Title :

Recondite

Description :

Recondite – dealing with very profound, difficult or abstruse subject matter. In the mind of a 24 year old professional chess player, apparent death and reincarnation into a world of ninja certainly falls under the category of "recondite". Semi SI / OC insert

Characters :

OC , Shikamaru Nara, Yamanaka Ino

Genre :

Adventure

Rated :

T for language and a bit of violence.

Pairings :

None – yet.

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The originals of chapters 1 – 9 were beta-d by Fayth85.

Bless her, and I wish her luck in any future endeavours that will hopefully be more interesting than helping an insecure preteen write fanfiction.

Considering how this story literally instantly fell apart the moment she left, I feel indebted to her for keeping this train wreck (i.e. my sloppy writing habits) together for as long as she did.

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[edit 1/4/2016: generally improved the quality of writing in this chapter, as well as making it more consistent]

[edit 23/5/2017: more corrections and a sincere apology for keeping this on hold for as long as I did.]

You know, I've always seen more than others have.

Even when I was young, I used to spend my time in nursery stewing by myself. Other children happily stuffed blocks into their mouths and wiped dribble on each other, as children generally do - and I won't be arrogant and say I wasn't equally as prone to drooling or temper tantrums - yet actually interacting with them never held any appeal to me.

Still doesn't, really.

Occasionally, if my parents or the nursery workers encouraged me, I would (with minimal complaining) settle with the other girls and their dolls. Yet attempting to join in with the other children who were hosting five separate tea parties, spent the entire day speaking in mildly ear-piercing falsettos, and tasked me with washing sand out of the doll's plastic hair – well, it was exhausting and not particularly to my taste, and so I'd be in the corner again the next day.

And watched, and learned.

Because, although it was hardly obvious in a room of 5 year olds, every movement had strings attached. Someone would come out better; someone would come out worse, sometimes it turned into strange symbiotic relationships - always with motives, with thoughts, with personality mixed in there somewhere.

Of course, five year old me didn't recognise any of that at all, being barely out of her toddler years. It was more a matter that she was rather lazy and preferred watching from the sidelines.

Yet this developed into a rather obsessive habit, and out of partly brotherly affection and partly a need for me to stop being such a weird kid – and honestly, I'd put my money on the latter - my older brother introduced chess to me.

Needless to say, I loved it

As an added bonus for my family, with a newfound healthy outlet for my thoughts, I also stopped meticulously detailing their every habit. It'd long since gone from 'a little weird, but still cute' to 'creepy as fuck'.

Regardless, for me it was finally a practical application for my observation, a way for me to have problems freely presented to me, and I was addicted. Really, there wasn't any way to pass my interest off as 'casual' or a 'hobby'.

After all, a year later, I was the best in my chess club.

Then the best in my county.

Another few years, then the best in the country.

It all lead up to the World Chess Championship. Admittedly, my odds on the bookie's end weren't good – 'Best in the country' was fine and dandy, but that didn't change the fact I was still a relatively untested player faring against champions - yet I was determined to win.

After all, why would I aim for anything less?

I suppose it's rather ironic that, as I stared up to seemingly unreachable heights, working myself up for such a huge make-or-break moment in my life, I would end up dying in a rather anticlimactic manner.

Although I never really wanted to die, I did reflect on it at some point during my life – teenage existential crisis and all. Chances were that I would live to over 60 and die rotting away in some old care home as the world spun on without me - and I decided it wouldn't have to come to that. Honestly, it wouldn't be worthwhile to go through the process of dementia just to complain about arthritis, or play bingo, or whatever old people did with the rest of their lives.

Though – thankfully - I never had to enact my "die young" plan in the end, due to extenuating circumstances.

Those circumstances being the minibus suddenly braking, my head flying forward and giving me serious brain injury.

.

And that is how Naomi Harper, chess extraordinaire, aged 24 years, 3 months and 7 days, died.

From my side of things, it was one moment of falling forwards, a split second of agony and then...black. Thoughts evaded me as I drifted into something akin to sleep, goaded into rest by the tender warmth all around me. I suppose I stayed like that for a while, though I never really dwelled on it.

In hindsight, it'd be rather difficult to do so with an underdeveloped brain.

That is, of course, until it ended.

It felt like being simultaneously crushed, blinded and frozen. Forcibly ejected from my place of warmth, thrust into light so blinding it burned, skin frozen and horribly exposed. Naturally, I opened my mouth to curse – I felt swearing was incredibly appropriate in this situation – but instead of the reflexive profanity I expected to come out, I began full-out bawling.

Not that I intended to, however my mind was overloaded. Processing anything beyond the sudden awakening of senses that had been deadened for so long took mental fortitude I quite simply didn't have (after all, who prepares for the sensation of being born again) – and after sobbing my heart out, my next instinct was to collapse.

And that is what I did.

My sleep was fitful, to say the least. Constantly I woke, immediately to start crying, whether from hunger, the strange noises and disjointed visions, or simply because my mind just couldn't process what was happening, and that terrified me. However, over the next few hours, or days, or weeks, or however long it was, I gradually grew used to the itching underneath my skin, even if I couldn't quite eliminate the buzzing of static in my ears. Light returned back to normal levels (well, it was no longer like permanently staring at the sun) and the previously distorted colours merged into clearer images.

At the very least, it was clear I was a baby, since I find the chances of everyone becoming giants incredibly small. Or... well, I didn't really know. My limbs felt like lead, and I had difficulty chasing any particular thought train before it completely evaded me. Thank god I spent an unholy amount of time sleeping – I don't think I could deal with the shame of being fully conscious while nappy changing.

And all the other stuff.

Especially breastfeeding.

Being a baby really gave me a newfound appreciation for being a fully-grown and independent adult.

In any case, I was an extremely lethargic baby. If I wasn't crying to try to attract attention to my permanently empty stomach, I was sleeping or half conscious, lost in my own thoughts.

Or, at least, trying to regain my thoughts.

Frustration was a prevailing emotion as theories and ideas and, really, anything of higher comprehension simply slipped out of my mind. Everything was a blur of foreign colour, and seldom could I summon the concentration to try to make heads or tails out of any of it.

Yet they did occasionally come and go, and in one of those rare moments of clarity, I saw a woman's kindly face leaning over me.

It was almost as if I was watching everything underwater. Although I could clearly define it as a face, each plane of her face seemed blurred, tinted strange colours. Fast motions turned into obscure rainbows of colour. Every sensation was dull, not really associated to me, to my skin.

Distantly, through the buzzing in my ears, I could just discern a few words in... what I could only assume to be Japanese, from my rather limited knowledge of Asian languages. "- - - - - -, Satoko-chan? - - okaa-san -."

Well, at least I had some semblance of where I was. Likely I was in Japan - or at the very least, a Japanese speaking country, and my name was presumably 'Satoko'.

Well, there were worse names.

After all, I could be named Sakura, if my parents had been particularly unimaginative.

Unfortunately, there was no discernible accent that could be used to identify where I was. In fact, there was nothing I could use to pinpoint a region, from the itchy fabric beneath me to what I could make out as an utterly plain white ceiling.

Well, it was probably white. It also had the tendency to randomly flicker through various other shades, much like the iridescence that comes from a thin layer of oil on top of water.

Although, while I could still (relatively) think without a monster of a headache immediately knocking me out, I might as well take advantage of it. Should I reveal the extent of my knowledge or hide it?

Well, hiding it would be a slog, frankly put. I really was not fond of the idea of acting like a newborn, with all the gurgling, drooling, and general behaviour associated with that mental stage. Yet I still had very little information on wherever the hell I was, so making a decision could wait until I wasn't unconscious half the day.

In any case, this was most likely an elaborate dream from whatever coma my body was in now. Why else wouldn't I be able to move? It certainly explained the incoherent voices and perceptions.

Actually, that was a pretty good theory. Well done, brain.

However, then it occurred to me that I had no idea how old this 'body' was (if it was one at all, and not just a vision cooked up by my dreaming mind). For all I knew, I was already considered a dunce for spending so much time lying around screaming, and my pride demanded that even my dream people were not allowed to call me unintelligent. Not a chance.

So, putting all my effort into manipulating my rubbery lips, I croaked out a belated "Kaa." My tongue felt like a paperweight rather than a muscle, and my vocal chords were hoarse. Frowning from the onset of yet another headache, I slipped back into blissful sleep.

If Wakana Koike were to describe herself, she would probably say "average". No, not kind, happy, gloomy or even selfish – merely "average".

Self-esteem issues, perhaps, however when confronted with the question of what made her stand out – well, there was a resounding nothing that she could think of that distinguished her from any other Fire Country citizen.

Wakana was no more kind than any other wife in the village was, nor eternally happy or gloomy. In fact, there were almost no distinguishing features about her at all, although she liked to think her hair was fairly silky. She went to the village school, where she received mediocre grades. She was healthy, although she wasn't going to lie and say she was particularly fit. She married Takuya, the middle son to one of a million farming families a few miles out in the countryside, and they became Takuya and Wakana Koike. One day, she dreamed to raise a few kids and retire to grow old in peace.

Utterly unremarkable in every way, shape and form.

Needless to say, Wakana did not expect this from her only child.

There were no complications before or during birth – in fact, the two midwives that had been present had reaffirmed the point several times in response to her dogged questioning. Yet, for god knows what reason, her child came out with a ridiculously developed chakra system – one that was extreme for a shinobi family, never mind the daughter of two average civilians.

This wasn't what she wanted.

After all, she wanted a little bundle to snuggle up with, not a ninja-in-training. There wasn't a chance she was letting her precious Satoko-chan join the military to become a murderer for hire.

Even if the issue of discarding things like human decency wasn't enough, there was the simple truth that as a civilian, she would undoubtedly become cannon fodder – no 'ifs' or 'buts'. It wasn't just her - everyone knew civilians were just thrown at opponents far out of their league, in the hope they'd slow them down as they paused to mow the ill-trained civilians down.

Thank goodness Satoko showed no signs of being a genius – she would be spirited away to Konohagakure no Sato faster than she could say "ninja".

On the contrary, Satoko was a very sleepy child. Most of the time, she was asleep.

In fact, Wakana didn't think she'd ever seen her daughter's eyes fully open, and she was quite certain those weren't signs of a blossoming genius.

However, during just one of the hours she spent sitting by her child in the nursery, she saw Satoko awake. Lucid. Golden eyes, fully aware, locked onto her face, almost seeming overly conscious after 5 months of near-constant sleeping. Forcing back tears, she softly held her daughter's hand.

"Hello, Satoko-chan. I'm your mother."

For a few moments, Satoko drifted into another half-conscious state. A bitter smile twisted her lips – what was she expecting a 5-month-old baby to do, anyway?

"Kaa."

Abruptly, her head twisted around so fast she felt like she might have given herself whiplash. She shouldn't have – no, how – was her little baby a prodigy? No, her sickly little Satoko couldn't be. It was probably a coincidence. Yes, that's right. She calmed her breathing. Just a coincidence. She doesn't spend enough time lucid to formulate coherent thoughts, let alone words.

Nevertheless, her fears prevailed as Satoko slipped back into sleep, a soft frown at odds with her resting face.

They would never take her child.

She wouldn't be spirited away like her little brother, left to die – no, Satoko-chan would be safe from ever seeing such monstrosities.

After my first period of lucidity, they came to me far more frequently, and it only took a few weeks of scrambling for consciousness to realise that this wasn't anywhere in the developed world. Although, for the life of me, I couldn't think of an undeveloped country that primarily spoke Japanese.

God, I missed Google.

There was also the fact that, nine times out of ten, mother sat beside me, smiling softly.

However, generally I tried to ignore the fact that it meant she was watching me sleep, mainly because it made me feel all kinds of uncomfortable. Not just because I didn't know her, but also that I couldn't exactly tell her to leave, either. 'Hiding intense discomfort from excessive surveillance' wasn't the best plan, but it was really the only one available.

And that was great and all, but I was bored as hell.

My adult mind simply couldn't cope with long periods of inactivity, and mother made no effort to teach me the language, although I must have been a solid prodigy by now – which, of course, raised more questions.

Why would she deliberately stunt my learning? Not having time or funds was ruled out – her clothes, although not elaborate, were well kept, clean and fresh and still soft, meaning there was probably some money stuffed away in the piggy bank across the room. No calluses were on her hands either, meaning she was purely a homemaker. Moreover, obviously she had the time, judging by how long she spent sitting around, watching me sleep or whatever she did in the "nursery", as she referred to it as.

Really, I was tempted to think of her as just an overprotective parent and dismiss the issue. Yet there was still the fact she went to such lengths, which suggested strongly that there was an outside source causing her behaviour.

An organisation scouting for intelligent children, perhaps?

Before I could talk in full sentences and interact with anyone else except 'Okaa-san', though, I couldn't actually confirm anything.

Which meant the slow, mind-numbingly boring process of relearning basic things like talking and fine motor control.

Joy.

For the next three months or so, combining my (admittedly lacking) knowledge of Japanese and the few, simplistic sentences my mother gave, my vocabulary expanded at an alarming rate. However, unlike most proud mothers who would be delighted with a veritable genius of a child, I often saw undertones of hate and pain. In her words, her expressions.

I have to say it stung a little. Not much, though – and besides, she never seemed approving of anything I did. Maybe it was just her face.

However, that didn't change the fact it still ached. A little.

Only seeing my father a few times a month also hurt, although I hadn't really formed much of a connection with him, so it was something I could easily ignore. After all, it was difficult to respect someone you had barely met.

Overall, it really wasn't much of problem, if you look at it in perspective. In any case, I was probably just desperate for attention. God knows I needed it, spending this much time cooped up.

And of course, there was always that background fear that this really was all in a coma, and they'd just pull the plug, back wherever my body still existed. Really, it didn't seem a dramatic way to go out, without that coveted Chess Champion title to my name, and that basic human fear of dying always niggled at the back of my mind.

In other news, I had begun crawling around the tiny cot provided and on occasion, when 'okaa-san' wasn't there, standing. She seemed to think it was a health hazard, and evidence that she was restricting me was mounting. Admittedly, it had taken a while to stop instantly collapsing as my muscles struggled to keep me upright, however I could now proudly say I was one step closer to being a fully functioning person.

Okaa-san had done her best to stop her precious "Satoko-chan" from developing, but in all honesty, fuck her. If I wanted to walk, then I would damn well walk, and no impersonator was going to stop me.

And definitely not a vision concocted by my own brain.

"Blow out the candle, Satoko-chan!" Bitter hatred bubbled at my 'mother's' sickly sweet voice. For the six short years I had been here, all she had done was hold me back. Restricting me from complex reading materials. Forbidding me from anything in the slightest bit strenuous. Constantly encouraging me to pursue "feminine" arts, such as embroidery, or flower arranging.

Fucking flower arranging.

Any love or respect for her was gone. They had been gone for a long time.

Impatiently blowing out the single, smoky candle, I twisted my grimace at the pink monstrosity I was decked in into a sweet smile. "Can I see my present now, okaa-san?"

Delighted at her Satoko-chan acting like the little princess she always wanted, she hurried me into the kitchen-living room hybrid where, to my disgust, she gave me even more pink monstrosities.

Such a shame that this plan involved her being in a good mood.

Slapping on another false smile, I tightly hugged one of her legs, hiding my grimace in the folds of her skirt. "Thank you okaa-san!"

As usual, my father had only stayed long enough this morning to give a rather insincere "happy birthday" before going off to the fields yet again. In fairness, he did have an excuse – money didn't grow on trees, after all – yet it wouldn't have crippled him to stick around for a little bit longer, nor was it too difficult to pretend to give a shit about his own daughter's birthday.

Neither of them had paid enough attention to know that I had no intention of staying here for another year. Honestly, everything they did fell under 'bad parenting[ES1] '.

I mean, they didn't even notice my stash of notebooks behind a wall panel, even when I marked out the panel by knocking a chip off the corner, just to see if they'd see anything amiss. They never seemed to realise that panel was slightly more worn than all the others, too. Nor did they notice that I'd taken their money to buy all the notebooks, or noticed me writing in them-

To cut it short, they wouldn't notice anything unless it literally slapped them around the face.

Although, for me, that was probably a good thing. After all, notebooks filled with a foreign language were quite incriminating, I would say.

A necessary evil, however, as I could quite clearly tell my memory wasn't nearly as sharp as when I was an adult. Getting better, yes, however still not nearly sharp enough to remember all the details of an entirely new world.

Most of my notebooks were devoted to what I'd dubbed 'civilian matters'; what I could glean of social order and class, societal expectations, occupations, governing system, trade, foreign relations – really, any information that I could get my hands on about the society I'd unwittingly crash-landed in.

Then, of course, were the 'ninja' ones.

Really, it hadn't fully sunk in – that feats like casually spitting fireballs, defying the laws of physics and human limitations without even a second glance and punching craters in the ground with your fists was actually possible in this world.

Sometimes I even forgot.

And then I'd see a kunai casually left forgotten in an alleyway, see someone with an engraved shiny plate wrapped around their forehead, spot a flicker of movement dancing across the roofing tiles, and then I'd wonder how it was even possible to forget such blatantly superhuman feats.

Either way, it was all recorded.

From what I could tell from the civilian village I was in, I was born during a time of peace after the Third Shinobi War. Trade was booming, the atmosphere generally calm. Opinion of ninja varied wildly – the majority heralded them as heroes, however a small percentage saw ninja as suicidal freaks – mainly those who had lost relatives.

It appeared my family were of the latter, which was quite disappointing, and skyrocketed the chances that my scheming would permanently alienate myself from my family.

Not that it mattered.

After all, my future came before relationships with a 'family' that I could barely consider as such. If I stayed a civilian, just as they wanted, my prospects would be rather dismal – especially since there were still quite toxic views of 'a woman's role' floating around.

Now, however, wasn't the time to be debating the pros and cons of my plan. I'd already wasted far too much time on all the moral debates over it – ninja, after all, did kill and steal and statistically speaking, I would be involved in a war at some point – yet it was still better than here.

I was following through with it.

Pushing all thoughts of the contents of my panel-stash and settling down to my birthday dinner, I subtly observed 'Okaa-san' and 'Otou-san' for their mood – after all, although their permission technically wasn't needed, it sure as hell would make things and awful lot simpler.

Judging by her relaxed posture, Wakana was in a relatively good mood – likely something do with the fact she hadn't found the dress she'd given me in a nearby ditch or turned into a bonfire out the back. Takuya was – not unhappy, so to say, yet there was certainly tension in his frame and traces of a frown lining his face.

And, of course, my four-year-old little brother, who was as bratty as a four year old could possibly be. Something to do with favouritism.

In any case, he was unimportant.

"Okaa-san, Otou-san," They looked up, almost suspiciously, as if they couldn't believe I was being mild-mannered for once. "Do you think I could be a ninja?"

Wakana dropped her chopsticks.

"Satoko-chan, what do you mean?" With a plastered-on smile, she attempted to pat my face, to which she received a decisive swat. "Don't you want to be a princess?"

Abruptly, I dropped the happy mood. Clearly, she wouldn't be co-operating in this. "No, I have never wanted to be a princess. I can't change my blood to be royalty, and it's demeaning that you thought I was 'just the same' as all the other children." There was an edge of irritation lining words, bottled up emotions. "You were the one that assumed that I believed in such frivolous goals, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped forcing your own childhood onto me."

"B-but…" Stuttering for a moment, she quickly took a deep breath, before switching her tone to 'condescending'. Instantly, my hackles rose. "Satoko-chan, ninja live in a dangerous world. There's a big chance of you dying, and Okaa-san would be very sad."

"We exist in the very same world. It was a foolish dream to believe I would never hear about ninja." Fixing my eyes onto her slumped form, I injected determination into my words. "I am prepared to be a ninja – at least, mentally I am. You simply hastened the process."

Well, she didn't, but best leave her think that. Masking the lie behind an impervious expression, I awaited her answer.

"No." Ah, she finally decided to grow a backbone. Normally I would be proud; however, it really wasn't the time. "You may not become a ninja, Satoko. Your parents refuse."

Well, that was a shame.

Such a good thing that I'd prepared for this eventuality then, wasn't it? I'd predicted this, after all – I hardly expected them to let me go prancing off to Konoha, considering how they refused to respect any of my other decisions, either.

"Over the previous few years I have acquired several thousand ryo, a travelling pack, false papers and a detailed map of this part of Hi no Kuni. It would be a simple matter to leave during the night. You'll never see me again, nor will I bear your name." Time to seal the deal. "Either, by your leave, I go to the ninja academy in Konohagakure, and return here in the event I get dropped from the program. Alternatively, I can leave by my own means, run the risk of being attacked by bandits on the way and becoming a homeless orphan in the event I fail. Your decision."

In the wake of my words, there was silence.

"Satoko, what - are you serious about this… this plan?" There was something slightly dazed in Wakana's eyes, as if my place at the table had been replaced by a stranger claiming my name.

"Yes." Blandly, I replied. Honestly, it really didn't matter if I had their approval – after all, everything I had said was true - however it would be much easier if I did have it. Less chance of being mugged on the way by bandits, which were actually a legitimate concern in this universe.

"I suppose we'll approve then." Finally, Takuya gave me the answer I was looking for. "However, I do want to ask… this isn't just a ploy for attention, is it? I know I haven't been around a lot, but the farms need tending or else we'd all have starved long ago. If you stay, I promise to stay at home more, okay?"

"Thanks for approving." Hopping off my chair, I made my way to my room. "The appropriate documents have already been collected by me. All you need to do is sign them."

"You're really becoming a ninja?" Okaa-san's voice cracked a little towards the end.

Idly, I looked back. Even my bratty little 'brother' respected the tense silence that had settled in the room. "Yes." Without hesitation, I walked into my and my brother's shared room to retrieve the papers.

AN:

Okaa-san = mother

Otou-san = father

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If anyone is reading this from before The Hiatus, they will know I used to update twice a month, on the 1st and 15th of a month – however, with some serious exams coming up really fast for me, this isn't entirely feasible any more lmao

So – new schedule. At least once a month (barring exam periods in Jan/Feb. and May/June.), but if I'm hit by inspiration then I'll try to put out an extra one. Chapters range from 4k – 8k, with 5-6k being the average.

Additionally, readers from P.H (Pre-Hiatus) will know I used to respond to reviews in the chapter itself. However, I have recently been inundated by reviews (and I love them all - it's actually amazing how much attention this has attracted - but there's still quite a lot) and so will make use of a previously unused reply option instead of just putting off replying until the next chapter lmao

I have deleted review responses, and I apologise. I still have the responses saved, if you're really that bothered, but otherwise I'll just leave it as it is.

Please do leave criticism and points for improvement - as well as anything you would/wouldn't like included in future chapters, or anything you didn't like.

Seriously, everything.

This story is for me to improve my writing technique, and it's much more difficult to do that without your true opinions.

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