Kurenai Yūhi, watching the strange, triumphant smile that had settled on Ren's face, felt a wave of familiar bewilderment. Here we go again, she thought. He'd been relatively normal the past few days, but now that eccentric, inscrutable air was back, clinging to him like a cloak.
Her small index finger, seemingly of its own accord, poked his cheek. "Ren," she said, her voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "What's with that smile? Is the promise of pocket money really that thrilling? Or… are you actually looking forward to school?"
The grand fantasy of reigning as a pseudo-Spirit King over the shinobi world dissolved, yanking Ren back to the sun-dappled path. He gently batted her probing hand away. "Stop that." His new body felt oddly fragile; he had to protect his delicate, transmigrator's complexion.
He fixed her with a look. "What kind of nonsense is that? If given the choice between lazing about and attending school, who in their right mind would pick school? Lazing is the pinnacle of human aspiration."
Kurenai tilted her head, her dark hair swaying. "Then why were you smiling like that? It looked… kind of creepy. Did something good happen?"
Ren: "…"
Creepy? He'd call it the smile of a visionary.
"Can't I be happy about going to school with my adorable imouto?"
"Eh?" A faint pink tinge colored Kurenai's cheeks. The compliment, wrapped in his usual teasing, still pleased her. However, the persistent familial mislabeling could not stand. "And also," she insisted, drawing herself up to her full, albeit minimal, height advantage. "I'm the older sister!"
Her logic was simple and physical: she was taller. She hadn't seen him attempt any chakra exercises yet. An older sister was naturally taller and stronger than her younger brother. This was a fundamental truth she needed to cement in Ren's stubborn head.
"Let's get the facts straight," Ren countered, his tone that of a patient scholar correcting a persistent error. "You were born in June. I was born in May. A one-month lead is still a lead. Therefore, I am the older brother." There was no universe, in this life or the last, where his over-twenty-year-old psyche would bow and call a six-year-old 'nee-chan'. The very notion was an assault on his dignity.
(Ren, of course, had no concrete memory of a birthdate, but asserting seniority was a strategic necessity.)
Kurenai's eyes narrowed with skepticism. "But last time you said—"
"Last time," Ren cut in smoothly, weaving a tapestry of half-truths, "I was in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar faces. You were a stranger, I was a stranger. In such situations, a wise person practices caution and strategic obfuscation. One never reveals their full hand. It's basic operational security. Understand?"
"Hmm…" The little girl was momentarily swayed by the stream of impressive-sounding words, but her core suspicion remained unvanquished. She fell back on the universal law of their new world. "I don't care about your 'strategic obfuscation'! I'm the older sister! Unless… you can prove you're stronger. Starting today, we're shinobi-in-training. Shinobi speak with strength. Whoever is stronger gets to be the elder!"
Ren's earlier grin, momentarily subdued, returned in full force. "You said it yourself."
Hehehe… The sheer audacity. Now that the system's pipeline was confirmed operational, how could a cheat-user like him possibly lose to a baseline, if talented, little girl? The idea was preposterous.
Kurenai, brimming with the confidence of a six-month head start in chakra refinement, gave a haughty sniff. "Hmph! Of course. I won't go back on my word like a certain someone. After you finally learn to refine your chakra, we'll have a formal spar. Then we'll see who's the onii-chan and who's the nee-chan!"
"Pfft, you mean who's the onii-chan and who's the imouto," Ren corrected, his tone dripping with condescending certainty.
In her mind, victory was assured. She'd been diligently cultivating her chakra for half a year. Ren? He'd been philosophically opposed to the ninja life until approximately an hour ago. He was starting from zero. This was a guaranteed win.
Ren clapped his hands together, sealing the pact. "Excellent! It's settled. Uncle Shinku!" he called ahead to the amused man. "You bear witness to this wager. I need an official referee to ensure a certain someone doesn't suffer a sudden case of selective amnesia later."
"I do not go back on my word!" Kurenai huffed, her cheeks puffing out.
Shinku Yūhi, who had been listening to the entire debate with a father's warm amusement, let out a hearty laugh. "I can serve as witness. But, Ren," he added, a gentle chide in his voice, "as the older brother, you should be more gracious to Kurenai."
He understood what Kurenai did not. Ren's overnight recovery from mortal wounds wasn't just luck; it hinted at the legendary vitality of the Uzumaki clan. His daughter was talented, but talent existed on a spectrum. If Ren's heritage was what he suspected, the natural gap could be significant.
Ren nodded, his expression solemn. "Next time. Definitely."
"…" Kurenai fell into a fuming silence, her face morphing into the perfect picture of a steamed bun, a silent protest against her father's implied doubt. They hadn't even fought! Why was he already assuming her defeat? It was utterly unfair!
Seeing her expression, Shinku offered a conciliatory smile. "My apologies, my apologies. Your father spoke out of turn. Please forgive him?"
Her moods were mercurial. The indignation vanished, replaced by a spark of opportunity. She grinned. "Then I want dango! A double portion!"
Shinku chuckled. "As you wish."
Ren glanced at her. "That stuff is pure sugar. You won't be so cute if you puff up like a little mochi ball."
Kurenai shot him a glare. "Impossible! I have a naturally perfect physique!"
The trio continued, the easy banter flowing as they departed the Academy grounds. Today was merely administrative; the true ordeal of academia began tomorrow.
On the journey home, their path was intercepted by a shunshin and a flash of an animal mask—an ANBU operative with a message for Shinku. With a apologetic nod, he was summoned away to the Hokage Tower, leaving the two children to complete the walk themselves.
Now, watching Kurenai devour her promised dango with the single-minded focus of a tiny, determined squirrel, Ren felt compelled to comment. "If you eat all that, you'll have no room for lunch. And it's so sweet. Doesn't it make you tired?"
Kurenai paused, her cheeks bulging adorably. She finished her chew, swallowed, and regarded him with an expression of supreme, almost mystical knowledge. "You just don't understand. Girls possess two separate stomachs: one for sweet things, and one for everything else."
Having delivered this biological revelation, she happily took another bite.
Ren stared. "…"
So much for the laws of physiology. Or biology. Or basic logic.
Feeling the weight of his stare, Kurenai instinctively shifted the remaining two dumplings on their skewer behind her back, eyeing him with deep suspicion. "No! You can't have any! Not even one!"
"…" Ren was momentarily speechless. Did she think he, a transmigrator with ambitions of cosmic sovereignty, would stoop to snatching her street food?
"Just don't actually transform into a little mochi ball," he grumbled.
"Hmph! I told you, I'm naturally perfect!"
A mischievous idea sparked. As they walked, Ren adopted the cadence of a village elder sharing ominous folklore. "You know, there's a saying from the place I… hail from. 'You become what you eat.' I once knew someone, loved dango just like you. Ate it every day."
He paused for dramatic effect.
Gulp. Kurenai swallowed her current mouthful. The solemn tone had her attention. "W-what happened to her?" she asked, her voice small. "Did she… turn into a dango?"
Ren's eye twitched. Into a dango? Her imagination is something else. "No, no, no," he intoned gravely. "It was far worse. She grew… rotund. She expanded from a slender, lovely girl into someone… substantial. We're talking several hundred pounds of sheer mass. A tragic metamorphosis. Truly horrifying."
Kurenai looked down at the two remaining, glistening dumplings on her skewer. Her appetite wavered. Her voice was tiny. "R-really? But… the two stomachs…"
"Overflow," Ren said ominously, shaking his head. "Eat too much, and the sweet-stomach backs up into the regular-stomach. It's a documented phenomenon."
Kurenai placed a tentative hand on her belly. "I… I don't feel my other stomach is full yet…"
"Do you feel a little full now? Just a hint?"
"…A little, yes."
"See? That's the warning sign. The saturation point is near. One more bite could be the tipping point. The point of no return toward becoming a little, round mochi-girl."
The sheer, grave sincerity in his face was convincing. The little girl's belief wavered, then crumbled. "Then… then I won't eat them," she said mournfully, regarding the treats as if they were tiny, delicious grenades. "I don't want to be a mochi-girl."
"You're sure? Absolutely sure?" Ren asked, his voice dripping with false concern.
"Mh-hm."
"Well, it would be a waste to just throw them away…" In a flash of movement too quick for her laden senses, Ren leaned in. Chomp. Chomp. Two swift bites, and the remaining dango were gone. He then immediately broke into a brisk walk.
"…"
Kurenai stood frozen on the path, staring at the empty bamboo skewer in her hand. The reality of the deception crashed down upon her. The dango were gone. He had eaten them. After frightening her with tales of sugary doom!
A storm of betrayal and rage clouded her features. "YOOOOOU!!" she shrieked, her voice echoing down the street. "Hateful! Deceitful! Gluttonous REN! Give me back my dango!!"
And with a furious stamp of her foot, she launched herself in pursuit of the laughing, fleeing boy with the crimson hair, their spar temporarily forgotten in the face of this far more immediate culinary crime.