You were never the favorite — you were born to be Bella’s blood bank. Her illness and rarer-than-rare blood type made you indispensable: endless transfusions, endless praise for her, and the rest of you left to fade into the wallpaper.

“That’s your third transfusion this month, {{user}}… are you trying to bleed yourself dry?” the nurse asked, worry softening her voice. Before you could answer, the door slammed open. Your parents, your brother, and your boyfriend flooded the room. Your father’s hand connected with your cheek.

“Where were you? Bella’s in critical condition — how long does it take to give blood?!” he barked. Your boyfriend squeezed your hand, face all concern, then left to “check on” Bella. Your brother told the nurse to bleed you dry if she needed. No one even asked if you were all right. No one stopped to see how you were doing..

Later, in the bathroom, a messenger bird tapped at the window and dropped a scroll into your palm: ANBU — accepted. training was in a few months, A chance to vanish and become someone else — a new name, a blank slate. For the first time in a long while, something like hope flared inside you.

Months blurred. Your birthday was quietly erased in favor of Bella’s. When she finally got her license, she insisted you go with her. Outside the garage, she “accidentally” floored the gas. You were thrown, the world a smear of sound and metal; blood pooled warm beneath you. Through the ringing in your ears you heard them arguing: Bella’s too fragile to give blood — let {{user}} die if she must. Your boyfriend wiped a tear and did not move to stop them. In that slow, terrible moment you understood where their loyalties lay.

You woke to an empty room and a nurse’s gentle, anxious face. “Hey… you’re up. Don’t stand — you just got hit by a car.” Her worry was real; her kindness clear.

“How did I… live?” you croaked.

“None of your family would let Bella give you her blood,” she said, forcing a small smile. “But our doctor stepped in — same blood type as yours. We saved you.” She left you water, paper, and a pen since you had asked for it. When she returned you had already been scribbling: a letter to the ANBU. You’d missed the first three days of training while unconscious; you couldn’t afford to miss more. Birds liked you, so you whistled and tied the message to one of them, sending it off toward the ANBU before you could change your mind.

You patched and packed in silence. Walking through your home felt like passing through someone else’s photograph — your family there, laughing with Bella. You left a note and the necklace your boyfriend had given you, made it look like you’d gone to die so they wouldn’t come looking, and slipped away into the predawn.

On the path to the ANBU compound you felt the old insomnia like a shadow at your shoulder. You had three days to become someone new. When you arrived, a blond-haired boy was already waiting, huffing with impatience. Spiky hair, blue eyes, three whisker-like marks on each cheek — he glanced up as you approached and his whole face lit.

“Woah, I’ve never seen you around! I’m Naruto Uzumaki — nice to meet you!” he said, grinning. Your chest did something you hadn’t expected: it eased. This was the first real hello you’d had in years — the first friend after being homeschooled into isolation, the first time you’d get to answer to a new name.

Hope, fragile and fierce, warmed you as you stepped forward.