The next day, I was draped like a dead leaf over a tree branch on the training ground, doing my best impression of someone morally opposed to productivity.
"So boring."
I rolled over and sighed dramatically, staring up at the sky like it had personally betrayed me.
"Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with doing missions lately? End-of-season sales? Pre-holiday panic? Trying to stack that sweet D-rank commission bonus?"
Even Itachi nii-san had taken off for some half-baked escort mission. I mean, sure, we're all ninja, but isn't this technically child labor?
I sat up slowly, brain ticking into gear.
"Wait… isn't his birthday coming up?"
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, grinning like a plotting raccoon.
"What would he want? Obviously, no one knows Itachi nii-san better than me."
Naturally, the only way to find out was the direct approach. I'd just ask him.
Now, if Satoru asked, he'd probably get hit with the default Itachi answer: a stare, a pause, and then some cryptic half-truth that leaves you with more questions than answers.
But if Goko asked? Oh-ho-ho… that was an entirely different game.
Yes. That's it. Enter: Hatake Satoru, my beautiful genius of a backup identity. I mean, I already have the face for it.
White hair? Check. Hidden eye? Check. Copy-ninja swagger? Double check. If I put on a mask and angle the lighting right, I could probably convince someone I was Kakashi's long-lost cousin or something.
I threw open my closet, which was 90% disguises, 10% trauma, and found exactly what I needed.
White wig? Acquired. Forehead protector with the left eye covered? Check. Mask? Essential. Long blue shinobi-style dress to complete the ensemble? Why not.
I stood in front of the mirror and struck a pose.
"Hah… who is that dazzling lady?" I gasped, cupping my cheek. "Could it be? A beautiful kunoichi?"
Yes. Yes it was.
"I can't believe Satoru-kun looks this good in women's clothing. It's like the sexy jutsu but with effort."
I winked at my reflection.
"Introducing the women's version of Kakashi: Hatake Satoru!"
Laughing to myself like a proper lunatic, I swirled around dramatically and prepped my next move.
"Now then… time to locate the birthday boy."
I activated Cang—my absolute space-control technique—and compressed the distance between here and where I estimated Itachi would be.
"Teleportation Technique: Cang Shift."
A ripple of black energy surrounded me, and with a soundless pop, the air twisted and I blinked out of existence.
I reappeared in a densely wooded area. According to my mental math (and the power of anime plot timing), Itachi should've been passing through here with his team by now.
The terrain was rough, rocky, and perfect for ambushes.
But just as I was getting ready to spring a dramatic birthday surprise, my legs buckled.
"…Huh?"
A wave of fatigue washed over me.
Ugh. Right. I'm still in the body of a five-year-old, and yesterday's fight with Obito hadn't exactly been gentle on the soul—or the stamina bar.
And I'd just used Cang twice in two days without recharging.
Welp. Guess that means I'm allowed to be useless today. I flopped onto a low branch like a wilted cabbage leaf.
"Might as well enjoy being a weak, beautiful girl while I can."
Still, I cracked open my Six Eyes. The world lit up in layers of radiant chakra and soul resonance. With this, nothing could hide—not distance, not tricks, not cloaking jutsu.
"Let's see… where are you, Itachi nii-san?"
My gaze snapped toward a sudden flare of chakra.
"Oh? What's this?"
Red chakra bloomed in the distance—fast, violent, and Uchiha-shaped.
"…It happened."
A cold realization clicked into place.
Eight years old. Escort mission. The spark of trauma.
This was it. This was the day Itachi awakened his Sharingan. In the anime, it was because Obito killed his comrade in front of him.
And I was right on time.
Because at that exact moment, I caught sight of Obito's blade slicing through the air—straight toward Itachi.
"Sh*t!"
I blinked forward, pushing past the last shred of energy in my legs, and appeared between them just in time to block the blow.
Sparks flew as steel clashed with black energy. My arms trembled. Yep. Still weak as hell. No amount of dramatic entrance could change that.
"Not good…" I muttered through gritted teeth. "Still in cooldown."
Obito's eyes narrowed behind his mask. He pulled back and examined me—mask, silver hair, one eye covered.
"You…"
Oh no.
I could see it. Recognition. Or at least, enough of it to send him down a mental rabbit hole.
Did he think I was Kakashi's daughter? Or sister? Or clone? Didn't matter. What mattered was that he looked ready to commit a whole new war crime.
I gave him my brightest, most innocent smile.
"Yo."
"Who are you?" he asked coldly.
I tilted my head, voice high and breezy. "Me? Oh, I'm just a weak, wandering kunoichi named Hatake Goko. What are you doing, mister masked man?"
His eye twitched. Bingo.
The combination of 'Hatake' and this look must've hit a nerve.
Perfect.
And judging by the way Itachi was staring at me—blood on his cheek, Sharingan spinning—I'd made one hell of an entrance.