The life of a shinobi, honestly... is boring.
Not the kind of boring like waiting in line at a bakery or watching rain for hours. No—more like a soul-draining routine. Missions. Reports. Training. Sleep. Repeat.
And for Uzumaki Kushina, all that came with one extra, heavy label: "human weapon"—or more politely, jinchūriki.
Every high-level mission she received almost always involved blood. Assassinations. Rebellions to suppress. Secret executions. No diplomacy. No negotiation. Just… "eliminate the target."
She used to hate it.
Kushina had once cried in silence after killing a group of young ninja—too young. But they were enemies. And the Hokage's orders were absolute.
Yet… slowly, that rejection faded.
She didn't know whether it was the effect of Kushina Uzumaki's original body—a formidable kunoichi—or her own soul gradually getting used to the bloodshed. Perhaps a bit of both.
'If you live long enough on the battlefield, sooner or later... blood just becomes normal,' she thought one night, staring at her hands stained red. 'But… is that really okay?'
Unknowingly, three years had passed since she first woke up in this world. And within those years, Kushina's power had grown at an incredible pace.
She had mastered Kurama's chakra—though not to the level Naruto would reach during the Fourth Shinobi World War. Still, she could now perform Partial Transformation like Killer B.
She could manifest Kurama's tails at will. In fact, the fox ears that appeared atop her head when she focused her chakra—strangely, she found them cute.
"If only I could take a selfie right now… I'd go viral," she muttered, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
And that wasn't all. Kushina had continued Minato's research on the Hiraishin no Jutsu—the Flying Thunder God Technique. Although she hadn't mastered it, her understanding of the theory and seal formulas was nearly complete. The only thing missing was…
"Spatial sensitivity..."
She bit the tip of her brush during a quiet night, sitting on the floor of her study.
"Why can't I perceive space like Minato? It doesn't feel like an intelligence issue… it's more like… intuition."
Hiraishin was an art. Not just a jutsu. It was about understanding space, distance, and time as one.
Sadly, she was still lacking.
But even so, in today's shinobi world, Kushina was no longer a side character.
She was a major force.
There were very few who could last more than a few minutes against her in battle. Most S and A-rank missions were completed with ease.
And when Kushina entered the battlefield—in her emerald green kimono, blazing red hair, and Kurama's tails trailing behind like shadows of death—the shinobi world had given her a new name:
Kyūbi no Kitsune Hime.
The Nine-Tailed Fox Princess.
Ironically? Hearing that name aloud made her want to bury her face in the sand.
She was a 27-year-old mother. And now, when both enemies and allies called her "Hime", she wanted to punch herself in the face.
"What kind of ridiculous title is that!? I'm a shinobi, not a gacha waifu character!" she grumbled one day in the bath.
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That day, Kushina had just completed an S-rank assassination mission. She walked calmly into the Hokage's office alongside her two ANBU teammates. Her red hair flowed freely—wild, but graceful.
Standing tall, she handed over the mission scroll.
"Sandaime-sama," she said formally. "Mission complete. Here's the report."
Hiruzen Sarutobi, composed and wise as always, took the scroll and skimmed it. His eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
Then he looked at Kushina with a teasing smile.
"Excellent job, Kushina... or should I call you Kitsune Hime now?"
Kushina froze on the spot. Her face flushed deep red, from cheeks to ears. Her eyes widened as if struck by lightning.
"S-Sandaime-sama!" she yelped. "P-Please don't call me that!"
The two ANBU beside her immediately looked away, shoulders shaking. One of them tried to suppress a laugh, but a small "kek" escaped his mask.
Kushina's glare lit up like wildfire.
With a single killing glance, her oppressive chakra filled the room. Both ANBU froze like statues, drenched in cold sweat.
"S-Sorry, Kushina-san!" one whispered, trembling.
Hiruzen chuckled softly, enjoying the rare moment. "Alright, alright," he said, raising a hand. "You're dismissed. Thank you for your contribution, Kushina."
"Thank you… Old Man," she muttered, still blushing. Without waiting another second, she turned and stormed out.
As the door closed behind her, Hiruzen simply shook his head and smiled.
"Fox Princess, huh… Hime. The ninja world truly has changed in ways I never imagined."
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When she arrived home, Kushina was greeted by a small figure sprinting from the living room.
"Welcome back, Mom!" cried Naruto, now three years old, his bright blue eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from running.
Kushina nearly tripped at the sudden hug, but with motherly reflexes—and ninja instinct—she crouched down and caught him in her arms. Warm. Real. Alive.
"Ohhh, Narutooo~!" she cried, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his blonde hair. "Mom missed you so much, you know!"
But Naruto winced slightly, turning his head.
"Mom, don't hug me like a baby… I'm a big boy now."
Kushina giggled, then kissed his cheek twice—loud and unapologetic.
"You're still little, and you'll always be Mommy's baby—forever!"
Naruto sighed and gave her a serious look.
"And… please… don't call me 'Little Naruto' anymore. And don't make me say 'Mama'. I want to say 'Mom' instead."
Kushina paused.
Her smile didn't fade, but something subtle stirred in her chest. She raised her brow, then nodded slowly with a gentle smile.
"Oh? Why? 'Mama' sounds cute~"
Naruto shook his head firmly.
"It's too childish."
Kushina exhaled quietly, then ruffled his hair.
"Alright, alright. From now on… 'Mom', then. But you still have to hug me every time I come home from work. That's a non-negotiable rule."
Naruto chuckled. "Okay~."
They stepped inside. The house was warm and clean. Pastel tones filled the space, with a few wooden toys neatly tucked in corners. On the dining table, a vase of fresh flowers—probably a gift from the Ino-Shika-Cho trio.
Kushina dropped her mission pack in the corner, slipped off her combat shoes, and glanced at the clock.
"Hmm… dinner time," she murmured.
Usually, she'd let her shadow clone cook. But tonight… felt different. Softer. Closer. She wanted to do it herself.
"Naruto, wait at the table. Mom's cooking tonight—not a clone."
Naruto's eyes lit up. "Seriously? You, yourself? Wow, it's going to taste so different!"
Kushina rolled up her kimono sleeves, tied her red hair in a loose bun, and started chopping vegetables. The rhythmic sound of slicing and the scent of sautéed garlic soon filled the kitchen.
While sitting nearby, Naruto began chattering.
"Mom, I made new friends today!"
"Oh yeah? Tell me all about it," Kushina said, still focused on the pan but listening intently.
"There's Shikamaru. He's lazy. He just lies down, looks at clouds, and says 'this is such a drag.'"
Kushina laughed. "Haha, just like his dad. The Nara clan is like that—smart, but allergic to effort."
"Then there's Choji! He eats a lot. A lot. He even keeps chips in his pocket! He's hilarious."
"Ugh, like a little hamster!" Kushina chuckled.
"And there's Ino! She talks a lot. But she's nice. She said my hair was cool."
Kushina stopped stirring for a moment, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh? Complimented by a girl? Whoa, Naruto's becoming popular~"
Naruto blushed. "Mom! Don't say stuff like that!"
Kushina laughed, her heart swelling. This was her reason to endure. Her reason to fight. Even if the outside world was drenched in blood and intrigue, this child's smile made it all worth it.
'To protect this smile… I'll become a monster in the eyes of the world.'
A few minutes later, Kushina's voice rang from the kitchen.
"Naruto! Wash your hands, dinner's ready!"
"Yay!"
Moments later, they sat together at the table. Before them: warm rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and stir-fried vegetables.
Naruto took one bite and lit up.
"Whoa! This is amazing!"
Kushina smiled gently. "Of course. This is real mom's cooking. Made with love in every bite."
Naruto ate eagerly, his cheeks puffed like mochi. At that table, there were no missions, no wars, no politics. Just a mother and child sharing a quiet night together.
The wind drifted through the open window, rustling the curtain. Crickets chirped softly outside.
And in the midst of a harsh world, that home felt like a small sanctuary—where a child could grow up happy, and a mother could believe her sacrifices were never in vain.