In the Land of Wind during Konoha Year 46, the sunlight was as fierce as needles tempered in fire, stinging the skin with a searing pain. Inside the Hidden Sand Village, in a simple yet tidy Ninja residence, a red-haired woman was staring blankly at a bronze mirror on the wall.
No, to be precise, it was Ali staring blankly at the mirror.
The bronze mirror wasn't polished very brightly, but it was just enough to reflect a face of peerless beauty. Long hair, as fiery red as late autumn maple leaves, cascaded down to her waist, the ends curling naturally and swaying gently in the breeze like a flickering flame. Her amber eyes were as deep as a sunset over the Gobi Desert, the corners slightly upturned with a hint of sharpness, yet her long, thick eyelashes cast a small shadow over her eyelids when she looked down, softening that murderous aura. Her nose was straight and perky, and her lips were a natural pale pink, showing a hint of stubbornness when pursed.
Looking further down, her figure was even more beyond reproach. The curvaceous lines could not be hidden even when wrapped in the drab, sack-like standard Ninja attire of the Hidden Sand Village.
Ali could recognize this face even with his eyes closed—Scorch Release Pakura, the Hidden Sand Village's renowned female Jonin, a hero with illustrious military achievements, and the tragic character who would later be treated as a mere bargaining chip by the Village high-ranking officials, sent to those maniacs in the Hidden Mist, only to meet a gruesome end.
"I... became Pakura?"
Ali—no, she should be called Pakura now—she (he?) reached out a slender finger and gently touched her cheek.
The texture was incredibly soft, as delicate as a freshly peeled hard-boiled egg. Compared to his past life's coarse male skin that could practically rub off dirt, it was like the difference between clouds and mud. As soon as her fingertip touched her cheek, she pulled back as if burned, her beautiful amber eyes widening, filled with horror.
The next second, a dizzying wave of vertigo struck, and countless fragments of unfamiliar memories flooded into her mind like a tide.
It was the Hidden Sand Village's training ground covered in yellow sand, where a young Pakura gritted her teeth while forming hand seals, a cluster of scalding flames rising from her palm, making the wooden post sizzle; it was the strong liquor offered by colleagues at a victory feast, which she downed with a head tilt, drawing a round of cheers; it was the Village elders holding her hand, murmuring that "Lady Pakura is the pride of the Hidden Sand"; and there were those memories buried deep within of near-obsessive loyalty to the Hidden Sand Village, and... a faint unease about the future "border mission."
"Are you kidding me!"
Pakura suddenly swung her fist, smashing it toward the bronze mirror in front of her. The wind from her punch carried a gust of heat, and ripples appeared on the surface of the bronze mirror, looking as if it were about to be shattered—but just as her fist was half an inch from the surface, she forced herself to stop.
It wasn't because she was soft-hearted, much less because she couldn't bear to part with this broken mirror, but because of the instinctive reaction of this body.
A Ninja must not destroy objects at will, leave unnecessary traces, or give enemies any opening.
This was a habit etched into Pakura's bones; even with a different soul, it remained deeply rooted.
With her fist frozen in mid-air, Pakura looked at her reflection in the mirror—face full of bewilderment and hair in a mess—took a deep breath, and then slumped onto the tatami. She sat cross-legged, propping her forehead with her hands, trying to organize these incredibly chaotic thoughts.
She had seen plenty of transmigration stories in novels before: transmigrating as a prince to conquer the world, as a loser to counterattack in cultivation, or at the very least, as a farm boy. In this Naruto world, shouldn't it be as an Uchiha or a member of the Hyuga branch family? But who could tell her why, when it was her turn, it had to be such a hellish start?
Transmigrating as a woman was one thing, but it had to be the female Ninja she had once quite admired in the anime.
Admiration was just admiration; that was the pure appreciation of a straight man for a high-beauty, high-strength female character in an anime! It was like liking to collect action figures—loving the beauty from across a screen or a dimensional wall. But now, she had actually become this "action figure" herself?
This feeling was like a limited edition model you had cherished for years suddenly coming to life and telling you, "Congratulations, you are me now."
Ridiculous, too ridiculous!
"Scorch Release: Over蒸杀..."
Pakura subconsciously muttered the signature Ninjutsu of this body. With a slight movement of her will, Chakra slowly gathered in her palm. The next second, four high-temperature fireballs the size of fists appeared out of thin air, hovering and rotating above her palm. The orange-red firelight illuminated her face, and a scorching aura instantly filled the air, even causing the tatami straw mat to make a slight crackling sound.
The temperature of the fireballs was terrifyingly high, yet they stayed obediently under her control without any sign of losing stability.
"Wow..." Pakura's eyes widened, and she subconsciously praised, "This is much more exciting than watching it on a screen. With this temperature, it would be perfect for roasting sweet potatoes!"
The next second, she suddenly snapped out of it, her expression changing instantly as she raised her hand to slap her forehead.
"No, no! That's not the point!"
The point was that she was now a woman. A real woman with curves and hair three times longer than in her previous life. A tragic woman who, in the near future, would be betrayed by the Village she had been loyal to her whole life, given as a gift to the Hidden Mist, and finally hacked to death by those Ninjas of the Village Hidden in the Blood Mist!
Konoha Year 46... Pakura frowned, rummaging through the original owner's memories in her mind. According to the timeline in the anime, there were about two years left before she would be sent to the border to "execute a mission."
Two years. It wasn't long, but it wasn't short either. It was enough for her to do many things, or perhaps... change nothing at all.
Pakura stood up and paced irritably around the room. Her fiery red hair swayed back and forth with her movements, the ends brushing against her neck and bringing a fine sense of itchiness. She subconsciously raised her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, her fingertips grazing her earlobe with a slightly cool touch.
This movement was done as smoothly as flowing water, as natural as could be.
Pakura's body suddenly stiffened, and she froze in place as if a paralysis jutsu had been cast on her.
She looked down at her fair, slender hands with distinct knuckles, then reached up to touch the long hair hanging behind her ear, a sense of despair welling up in her heart.
"Don't get used to it! Ali! You're a man! You're a 185cm-tall real man who can carry a water bucket with one hand and dunk a basketball!"
She roared frantically in her mind, her temples throbbing. But her body seemed to have a will of its own; even small details like tucking her hair carried the shadow of the original Pakura.
It was over. She had only been transmigrated for half a day, and she was already starting to be assimilated by this body?