Naruto: Reincarnated As Azula, From The Same Generation As The Sannin Chapter 67: House of Reflections

Azula had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Formal talk like this always felt like putting on a coat that was two sizes too small—restrictive, uncomfortable, and frankly, a little hypocritical.

Why waste breath on pretty words when everyone just wanted to get to the point? So, she didn't. She just offered a small, polite smile and let the conversation die a rciful death.

On the other side, Shinki, as the Daimyo of Uzushiogakure, saw right through it. He recognized that smile instantly.

It was the sa bored, patient mask he himself wore during the endless, stuffy council etings that were a necessary evil of his station.

As an Uzumaki—and frankly, as a human being with a limited tolerance for nonsense—he found the whole song and dance exhausting.

Seeing that sa thinly veiled impatience on the famous Uchiha's face was like spotting a fellow survivor in a desert of bureaucracy. A kindred spirit.

He decided to throw the script out the window.

"You know what? Forget the formalities," Shinki said, his official deanor cracking to reveal a more genuine, easygoing man beneath. "We've prepared a banquet for you. A proper one. I hope you'll enjoy the… unique delicacies of Uzushiogakure."

That got a reaction. Azula's eyes, which had been glazed with polite boredom, imdiately lit up with genuine interest.

The Uzumaki were renowned as the mad scientists of the ninja world; if they put their brilliant, seal-obsessed minds to sothing, the results were never boring.

Their food was legendary for being bizarre, inventive, and delicious, even if their obsession with ran was a well-known cultural quirk.

In a world severely lacking good streaming services or video gas, exploring exotic cuisines was one of Azula's few true, uncomplicated joys.

"That sounds perfect," she agreed, her voice losing its formal edge. "But let's wait for my teacher and the rest of them to co. They shouldn't be long. In the anti, I'd like my clansn to get a proper look around. It would be good for them to understand the lay of the land."

Shinki nodded, relieved. That was exactly what he wanted to suggest, but he'd held back, worried it might co off as disrespectful to the Uchiha.

To have her suggest it first? It confird his initial read of her.

"Consider it done," he said, then added, as if it were a casual afterthought, "Oh, and by the way, my little niece is a massive fan of yours. If you're alright with it, she'd be thrilled to be your personal guide during your stay. She's already a Genin, so she knows her way around."

He gestured, and a small girl, who Azula estimated was around seven or eight, stepped forward shyly.

A quick, subconscious sensory check told Azula the girl's chakra wasn't just Genin-level but already brushing the threshold of Chunin. An Uzumaki prodigy, then.

The eight-year-old Asuka looked up at Azula with stars in her eyes so bright they were practically visible. Azula was used to admiration.

After all, like in the future where every kunoichi seed to idolize Tsunade, it was only natural that she—a genius known for her explosive innovations in both entertainnt and combat—would have her own share of followers, even in other major nations.

But this was different. The adoration radiating from Asuka wasn't the shallow hero worship of a title or a flashy technique.

It was pure, unadulterated, and startlingly personal. It was the kind of fandom that transcended village affiliation and clan politics. It was just… for her.

It was a strange feeling. Looking at the girl, who was barely six to seven years her junior in this current body, Azula smiled.

A real smile this ti, not the polite mask. "Okay then. What's your na?"

Asuka, who had morized every one of Azula's public appearances and devoured all of her published works, knew the subtle shift in Azula's deanor was a sign of genuine goodwill.

It made her even more nervous, her heart hamring against her ribs. But she was an Uzumaki Genin, and she would not embarrass herself in front of her idol. She took a steadying breath.

"It's a pleasure to et you, Azula-sama," she said, her voice only trembling a little. "I'm Asuka Uzumaki."

Azula looked at the little red-haired girl beaming up at her, whose na was so close to her own it couldn't be a coincidence. The universe had a funny sense of humor.

"Well," Azula said, her voice a mix of amusent and approval, "if my guide through this whirlpool of a village is going to be soone who appears as clever and cute as you, then I'd say this trip is already off to a fantastic start."

Asuka's cheeks flushed a brilliant pink, and she scuffed her sandal against the cobblestones, trying and failing to hide her pleased smile.

Behind them, a smug aura practically radiated off Shinki. He was basically praising himself for being a know-it-all, and he wasn't wrong.

After that, a small contingent of Uchiha had been carefully subdivided, each group paired with a brightly clad Uzumaki guide.

The official reason was reconnaissance. The thought of an Uchiha accidentally wandering into a Uzumaki forbidden zone bristling with unstable, experintal seals was enough to give a seasoned jōnin heart palpitations.

In Uzushiogakure, a perfectly normal-looking stone wall might be a containnt unit for a primordial scream, and that charming little tea shop? Probably built on so point that could fold space if you mispronounced your order. Such was the nature of the Village Hidden in the Whirlpools.

Yet, for all its newfound status as an official shinobi village, this place practically scread ancient. These islands were the ancestral heart of the Uzumaki clan, a ho they had returned to and rebuilt, its roots stretching back to before the Warring States era—perhaps even to the clan's very founding.

As they walked, Azula's mind drifted to a conversation with Mito, fueled by Kurama's grumbling, millennia-old mories.

The origin of the Uzumaki, the fox had claid, began with Akira, son of Asura. Akira had two sons. The elder was easygoing but steadfast and strong. The younger was a wild thing, a spark of adventure in his soul that refused to be banked.

He lived for the horizon.

On one such adventure, he'd stumbled into the Land of Demons and aided its beautiful, formidable Priestess in sealing away the terrifying Mōryō.

Duty and danger, as it so often does, curdled into sothing else entirely. They fell in love—fiercely and unexpectedly.

Their union produced three children, each born with a strange, vibrant mutation—a chakra so potent and life-filled it manifested in the blazing red hair that would beco their legacy.

One child remained to inherit the Priestess's mantle. The other two, different yet powerful, eventually married their distant Senju cousins.

But the call of the sea and the whirlpools was too strong. Their differences set them apart, and so they chose to forge their own path, creating the Uzumaki clan right here, on these very shores.

This was the secret, patchwork history Kurama shared—a story not carved on any formal stele like the Uchiha, nor ticulously recorded in Senju scrolls, but only known to the Tailed Beasts and other ancient beings like the Slugs of the Shikkotsu Forest, the Toads of Mount Myōboku, or the Snakes of Ryūchi Cave.

So, as Azula followed little Asuka through the winding streets, she didn't hold back her senses. She let her chakra sensitivity flare at the edges, a subtle net cast into the deep.

What if she could discover so millennia-old secret? A girl could dream.

Unfortunately, the streets yielded no millennium-old secrets. Not today, at least. It wasn't surprising, really. Uzushiogakure was a paradox of old and new.

It had retro, almost anachronistic buildings of weathered stone and dark, heavy wood that looked like they'd been standing since the Sage himself walked the earth, sitting right beside structures made of the most modern chakra-conductive materials. It was charmingly rustic, lacking the polished, modern gleam of Konoha or even the industrious buzz of the Land of Rain.

"This," Asuka's voice cut through her thoughts, suddenly solemn, "is the House of Reflections."

Azula stopped. The building was nondescript, a simple, windowless structure of grey stone, but the air around it was… silent.

"It's where people are sent for punishnt that isn't super bad," Asuka explained, her small face unusually serious.

"Every room is covered in seals. First of all, sound and light just… don't exist in there. If you scream, you won't even hear your own voice. But the worst part," she shivered, a full-body tremor of rembered horror, "is that one day outside feels like five days have passed inside."

She looked up at Azula, her big eyes wide with the mory.

"My father put in there once for half an hour. I thought I'd been in for a day, but when I ca out…" She trailed off, her gaze going distant. "I was so disoriented I kept walking into walls and couldn't tell if people were talking to or not. It lasted for a whole week. I still hate this place."

Azula looked from the terrifyingly mundane building back to the traumatized little girl. A slow, impressed smirk spread across her face.

Now that's a place worth exploring, she thought, with respect for Uzushiogakure's particular brand of psychological genius. This is a proper punishnt. I like it.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

Okay, no excuses. I've officially hit that mysterious thing called writer's block. Or, to be more accurate, I've kind of lost my spark for writing lately. I used to crank out two chapters a day, but now… I just feel stuck. I keep getting distracted by new story ideas instead of continuing this one.

Honestly, I just want to push through and finish this story. I'm promising myself not to start or publish anything new until I've written at least a hundred chapters here. Wish luck, guys. I could really use so motivation right now.