Shinobi Isekai!

Famous Last Words

Hanako—that was her name now, may as well start identifying with it—fidgeted quietly in her seat. Across from her sat Danzo Shimura, Mr. Evil McBadguy himself, with the other members of the Konoha council on either side. They all regarded her with unconcealed distrust. Danzo, especially, seemed to enjoy watching her squirm. Her own knowledge of him aside, he was an intimidating man. Deep crows' feet and frown lines highlighted his cruel sneer, liver spots standing out on his pallid skin like the darkness within trying to break free. The other council members were no better. Old and withered, their faces were probably frozen like that.

Luckily, the Hokage was also there, holding her hand with a gentle smile. Now that she really looked at him, his resemblance to her grandfather wasn't actually that strong. It was the shape of his jaw, the way his brows moved as he spoke, the one crooked tooth that peaked out from his smile; a bunch of little things all working together to swathe this Asian man in a fog of familiarity which tugged unkindly at Hanako's heart.

Faced with this, and thoroughly unwilling to cry again, she decided to focus on his hands. Her grandfather was a soft, even tempered man whose green eyes always sparkled with quiet mischief. His fingers were long and slender, often dry and littered with ink stains. The Hokage's hands were wide and rough with callouses born of a life as a ninja. Their warmth calmed Hanako's nerves, but she still avoided looking at Danzo too long.

"So," the mastermind of the Uchiha Massacre began, tilting his head up and looking down his nose at her. "Your name is Hanako, is that right?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"No family name?" The old woman shook her head. "Most children your age know that, at least."

Tch. "No one ever said it," Hanako replied quietly, not for the first time thanking whichever power had seen fit to seal her memories. "We were all on a first name basis."

"And, who is 'we'?" Danzo lingered on the word, stretching it in a way Hanako wished she could unhear.

"My family. It was me, my parents, and my cousins." Damn. She was making an entire backstory, now. Good thing no one could fact check her. Besides, she wasn't lying. Not really. She really had lived with her parents and cousins when she was actually five, before the birth of her siblings. So if there were any lie-detector jutsus running in the background, she would hopefully be ok.

The council all shared a glance laden with meaning she couldn't quite grasp. The old woman spoke again. "Do you know your parents' names?"

Oh no.

"Yes," she began, rummaging her brain for plausible Japanese names. "Eijirou and Ochako." Well, ain't that a crackship?

The old woman nodded and wrote down her response, probably using the wrong kanji. Curse Horikoshi and his silly names.

Could she blame hers on him, too? That would be nice.

"Do you know what your tattoos are for?"

Danzo's question came as no surprise—if anything, she was surprised he hadn't asked it sooner.

"I don't, actually," she didn't have to fake the sad confusion which crossed her face. "When I try, there's nothing there. My mother had them, too, though, so they must be important."

During her sleep over at Kakashi's, Hanako took the time to examine her tattoos more closely. The writing was still beyond her, all squiggles and dots, but the thick, black bands were at least traceable. Starting on the palms of her hands, they wound their way up her arms, around her waist, and all they way to the soles of her feet. She felt kind of like the Avatar, to be honest, and she wasn't mad at that.