Kurenai POV
Kurenai stood in the middle of her empty house, the silence pressing against her heart. Ever since she could remember, her father, Shinku Yuhi, had been her only family.
As a jōnin, he'd been on very front resisting when the Kyūbi struck. She wished she was together with him during the fight. Now he was gone. She wouldn't even be allowed to see him until the hospital finished with his body. The thought made her stomach twist—how badly must he have suffered?
'Maybe I should drink myself to sleep…' she thought, the idea feeling tempting by the second.
Before she could decide, a voice called from outside. "Kurenai, you in?"
She recognized it instantly—Anko. She wasn't in the mood for company and stayed silent, folding herself tighter in the cold that had settled in the house. After a few more muffled calls from the doorway, she assumed Anko would give up and leave.
Then came the sound of a latch shifting. Kurenai turned her head just in time to see her window creak open—and Anko climbing in without hesitation.
Her eyes fell on Kurenai, who sat slumped on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her whole frame radiating grief. Anko had heard the news… and she hadn't been able to stay away.
Kurenai muttered, her voice hoarse, "Sorry, Anko. I'm not in the mood for company."
But Anko ignored the words completely. She crossed the room and sat down beside her, wrapping her arms around Kurenai in a firm, warm embrace.
"I'm sorry, Kurenai," she whispered. "I can't just sit still knowing you're like this. I won't be at ease unless I'm here. Do you… want to talk about it?"
Kurenai was used to her willfulness. She wouldn't be Anko otherwise. For a while, the words were stuck in Kurenai's throat. But little by little, sitting in that quiet room with her friend holding her steady, she began to speak.
They talked late into the night, quietly at first, then loud. By the end of it, the ache in Kurenai's chest had dulled just enough to let her breathe again.
She leaned against Anko, grateful. 'I'm glad… I still have friends I can rely on.'
Renji POV
The next morning, Renji woke early. After a quick breakfast, Teuchi accompanied him to find a construction team that could handle the repairs on his ruined home.
As they walked, Renji voiced an idea that had been forming in his head. "Teuchi-san, I was thinking… after the house is repaired, I'd like to separate a portion of it to run a business. I'm not sure what kind yet, but I want to be prepared. Do you think that would be a reasonable request for the builders?"
Teuchi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If it's just partitioning the house, it shouldn't be a problem. I'll help you ask them."
He gave Renji's shoulder a firm pat smiling widely. "It's good that you're thinking ahead. A man should stand on his own two feet. But don't forget—you can always rely on me in the future."
Renji bowed his head slightly, gratitude swelling in his chest. "Thank you, Teuchi-san."
They soon found a team willing to take on the work and came to an agreement using the compensation certificate. With the matter settled, Teuchi excused himself to return home.
Renji, however, lingered. The village spread out before him, streets busy with shinobi and civilians alike. His heart stirred.
'I've only seen fragments of this world through the anime. Now I need to see it for myself.'
With that, he set off to roam the village.
Renji wandered the village for quite some time, carefully committing important locations to memory—the market, the training fields, the main streets branching out from the Hokage's office.
All the while, his mind-space was filled with different hairstyle each with a unique feel, texture and energy signature. Every time he brushed against a particularly strong one, he focused. He traced the texture of the hair, sampled the emotions flowing through the host, and if possible, searched for the woman in the crowd. Once identified, he would etch both the hair and its energy signature firmly into memory matching it with a face.
Most of such women he sensed were kunoichi. They moved quickly through the village, carrying out duties or rushing between assignments. Too fast for him to get a good look, but at least their signatures remained carefully stored away in his memory.
Then, at last, he found someone he could see face to face.
Her hair was unmistakable—straight, jet black, parted down the middle and reaching just past her shoulders. A simple yet elegant style. Her face younger than in the anime, looking beautiful.
'Mikoto Uchiha.'
Renji recognized her instantly from the anime.
She walked with composure despite the weight on her arms. A newborn—her youngest son—rested quietly against her shoulder, while a small boy of about four years clung to her sleeve. His sharp, watchful eyes and solemn demeanor gave him away instantly.
'Itachi…'
Renji's gaze flicked back to Mikoto. He reached out through his mind-space, brushing gently against her silky hair. The energy stored in it, vastly surpassing any he'd sensed until now.
If only I could absorb that energy, I bet it would at least help create/unlock a new skill. He shook his head and focussed on the emotions.
Sadness. Pain. Pride. Resentment. Wariness.
'Sadness… most likely from Kushina's death. They were close.'
'Pain… her body's still recovering from giving birth.'
'Pride—typical of every Uchiha, but also… deeper. Maternal.'
'Resentment… probably toward the higher-ups. Did they already decide to push the Uchiha farther from the center?'
'And wariness… maybe it's the stares she's getting. Or… is someone watching her?'
Renji's eyes shifted to the bundle in Mikoto's arms. The newborn's tiny chest rose and fell softly in sleep, his small hand curled against the blanket.
'So this is Sasuke… the future brooding prince of Konoha. Hard to believe—he actually looks pretty cute right now.'
He realized too late he'd been staring for too long. Mikoto's dark eyes turned toward him, steady and questioning. Beside her, little Itachi tilted his head, watching him with that unnerving sharpness far too mature for a four-year-old.
Renji froze under their combined gaze, hesitation prickling through him. But after a moment's thought, he straightened and stepped towards them anyway.