dilemma. And it burns me up more than I'd ever admit aloud.
Then there's Yugao.
Back in the Academy, she was a quiet shadow in the row ahead of me. Proper, elegant, never drawing attention. I barely noticed her. But when we became teammates.
I'll never forget the night she half-carried me and Kazuki back to the orphanage, bruised and aching from training. She didn't have to. She could've left us, walked away. But she didn't. She bore the weight with us.
That's when she stopped being just a classmate. She became a comrade.
And little by little, more than that.
And when Yugao joined, beatings from Tsume began… that's when the deal was sealed and Yugao became my friend.
Now, I catch myself watching her sometimes. The way her movements are graceful without effort, the way her words are soft but certain. She's different from me — calm where I'm sharp, still where I'm restless. But I respect her.
What I don't like is how close she's getting to Kazuki.
It's subtle, nothing obvious. A shared glance when they exchange strategies, a laugh from him when she says something dry and understated. It's not like they're hiding it — it's just natural closeness born from trust.
I catch him leaning toward Yugao sometimes, listening to her quiet voice like she's whispering the secrets of the universe. Hmph. She's not even that funny. Not like me. If she ever tried to be Kazuki's girlfriend… tch, please. As if I'd let my big brother get stolen so easily. I'd just drag him back, if I had to.
I don't want to admit it's jealousy.
And then there's my — our sensei.
Tsume Inuzuka. Fierce, sharp-tongued, brutal in training. I've grown to respect her in some ways, but her grudge against the Uchiha… that still stings.
She finally revealed the story. A spar, a reckless boy, her partner Kuromaru losing an eye. And the boy's apology? A silent box of apology mochi.
Tsume saw it as cold, as dismissive. To her, it wasn't enough.
To me? It was infuriating. Not the boy's action — but Tsume's refusal to understand.
Among the Uchiha, the Silent Mochi Apology is sacred. It's sincerity without spectacle. The boy did what he was supposed to. He apologized.
And yet, Tsume twisted it into insult.
Sometimes I want to grab her by the collar and shout, "You're wrong! You judged us unfairly! You hold on to this because you choose to!"
But instead, I hold my tongue. For now.
At the border camp, things are different.
The air is damp with mist, thick with salt. Patrols blur together — long nights staring into the fog, half-expecting blood-mist shinobi to emerge. Most of our missions are simple: carry messages, watch the camp, keep sharp. We're genin; no one expects us to turn the tide of war.
Still, the tension weighs on all of us.
It's been a week since we arrived at the Kirigakure border. A week of skirmishes, patrols, and more sleepless nights than I can count.
Our current assignment is night guard duty — twelve to six. Six hours of staring into the dark, waiting for trouble that rarely comes.
And now, a change.
Kazuki's been assigned to deliver a message back to the village, along with the children of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio.
"Be careful, alright? Don't do anything reckless." Said Kazuki.
I smiled. And replied "Be careful on the way."
When he left, he turned to us with that smug, irritating, responsible tone of his and said "Of course I will, After all I am responsible one. "
When Kazuki left on courier duty, the camp sent us a replacement: Hyūga Miwa.
Two years older than me, but you'd never know it by looking. She's small, cheerful, with the round, bright eyes of someone who hasn't seen enough of the world to be hardened by it. Honestly? She looks like a harmless little hamster.
But she's main branch Hyūga. That caught my attention.
Kuroha once told me about the Hyūga clan. The twisted hierarchy, the branch family is cursed into slavery, the main family is treated like royalty. I always found it disgusting. To use your own blood as tools, to brand them with seals that control their lives.
When I look at Miwa, I wonder… does she even realize how lucky she is? Or does she pretend that system doesn't exist?
Still… it's hard not to like her.
She's cheerful in a way that cuts through the gloom of the border camps. She jokes easily, laughs easily. Even Yugao, who's usually more reserved, found herself smiling with Miwa within a day.
And me? Well, I'm not immune either.
We sat around the campfire one night, the three of us. Yugao polishing her blade, quiet as always. Miwa humming to herself, poking at the fire with a stick.
"You know," Miwa said suddenly, eyes wide, "I heard Kiri shinobi sharpen their teeth to look scarier. Do you think we'll see that? Because honestly, I'm not sure if I'd fight them or just laugh."
Yugao glanced up, her lips twitching. "…You should probably fight them."
"But wouldn't it be funny?" Miwa tilted her head. "Imagine someone lunging at you, grinning like a shark, and all you can think is, did they file those one by one?"
I snorted despite myself. "You'd be the first person in history to die laughing in a war."
Miwa gasped. "At least I'd be remembered!"
Yugao shook her head, smiling faintly. "You'd be remembered as ridiculous."
"Ridiculous but unforgettable!" Miwa chirped, throwing her hands up.
I rolled my eyes, but inside, I couldn't help but grin. She was absurd. Annoying. But she made the tension less suffocating.
It's been a week at the border now. Skirmishes come and go. Nothing legendary, nothing worth history's ink yet.
But every night, as the mist curls around our camp and I watch Yugao's steady presence, Miwa's cheerful chatter, and the empty space where Kazuki should be — I remind myself of one thing.
No matter what bonds grow, no matter who steps into our circle or leaves it, no matter what changes —
My fire won't be overshadowed.
When history whispers of us, it won't stumble over my name.