Erasing Impossibility

A/N: Hullo! It is nice to meet you all. This fandom is old, I recently finally crawled back to this fandom, and I shoved this fic up all of your asses. Yeah, hope you liked my greeting. This is another SIOC fic replacing a canon character, and I made it to be Rin. Rin-chan. Rinny. Yeah. Fun. Joy. Hallelujah. I was thinking of doing Hinata but ehh. Rin sounds fine.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Naruto, unfortunately, is not mine. If it is, the Uchiha won't have to suffer all the time, really.

EDIT: Um. I intended on doing a grammar check, but then I got sleepy so.. Oh well. I added some new words, and changed the characters filter Isobu into OC, considering OC is a more prominent filter than the cute bijuu.

I was once alive, you see. And just like everyone else, I died. I died and it was supposed to be the end, you know? It wasn't though. Such a curious thing, how I ended up in this predicament. This... fate. I couldn't run away from it. I just knew that. I wondered if someone out there hated me or something. I certainly didn't ask for this. Who wouldn't want this, anyway? It sucked big time, really.

You see, there was this thing about dying. Unless I was tortured by someone for information or ransom money, or dying slowly from my insides, or bleeding slowly until I ran out of blood; dying was something that happened quickly. At first, it was the blinding pain where you could only maybe mutter 'ow' breathlessly; because it was just that painful and quick that you couldn't even scream properly. And afterwards, it was all black and comforting darkness.

Eh. That happened when your chest was struck by a metal pole. And maybe my head too. I wouldn't know after the first one struck me. All I know was I was driving home from university, mentally telling myself I needed to check some books about mental illnesses for my psychology thesis, when the poles tied to the truck in front of me just slid down. Perhaps the knot wasn't that tight to begin with, but all I saw was that it was sliding down towards me, fast.

It was a quick, fine death. One that I couldn't really stay upset about.

I was sad, really. I had a family waiting for me at home. My mom probably would check her phone constantly when I didn't arrive at home today, my dad would probably try to calm her down... without avail. My brother probably tried to reassure my mom that his sister was a big girl and could handle herself alright. I wonder what their reactions would be when they heard the news. 'I'm sorry but your daughter was struck by a pole? Penetrated by a pole?' Pene—That wasn't exactly a nice way to say it.

The thought of my family sent me to a jumble of emotions. I loved them. I was still in university. I wanted to graduate and work as a psychologist, both for the sake of helping people and to gain money. I wanted to pay back to every kindness, every love and every money my parents spent for me: their eldest daughter. I wanted to be the daughter who succeed at life and make them proud. I wanted to support my brother through his university days, lengthening his social circle for potential clients; he'd be a great architect, that I was sure of. I hadn't managed to treat anyone; I hadn't even graduated!

I wanted a lot of things, I hoped for a lot of things. Naturally, I was sad and moody that I couldn't achieve those.

But just like any other problems in life. I let it slide. I couldn't really curse at God for giving me such a way to die—at the very least, it was quick and simple—and I wasn't exactly sure if cursing the Chief of Heaven was something smart for me to do.

Nevertheless, I was sad, and I coped. I thought of happy things; on how my brother would be great in the future, how he'd be the one to help and care for our parents when he was successful. My brother would be okay. My parents would be okay. Those comforting thoughts made me feel better, in a way.

I missed my friends, too. There were few who were close to me. I hoped I could say goodbye. But maybe the goodbye I said before I went home would be enough.

In the end, the thought of my family being okay, that they'd be happy and healthy, even after my death was something that comforted me. Strange thing, I was perhaps supposed to feel offended that they let my death go as easily as that. But eh, I would want them to let go. It was okay to grieve, to mourn. Then you'd gotta pick yourself up and continue with life, because the dead wasn't going to wake up and pat your head while you were mourning. Long lasting grief wasn't exactly healthy, too.

That was what living people do. But what was a dead person supposed to do? I was dead, obviously. Couldn't be in a coma with poles sticking into your body. The thing was, I didn't even see any life flashing in my mind or the tunnels or white light or heck, an angel, anything! It was neverending darkness, and I couldn't move my body freely. I didn't even know how I could still think rationally, or how I could still think at all.

I was silently panicking. What if I had to stay here all the time? Is this hell? Or the purgatory? I didn't want to stay here for who knows how long! An everlasting, neverending darkness was not a nice company, you see!

But then again, there was like nothing I could do about it. Finding that my panic was settling in, I figured I should force myself to relax and fell asleep. Though, there were no difference between sleeping or not. There was simply darkness.

I figured I could use my feet to do some kicking. It was a funny feeling. My motor skills went from average to terrible, which I couldn't really care about, but it was funny to move my feet around and feel something soft and a bit slippery on my feet. If I could giggle, I probably would. It surely didn't stop me from giggling inwardly.

I first started kicking when I was finally trying to see something, hear something, anything other than the darkness and the slightly suffocating feeling near my body. I had heard a voice, and I jolted, feet moving and touching the walls surrounding me. I heard the voice seemed to jolt a bit at that, too. But I couldn't exactly fathom why. Perhaps, they were the one to put me in this darkness? Were they an angel? God, maybe? Couldn't tell.

Soon enough, though, that voice became my sole company in this mind numbing darkness.

It was a welcome thing. At least I didn't turn insane thanks to this darkness; but I was slightly worried. They did say that when someone was in total darkness for, what, seven days? They'd turn blind. Hello, I was in total darkness for... I don't know. Months, perhaps. I didn't really count. Maybe I was blind already. Though that explained the darkness, that didn't explain the walls around me.

The voice continued to accompany me, sometimes speaking gibberish that I couldn't exactly hear; it was muffled at best. And some other times, that voice would sing and hum. I liked it. Like I said, nice company.

Then suddenly, I was forced into something else entirely. The walls constricted around me in an uncomfortable way, and I felt my head being sucked by something. Whoa, okay, I was finally going to be out of these walls, which was great but perhaps it would be better if they didn't vacuum me out of all things! Unlike my death, which was quick, this took far longer than I would've liked.

When I came to, there was brightness. Too bright, actually. This was what happened when you spent so much time in darkness. A little bit of light became too bright. But eh, I wasn't blind, so that was a thing.

What I noticed next was some dark blurs. Big, dark blurs that probably could count as Dementors if you think too hard about it. They could be angels for all I knew, it was certainly more comforting than Dementors. One of them scooped me up—and man, were they huge—holding me in their arms and I figured that apparently, aside from my sight that had yet adapted to everything, I had a pretty much decent hearing. They were speaking in a foreign language, but the way they said it wasn't all that different from my own language.

I realized they were talking in Japanese, and while I didn't understand most of it, I watched enough anime and TV drama to pick up some things. Now why would dementors talk in Japanese? Do Dementors even talk, at all? They couldn't be angels.. I heard angels had their holy language or something similar. If they wanted to talk to me, angels would talk with my language. Not with Japanese.

"—alive—...healthy..."

"—daughter—"

"—talk—"

Well. Okay. I admit that wasn't exactly helping. But apparently, I was alive. Or maybe they were talking that I had been alive. They did not say I was dead before though, and one of the big ol' giant was still holding me almost lovingly. So gentle, really.

"Rin." The giant holding me caressed my cheek with his giant, blurry hand. Ooh, it wasn't exactly blurry anymore when it got closer! So I just had one heck of a bad eyesight. The giant's head got closer, and my eyesight focused on him, how his face slowly became not Dementor anymore. I didn't know if I should be disappointed or not. His eyes were a mix between orange and brown, and he stared at me with a smile on his face.

"Rin," he repeated again, the tilt in his voice showed that he was undeniably happy and a bit overwhelmed by it. He was looking at me, though, and I wondered if his name was Rin. That was... a strange name for a guy. Although to be fair, some guys in anime did have that as a name. Just... not as much, I presumed.

"Thank you for being born," he whispered to me, nuzzling my cheek with his nose. I twitched. What? I wasn't sure if my Japanese was that bad or he just said thank you at me for being born. But... But I was dead. Why was this Rin thanking me for being born? I didn't know him, and I hadn't done anything significant in my life before. I was just a student. I didn't get the chance to help people like how I wanted.

"Dad is so happy," he whispered to me, and whoa, was he crying? I couldn't exactly move my hands and feet still, and it was even a struggle to stay awake. Did he just refer to himself as father? "Thank you for being born, Rin."

...Apparently, Rin was not his name. Or at least, that was what my butchered Japanese knowledge told me. He was referring to me as Rin, as far as I was concerned. Why though? I was not a Dementor—and he certainly wasn't, too. It was just me and my pathetic eyesight. He was a giant, I was a small puny human who died because of poles!

Was that it? Because of poles, now I was thrown to giants's way?

He was referring himself as a father though, and I had this bad feeling that he meant he was happy to be my father. And that I was Rin.

"Rei," the sobbing man smiled happily, bringing me along as he seemed to move somewhere. And I was thrust to another giant's embrace—Rei, I figured. While the sobbing, smiling giant's hands were calloused and rough at the edges, Rei's were considerably smaller and gentler, holding me gently and carefully. Her fingers rubbed my cheek gently, and I blinked. Her face came to focus on me, and I saw brown hair and brown eyes. The woman was crying and smiling too, I had to wonder if all giants were crybabies.

"Rin," she breathed out. "—Nice—Name?" I blinked again. Okay, they were clearly adamant in having Rin as my name. But my name wasn't Rin. Didn't they know? I was dead, they should know.

"Thank you for being born," she stated that sentence too, "Mom loves you." Of course she does, my mom raised me. She loved me. I know that. I get a feeling, though, that they weren't talking about me.

It took a few days. With my sight being shitty and me in a prolonged session of denial, but it slowly occurred to me that Rin was me, they were calling me Rin, Rin was me, and that I was a baby. They were my parents, I was their daughter.

I was a baby. I had been reincarnated.

Yeah. Happy thoughts. Whoop.

With that horrifying knowledge, I, the newborn baby who was uncharacteristically quiet-that the Dementors would glance at me in worry-until just now, cried my eyes out. Unknowingly making my parents—MY PARENTS!—sigh in relief, for their child finally cried.

Okay, I realized that being reincarnated was plausible. The Buddha believed in such thing to happen. So I wasn't that surprised. What surprised me, though, was the fact that I kept my memories and knowledge of my past life. Wasn't that, like, illegal? I didn't know how heaven worked, how nirvana or afterlife worked. But certainly I had never heard of someone having their past knowledge intact since they were born. Everyone were born equally stupid and childish. There were some who were born as geniuses, yes, but as babies they were still the drooling happy children who could only laugh and cry. Certainly not lie down and think about the meaning of life!

I was a worrying child. I was certain my parents would be worried because I wasn't supposedly acting like children my age. ...What was children my age doing anyway? Sleep, eat, take a shit, sleep. I was doing all those, I just didn't cry so much. I scrunched my nose and frowned when I dirtied myself and those diapers, the smell usually what made my parents aware I had soiled myself, no matter how embarrassing that was.

I rarely cried. That should be a problem.

Should I pretend to cry? But that was... a lot of work. My baby body felt super lazy to do such thing. Better to sleep than to cry. Perhaps I could try to cry when I soiled myself, though I was certain it would simply turn into pathetic whines.

Now I wish I was a stupid, drooling baby with no knowledge of freedom with your own legs and potty training. Because I wanted my freedom to explore this whole new place and familiarize with them, and quickly go to toilets myself. It was embarrassing enough to have your ass wiped clean by your supposedly new mother, okay?! But apparently, as a baby with terrible motor skills, that had to wait.

What a drag.

My name was Rin. My mother's was Rei (Sunawarti, her name was Sunawarti. Everyone called her Suna. My mother's name was Suna) She had a brown hair that she always tied in a bun (with black hair, some white thanks to her old age) and brown eyes (her charcoal colored eyes filled with love and emotions—how she wouldn't look as tired anymore whenever she smiled at me and my brother—).

Rei was slim and fit (Mother was fat and she was not necessarily healthy, she took meds and she had to take great caution with her diet), and she was the most flexible woman I had ever seen in my life. Rei was able to cut carrots with such accuracy and speed with one hand while she held me with another. It was amazing and a bit scary. How could she do that? I didn't know. I wanted to know. Maybe when I was older.

Rei's voice was sweet and gentle (mom's was rough at edges, slightly pitchy at every sentences she said, shrill like voice breaking through the doors), though she did have the 'reprimanding' voice that all women with children seemed to have. She used it once on me, when I refused to suck on her nipples.

My father's name was Takeshi, a normal name for a Japanese male (Supriadi, his name was Supriadi. Everyone called him Rudi for short. The name of a war hero, always mentioned in my class's history books. He was no warrior, but that was his name).

Takeshi was such a goofball (Dad tickled me anytime I made sarcastic retort even when I was an adult), his smile was wide and he looked at me with such unconditional love (he would always gaze at me as if he was proud. Proud to have me, proud to have my brother—always so proud).

He had that strange orange-brown mix for eyes (dark brown eyes that I inherited—) and spiky, short brown hair (smooth, black hair, going white because of age). He had a strange... rectangular purple tattoo...—It was tattoo, right?—on his cheeks. (Father frowned at tattoos. There was a threat of HIV/AIDS from needles after all).

He was muscular and fit, terribly so (he was fit, but he was old. His spine was killing him. His back and legs hurt when he moved. He took effort to even walk. I was worried, mom was worried, everyone was worried).

They both loved me (they loved me so much to sacrifice everything for me).

They loved me unconditionally (they loved me unconditionally).

They were proud and happy to have me.

It was hard to think of them as my parents (my parents are old. My parents didn't have to raise me anymore. It was my turn. My turn to take care of them.).

Even harder to unconditionally love them as those figures who would raise me to be an adult again (But I am an adult—).

But then again, I was their child.

I was Suna's and Rudi's eldest daughter. (I love them, I love them, I love them).

I was Rei's and Takehi's eldest daughter also. (There shouldn't be more than two. There should be two. Were there even ex-parents?)

They loved me. (They loved me.)

In turn, I was Rin, their daughter.

That was why, I would love them. (I would try to love them).

You know, there was something strange with this era. Wasn't I supposed to be reincarnated? I didn't know about the time it supposed to take to prepare me for my birth—aside from the original 9 months 10 days thing—but I was almost certain I should be in the future. But there were no particular gadgets I saw. Either my parents were stuck-up—which didn't seem like it, really—or they didn't exist. My mom had guests from time to time, and none of them pulled out that damned thing everyone used for communication and source of entertainment these days! They talked to mom, coo at me and my tattoo. Surprisingly, it wasn't... exactly a tattoo? I didn't know, it was like a birthmark or something. But it showed that I was father's daughter. So I was alright with that.

Back to the topic, though. There were no internet or devices or any other more advanced technologies. There were TVs, yes. Microwave, oven, other electronics but no cool communicating devices like smartphones or the internet. No internet!

I couldn't be in the past.. Could I?

It took me a few months of curiosity, when I was finally able to roll around and crawl.

That, was a fun and funny experience, I rolled like crazy on the floor, my mom—it was still weird to mentally think of her as that, but eh, I adapted—swiftly and effortlessly moved dangerous things off my paths when I rolled around. It was dizzying. But fun. It was a step toward freedom! Then from rolling came sitting up, came crawling, came standing with two wobbly feet. Honestly, I had no idea how long I was supposed to take in doing them all, nor in what order I was supposed to do these things. But I wanted my freedom and they didn't seem to be much fazed by it. Probably blink in surprise before a look of glee settle upon them—Especially dad's. He always called himself the proudest dad in the whole village. There were times when they discussed quietly and gave glances at me—who was in the body of a one year old baby and who apparently found sucking on a candy as a fun experience—but I paid no heed to them. They didn't scold me or anything, and I found standing up and trying to walk as a challenge. Challenge toward freedom. I wanted it. Badly. Sitting on the bed all day was tiring, okay?

Not only that, I also grew in talking. Reading and writing, not so much. They looked like swiggly, wiggly wiggly worms to me. But talking, I could understand some and perhaps say some. They made it as a sort of competition on who would be called first. And simply because I was fonder of Takeshi and that I was closer to my dad in my previous life anyway, I played along and talked with butchered version of father.

"Tou," I chirped. My tongue was against me and it was hard to properly form syllables. He still shone like the sun, though, and the sly smirk he sent toward mom was amusing. He seemed smug enough that I said his first instead of mom's. Mom sent him a dirty look, though it turned into coos when she kneeled next to me, dad snickering at her attempt for me to call her instead.

"Rin-chan, come on, say Kaa-chan. Kaa-chan. Kaa. Chan."

"Uh.." Well, who was I to refuse? "Kaa!"

This time, mom was sparkling and she pressed wet kisses on my face, obviously ecstatic.

"Did you hear that?! She called us both! Ooh, I'm so proud of you!"

"K-Kaa—!" I whined, mostly because my face was assaulted by her.

My parents laughed, and I had to suppress a smile in order to keep on pouting cutely.

Really, the chore of being a child. I had to be cute and lovely for their sake.

Anyway, another confusing thing was that my dad often went out with a green flak jacket and a strange headband. I recognized that headband; how could I not? It was Konoha's hitai-ate, and that show was popular among my generation, even the ones younger and older than me. I used to watch the dubbed version of it in my national television channel—in which I soon got tired of because of the sheer stupidity in the casts voice (who the hell decided it was okay and dandy to have Naruto's voice actor dub both Naruto and Sasuke in one particular episode? It was terrifying and there was also a time when Sakura's VA played a part as Gaara. Seriously, so much professionalism for that studio) and proceeded for streaming the subbed ones—along with my little brother. I wasn't so into it, per se. But I know enough.

A question that popped out was if my father was a cosplayer. He was goofy, yes, but... a cosplayer for a living...? He dressed in that regularly! I was honestly curious, and it wasn't until I curiously dug through his bag when he was resting on the sofa beside me, when I pulled out a kunai.

A toy kunai was usually sold during the anime festivals held in my town during my old life. It wasn't as heavy as this one, though, and it was really sharp. Like it was real.

"Rin," I flinched at the tone my dad used. It was rare, but there were times when he would be serious and scary. And really, you could tell when he dropped honorifics was when he was serious. I turned to face him, and saw his outstretched hand. I blinked. "Now, hand it over. It's not nice to dig through someone's bag." Though he didn't really stop me when I started, simply glanced my way. "And that thing can hurt you."

I glanced down at the kunai within my hold. In my old world, if a child was holding a sharp thing, or anything that could potentially be dangerous, the parents would screech and scold and swiftly take it out off of their hands. Especially if it was a weapon.

Takeshi, though, simply stared at me patiently with his outstretched hand waiting for the kunai to be passed to him. No worry that I could hurt myself, that my hand could slip and probably stab myself in the process. It was either absolute trust or mere foolishness. I handed the kunai to him anyway. He smiled at me and ruffled my hair, messing with my pouty, sullen look.

"Tou?" I called out, as he picked up the bag and shoved the kunai inside, now settling it a bit far away from me. He hummed in response, acknowledging me.

"Wh're re we?"

"In the house, dear."

I scrunched up my nose, and he laughed, messing with my hair again. "I mwean t-the-thah—" I felt like pulling my tongue at its stubbornness from moving properly. "Theh town!"

"You mean the village?" Dad asked, amused.

Oops. Yeah. My mistake. I nodded vigorously, and dad's smile broadened.

"It's Konoha, Rin-chan. The Hidden Village of Leaf."

...Oh.

...Well, then.

It took me a year to figure out where I was. Yeah, I was slow to figure it out—in which I'd defend myself: my mom was protective and never allowed me to go outside. Granted I was a year old, but she never really went outside either! If she did, dad would be at home watching me. Talk about a sheltered life—but I was surprised enough. I felt like I almost fainted.

I had stared gobsmacked at my father, and he actually seemed worried until I simply plopped down on his lap and sulk. Not that he knew of it, he probably simply shrugged it off as me being a baby who was tired and sleepy. I did sleep a lot anyways.

But inside, my mind was full of jumbles of words. Konoha. Konoha. Really? Really? My father could possibly be lying; but why would he? Unless he was a cosplaying maniac, trying to drag his daughter into Naruto hell and turn her into cosplaying a kunoichi. I winced. Nah, my dad's not like that. That hitai-ate seemed real, that kunai was definitely a real weapon.

I simply concluded I was reborn in Naruto.

...Man, I knew the theories of reincarnation was plausible, considering Buddhist belief and all of that. But to be reincarnated in Naruto? It was supposed to be impossible, along with the 'keeping my past memories' thing.

This must be because of the poles sticking into me.

It had to be.

Of course, simply because of fate and the goddamned poles, it took me not too long to figure out another surprise.

I knew the name Rin sounded familiar. Like, Kagamine Rin, Matsuoka Rin. Mount Rinjani. Common name, y'know?

Who would've thought that my name was Nohara Rin?

I heard one of the guests calling mom not by her name—unlike her other friends, I could only guess this particular friend wasn't that close to her then—but rather by Nohara-san. I quickly categorized it as a last name, and tested it.

Nohara Rei. Nohara Takeshi.

Nice.

I would probably be ecstatic to know my last name—I had came into terms that I was in Konohagakure and I was now debating my life choices in becoming a kunoichi or living as a weak civilian my whole life, live a peaceful life until some random war or invasion broke out, living with kittens and possibly raise a second coming of Tora the devil kitty. My last name would probably entail a clan, and I was hoping it wasn't any stuck up ones—but I wasn't. I wasn't ecstatic to realize the true implication in my name.

Really, the name itself made me feel like I had died all over again.

Nohara.

Nohara Rin.

Nohara Rin.

Team Minato, with Kakashi and Obito. One of the sources of Kakashi's grief, Obito's cause of insanity, jinchuuriki, death by chidori.

I slumped on my seat, ignoring the chatters my mom and her friends had, who, I presume was kunoichis, as my mother was obviously one as shown with her gracefulness.

Staring at the wall, I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry. I wasn't the baby who cried a lot this time around, but now I wanted to cry.

I was Nohara Rin.

I was going to die by chidori or risk having Konoha get trampled by Isobu.

...Would it feel different than having poles going through you?

At the very least, it was another quick death.

I probably shouldn't be that chill at the very thought of dying again in the future. But of course I knew I'd die again. I was no immortal. It was simply the thought of dying a quick death with a sharp slam of pain which disappeared soon after that made me feel calm enough not to hyperventilate.

Expect more pole jokes, to be honest.

This chapter merely consists of a run down of her thoughts and glimpses of her personality as well as internal conflict. I hope you're all excited to see how she'll grow as a kunoichi... and die as a jinchuuriki. I hope you like it! I need to do more research considering chakra and academy days in war-era, but eh, I think I'll manage. And do not worry, I don't intend to make her a mary sue or god mod or anything. If she is one for you in the future, point it out and tell me why!

Questions time!

1) What do you think of Rin in this fic? Is she likeable? Tolerable?

2) Who is your favorite in Team Minato?

Review please! Thank you!