Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is purely for entertainment purposes, and I am making no profit off of this.

It was apparent, from the very beginning of my second life, that I was abnormal.

My eyes revealed too much for an infant. They gleamed with intelligence beyond their years and often, alarming amounts of panic. I struggled with understanding the new world that I had found myself in. The unfamiliar language, sights, and smells of this foreign place both frightened and intrigued me.

But I was particularly suited for learning. The plastic nature of this new mind, coupled with being entirely immersed in a new culture allowed me to adapt to said culture reasonably well.

And it was in such a manner that I learned, among other things, my own name.

Yamanaka Chisei.

I was so boned.

In all fairness, my life wasn't so bad. Life in most clans in Konoha was relatively cushy. The Yamanaka weren't the strength-obsessed Uchiha, nor the overly formal Hyuuga, after all.

The first year or so of my life was spent in idyllic bliss. There was nothing that I was required or expected to do. The earlier unusual intelligence that I had displayed had been noted, but quickly dismissed as I comfortably settled into the role of a more or less normal infant. My apparent intellect had never truly been forgotten, but it no longer took the forefront of people's minds when they thought of me.

I allowed my parents and my elder sister to pamper me. I slept for most of the day, spending my waking hours listening and following my family members' readings of various children's books. Learning the written language would be important, and thankfully, it was relatively easy for this mind.

I knew in the back of my mind that, at some point, I would be expected to become a shinobi as a member of the Yamanaka clan. I would perhaps even gain the clan's signature collection of mindwalking jutsu.

But for now, I was but a small child. I allowed myself to play, to laugh, and to relax.

Within the comfortable walls of the Yamanaka clan compound, surrounded by the blooming flowers, I was safe, and I was happy.

Was, being the operative word there.

The Kyuubi made its romp through the village when I was just a year old.

I was carried into one of the crowded shelters in the village. The solid walls of the shelter shielded us for the most part from the devastation the the Kyuubi caused.

But the walls, no matter how thick, did not block out the vile, powerful chakra that the rampaging beast emitted.

Nor did they help dull the fear that I felt, fear for both myself and my father, who was out aiding the defense against the Kyuubi.

My sister rocked me in her arms, trying to calm me down, while at the same time, struggling to keep her own composure. My mother, like most of the others in the shelter, fidgeted nervously under the heavy and oppressive chakra that permeated the air.

The three of us spent that terrifying night huddled in that crowded shelter.

And when the all clear signal was sounded, we, like all the others shoved into the far too small shelter, silently filed out. We all knew that there were heavy losses. We all knew that many of our loved ones had likely died. We all knew that the village would be badly crippled.

But we also all knew that Konoha would rebuild. The village would heal.

The losses were worse than anyone had ever imagined at first. Konoha was decimated.

The Yamanaka clan compound felt less full than it did before. As every active ninja was sent on a mission, and even retired ninja had been given requests to temporarily rejoin the forces. Konoha couldn't be seen as weak, or else other villages would start getting ideas.

Thankfully, the Yamanaka had one of the lowest casualty counts of all of the clans. The Yamanaka's mindwalking jutsu made most of them much better suited for Konoha's Intelligence Division rather than the standard forces.

It made most of them better suited for the Intelligence Division.

Not every Yamanaka learned the various mindwalking jutsu. They were dangerous jutsu, and many either didn't qualify, or didn't want to burden themselves with such an important role. Even many of the ones that did know the jutsu still chose to be on the front lines.

My father was one of them.

So, he was sent out to counter the Kyuubi.

And he died.

It was a fact of life. It was the fate of nearly every serving ninja to die young. My father was one of the lucky ones actually, surviving into his mid-thirties. A good portion of ninja don't even make it that far.

Life went on without him.

But it wasn't quite the same. I was slightly disappointed that he died, but I wasn't very affected personally. The rest of my family though, was in mourning. I was still pampered, but it was clear that to my family, it was more of a chore than anything.

A family was supposed to look after its own, no? Where did all the love go?

Perhaps it had died with my father.

Which was fine by me. I had enjoyed being babied earlier, but if this experience had taught me anything, it was that humans were fragile, fragile things. They could be broken by the cut of a kunai, the blast of a jutsu, or, in this case, the swipe of a tail.

I refused to be fragile.

My resolve had hardened in my mind. I would become a shinobi, and a damn good one. I would not be killed so easily. I told myself that my daily life would no longer be one of relaxation, but rather one of furious training as I pushed to obtain S-Rank.

And so I thanked my father for his example. Death was what happened when one was weak. My father was weak, and he died. It was as simple as that.

And I refused to be weak.