Note: Italics = Japanese

[ One ]
Babe

"Whenever you can't balance what you see with what you believe you have conflict."

― Shannon L. Alder

•●•

A lot of things had gone through my head, all in which resulted in one emotion that described what just happened. Of course, there was no such word to describe it other than being beyond terrifying.

Between being roughly handled by monstrous hands with my five senses being bombarded by a new harsh environment, while being covered by a warm scratchy material that only served to keep my arms and legs from flailing around – well, it goes without saying my lungs got a pretty good workout.

Suffice to say I was screaming my head off.

It was until I was placed upon a very warm surface, that which its heat filter through the scratchy material that I stopped screaming. Not because I was no longer being handled by the things that had held me, but the sound.

A familiar sound.

The instance I left the safe, warm heaven for the one I was currently in, I instantly realized I had no control over my body. Moments prior to being wrapped in a foreign material, I could not control my arms or legs – I was only able to express my feelings. My body was definitely not my own. My vision was a total blur, perhaps even blind to this new world; my hearing on the other hand was hypersensitive, due to what had been years or months of sensory deprivation.

In this case, I could hear the soft beating of a heart that was not my own but a heartbeat that I had come to familiarize myself in the darkness. It was then I felt the reverberating sound against the surface I laid against, a sound that was as familiar as that of the beating heart.

So gentle in tone, I knew it – or better yet, I was being directly spoken to.

Unlike in the darkness where I could not distinguished a word but sensed the tender – for a lack of a better word – tone, it now felt the same way. All I could do was look up towards the source of the voice – well, tried to direct my face towards the direction since I could not look at anything really. But that in itself was not such an easy thing to do and only resulted my moving my eyes towards the direction.

The thought of being reborn had never crossed my mind, but it all made perfect sense the instant I heard the heartbeat.

The darkness...

The sound of the voice...

The immense love I felt that surrounded my whole being as I floated in the darkness...

Not to mention the very unsavory sensations I experienced as I made my transition from one environment to another.

Being reborn was not something I expected, being aware of what I had gone through was a little more than just "out" there but the one piece that took the cake?

Well, I should not really be thinking about it at all.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

For the first three weeks of my life, I was a quiet baby.

Partly due that I willed myself to be quiet as there was nothing I could really do, the other half mostly for the same very reason – my new body was as ill-fitting, awkward and out of my control. Because of this, I could not do much other than sleep which was quite a welcoming thing. While my sight was not as blurry as it had been in the beginning, it really did not help me much. The little moments I willed myself to see, I could not distinguish anything. This was partly due to my newborn brain – or second brain – as I had come to playfully call it. My hearing was no longer muffled as it was in the darkness or deafening as it was in the beginning. What I heard I could not comprehend as it sounded all too foreign to me, which I was honestly puzzled with – after all, my thoughts were very much in English, so why could not the language they were speaking not be in English? I came to blame this incompatibility to my newborn brain as well. Yet, unlike that of my sight, I was able to distinguish two particular voices amongst the many that I had been bombarded with from the very beginning. One was softer and quite familiar since the beginning while the other was not but both held that same loving tone of voice I had come to recognize.

Sleep, I had come to learned, eased my mind quite literally.

In a normal world, a newborn should not have nothing to think about, blissfully unaware of the world they had been born into while living their casual, newborn way. Considering I still held my twenty-three year old self through my consciousness, my newborn brain went on overdrive whenever I was awake. So whenever I closed my eyes and allowed my new body to go on autopilot mode, I welcomed that helpless feeling – after all, I had no control over anything other than what I was allowed to feel. Because of this, I only cried out to set my parents moving. After all, that was my only way of communicating with them. It was a strange feeling to consider those who lovingly spoke to me – which I assumed they were by their tones – as my parents, especially when I could sense the immense love they had for me. It was something I thought to be impossible to sense without any real action to back it up, and while it was hard to explain – it was there.

There was one particular night when something strange happened.

Night because I could sense and briefly see the darkness of the ceiling above me as I laid in my crib. Naturally, three weeks into my life I was able to distinguish night from day and surprisingly the latter had no effect on my sleep but I digress.

As a former psychology major, I had come to learn of the milestones a baby goes through, the basic development and so forth, but I had never heard of this before and much less experience it first hand. Interestingly enough, I only became aware of it as I slept as it was something that had literally startled me awake. By this time, I was familiar of The Poke – something my mother playfully did to me whenever I slept and from which roused me from my sleep. Whether because I had been too quiet as a newborn or wanted to see if I was still alive – or both, but it was a little something my mother would do once in a while.

But this was completely different.

It had started somewhere deep in my stomach, at first a dull sensation that resembled close to that of a stomach cramp. Knowing that I only fed on breast milk, I could not pin the sensation to eating something that did not sit well in my stomach. Soon after, I felt a sharpness – like that of a needle prick – deep within my stomach, so startled by this second and unfamiliar sensation, I could not help but let out a sharp cry. No whimpers, but a straightforward sharp, if not screeching, cry. No sooner did the startling pain started abating and in its place, a cool sensation had started radiating out from my abdomen. I could feel the cold sensation spread throughout my small body, from the top of my head down to my pinky toe.

It was here when I felt a pair of soft but firm hands picking me up only to be cradled into the crook of an arm that my wailing slowly started ceasing. Not because the sensation had ceased as I still remained cold, but caused by the voice that was gently speaking to me. Of the two voices that I had come to recognized as my parents, there was a third – a female – that was familiar though not quite to the point as the other two. It was at that moment that I felt a finger in my small open palm, which I instinctively grasped. Normally, such action was met with a soft cooing from those who carried me, instead – I was met with a cry, not like that of my own but a word of some kind. Startled by the change of the voice of the woman who carried me, I tried to look up to her but due to the lack of control of my neck, I could not move much and instead settled to furrowing my eyebrows.

It was then that I heard my mother, her tone of voice different from what I was accustomed to hearing. In quick succession, they were speaking between one another, and unlike of that of the woman who held me, I could sense my mother's tone drastically change. From one second to another, my mother appeared beside me, taking my small hands into the warmth of her large ones. More was being said between them but I could not distinguish nothing of the words that were being spoken. No sooner was my attention brought back to my hands when I felt soft kisses of my mother's lip pressing against the top of my hands.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," she kept repeating between each kiss she laid on my hands.

What a funny reaction, I thought to myself and for the first time ever, I could sense what could only be described as a smile spread through my face. The strange experience shortly forgotten.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Five months into my new life, I had learned some startling and not-so startling information that helped me learn more about the world I currently lived in and of the people who cared after me. But most importantly, I had more control of my body though not to the point where I could forced myself to do something my body was not yet ready to accomplish – resulting in a lot of frustrating cries on my part.

For example, I knew I was born on November 27th – a date I had no connection from my previous life but certainly ceremonious on this one – especially the twenty-seventh. For whenever that day rolled around, my mother made sure to greet me ceremoniously, which basically meant being reminded how old I was for that specific month. Then there was my name – Reika – which according to my mother meant 'lovely flower', though, curiously so, I never picked up my family name. In the beginning, my name was the only word I was able to recognize and pick out from the bizarre language that was spoken around me. Bizarre because I had slowly realized that the language itself was not bizarre at all – in fact, it was a language I later came to recognize as Japanese. Considering the only times I was exposed to the language was whenever I watched a movie or the occasional anime – you'd think I would be able to detect the language I was exposed to, even so, it was spoken too quickly to have – then – understand anything.

Of all the senses I held, my hearing was the very first one that was highly developed and while I could not – back then – understand the language that was being spoken, it was the only one I relied on the most. By the fourth month when my sight was practically up to par with that of my hearing, it was when I realized what kind of language that was being spoken. The only way I was able to recognize it as Japanese was due to the style of clothing the people around me wore. Definitely of an Asian culture, especially the traditional kimono-like clothing some wore, plus the names I heard only enforced that I was indeed in the country. It really threw me onto a loop once I realized that I was not born into an English speaking country, considering I consciously thought in English, I knew it would be a pain to learn a new language at my mental age despite my biological state. Even so, I willfully yet slowly came to understand a couple of words, though none of them being as important as the names or titles of the people who surrounded me. Now with my hearing and sight paired up as they should be, I was able to better see and learn little by little the world around me.

For instance, my mother – the very first person I had met in this new world and the one I had previously considered a guardian angel while in the "in-between" prior to being reborn. She responded to Emiko. She was pretty with doe-like eyes and hair as straight black curtain that surrounded her delicate features. Despite months getting to know her voice and listening to her soft laughter, it still caused me a strange sensation whenever I thought of her my as my new mother. Unlike the previous one, my mother actually enjoyed having me around. Often times, she reminded me of a teenager who was giddy and giggly over a new toy she had always wanted but could not afford, which resulted me being showered with attention. Oftentimes, my mother would take me out for a stroll, though rarely alone as another woman would often join along with us. I had come to know this woman as Junko. Tall and thin with auburn colored hair pulled up into a bun, Junko's personality was distinct from that of my mother. Strangely, I was not quite too sure how Junko was related to me. Perhaps a caregiver as she was mostly around whenever my father was not – which was more often times than not. Due to my lack of being able to tell time, it felt like I rarely saw him and whenever I did, it was for a short while. Even as it felt as if he was an absentee father, Ichiro – as was his name – always spent the little time he was at home with me. Tall, tanned and with a solid build and dark features – whenever my parents were together, I could see their height difference as my mother appeared waiflike beside him. Of course, being a very small human everyone was pretty much giants to me.

Thankfully, my senses and motor control movements weren't as dull or nearly impossible as they had been in the beginning. Not only had my hearing and sight improved greatly, but I was finally able to take control – for the most part – of my new body. Considering the majority of time I spent doing nothing – babies rarely did anything – , I would oftentimes push a new found ability. Practicing, practicing and practicing was all I did until I was fully able to control whatever motor movement I was allowed to do. Because my body was completely new, I could not force myself to do something unless my body itself was ready for that particular action. Which, honestly, irritated me at times seeing as I knew I could do this or that but due to the new body, I literally had to break it in before pushing for anything. Of course, there was that tiny little fact that I could not do nothing that was out of the norm for someone my age – it would had been downright creepy had I been two or three months old and caught standing in my crib by myself. So I supposed it was for my greater good that my body had put these limits on me. Talk about frustrating times.

Surprisingly, sitting up on my own at five months wasn't such a big deal – in fact, I could see how it delighted those around me seeing how fast I was learning and growing. Today was no different. Happily sitting up despite Junko watching me from behind for one of those rare moments where I would toppled over. While I had been accustomed being taken out for a stroll or a mid-afternoon outing in the park, I knew today was a special day. As I prodded the pink petals I had collected in one of my chubby palms, I cooed knowing full well what was happening around me. We were in a park and because it happened to had been a special occasion, it was crowded with people. Because of this, the normal pleasant atmosphere was exchanged for that of a noisy one. Loud greetings being shouted across, children laughing in the distance, the occasional sound of someone munching into a snack my mother or uncle would partake in. The pink petals I held in my palms where the cherry blossoms that had floated down from the tree that we were sitting underneath. Hanami was the word frequently spoken by my mother as she pointed out to me the beautiful trees that surrounded us. I assumed this was the proper term in their language, though I previously had known it by its English translation as the Cherry Blossom Festival. While I was not at all too familiar with the history of the holiday, I knew what it consisted of thanks to the times I was exposed of the Japanese holiday.

"Reika, look what I have for you," my uncle called out to me, which I automatically responded when I turned to face the teen sitting beside my mother. While I could not gauge his age, I knew he was older than a child but not old enough to be an adult, naturally, putting him in the category of a teen. With a light tan complexion and dark features, there was no doubt in my mind he was related to my father. Even when his presence was up to par like that of my father, I knew he was a relative. With a cheeky grin, he dropped a handful of the pink blossoms into my palm that held the pink petals I had been prodding earlier. Naturally, this had caused them to overflow, cascading around my outstretched small hand and falling into my lap which made me giggle. "You really like that, huh?" He chuckled along with me.

Part of learning a new language was the new words I started to recognize and in turn able to understand their meaning. Often times they would be spoken in such a quick pace, any words I did not manage to understand would appear to blank out from my hearing– leaving only the word or words I knew hanging in the air. It was quite a strange phenomena, really.

Of course, Uncle's surprise had caused Junko to swiftly brush off the excess cherry blossoms that surrounded me. Considering the tone of voice she was using on him, I knew he was being chastised and would had continued had my mother not stepped in.

"Oi, Junko! Look, it didn't bother Reika at all – She's quite happy! Enjoy the moment," my mother chuckled as she nudge my uncle's side.

"Live a little!" He added, joining in the merriment.

This only resulted Junko tutting under her breath as she picked off the last couple of blossoms from me. "I suppose it's a good thing Reika is smart enough not to put everything into her mouth."

"Good to see you're enjoying yourselves on this lovely day," an all-too familiar voice interrupted them.

Grandpa! I thought to myself as I turned to the direction of his voice. Just like those of my parents whose voice I had taken into heart, so was that of my grandfather. More often than not, he'd always paid us a visit at home often times staying for dinner. Because of this, I always enjoyed his company and just like that of my mother – he always doted on me when he was around. Seeing the familiar bright maroon colored robe that covered his feet, I tried to look upwards and only caught a glimpse of his white outer robe as the sun was hitting him from behind, throwing his face into his own shadow.

A quick succession of words were exchanged, mostly from that of my mother and Junko before he knelt down to Reika's height. "Bathing yourself in the cherry blossoms, I see." He said with a smile before picking my up.

Normally, I would had responded with a wide toothless grin at my grandfather's words. Instead, I was taken by surprise at what I was seeing on him. It was not the attire he wore for I was familiar with it nor his goatee – which I never actually seen him without but that was not it either. There was something off-putting about him. It was the strange shaped hat that he wore and the white fabric that cascaded from it. Naturally, a hat of any kind would change a person's appearance by that mere accessory and it did just that with him. It was not the unfamiliarity of a hat on his head, but it was this particular hat being on him that was unsettling me. Especially the maroon colored symbol with the white background... I had seen it before... seen it in my previous life...

This slow realization was beginning to put me on edge.

"With the way she's staring at me, you'd think I had grown two heads." He commented with a slight chuckle as he held me at arm's length. "No worries, my dear, I'm still your grandfather all right," he finished with a warm smile. He then repositioned me into one of his arm as he stood up to his full height and even then, I kept staring up to him.

No... no... that can't possibly be...

Being reborn is one thing, but –

No, of course not!

It was ludicrous to even think of the possibility of...

"It's the hat – you rarely wear it in our company," I heard my uncle say.

"Asuma's right," mother said cheerfully, "Reika never seen you with it before."

Asuma...

Asuma Sarutobi?

The sudden familiarity of thename crashed onto my psyche to the point of startling myself – enough to physically react to this sudden revelation. This did not go unnoticed by the onewho carried me. He once again repositioned me onto his shoulder, soothing my back in a circular motion

I knew he had said something – continued to even speak as I could feel the vibrations against my body – but I had long gone shut off the many voices that surrounded me. Not paying any attention to whatever was being said as my thoughts where completely elsewhere.

It could not be a coincidence...

Asuma... the hat... my grand – the old man...

I felt my breath coming in short and started fidgeting around as images of an all-too familiar show ran through my mind. One whose story I had followed from the beginning right down to its end. A fictional show I had seen in my previous life – yet one of its pivotal characters was standing right there with me – one who I was even related to.

I let out a whimper when I recognized him as the Third Hokage from Naruto.

"Hokage-sama, if you don't mind..." was the first and last thing I heard someone say from the distance before my emotions went into overdrive.

The last conscious thought that ran through my mind?

Babies should not be having panic attacks...

I guess I was the exception.

Note:
I have a lot to tell – in a way, the reader will learn about the world and experiences along with the OC. Plus, this chapter length was due to explaining two important scenes that will certainly have an effect in the future.

Also, I want to clear up a couple of things about this chapter.

Due the OC isn't aware of the technical terms concerning objects/style of clothes/etc..., do expect to hear their simplified version from the POV of someone who doesn't know nothing about it. This, naturally, will change as she grows and learns. As I had previously stated at the beginning of the chapter, any dialogue that was italized just meant it was being spoken in Japanese. Since she's barely learning the language, it still sounds all garbled and whatnot, hence, not responding to anything that was being said. Do expect a slight change of variation in the next chapter.

On a different topic, I been asking questions at the end of each chapter – be it amusing or semi-serious, as a way to both to know the reader and interact with them. Of course it's all voluntarily – you don't need to play if you don't want to.

Here goes!

Question:
If you had to move 3000 miles away, what one thing would you miss most?

Thanks for reading!