.

But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.

Konoha lives up to each and every preconceived notion Emika has of it, and then some.

The streets smell of cheap fried food and body odour. Children run around the place screaming their heads off, and more than a few of them have yanked on Emika's hair on their way past her. Her poor hair—the dirt streets litter the air with dust, dust that is slowly but surely turning the strands of black into brown, and it's not only children that are tugging on her hair.

The entire place is filthy and awful. She's never been so grateful for an ugly, disposable kimono in her entire life.

And the heat. The heat is oppressive, worse than she's used to. Kodaba manor sits in the far east where it's milder and inclined to rain. Here, though, within a handful of minutes, she's finding herself covered in sweat from having to lug around the chest with all of her things.

She's been here for less than an hour and already hates the village.

"Hey, pretty lady—need some help with that?"

Emika glances at the area around her. All she wants is a hotel that doesn't look like it's going to give her some kind of unsightly disease. Is that so much to ask? So far, she's passed a couple of places with vacancies, but both were run down.

Unlike some around her, Emika had standards, and she had no need to settle for the sake of finances. She refuses to settle for less than her usual standards. Not in this life. Not anymore.

Grudgingly, Emika continues to trudge through the congested streets, refusing to let her face or posture betray the discomfort she's in.

Maybe she's in the wrong part of the village—this place is huge and she knows that people of high status stay in the village. There has to be somewhere worthwhile.

"Wait a second, Miss."

Emika feels a hand on her shoulder. She jumps, whipping around to face the owner of the hand, and feels her chest fall from her grasp.

Everything happens so fast, it's a blur. By the time her eyes catch up, she sees a teenaged boy standing in front of her with the chest in his hands.

She's annoyed at how attractive he is—and how aware of his attractiveness he seems to be, given the way he carries himself, with an easy gait and chin held high. Gorgeous silver-blonde hair tied into a ponytail at the back of his head, sharp features, and fascinating pupilless eyes as green as the trees surrounding Konoha. Then she notices the headband stretched across his forehead and her shoulders stiffen.

"Sorry about that," he says. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It is fine," Emika murmurs, the instinctual formality wrapping around her entire being like a blanket. "I believe I should be thanking you for catching my belongings."

"Ah, no. It's my own fault you dropped it."

Emika waits for him to give it back to her, but he makes no motion to. "You look a bit lost," he continues. "I was wondering if you need help finding anything?"

She considers her answer.

On one hand, she knows a ninja headband when she sees one. Her memories of watching Naruto in her last life are fuzzy at best, but she does remember some things. Main characters, some key plot points, basic information—including headbands. The freakish speed he moves at cements that. And she wants nothing to do with these ninja folk, with their weird quirks and sharp, pointy things.

On the other hand, Emika thinks she might come down with heatstroke if she's outside for much longer.

"I am looking for a suitable hotel to stay at," she finally says. "I would be greatly appreciative if you might lead me towards one."

"Yeah, I think I can do that."

Emika holds her hand together in front of her and bows. "You have my thanks."

The teenager shrugs. "You're welcome, but there's nothing to thank me for, honest. I'm just doing the right thing."

Emika inclines her head.

The boy adjusts his hold on the chest and leads her on through the village.

Emika walks at his side—his left, away from the kunai strapped to his right thigh and hip—and a step behind him. She can see him watching her out of the corner of his eye, though what he's looking for she can't tell.

After a while, he says, "The name's Inoichi Yamanaka, by the way."

"A pleasure to meet you," she says. "I am Emika." The lack of a family name leaves the statement sounding unfinished, even in her intonation, unused to only introducing herself by a given name.

She expects him to ask, but he doesn't. He simply grins at her over his shoulder.

His name, though. Something about it seems familiar; she can't quite put her finger on it. The obvious connection he has is to Ino—one of the main cast, the characters Emika can remember—with them sharing a clan. Perhaps he was a side character, or something? She'll have to think on it. Now that she's stuck in Konoha, she might as well at least try to brush off the dust from these memories.

It takes Emika a bit to notice, as they walk, the difference between travelling through the village before and now. Aside from not having to carry her own luggage, she also starts to realize that people are no longer bumping into her or yanking on her hair or generally invading her personal space.

"So," Inoichi says. "What brings you to Konoha?"

Somehow, lying seems like a terrible idea. But Emika isn't in any rush to spill her guts to a stranger. "A new start," she says. Vague but accurate.

"You're planning to live here, then?"

"For the foreseeable future."

"On your own?"

Emika narrows her eyes. "Yes," she says, the word coming out more pointed than intended.

Inoichi has the grace to appear sheepish. "Sorry, not trying to touch sensitive territory. Just wanted to warn you that if you're here entirely on your own, no family already living here or no employer having brought you here, you need to check in with the Civilian Services department."

"Oh." She averts her gaze. "I did not know that."

"Most don't," he says. "Which is why I mentioned. They keep track of all newcomers as they get through the gates and hunt you down in a month or so, if you don't go yourself. But they tend to be in a better mood if you don't make them work so hard for it."

In hindsight, it makes a surprising amount of sense to her. "Then, I suppose I owe you my thanks. Again."

"And again, none needed. Just doing my job."

That's something she'll have to attend to, sooner rather than later.

Emika fights to keep from biting her lip. "If you do not mind my asking, what is involved in this check-in?"

"Basic questions. What you're doing here, where you come from, how long you intend to say. Normally won't take more than ten minutes."

"That is good to know."

"It's not a big deal, honestly," he says. "Just a precaution."

Emika nods. "An understandable one."

"Though, if you want, I could help you prepare."

"If it is as simple as you have presented that, I think that would not be necessary."

"On the contrary—I could give you a tour of the village, take you to a nice little food place, give you a mock test."

"Again, that does not sound necessary."

"Yeah, alright, not necessary," he says. "But it could be fun."

Emika stares at him, unblinking. "I do not think so."

He lets out a breathy laugh. "You're not one for subtlety, huh? I can appreciate that."

She doesn't answer.

"Honesty is not proper for a woman, your place is not to hold an opinion."

"Do not dishonour male guests by rebuking their advances, smile and bat your eyes, do your duty."

"Laugh, Emika. It will not kill you. If you did, for once, you might actually appear beautiful enough to be worth the Kodaba name."

Emika doesn't answer.

The rest of their walk passes in an awkward silence.

.

.

Emika feels the iced air wash over her as soon as the hotel doors open, and she knows that she's in the right place. She surveys the lobby, the rich furniture and impeccably maintained marbles floors, and is further convinced that she's in the right place.

She catches Inoichi watching her, a smug look on his face. "Is this 'suitable'?"

"Yes," Emika says. "It is indeed."

A young man greets the two of them at the front desk. He watches Inoichi carefully and notices Emika as more of an afterthought. "Good afternoon," he says. "How may I assist you?"

"I would like to book board for a month, if you please," Emika says.

The young man's bright blue eyes flicker back to Emika and stay on her. The fake smile, sugar sweet tone—she remembers the pain of having to shove that mask on her face in the presence of customers. Poor, unfortunate soul.

"I see," he says. "And for how many?"

"Just myself."

"Understood, miss." He pulls out his book and flips through some of the pages. "I can place you in the bottom level suite of our third building."

"That sounds agreeable."

"Wonderful," he says. "For a month long stay, that will cost you three hundred thousand yen."

"Of course."

She can feel Inoichi watching her. She undoes the clasp on her chest and reaches for something that she managed to nick from her room without anybody taking notice—her Kodaba seal. It's as good as a signature and impossible to forge.

Emika presents it to the young man and says, "I will place the charge on my tab."

Three hundred thousand yen is more than most people in this village make in a month, but it's pocket change to a family who bought their way into the upper echelons of the Fire Country nobility. When Hatsuko drops by for a visit, Emika will send her along to pay off the charge.

It takes him a second to recognize it, and when he does, his eyes widen. "Ah—ah, yes. That will be no problem, miss—"

She fights off a grimace. "Thank you," she says.

The young man nods and passes her the key to her room.

Emika breezes past with Inoichi trailing behind her. Somebody tries to take the chest from him but Inoichi waves them off. Emika considers shooing Inoichi away herself but finds her curiosity gets the better of her.

They exit the main lobby building and enter the stone pathway that connects the slew of buildings contained within the mini-compound. She counts ten traditionally constructed buildings stretching out from the path, each with three floors to them, stairs on the outside to gain access to the upper floors. Flowers and trees sprout out to line the path and she can see a pond at the end, settled between the mouth of the last three buildings.

There's a serene sense that it instils in Emika. The quiet dribble of water, the smell of the flowers, the lack of people compared to the rest of the village.

She waits until the doors close behind them, blocking off any potential eavesdroppers, to ask, "What would you have done if I had not that much money available to me?"

"Well, I didn't expect you to rent a room for a whole month… but I was pretty confident that you could afford to stay here."

"And? Why choose this? Why deem this to be what I meant when I said suitable? You are not incorrect, but I find it a curious thing that you were able to gauge my available funds with such accuracy."

"Ninjas don't reveal their secrets. That's kind of the entire job description." He looks at her with an eyebrow quirked. "That is, not for free, at least."

"Then I suppose it will remain a mystery."

"Where's your sense of fun?"

"Right where you seem to have misplaced your self-preservation."

Inoichi lets out a low whistle. "That was harsh," he says, though his tone sounds good-natured and teasing.

Emika ignores the urge to apologize.

The third building comes up on Emika's right and she strolls towards the door of it, not giving Inoichi another look.

The suite is, again, a pleasant surprise for her. Not quite to the degree of luxury she had at the manor, but enough that she doesn't feel an itch under her skin to jump in the shower and claw her eyes out. It's simple and uncluttered.

She walks in and slips off her shoes in favour of the complimentary slippers.

"Huh," Inoichi says. He stands in the doorway. "This is pretty nice."

"Yes, it is," she says. "Rather acceptable, I think."

"Glad to hear it. Mind if I come in?"

"I do not mind."

He kicks off his shoes and pads barefoot into the main part of the suite. In the middle of the room, a set of slate grey couches and chairs surround a scratchless black table that glistens in what bits of light seep through the papered windows. Inoichi sets the chest down behind one of the couches.

Emika bows to him. "You have my deepest thanks for doing me the service of carrying my possessions, leading me to this hotel, and providing me with company for the trip."

"Is that enough thanks that I can come back on Wednesday and take you out for tea?"

He almost gets her with the offer of tea. Almost. "I do not think so," she says. "But, I suppose… enough thanks that if I stumble across you in the village, I promise I will grant you a minute of conversation before I pretend that I do not know you."

"I'll accept that generous offer."

"As is your only choice."

"Fine, fine. I know where I'm not wanted." Inoichi makes his way back towards the door, winking at Emika as he passes her. She turns to watch him leave, and he walks backwards, keeping eye contact with her. "See you around, pretty lady!"

This time, rather than not wanting to give Inoichi an answer, she finds she doesn't have one to give him.

Pretty lady.

Stupid teenage boys and the stupid things they'll say to get their way.

Emika shoves the thought out of her head.

Without Inoichi around, Emika feels the stiffness seep out of her posture, the pressure for properness ease in the back of her mind.

She moves over to the chest and kneels down in front of it, her hands feeling the grooves and carvings in the wood. She pops the lid of it. Her kimono, two coloured with soft pastels and floral designs, two in bright colours and even brighter patterns. Underneath the kimono, her tea set and her brush, both made of perfectly polished silver, the hair oil sitting beside them.

Her things. Her most precious possessions.

The only things she needs from that wretched place.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, staring, before she gets up and wanders around her suite.

The bedroom is grand, with a giant bed and vanity, and a window open to the gardens to give the room some natural light. The kitchen—which she barely glances at—seems functional enough. That'll take a bit for her to reacquaint herself with, not having had to cook for herself in sixteen years. But her favourite part of the suite is the bathroom. A shower with a wondrous amount of settings and, the cherry on top, a bathtub that pours out fresh spring water from its tap, a litany of soaps and shampoos perched on the sides of it. She'll get use of that.

Emika ultimately finds herself standing in the middle of the main room, not knowing what to do with herself.

Never has she had this kind of silence, before. Never has she had this utter lack of expectations pressing upon her.

So this is the feeling of freedom.

Emika lets out a breath, surprised that it turns into a laugh.

This is the kind of thing that she can get used to.

Emika spends the first two days having food brought to her rather than venturing out into the village for groceries.

She enjoys her bath and the privacy her suite provides. The stillness of it. No tutors and servants pounding at her door. The feeling of eyes burning holes into every orifice of her being is absent. The cleaning staff only come if she calls them, and she's avoided doing so.

But on day three she tires of staying cooped up inside of her room. She needs to start getting things together, and her first step is to get dressed and take a trip to the nearest market. She can afford to keep having her meals brought to her, with all of it going onto the same tab as her suite, but sooner or later she'll need to learn to cook and there's not much point in putting it off.

Emika sits at the vanity and brushes out her hair. Once all the knots are out, she puts it into a simple hairstyle, with two chunks left to sit on either side of her head and the rest pulled up into a high ponytail at the back of her head. Atop the vanity sits a few complimentary beauty products provided by the hotel—powder, a few shades lighter than her skin; eyeliner; and two thumbnail-sized pots of lipstick. It's enough for a couple faces of makeup. She'll pick up more when she's out, but for now, this'll do. She applies all of it rather heavy-handedly, as she's grown used to in this life.

And then comes the hard part: the kimono.

Getting her kimono on herself takes Emika far longer than she'll ever admit. She always opted for a less cumbersome style, which is her only saving grace as if she had a full traditional kimono she would have never been able to get it on, with all of the layers and things that need to be tied. Even with help, Hatsuko, who wore the more extravagant kimono of the two of them, needed half an hour and five servants to get dressed for special occasions.

The kimono is gorgeous, even still. A vibrant teal colour with wave designs and koi fish floating around it, gold and silver stitched into the cuffs and linings. The silk is nice and thin, as well, able to breathe in this heat.

Once the kimono is on and she's as satisfied as she can be with her hair, Emika pulls out her envelope of yen and considers.

She has eight hundred thousand yen in the envelope.

Emika was never given spending money like this, nor was she ever privy to exactly how much their parents gifted Hatsuko every month. She's not terribly surprised.

The Kodaba family make their money through industry—metallurgy, coal, and a handful of others that are key to the Land of Fire's economy. Near half of all the weapons these Konoha brutes wield were made with Kodaba steel, if not more. Her grandfather cultivated the family name, their unimaginable wealth, and eventually purchased their place in the Fire Country's court, where they've thus far been ill received. The rest of the nobility see the Kodaba family as a bunch of money grubbing children wearing their mother's finery, which is entirely true, and the reason that it's even more important for them to keep face than the others families in court.

Emika tucks fifty thousand yen into her sleeve.

Admittedly, it's part of why she seeks to keep her identity under wraps. The desk clerk knowing is a minor thing—he'd be a fool to open his mouth and risk losing them as a client. She can't see him leaking that information. But anybody else? Not a chance. That's not the kind of target she wants on her back. Her family is popular with neither their own ilk nor the common folk.

Money safely hidden away, she takes one last look at herself and leaves for a day of shopping.

.

.

The streets are as crowded as the last time Emika traversed them. But she notices that, like when she walked with Inoichi before, nobody seems to get within her personal bubble. Her aura of wealth serves as a sturdy shield from the people around her.

She garners stares the whole way, too. Some openly gawk. Others point and whisper behind their hand. It's a level of attention that Emika isn't used to having, and she finds she doesn't quite know how to react to it. The sensation of it makes her skin crawl. She was never the one to grab attention at court gatherings—that was always Hatsuko's job.

Erring on the side of caution, Emika does her best to not acknowledge the attention nor pay it mind, her chin up and her eyes locked ahead of her.

The market is her last stop. She wanders the stalls with an ugly but sturdy cloth bag that she picked up along the way slung over one shoulder, full of makeup and with her money hidden at the bottom. Emika takes her time here, grabbing things that she knows she'll be able to cook with. She has a rough list in her mind: rice, vegetables, eggs, and noodles. She won't be making gourmet meals anytime soon, but she won't starve, either.

She watches the people around her check the various products. One woman picks up a melon and taps on it, then shakes the thing right next to her ear. Another holds an egg up to the sun, as if the natural light will let her see what's beneath the shells—though Emika can't gather why that's necessary.

Emika doesn't bother with that bunch of idiocy. She picks what looks and smells fresh, and purchases it.

At one stall, Emika hands the woman running it a flat of twelve eggs. The woman scans the eggs, flits her eyes to Emika, and stretches her lips into a plastic smile. "2500 yen, miss."

She pulls the bills from her wad and exchanges them for the eggs.

Behind her, she sees a couple of women, their arms full of groceries, pointing at her and snickering about something. They fall silent and swerve away when Emika walks past them on her way to the next stall.

She notices the same when she purchases some fruit—the stares, the almost mocking looks of the stall owners. It's as if none of them has ever seen somebody other than a housewife out doing grocery shopping.

Hatsuko preened under this kind of attention. The way every eye turned to her when she walked into a room, how people fawned over her, wanted to sidle up with her and be around her. Emika feels more like a circus monkey squirming underneath the spotlight.

When she's got at least a week's worth of food and the stares become too much for her, Emika retreats for the hotel. What a bunch of idiots, she thinks. They can't get to me—they're not worth the wrinkles.

It's what she keeps telling herself for the rest of the night as she sips tea and soaks in the bathtub, waiting for her headache to ease.

Emika takes a sip of her tea, eyes roaming around the tea shop she's in.

She sees a room full of people enjoying their drinks and vaguely familiar desserts, clustered around the collection of tables that circle the open kitchen, too busy with their friends and refreshments to pay any attention to her.

It's a smaller shop. There aren't any windows to let in natural light, but the room is still well-lit by a few well placed light fixtures, and the decor does well to give the place a cosy atmosphere, surprisingly so for what seems to be a store of quaint origins.

On her right, a waitress approaches a table, tea set in hand. She exchanges a few pleasantries with the two people sitting at the table and then gets to work on preparing the tea. The waitress performs a bastardization of tea ceremony, cut and sped up—likely for feasibility, given that a true tea ceremony can take upwards of twenty minutes. What Emika watches is tea being prepared with a few flourishes and hints of tradition.

It's a common thing to do in the tea shops, as Emika's noticed over her week and a half of research.

Emika picks at the cookie on her plate. A little green, square-shaped thing, supposedly green tea flavoured, one of the most popular dessert flavour she's seen among the shops. She sees green tea cakes, green tea cookies, green tea sprinkles and green tea flavoured whip cream as toppers. It's right up there with red bean paste. She takes a nibble and her nose threatens to scrunch up in disgust—it doesn't taste like any green tea she's ever had. There's a cheap, artificial taste to it. But she didn't expect much less from the shop.

Her research so far has been fruitful, if a bit surprising. She noticed a lot of smaller, more personal places, focused on providing people with privacy and varying degrees of tradition. The more expensive, the more traditional, with the expensive shops concentrated in the tourist sections of the village while the cheaper ones branch out into where more of the common folk are. Right now, the shop she's in is on the edge of the central village hub, a block away from some civilian housing, while the more pricey shops she's been to are in the tourist-friendly parts of the market, aimed at people like Emika who are bringing in high volumes of money from outside the village. But she did see that, along with visiting nobles, there were some clear village natives in the mix.

At that thought, Emika's eyes stray to the back of the shop, where she sees a set of twins with ghost eyes enjoying their tea. She's seen the two of them frequently over her journey. She made it her mission to visit each and every tea shop and cafe within the village, stopping at as many as she can each day, and if she didn't know better, she might think they were doing the same.

It's prompted her to start thinking about renting space, decor, demographic. She wants to cater to her own social class, which means she ought to start asking around in the central parts of the village for free space. Specifically somewhere that either has minimal windows and an open kitchen, or somewhere she can renovate to have that.

She's also found herself wondering about her menu. For the first time, this is where Emika starts to pull from her other life for ideas. She thinks she remembers how to make cake pops and morning buns, at least, or at least enough that she can recreate them with some practice. Cookies aren't all that complicated, either. The interesting one for her is the idea of bringing iced tea to Konoha. It's one that she expected to see somewhere; it's so hot in Konoha. But she's yet to see anybody serve tea cold. That said, she's torn—the reason it doesn't exist is simply that there's no historical and traditional basis for it, as with both the cake pops and morning buns.

And here's where she finds her confliction.

The mental image she has is a small shop with traditional seating and tatami mats and tea ceremonies, but her experience falls more in line with the shop she's currently sitting in, a place where she could sell iced tea and unique desserts. There's no congruity. She knows tradition, found a love in it she thought she'd lost until she was introduced to tea ceremonies, but there's such an undeniable business potential to bringing something new and unique to the village. And it doesn't help that Emika's thus far seen a noticeable difference in how much more business these cheap shops get in comparison to their more expensive counterparts.

Emika feels a headache coming on.

She sets down some yen on the table and exits the shop. She's ready to get back to her suite and clear her head a bit, but it seems she's not so lucky.

Two steps out of the shop and a familiar blond sidles up beside her.

"Lovely day, isn't it, pretty lady?"

It is, in fact, a lovely day.

The sun is out in a cloudless sky, there's a breeze. The turn of the season from summer to fall is on its way and Emika can smell it in the air.

But Emika ignores that. Her shoulders grow tense and she frowns. "Did you follow me?"

Inoichi laughs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black cargo shorts. "Right to the point, then."

"I see no reason to beat around the bush with stalkers."

"Hey, wait a second—I'm not a stalker."

"Oh?"

"I just tracked… you… with ninja stuff." Inoichi rubs the back of his neck. "I promise it's not creepy."

Emika gives him a dry look. "I highly doubt that. If you must say it is not creepy—"

"I know, I know," he says. "I just… wanted to see how you were settling in."

She sighs. "Is that so?"

"Yes?"

"Fine. I am settling in fine."

"Good to hear," he says. "Have you found a place to stay?"

"I am looking at some places to rent for right now, yes," she says. "But I have not yet decided on one."

"Don't you only have another week and a bit left at that hotel?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you… worried?"

At this, Emika pauses. She feels her feet slow down. "Should I be?"

"I mean, I don't know. It normally takes a bit to get negotiations settled and I doubt anybody will rent to you if you haven't done your check in with Civilian Services yet."

"Oh."

"You haven't gone, have you?"

"No… I have not."

"Ah."

"I suppose I know what I will do tomorrow, then."

"Good. That's good."

Emika keeps walking, headed towards her suite, and for some reason, Inoichi follows along beside her. An awkward silence sits between the two of them. Emika doesn't try and break it—he's well past his allotted minute of conversation time that she promised him.

They get into the main part of the village and Emika can feel the second it happens from the sudden heat on her skin of eyes turning her way. She straightens her back and takes in a deep breath.

Not worth the wrinkles.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Emika considers. Her gut instinct is to decline, but still she says, "I suppose."

"Why attract so much attention to yourself with those clothes when you're clearly not a fan of it?"

"That question hinges on an assumption you cannot possibly confirm," Emika says. "And regardless, it is none of your business."

Inoichi flashes her a pearly white grin. "Fair enough," he says. He nods, seems to think about his words. "Can I give you a bit of advice, then?"

Again, she says, "I suppose."

"This is the last place you want to stand out in, 'specially not now."

"And why is that?"

"We're fresh out of a war. People are paranoid. And civilians have the worst of it; they're sitting ducks in the biggest target in all Fire Country. There's no way of knowing if the newcomer they're talking to is actually a spy." He casts a look at Emika.

For some reason, she feels a wriggling sense of discomfort in her chest. "You're suggesting I change how I dress to better fit in?"

"Something like that. People'll treat you more… fairly, I guess." He says it as if it weren't an obvious thing.

She knows that's all it would take to keep attention off of her. If she thought the trade-off was worth it, she'd have gone through with it and bought herself a set of peasant clothes.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"That's good enough for me."

And with that, Inoichi jumps back into the charming, cheerful teenager of a few days ago. "I'll be off then, pretty lady. See you around!"

She rolls her eyes but, unable to help herself, she returns his wave as he jogs off into the crowds.

A/N: Special thanks to Ota and Sage Thrasher for their beta work!

So like... yeah... been a while since I updated this, huh. Crazy how fast months slip by. I promise it's not dead - far from it. I'm currently in the process of fully plotting it out. Mostly, time just kind of flew away from me. Hopefully it won't be another three months before I upload.