Prologue


Author's Note: This story has been stuck in my head ever since I left school and I can't seem to find means to get it across. I've tried small chapters, long chapters, then small chapters again. Now I'm back to the hefty chapters; in a single post, expect no less than 15 000 words. Mystery and detail is what I was sum ng for, but I'm well acquainted with how crappy my aim is.

One last thing, enjoy and review.


Can you be like the blind before a painting, the deaf in the midst of music, the dead at a banquet?

If you cannot, then throw away your katana and your wakizashi, your six-foot boot, your hawk-feathered arrows, your warhorses, your armour, and your name. You lack the discipline to be a samurai. Become a farmer, a priest or a merchant.

Also, avoid beautiful women. They are too dangerous for you.


Low hanging dark clouds along with strong south-bound winds indicated an approaching rain storm. Trekking up a dirt road wind up a mountainside, miles and miles from civilisation, Itachi and his partner, Jūzō, had no prospect of shelter surrounded only by forest trees. However, the impending storm paled when he thought of the unidentified group of eight tailing them, all of which were in possession of a formidable ice genkai. His first mission with the Akatsuki was living up to its expectations.

Another horde of crows swept into the sky behind. The enemy had dispatched another crow clone. Itachi chanced a glance at Jūzō and found him unaffected. If his partner knew about the small group tailing them, he betrayed no sign of it. But that didn't mean he hadn't noted them. In the unlikely case of him not, Itachi was certain he could not miss the chakra vibrations given off by the crows that circled overhead, screeching noisily, as had the crows of the first clone. Wild life emanating chakra invariantly indicated the presence of ninja. That should've drawn his attention, but it hadn't, leaving one possibility: he knew about the tails. The question of their identity remained, however. Were they spies hired by the client or people that had a shared history with Jūzō or local bandits? Whichever it was, they were not in a hurry to catch up with them. In the case of the first, they were fulfilling the obligation of surveillance; in regards to the other two possibilities, something waited ahead.

Itachi activated his sharingan and trailed back, taking care to maintain the appearance of indifference. Ahead, the dirt road merged into another at a perpendicular angle, creating a three-way intersection. On the other side of the intersection, rose a sheer, vertical rock that stretched considerably until dense forestation crowned it. They were approaching the perfect vantage point for an ambush; the trees on top of the cliff loomed over the edge with threatening intent, and the distance to the top discouraged any ascension up it, lest their pursuers be obliged to a target practise. Everything considered, there was still a possibility the tails were acting at the orders of the client, but then again, the beautiful scenery afforded a densely forested mountainside didn't exactly inspire a sense of security.

"The client will meet us there," Jūzō pointed at the intersection.

Itachi acknowledged the man's words with a stiff nod, feigning interest at the trees around them. He slowed his steps further. The danger which lied ahead, if any, was unknown, making it far more dangerous than what came from behind. These were all observations he was not above noting to his partner, if it was advisable. Akatsuki members had a single thing in common, and that was pride in their martial abilities and sensitivity to anything that doubted them. He doubted Jūzō would kindly receive any suggestion from the "seventeen-year-old brat" he considered a highly glorified clan murderer. This was more or less the general opinion of the other members as far as he was concerned. Then there was the matter of his genkai and the alleged preference their leader was accused towards him. In essence, he found out the notorious rogue ninja syndicate, known as the Akatsuki, was no more than a country club of snobby, pompous bastards. Killing was a common interest, however.

"I suppose you've no interest in how we handle business," Jūzō said with a smirk. That confirmed he knew. In that same moment, another flock of crows ascended from within the trees. These ones received Jūzō attention. "Fuckin' noisy birds."

"They're here," Itachi said out of courtesy.

Immediately, chakras flared all around. An ambush. The question of whether it was a coincidence that they were also meeting their client in the same spot of the ambush was one they couldn't afford to think of with trees groaning all around them.

Jūzō swiftly unsheathed his twin blades as countless long ice chains converged on him from within the trees enclosing the intersection. His position was worsened when scores of chains swooped from the trees above. Itachi could only hope the man had means of omnipotent vision as his own position wasn't that much better with chains stretching from either side of the road, but the lack of an aerial threat did much to improve his situation. That was his analysis before noting the disregard their attackers had for coordination, which severely crippled their assault; neither he or Jūzō had to exert themselves to avert danger. One could also argue chains were not apt for ambushs. There was no excuse for such a pathetic attack unless―

The chakra activity on the chains caught Itachi's sharingan.

The first explosion came split seconds too late as Itachi felt the vibrations within his forming susanoo. Three of his crow clones had failed to draw the necessary intel out of their enemy, and that could've resulted in his death if he wasn't an Uchiha. He was saved by chance, again. That was inexcusable.

In his peripheral vision, Itachi sighted Jūzō trapped in a rapidly crystalizing water prison, clutching his right arm as blood swirls staining the water sphere. Another confirmation his partner knew about the tails, otherwise he would've never been able to muster the chakra to perform such a jutsu in a blink of an eye. Obviously, he had underestimated or ill-assessed the intersection. Either way, the man was struck and in desperate need of help.

Itachi willed a susanoo arm to lift the man up out of danger. The act of heroism caused their assailants to devote their full attention to the complete susanoo. As predicted, none of the explosive attacks had the desired effect on the spectral warrior. For a brief moment, the assault halted and it seemed they had survived the ambush. Then Itachi found himself at the centre of a massive water blade tornado. Initially, he thought they had entered the second phase of the ambush, but he was forced to reconsider when the viciously spinning water droplets shredded through the surrounding trees, uncovering a number of white human figures. At first, the white figures seemed unaffected by the jutsu; however, as the jutsu persisted, not only were their non-existent chakra system visible to him, but they were also beginning to suffer from the attack. Three had to be shredded before the rest retreated.

When the tornado subsided, Itachi wasn't surprised to find water dripping from his susanoo's hand while the real Jūzō, accompanied by a girl, strolled into sight a moment later. The realisation that it had been a water clone all along brought a surge of embarrassment. He allowed the susanoo to fall, and was immediately engulfed by warm chakra debris.

"You said the client was a male in his early thirties." Itachi said, noting the briefcase in Jūzō's possession.

"I might've misled you."

"I thought you worked alone," the girl smiled, amused.

"He survived." Jūzō didn't stop when they reached him, but he maintained eye-contact as walked past. "I believe you haven't met the client, why don't you introduce yourself? That's usually good for business."

"Well?" Itachi found demanding eyes upon him. The girl stood in front of him with folded arms and arched eyebrows. He met her hazel eyes with a cold stare. They were green, at least in overall colour, littered with brown speckles in the centre and lightened to a golden colour approaching the pupil. She had uncommonly pretty eyes, he permitted the thought. A while later, he found her face arresting, then proceeded to stare at her for a moment or two longer than appropriate before realising his mouth was open. Embarrassed, he blinked and the world returned to crystalline focus. "I'm waiting," she said, lips curled.

A strong gust chose that instant to rush past, tugging at the red scarf the girl wore around her neck. A golden chain with three red gems was momentarily revealed before the girl could hide it behind a hand as she fixed the scarf. He figured that was the reason they were there; she needed to make sure the precious item remained in her possession.


All great revolutionaries understand that every revolution is preceded by its own set of struggles, and the occasional success of a well versed tyrant in stomping an isolated act of revolt does nothing to diminish the idea behind a rebellious movement. Sadly, I was not born to great revolutionaries. If anything, my parents were cardboard cut-outs of people shackled by social norms. That required me to take a personal interest to educated them about the nuances of liberal thinking. This was my reason for perching Kamōra on a stool, front paws resting atop the kitchen counter, while he lapped at a big chunk of cheese cake. Something I'd like to call "practice of free will".

"Testing our resolve, already?"

The casual, almost indifferent, words issued as my mother strode into the kitchen nearly startled the life out of us. Kamōra, of course, took all medals – gold, silver, and bronze; you name it, he earned – for his reaction. As for myself, I merely choked on the slice of cake while my buddy hurled his slice, as well as the saucer, off the counter in his haste to get off the stool and crouch out of sight. In a nutshell, we weren't expecting "unexpected" returns until eleven o'clock, the earliest hour any of my parents could wander into the house "unexpected". The fact that it was my mother than the usual suspect (my dad) did a great deal to worsen the situation, particularly when we were butchering next week's entry into Konoha's Annual Festival Cake Challenge. Saying we were toast was putting it mildly.

"Mom!" I tried to say. Probably not the wisest thing anyone could do while choking on cake. Or choking on anything rather.

"Your commitment is admirable, however mournful it is to watch it wasted on shackled minded creatures as myself and your father." The unfeeling woman stood at the sink, rinsing her hands, while I, her dear son, nearly coughed out my lungs in the background. She didn't so much as spare me a glance.

"The cake went down the pipe," I croaked between coughs.

"Oh, that's a relief. I thought I had the honour of another demonstration." She said this while pulling items from the fridge as though I wasn't having a near death experience behind her. The matter had to be addressed immediately – after I soothed my throat with milk.

"I could have died," I said with the hoarse tone of a scratchy throat.

"Good thinking on you helping yourself to the sealed milk," she said. "Can't imagine what could've happened if you'd poured yourself from the bottle I opened this morning."

My mother hated it when someone ignored an open fridge item for a sealed, or when she found an empty container neatly placed back in the fridge after consumption, or when a fridge item went missing. The list went on and on. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to take everything down on my to-do list.

"I nearly died," I said after another sip.

"That would've been really inconvenient, sweetie." An empty sweet-chilli sauce bottle dropped into the trash bin. "Sandwich?"

Knowing my mother, I'd be delusional to expect a motherly response, but I was left incredulous nonetheless. "Inconvenient? Mom, that's what I'd describe walking into Muki's ice cream parlour and discovering someone bought all the cherry flavours, and that's only because the strawberry flavours aren't that bad."

"Doesn't Suzuka love strawberries?"

Frowning, I turned to her. She was holding the cheese spread, apparently the last thing she'd need from the fridge as she closed it. "Yes, she does," I said. "She also likes murderous lunatics, funerals and long walks in cemetery yards. Be at liberty to draw conclusions as soon as I know what relevance she holds in our discussion."

"I thought you two got along."

"Afterwards she got obsessed with death and decided to leave Konoha. Again, be at liberty to draw conclusions as soon as I know relevance she holds in our discussion."

"There's a possibility she might also move to the manor," she said. My heart stopped. That "also" had seemed very inclusive for my liking. My mother confirmed my suspicions when she turned with an exasperated sigh. "Remind me to kill your father."

I've heard this plenty of times before to be well aware my father had "accidentally" forgotten to discuss something with me, again. Especially when he had the foreknowledge I was not going to be thrilled with whatever he had to say. Usually, this meant my parents had spent nothing less than an entire evening debating my existence, or anything relating to it, until one had convinced the other to concede the argument, and whoever did so, gained the privilege to decide the future course of my life. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Just another page out of The Executive Decision Making of Dictators. I wouldn't be surprised if that was an actual book my parents owned, seeing that I was governed no differently to a small nation of gullible poppycocks. Hence the need for a revolution.

Admittedly, there were times Kamōra and I might have done something that could be described as eye popping and attention seeking by observers. In our defence, that is part and parcel of what it meant being revolutionaries – which we were, in every sense of the word. But on this occasion, Kamōra and I were innocent. In fact, we had been on our best behaviour ever since our petitioned for a new gaming console. This meant whatever my parents had spent an evening discussing had nothing to do with our behaviour. This was a good old-fashion parental collusion. And when it came to that, I found good old evasion very effective.

"Whoa, mister, where you off to?"

I froze. "Uh, to my room. I might go to the trials later." It wasn't completely a lie since my cousin did make the offer and I promised to consider it. "Ayano finally twisted my arm."

She smiled, folding her arms. "You not going anywhere until you've dealt with that mess your buddy made and joined me for a sandwich."

"I'm not hungry."

"How do you think it will reflect on me if I sent you off to live with your grandparents on an empty stomach?"

"I promise not to let them inspect my stomach." She blinked, momentarily stunned. This was not the reaction she expected to incite. Under normal circumstances, she would've been correct to expect nothing short of a good old-fashioned stampede, especially given the news. But something had occurred to me, something ingenuous. Feeling myself fail to ward off a smile, I said, "Fine, I'll have a sandwich with you. Anything else?"

"Actually there is. We fell you should go back to school." Apparently, they had spent more than one night discussing my existence. "I know it's going to be hard for you to readjust to the changes, but we feel it's for the best."

I permitted a few seconds to pass. "How many days do I have left – you know, to gather my stuff?"

My response had the desired effect, and the way she sceptically narrowed her eyes at me made it all the sweeter to savour. In a measured tone, she said, "Koji, I need you to take me seriously, this is no time to be making jokes or snide remarks. What I've just said will be your reality. I advise you to rather table your opinion or feelings while they can still be taken into consideration. However, that does not imply your father and I have not taken time to look at how this decision will impact all the parties involved, and we are aware you might not appreciate or share our point of view on this matter, but as I've said it before, our duty doesn't require us to please you."

"There's books I'd like to take with me. Lots and lots of them."

"How about this afternoon?" A question instead of a direct answer was a sign she didn't trust me with the truth. Given the history, I admired her wisdom.

"No problems here."

Suspicious eyes maintained a sceptical gaze. "I doubt there's anything you could do to change our minds on the matter," she said. "I'm kindly advising you to drop whatever you planning. It's not going to work."

Little did she know it was working already.

"I'm not planning anything. Can I get the bucket and mop now?"

"Don't you ever get tired of scheming and the fight they cause? Surely you must find this perpetual battle exhausting too."

I knew she wasn't the least intrigued by my resilience but rather curious of the motives behind the meek reaction. To lull her suspicions, I said by way of explanation, "I hope this is enough for me to get that gaming console I've been asking for all winter."

I could tell she wasn't fooled, but she played along nonetheless. "I fully appreciate your cooperation and sudden maturity but I'm afraid you still not getting a gaming console until your father and I see more improvements in your behaviour, particular where Kamōra is concerned. Which reminds me, your furry friend won't be allowed into the house where you going. We failed to convince Uncle Sasuke to let him stay inside. We really sorry, sweetie, I know how much we failed you on that one."

"That's okay. I don't mind."

"I'm starving – whoa! What happened here?" My father turned concerned eyes my way, then to his wife, where he found a smouldering glare waiting for him. He became aware of his error. "Oh, Koji," he began, "just the person I've been meaning to talk to."

"Don't bother. He's already agreed to both."

"He agreed? Really?" The incredulous reaction earned him another foul glare. "I mean, that's great, honey. And good for you, kiddo. That's very wise of you."

"Before you celebrate, I think you should know he was very grown-up about it."

"Oh." My father's relief dissolved. "How unusual of him."

"He even sounds eager to leave." My mother said, sliding a sweet-chilli cheese and tuna sandwich next to my half-eaten chunk of cake.

"Oh, you made sandwiches!" My old man cried, slipping onto stool.

"Sorry, you'll have to make your own," his wife smiled, returning the fridge items. "Oh, before I forget. Our son might need a chaperon this afternoon. Ayano is taking him out to the trials. Want you to keep an eye on them."

"Mom, we're cousins."

"So it's trials too, eh?" My father said considering me intently. Then turned to his wife. "You didn't strike any deals with him now, did you?"

"Not one I'm aware of," she replied.

"I could change my mind if that'll suit you guys better," I chimed in, mainly to remind them I was in the room. "I would hate to disappoint the both of you."

"Aren't we the luckiest, Kaede?"

"Time will tell, dear." His grim expression said otherwise.

After making herself a pot of tea, my mother left the kitchen with a tray. She was going to the back patio, where she always went when she had a steaming pot. In perfect conditions, I had until noon to work my magic on my father. Beyond the top hour, my mother could suggest going out for lunch, after which point, I would lose all private conference with my father.

The sound of ceramic saucers moving against the granite countertop of the island did not surprise me with my old man nearby; he was prone to swiping my food. At least he had the decency to wait until his wife was out of sight this time.

"We can call this overdue rent," he said picking up the sandwich. "It's about time you pulled your weight around here. Another thing, who do you think you fooling with this act of yours, kiddo? If you ask me, I think you better off shouting out to the world 'I'm a sneaky bastard' than putting on this wily act. And we both know what sneaky bastards do."

I always find it easy to excuse my father whenever he placed his foot in his mouth because of his whole-hearted dedication when he did so. Like, why bother with anything if you going to do it halfway? On one particular occasion, he screamed "son of a bitch" in front of his wife, and for a full week it was forgotten I had sold household items and appliances in a yard sale to supplement my lousy allowance – mind you, per my father's instructions. Even then, in the kitchen, as I watched him carefully bite into my sandwich, I wondered if he had even considered what he had implied by calling his own child a bastard. I recall once jokingly attributing his rash mouth to the fact he was a twin, reasoning that my uncle – his twin brother – had pinched some of my father's brain cells while they shared a womb, leaving him to cope with the deficit. My father didn't take this kindly, even after I explained what I meant, which was, that he had the high quality brain cells expected of any person known as the son of Itachi Uchiha; unfortunately, he possessed them at a very low quantity, and his habit of using more than he ought usually assured monumental moments of mental handicap when his supply depleted. For my safety, I was forced to retract the observation. But that didn't make it any less true. Anyway, I wouldn't have him any other way.

"Friendly warning," I began, "Mom might have mentioned her intent to kill you, again. On the other hand, she always does. Between you and I, that should not concern you, she seems to have issues about following that through."

My father turned with a foul glare.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. That is good. I'm thrilled she hasn't gotten around to strangling you yet. Honesty, I can't imagine my life without you." I wasn't being sarcastic or anything. I owed it to the man for many of my great escapes.

Oh! Maybe I should mention his wife is the resident jailer. A pretty good one, too. Trust me, if my mother was half the woman she was, I would have gotten away with a lot of shit. Thanks to my father, the prison warder keys always remained in reach.

"Whatever it is, get off it," my father voiced sternly.

His words came as no surprise. In fact, I expected them, and can go as far as to say it would've been highly uncharacteristic of him not to offer words of wisdom when I carelessly flaunted my malicious intent in his presence. "He's the only Uchiha that hates conflict," my mother affectionately says to anyone that couldn't mind their own business about how they met. As vague as that answer is, it was true in every sense – well, the part about my father hating conflict, that is. For deducible reasons, it would definitely be creepy if I was not the last person to know how my parents met. Just the thought of it makes me shudder.

Understandably, as an Uchiha and a registered ninja, my father is not publicly known for his peace making ways. In any case, peacemaker is the reputation he has around close friends. As unreal as it was, my mother was not the only person to note his reluctance towards contentious situations. Amidst the character witnesses, Gramps was the most notable, solely because he was ancient enough to be the only living Uchiha to have met my late grandfather. According to Gramps, my grandfather was also a pacifist. I might've found myself questioning that I and the grumpiest one were still talking about the same person. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't being insensitive or anything; after all, Gramps had every right to delude himself about the nobility of his brother's character. Plenty of other people did the exact same thing, although I doubt in their cases the act transcended beyond the confines of a funeral service. I just had the personal request that he should not expect everyone else to believe that a man that slaughtered his entire clan in cold blood, then immediately ran off to join an international syndicate, recognised for nothing but spreading fear and terror throughout the whole world, could possibly have had plans to seek peace for humanity. It just doesn't work that way – unless, of course, you were raised by a part-time stripper.

While Gramps' claim about his brother defies gravity itself, my dad has proved he's less of a pretending hypocrite than his father by opting to dive into the world of jutsu creation when he graduated. Naturally, the Black Leaf saw wasted potential when it learned there was an Uchiha not serving as a murderous lowlife (sometimes referred to as a black ninja). The international affairs faction of the Leaf employed my father for nearly eleven years before relinquishing him to the Ninja Union, for a village representative position. In the latter organisation, he spent seven years ascending the ranks until he reached the position of regional ambassador. He recently left the NU just a few months ago to return to the Black Leaf as its president, following the assassination of the last. (I'm not going to even touch on the specifics of how that came about.) Basically, my old man oars against the "murderous lunatics" stigma attached to the Uchiha name. He's a man who's done well for himself. I've always been proud of him. Actually, he was my hero, and at some point, I wanted him to be proud of me too. I had goals to be a great ninja he could be proud of.

Then Nakano died. That changed everything.

Keeping to custom, I ignored my father's advice. "I'm not planning anything. I just have an offer for you."

A grin stretched his face. "If that's the case, I'm all ears."

"Mom doesn't know we didn't have a chat."

My old man's smile faded. He knew where this was going.

"We both know how unhappy she could be if she discovered you had put the Parental United Front in a compromising position in front of the Revolutionary Fighters." Who said household politics should not have their own political parties? "It's not impossible to have mommy dearest believe you struck an under-the-table deal with me in hopes to alleviate some of her building up stress. Even better, you asked me to pretend it was her heroic efforts that opened my eyes, something you thought would've worked twice as better, and you weren't aware it would not please her. Your slip-up becomes an act of a thoughtful spouse and I go back to being the inferior opposition that will never aspire to anything. All that for the small fee of a gaming bundle. If you think that's an unreasonable price, think about the alternative when I refuse to cooperate."

His smile steadily broadened, then as if unable to hold it in, he burst into laughter. "Clearly, you're aren't any brighter than a fused lightbulb. We choreographed the whole thing. Since when do either of us return home before eleven on weekdays?"

"I've caught you three times this week, alone, eating my cereal. Remember yesterday? And the day before it, and the day before that?"

"You point is?"

"It's Thursday."

With one parent a president of a Leaf faction and the other a director (whatever that does) of Green Leaf's medical research centre, I was not afforded the luxury of knowing when neither of them would come through the door. Irritably, both jobs seemed to leave a lot of time on their hands, allowing them to be anywhere, at any hour. I found it awfully odd my father would deny his latest hobby of enjoying my cereal whenever he was home before four o'clock. While my mother indulges herself less frequently in the liberties her job offered, she has showed up unexpected at the house quite a few times herself, and in all those occasions she had caught me red-handed, committing one crime or the other. So, yes, I was well in my right to wonder in what foreign universe was it out of the ordinary for them to call it a day early.

"Ah, yes. I'd dwell on that too, if I were you. Too bad we won again."

Takuma Soshika once said, "A revolutionary may stumble into peril on its journey and run out of ideas. It happens to the best of us, and there is nothing anyone can do to prevent such an occurrence in our daily struggles. The only thing anyone could do in a such position is hold on to their most prized possession. Their dignity."

With those words in mind, I wondered how valuable is one's dignity? Can one trade it in for a gaming console?

"Fine, you win," I said. "I'm far more desperate to get my hands on a gaming console than you are to dictate my life. For goodness sake, I'm a fifteen-year-old that spends his days cooked up in this house with a lazy oversized fur ball for company, does it not occur to any of you maybe I might need something to get me through the day? Don't get started on the lousy allowance. It puts a painful meaning to 'a poor joke'. I'm begging you, please find a way to get that woman to agree to end my misery. I'll do anything."

"Deal." Mother dearest held a Firebolt gaming bundle. As far as gaming power stations were concerned, she was holding the only one currently on tons and tons of steroids (naturally, so was the price). My wildest fantasies had wandered no further than a Nexus or an X7 Pexa, which were chew toys in comparison. "I got it as a going away gift."

"Don't forget to behave yourself," my father added.

Usually, I wasn't one to ask questions where bribes were concerned, particularly in the case of an attractive one. But I made exceptions when I felt my parents were treating me like a snotnose five-year-old. Hitachi was a year younger than I was when they began including her in household decisions. Enough was enough.

"What's going on?" Both of them were surprised when I asked – mostly my father, but mother dearest's reaction after the initial shock left an impression. Whatever the matter was, it affected her most. "What's changed?"

"You've changed, kiddo," my father said. "Quite a great margin, in fact. From the little boy who seemed confused by everything around him, you've shaped into something we've never thought you'd ever be. As your parents, we've always worried ourselves about you being an Uchiha, knowing what a burden that can be on a person. It's only a matter of time before you discover everybody comes bearing expectations for you the moment they learn who you are, and most of them rarely leave room for failure. Your mother and I have worked hard to shield you from such influences, fearing for you. Out there, they don't believe we human; it's either we attain success in whatever we do, or we are ridiculed for shaming the name so many before us have worked hard to make it what it is today. They decide we cannot afford not to be perfect, yet neither of them are."

Inspiring speech, if my father wasn't a composed liar. I turned to the person I at least had hope of getting the truth from. "Mom, please tell me what's going on?"

The words were on the tip of her tongue when he intercepted her. "Clearly you not up for this, dear, why not another time?"

If my father and I weren't so closely situated, I would've done more than lunge forward to shove him off his stool. Of course, the aggressive reaction barely troubled him; he merely swivelled on his stool to collect my wrist in one hand, and before I knew it, chakra sealing inscriptions were crawling over my skin, flaring my muscles with pain as I tried to use my chakra regardless. The pain nearly rendered me unconscious. It took all my willpower to not succumb to the beckoning darkness.

"Why are you doing this? Am I not – AAHHH!"

Tears spilled from the excruciating grip of the chakra sealing technique. When the painful wave passed, I was left with blurry vision and laboured breath. My father allowed me to slip off his lap and fall limply to the floor. I watched his feet move away, and shortly after, I heard the quiet discourse of hushed voices, then the quiet sobs. It was mother dearest. That's when I felt the first tug, after which, I began seeing my pulse in my vision. The chakra inscriptions surged once again, this time with intensifying pain as the second tug persisted long enough to drain my chakra reserves. My pupils dilated and the familiar tingling feeling cover my body. A sensation akin to gears shifting within concluded the activation of my rinnegan. The chakra inscriptions rapidly faded away as I absorbed the chakra sustaining them. Freed from my restraints, I left the floor sweat-drenched and aching all over, mentally however, I was enlivened beyond all measure. In recent self-activation episodes, I discovered I could sense and manipulate my chakra far beyond the confines of my body. Meeting the surprised gaze of my parents, I could feel trickles of my chakra making contact with them.

"How – when?" My father managed.

"We are a family," I said breathless, "and family sticks together. If I get left behind, I might not be there to hear the victor's cry in the dawn of the revolution."

"There is no such thing as a revolution, sweetie," my mother said. "It's all an illusion like perfection. No one is without flaw, so is the world. The struggle is all there is to life. A revolution is not something one can attain in this life, this world. Maybe in another world, but not in this one."

I shook my head. "No, there is such a thing as a revolution. You need to believe and be patient. Struggles didn't end overnight."

"When do you plan to open your eyes, sweetie? Utopias are things of fairy tales and faulty logic. There'll always be conflict where our kind is concerned. Never trust anyone in this world, even your own kin."


Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't depressed or snobby. Snobby people usually cared enough about humanity to regard it contemptuously; depressed individuals were so numb they couldn't be bothered to care. I fitted in neither of the categories. My social awkwardness was caused by my preference to be selfish.

Unfortunately, that was all it was. A preference.

Beneath it all, I was a whole other being. A soul prone to making stupid decisions in the name to please those around him. A self-sacrificing moron, whose misfortunes in life could be summed up into one stupid decision. My request to be a ninja.

Yeah, I know, the fact that an Uchiha had to make a request to become a ninja is a hard to fathom concept to ninja and civilians alike, and understandably so, in light that the world is under the impression every Uchiha is biologically engineered to be the perfect ninja. This is a notion that is not entirely unreasonable considering the clan's history and its wide reputation. And there's also the matter about the sharingan. Quite frankly, I was doomed to be a ninja the moment I took my first breath as an Uchiha. In the end, I have my parents to blame for selling me the idea that I could lead my life without being a ninja. They were the ones that thought I could live ignorant of the Uchiha legacy, unaware of my lineage, all because of some tragic accident involving my sister. So, it was settled. I would be the Uchiha steered away from the world of ninja and into a peaceful civilian life. The first step was attending Sehikan Sunflowers (a civilian pre-school) instead of Little Shinobi Academy. For three years, I enjoyed playdates with classmates, went on fieldtrips and camping excursions, took karate lessons and played baseball. I had attended enough career expos to know I wanted to be a neuroscientist.

For three years, I lived in oblivious bliss, and to this day, I wish it had stayed that way. However, when I turned six, I had to ask my parents if I couldn't be a ninja like my father. This was the doing of my father's accountant, who let it slip I was taking after my mother for not becoming a ninja. We all know how much of an insult it is to be compared to a female as a boy at that age. The most painful part in all of this is, I didn't even know what a ninja was nor what they did; my parents could've wrapped me in white sheets, poured oil over my head and declare me a ninja, and that could've been all that was required to resume my blissful life. Gramps had present at the time of the request, however. He's the twist of fate that led to my ninja training, and in turn, learning the horrid truth about the Uchiha clan. Then, at the age of eight, I would lose my best friend forever. That, combined with the despicable history of my clan, left little inclination to accept Ten's (Tengoku-no-Heiwa School of Ninja Arts) "honorary" invitation to the school when I turned nine. But, again, I could not disappoint my father.

Four years later, my parents thought it better if I was home schooled.

Despite all that, I hadn't learnt my lesson. The move to Naka wasn't self-benefitting in any way possible. In fact, the move was no different to any of the stupid decisions I've made in the past, in nature and unparalleled stupidity. To make matters worse, Gramps still took a torturous approach when it came to ninja training. You'd swear he thought all was for naught if there wasn't any physical suffering in his tutoring sessions. If you had time with him, you spent the entire day dreading the two or four hours you'd spend taking punishment from him. And it has been only four days at the manor.

"Koji!" Gramps' wife called.

I fought the urge to rip the hair off my scalp. The woman knew where I was yet she still found it necessary to yell from the down the hall. Apparently, it doesn't matter if you went out of your way to let her know where you going to be, clearly she always finds a reason to empty her lungs one way or the other. Saying Gramps married a foghorn was not putting it mildly, but deceivingly – the noise produced by foghorns lost decibels for every metre travelled; her voice gained with each metre travelled. She was the only person I knew that could yell in a three-story house and expect to be heard in every corner, rightfully. This was one of the things I hated about being at the manor. But then again, there weren't many things I didn't hate when I was at the manor.

I could begin with my bedroom; hall-like in size, lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves on two walls, glass boards on the remaining two, a queen-sized bed, a neutral toned carpet, and that was literally a detailed description of it. The room was a formidable example of austerity. In addition to that, it was also a constant reminder I was an unplanned pregnancy. Though my parents might deny it, I find it hard to believe them when blueprints used in the construction of the Uchiha manor are marked with bedrooms of cousins I was born the same year with, yet my name doesn't appear. Not forgetting that the plans are dated a year and a half before Eiji, the oldest of us. As slighting as the discovery was, nothing compared to finding out the plans were displayed at a local museum, where I'm assured to suffer greater mortification. For the longest time, the only house plans I could bear to look at without crumpling to tears were those of the decorated fable of the original Uchiha abode; detailed drawings of a Kawakami era palace, proportioned to accommodate a small family, which fooled millions of people everywhere in the Allied Nations but me. The drawings lacked training rooms – Gramps' exclusive source of solace in his perpetually trying life, for that's where he predominately unleashed his tortures upon us. As evidence, the entire top floor of the three-storey manor was dedicated to training rooms, hence why we grew up calling it "The Floor of Doom".

Well, that's what the others called it. In my case, the term was highly offensive, and it did no good to dwell on your misfortunes. So what if my bedroom was on The Floor of Doom? At least I had intimate space I could call my own, even if I'd wake up to the cries and screams of Uchiha feeling "The Hand of Doom" or run into Gramps on my way down and wind up spending the next hour groaning in agony "when can I go down for breakfast?" Who could've ask for more?

"Oh, there he is," I heard Gramps' wife say as if marvelled to find me exactly where I said I'll be, doing exactly what I said I'd be doing. I mustered a smile in response. "We thought you could use some hands."

"What the heck!" Chikara cried at the sight before him when he entered. Books strewn the pale carpet in four heaps of disarray. I had just emptied a suitcase that could fit a grown human on the floor. Three more were tossed onto the bed; two were atop, the third yawned at bedside. "Are you planning to build your own library so you don't have to go out to a normal one, like everyone else?"

"Chikara, no one is forcing you to be here," Gramps' wife noted.

"Do not concern yourself, kind sir," Ayano said, "if you are at fault, it is not for this wonderful selection of books."

The overly formal address did not fail to bring a smile. Nor did the orange silk kimono and geisha makeup. "That is very kind of you, Lady Makkyō," I said to my cousin with a bow. It was her second year at Genji's Playhouse, a non-profit theatre house specialising in stage adaptations of popular novels. I had fairly contributed in the requests that came in for the stage production of Mitsuko Nakamura's Sea of Roses. Lady Makkyō was the lead character. "Can I interest you in lending a couple?"

"Such pleasing attentions shall not go unnoticed, kind sir." Ayano bowed, then knelt at the edge of the mess and picked up a copy of Satori Parish. The book was another of Mitsuko's award winning masterpiece, meticulously narrating the perilous journey of an orphaned farm girl confused for a famed geisha. Not a book my cousin would enjoy. As predicted, the book was dropped back onto the pile. Next, she dug up a book of black and red. The Blood of Life. The book of Lord Kyo's chronicles, the late samurai lord of Uemitsu. That was sure to catch her attention. As I had anticipated, she opened to the first page after considering the back cover passage. Moments later, she turned the page, and her eyes wandered to the highlighted passages on the third page. She began reading, "From the strategic point of view, I must of course regret our loss in that battle. Defeat is never to be lightly accepted. However, I cannot help but feel from the aesthetic point of view, there could not have been a more exquisitely beautiful result. The white of the falling snow. The red of the spilling blood. Was there ever a white so white, or a red so red, colder snow or warmer blood?"

"That's Suzuka." I didn't wait for her to look at me.

She smiled and said, "She's my cousin, whom I love beyond measure, but something is seriously wrong with her."

"She seems perfectly fine to me," Chikara said. "Maybe the issue is with you."

"I'm warning you, don't even think about approaching her," Ayano said. "Unlike your ex-girlfriends, she'll do more than burn your eyebrows."

There was nothing to warn him about. Chikara was five years the senior of Suzuka; the first being twenty years of age and the other fifteen, it was unlikely they'd end up together even with his luck with ladies. And there was actually only one ex who burnt Chikara's eyebrows. That was his first love, Kasumi Taeda. His was around sixteen at the time of the incident.

It was a starless night in Konoha. Not even a light breeze dared to stir the silence of that summer night. Our hero, Chikara Uchiha, was blissfully walking a nameless girl home, he'd met through a mutual friend, unaware his villainous girlfriend lurked somewhere near. In a blink of an eye, a fire ball the size of a small planet approached them at great speed. With sharp reflexes and perception to match them, our hero was able to comfortable evade the danger and would have left the nameless girl to fend for herself if the villainous girlfriend had been a dimwit beauty. Our hero discovered the hard way he had a summoning seal on his neck. One moment he was certain he'd live another day to save babies from burning building as he made his escape, the next moment the nameless girl was extinguishing the flames he stood in the midst of. Our hero spent a couple of days in hospital; he'd received several skin burns, lost all his clothes and hair, and most notably, his eyebrows. Ever since then, no one – by no one, I mean us – has allowed him to forget that night.

"I'm sorry," Gramps' wife said. "I didn't mean to laugh."

"Care to share the joke?" Aunt Sarada asked as she entered the room.

"Chikara is interested in my fair cousin," her daughter replied.

"Isn't she too young for you?" she asked him. In my haste to cross off the possibility of my aunt making a customary eyebrow comment, I found myself sniggering when she added, "Besides, shaving your eyebrows won't save you with her."

"Roughly my point."

"At least I've had my eyebrows burned, unlike someone I know." Chikara smiled and cheerfully waved my way. "I'm sorry if you heard that."

"What a prick," Ayano muttered, not sparing him a glance as she sought a second book. "Don't mind him."

"Now, now, Chikara," my aunt began. "Just because you came up short on the genetic lottery, it doesn't mean you can frown at a jackpot holder."

I don't really understand half of what Aunt Sarada says most of the time, but I always feel sorry for her daughter when she is left blushing to the roots by what her mother says. The poor girl can tell horrific tales that can make your skin crawl. For instance, how her mother had once gone to school with her and spent no less than thirty minutes preaching to her daughter's classmates about the dangers of premarital sex.

On the other hand, no everybody has a hokage for a mother.

"Maybe we should turn our attention to the books." Gramps' wife stepped between her daughter and eldest grandnephew.

"Forget the books," Chikara said. "Let's discuss why everyone is so protective when it comes to him."

"Or you could leave," Gramps' wife suggested.

"Yeah, I think you should do that," my aunt said. "I don't see you touching any book without having the Central Library slapping you with sexual misconduct charges. I'd rather not imagine what could happen if we allowed you to pack them."

"I just like how everybody comes to the defence of the fragile Koji," Chikara laughed on his way out. He didn't need to say that he found it ironic that I agreed to stay at the manor, despite my fragility, to train under Gramps, a firm believer of unreasonable brutality.

"He's an idiot," Ayano said as she got to her feet. "He's just mad he can no longer hog Gramps to himself now that you're here too."

If that was the case, he could gladly have all the fourteen hours I had with the old geezer each week, excluding weekends. But I couldn't say this after only four days there. Even people known for fragility had a degree of dignity to maintain. May be next week.

As soon as Chikara was gone, my aunt walked over to where I was and pulled me into a quick hug. Holding me at arms' length, she said, "A sharingan is not what makes an Uchiha. It's just a tool. Regardless of what anyone says, you'll always be an Uchiha."

"How unfortunate, wouldn't you say, Koji?" My uncle sounded.

Aunt Sarada's soft expression hardened. "That was quick," she observed. "Did your brat summon you or something?"

"The ever funny hokage," Uncle Shimoda said. "How is the Uzumaki clan holding up, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Very well, in fact," my aunt replied. "By the way, if you here about your brat coming to you crying, we might have had a hand in whatever he accuses us of. However, I must add that 'former' illegitimate bastard of yours can sometimes be whiny." Despite failing to detect any hint of malice in her tone, I was not oblivious to my aunt's impolite vocabulary.

"Sarada, not in front of the kids," her mother chastised.

"I'm sorry, I kind of slipped." My aunt feigned an innocent smile, that instantly fell when Uncle Shimoda's mouth opened. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention how joyed I am you married 'that gold digging whore' following my father's ultimatum."

"Sarada!" her mother cried.

"I suppose I deserve it after my initial comment to my nephew. If only he could find it in him to forgive my brashness. We, Uchiha, should never display our differences to outsiders."

"That's enough!" Gramps' wife suddenly shouted, her voice nearly ripping off my ears. "If neither of you are willing to be adults, I'm going to treat you like kids. This must end now!"

"My apologies, auntie, but while we still on the matter, may I ask what had I said to incite such a reproach from you?"

"You make a valid point there, Uncle." I promptly jumped at the opportunity to save myself the torture of hearing a particular voice raised. My aunt gave me look that said she only held her tongue because it was me, and it came as no surprise when I found my uncle smiling. "Yes, we cannot forget our dear hokage is married to an Uzumaki, thus in your opinion lost her Uchiha name. Though it could be argued that the village records state that they are yet to have an Uchiha as hokage, despite our ladyship's respectable position, it is an incorrect assumption by society that a married woman loses all that ties her to her parents when she loses her maiden name and assume that of her husband's, for family names do not begin to define an individual and are generally easily attainable commodities in modern society. Nowadays, anybody who could prove their relation to us can call themselves an Uchiha as soon as the Social Security offices issue their revised identity documents. And there is little we could do about it. You, yourself, must know this unless, of course, you have forgotten your last words to me."

He smiled. "Is this your way of showing you've grown? That your man-sack has grown since that eventful encounter?"

"No, it's my way of saying your definition of an Uchiha is faulty, considering you pride yourself as being one."

The smile fell instantly. My reference had transformed itself into a blatant insult. For some reason, I think my uncle was under the delusion I wasn't aware he and my father had once travelled to Konoha in search of their only remaining Uchiha relative. Enraged, he was an awful shade of red, and his foul glare refusing to stray. I kept my eyes on him too.

"I'd be careful with what I do with that book-learned wit of yours," he said. "There are people it's not advisable to insult."

"My apologies, Uncle, if I misspoke," I said. "I'll remember to check myself in the future to prevent such situations from reoccurring."

He looked at my aunt as though to speak, then abruptly left the room.

"I'm going to see if Hisame and Imako don't need my help in the kitchen." This was the excuse as Gramps' wife hastily exited after my uncle. I knew better.

Moment later, my aunt said, "We could also leave or we could do something about the mess. Which one is it?"

"I don't really have a choice," I said. "This is not going anywhere unless I do something about it."

"He's going to come after you," Ayano said. "Uncle Shimoda never forgets."

"That should not scare someone who wants to be a ninja," my aunt said sternly. "He should not scare you either."

I did not take my aunt's words to heart. Shimoda Uchiha was not a man to mess with for mere amusement. Unlike my father, he lived for conflict. The man was practically a living relic of an Uchiha clansman. This was a guy that was linked to the assassination of three kages: the sixth kazekage, the fifth tsuchikage and the ninth muzikage. Although there is not a trace of evidence suggesting it was him, like the entire world, I wholeheartedly believed he's behind the assassinations. I genuinely believed he could kill all three of the impossible targets without any trace of a struggle because he's the son that inherited my grandfather's genjutsu prowess between him and my father. Now tell me, how smart would I be to provoke such a man?

"Of course," I nodded to my aunt, then discreetly shook my head to Ayano.

"I saw that, you idiot." My aunt slapped the back of my head.

"Good, both of you are here," my mother suddenly sounded. She stood at the door. "If you go downstairs, you'll find Uncle Sasuke waiting for you two."

"That can't be," I said. "My body is sore from this morning."

"I'm also no due until tomorrow," Ayano said.

"Then why is he waiting for us?" I looked at my mother.

"That's what you going to find out when you get there," my aunt said. "Your mother and I will finish up here. Come on, get a move on."

Finding out Gramps wanted to see you had the potential of being really embarrassing or really painful – depending on which one was worse. With him, one can only hope there's someone he hates more than them in the room to survive his attention. For Ayano, the summon was not the worst news she could get on the evening with me around.

"I know how you feel," my aunt said as we left. "I used to look forward to the reopening of schools when I was your age."

Though I was looking forward to the reopening of school myself, there was something else I was also looking forward to: someone's death.

The manor's oval-shaped kitchen was not always on the second floor. Though I could not tell you how old I was when my parent's bedroom was moved to accommodate the relocation, I know it took no less than two months to clear the affected spaces, to restructure the electrical wiring of two floors, adjust ventilation pipes, and lastly, inserting additional reinforcing beams before the designers hired to work on the kitchen pointed out the breakfast parlour and dining room would need to ascend too (for reasons I obviously don't need to state). In total, that was seven months' worth of construction, all because someone could not stand the smell of coffee in the morning. Gramps was not beyond being unreasonable when it suited him.

"That was quick," he said when we found him sitting with Eiji in the TV room at the rear of the house. I noted the old geezer and grandnephew were dressed to weather the snowy conditions outside and I got the eerie sense he planned on tricking us to leave the warmth and comfort of the house so he could torture us outside, in the blistering cold no less. I merely stayed to find out how stupid he thought I was. He looked at Ayano and said, "You might want to find something warm. It's snowing outside."

The granddaughter rolled her eyes and left.

They were watching the trials, and is so happened as I stood there, the commentators mentioned my name. They were discussing the unlikely probability I'd make an appearance during the course of the month long exams. Gramps' eyes sought my face as the men discussed the possibility with balancing arguments. As expected, Nakano's name came up.

The TV screen went dark. "Let's get going," Gramps said.

"Sure." I was too numb to argue.

Making a detour to his bedroom, he led the way to the kitchen. Once there, he emptied almost half the fridge into a bag which he threw to Eiji. He grunted for us to find something to eat before we left. I remained where I was and watched him and Eiji queued for the microwave, each with rice balls.

My mother entered the kitchen with my winter gear and dropped everything on the breakfast table. "I think I heard him say he might take you on a train ride."

"A train?" I looked at her with raised eyebrows. She looked at me as though to say I was overreacting. I didn't give her the opportunity. "A train?" I repeated.

Eiji smiled and shook her head.

"I'm sure you've heard of something with many coaches and wheels. Think along the lines of a ginormous mechanical centipede, with space for passengers."

"I know what a train is. I'm just wondering why we have to ride one."

"Well, unlike a centipede, a train can carry passengers to various destinations. Namely, chūnin trials. Though you would be required to make you own way from Central Station."

"First of all, I believe I made myself clear to Gramps I was not going the chūnin trials. Secondly, catching a train? I suppose four-wheeled automobiles are not as adventurous."

"Who's driving? You?" Gramps asked. I made a face at him, offering no reply. "Yeah, thought so. Now go get dressed, we need to leave."

"What part about 'I'm not going to the trials' don't you understand? Let alone set foot on a train."

Eiji's mother emerged from the pantry, arms leaden with spices. She thought it would be a good time join the conversation. "Come on, Ko-chan, live a little," she urged. "It's a train ride, what's the worst that could happen?"

Serial killers loved trains. As well as muggers, beggars, noisy infants, vendors, suicide bombers, and the list didn't end there. Of course, I was not stupid enough to wander near enough a train to discover any of these things for myself. Self-preservation wouldn't allow it. All the knowledge was acquired from watching movies and various television programmes, and I was ready to impart my wisdom to Eiji's mother when my own mother acted quickly to preserve the ignorance of the other woman.

"Why don't we rather focus on the positive aspects of the trip? Like imagining the best that could happen. The worst that could happen is only a probability, as is the best that could happen, one only has to choose. Why don't we choose the bright side?"

"You mean the one Gramps is eclipsing?" The old geezer smiled at the compliment, but my mother was less impressed. "Mom, if you provide an example of one good thing that could arise from leaving this house with Gramps, not only will I go with him, but I'll even agree to compete when I get there."

"You're competing when you get there," Gramps stated. "You were only readmitted at Ten because of your name. All students are required to at least have a red status."

"Fine, I'll just enrol into another school."

"I will assume that idiotic remark was made because you under the impression a chūnin status is not a requirement at another school."

"Wow! This thing of looking on the bright side is shaping out nicely, wouldn't you say, Mom?" I observed to her with a dry tone. "Too bad I'm still not getting on a train with him, or to the trials, for that matter."

"Koji, we talked about the possibility of this."

"No, we didn't." I shook my head. "One year was the period, and mediums of transport weren't even on the agenda when we had that chat."

"If he's so apprehensive about the journey there, do you think he'll be okay about the venue?" Though Eiji's mother had thought she was being vague, it instantly became apparent where we were going, making sense why the trial commentators had brought my name and Nakano's in their discussion, and she was correct to assume I was not going to be keen on the idea. "I just maybe think he shouldn't be pushed," she concluded.

"For goodness sake, Imako," Gramps snapped, "if you okay with him curling up under your skirt, don't expect everyone else to be on-board with that idea."

My mouth opened and closed at Gramps' words.

Eiji's mother didn't even pause to the hurtful words, which was understandable considering who got the worst out of them. "Hisame, he's your son, should you lose him, where do you suppose you'll find another like him? Don't allow anyone to pressure you into anything you not sure of. You're his mother, it's okay to be protective."

In that glorious moment, without warning, the room blurred instantly and began to spin out of control. As I expected, shortly after, my head began buzzing with foreign chakra, for me, a known effect of genjutsu. I fell to my knees, gritting my teeth as I waited for the irritating buzz to cease, for that's what it always does.

The loss of my sharingan was the second biggest loss I ever suffered, but I always considered it the most devastating. I was eleven when I discovered I could not get my eyes to read the lettering of a book I had taken to the roof at night. For three months, I was able to keep my genkai loss a secret, all the while hoping it would come back. Gramps was the first to note the anomalies, like me taking a lantern with to the roof and me remembering to switch on the light in my room, as my mother has always insisted (she didn't like my habit to read in the dark). In his attempt to prove his theory, he tried to get me under a genjutsu (something that was known to activate an Uchiha's sharingan) and we both discovered I was immune to genjutsu that day. For the many trials that followed after his first attempt, he just managed to get my head to buzz for a while with his chakra, then the jutsu would dispel on its own, without me having to do anything. Even his Tsukuyomi yielded the same results, though it took longer to dispel it on its own. If I was being cast with a genjutsu, I was certain it was a matter of time before it also wandered off.

This was not the case, however. The buzzing didn't cease, despite the passing of a whole minute. Even Gramps had left his stool as I supposed he also suspected I was no longer dealing with a genjutsu. Oddly, the symptoms suggested I was. I felt my pupils dilate and my body draining on my chakra, all signs my rinnegan was activating. Then I instantly lost all vision.

"Koji!" I heard my mother's fading voice call beneath the buzzing.

Consciousness slowed waned until nothing remained.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was flat on a white, solid yet squishy, surface of undeterminable substances. My head was incredibly heavy and my vision refused to focus, but from the little it offered, I only saw white. I gave myself a few seconds to recover before suddenly pushing off my stomach. I discovered whatever had happened to me did nothing to diminish my strength as I easily got off the ground and supported myself on my arms. This is when I made the horrific discovered of my setting. I was trapped in some white void – as in, everything within in sight was nothing but white. The one thing that had my head and vision clearing fast was my inability to tell distance from any direction. The only thing that seemed to exist was the ground I was on, if I can call it that. I got to my feet and felt panic rise. There was no way out.

I breathed to calm myself.

"Hello there," I heard a deep voice and nearly had a heart attack. A tall man, in what I recognised as Akatsuki robes, now stood behind me. He smiled, "You must be Koji."

I suppose the Akatsuki robes were meant to be a giveaway of the man's identity, but his youthful appearance and close resemblance to Gramps lit the wrong lightbulb. "Wow!" I gave a light applause. "Now all that's left is for you to find a way to make me compete at the trials. Good luck with that."

"Now I see what Sasuke sees in you."

That did well to stun me. I had always fantasised about meeting my grandfather despite knowing he had been dead for quite a while. Let's just say I hoped he knew what Madara and Obito knew and I'd see him walking through the door, whichever door he preferred, as long as I got to see him. But I was not going to be thrilled to see him if that meant I was dead. I was fifteen years old and still had a lot to do.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You're somewhere I exist."

"Am I dead?" I had the feeling asking a less direct question would lead to another vague reply, as prone with Gramps.

"That's seems to be the case," he said, as unaffected as any person can be. I figured he broke the news to new arrivals so frequently he was no longer sensitive to how devastating the news was. I felt my eyeballs warm at the base and tears form. "Do not worry yourself, I believe the necklace will return you home when we done."

The only thing that kept me from calling him an asshole was my astonishment at how accepting he was of my tears, which was not consistent with the image Gramps had painted of my grandfather. Either way, I wished he could have mentioned the necklace part earlier. That would've spared me the shameful task of discreetly picking tears off my eyelashes as I tried to get a better look at the man.

Red glowing attracted my attention below my chin. I inspecting the glowing gems on the necklace around my neck. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. There was no visible light source illuminating from within nor were the gems glowing themselves. The light seemed to emerge from an invisible coat around them. I looked at the man across me. He had an identical neckpiece around his neck too; his was not glowing, however. Gramps had mentioned it once belonged to him. I gathered his necklaces was merely a component of his memory, no longer a real artefact. Which only made sense with the necklace around my neck now.

"Where did you get it?" I asked him.

"What difference would that knowledge bring?"

The question was fairly innocent and straightforward, if he had received the necklace from some relative, like a parent or a grandparent, as I had assumed, he would've answered it promptly. The only case it would seem invasive to ask about the necklace is if other means of obtaining it came into play. I was instantly reminded of what sort of man he was, and an image of a rotting corpse suddenly haunted me.

"Uh – um, I assumed it's not something you bought in a jewellery store," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask. You don't have to tell me." Actually, I didn't want to know.

"It was a gift from your grandmother," he said.

Grandmother. I fought the urge to smile at the mention of the word. I never had a grandmother – well, never met any of them. I learnt at an early age my mother's family was not to be spoken of, so I had to settle for my father's side. Unlike my grandfather, no one knew anything about the mother of my father and uncle. Any attempts to find out who the woman was did not yield any results. However, if anyone should know, it was the man in front of me.

"Who was she? Can you give me a name?" I asked.

He smiled, and instead of answering my question, he asked one of his own. "Do you ever wonder why you exist?"

I think we can all agree his question deserved more attention than both of mine combined. If he didn't look so pleased, I would've thought he was questioning my existence, as Gramps had always said he would do if had been alive.

"I don't know," I said, lost for words. What does someone say to such a question? I was sure he was not blind to the nature of the question, which seemed to possess no answer.

"Do you know the birth of a child is no different to an artist putting up a blank canvas?" I considered his words and tried to imagine where he'd go next. "Their lives are as much dependant on their parents as a blank canvas is on the artist if it ever hopes of becoming a masterpiece," he continued. "We can say the disposition of any child is predetermined by his or her parents, and I'm not just referring to the genetic attributes. I speak of the challenges and opportunities the child will encounter because of his or her parent's situation in life."

I got the feeling he was saying I turned out the way I was because my parents could afford it. And he wouldn't be wrong. I wasn't blind to how expensive it was to have tutors oversee my academic progress, before and after my readmission to Ten, or the trouble behind flying in masters from outside the country, when other parents only had to send their kids to school and, on occasion, request a favour from family friend or relative that possessed a skill their required help with, as was the norm in all ninja communities. If we were poorer, regardless of whatever that could've befallen my life, I doubted I would've had such a big protective bubble securely wrapped around me. And I have no doubt being pulled out of school wouldn't even have been an option considering the alternative. No wonder my mother wasn't so keen on a third child.

I saw it wise not to say anything, lest I ended up justifying myself and my mortifying existence.

"You don't have to be ashamed. You and I are alike," he said with a smile. He said that a little too late. I was already frowning at the uneventful life that I had. "I'm not the man to judge you. No one ever gets it right the first time. The right answers never come when we call to them; they only come to us at our moment of need."

"When's that?"

He just smiled, looking at me with the eyes of a proud father. I felt unworthy of such a regard, so my eyes fell to the ground. And a tear dripped to the ground.

"I wouldn't admit this to Sasuke," he said, "but I believe that if something bad happens in a place, sadness sips into its walls and is held in suspension by the structure that bore witness to the incident. That's maybe why I didn't like home; it held the lingering scent of a bitter past. If an incident isn't absolved, there is nowhere for it to go."

He wasn't talking about himself. If he was, he didn't seem to regret what he had done that night.

"What happened that night?" I asked, unable to be more specific.

"Something necessary," he replied.

I shook my head. There was no reason worth killing so many people, parents included no less. That was something I refused to acknowledge. "Admit you were wrong to kill them, regardless of what you might've saw in them."

"Only when you've gone through what I have gone through and seen what I've seen will you begin to understand the burden I had to carry, until then, you and I will never know each other's pain."

I knew what he was talking about. In a way, at least. Everyone thought I was weak and tiptoed around me as though I was waiting to self-destruct, unaware of what I truly faced. I just hadn't saw it his way, as pain. Now that I thought of it, it felt as such.

"What do you think I should do?"

"You asking the wrong question," he said. "You should be asking yourself if you trust your parents and granduncle to transform you into a masterpiece?"

I considered him with a smile. If I was ever to wake up a blank canvas, I'd mourn my existence the moment Gramps or either of my parents took the brush. But if I didn't trust them, who was I to trust? Besides, was I prepared to remain a blank canvas for ever?

"I take it you also think I should go to the trials."

"Not at all. They cannot bring the change I hope to see in you."

"What change is that?"

He slowly began to fade. I looked at the necklace and found it flickering on and off. When I looked up, not only was he gone, but the once white environment was quickly growing darker with each second. Knowing the inevitable, I closed my eyes and immediate felt my body jerk into motion. I didn't dare open my eyes until I felt consciousness beginning to trickle in. Having lost my consciousness in the kitchen, I half expected I'd wake up there with everyone huddled over me, like caring relative would do. I didn't expect to find myself in the breakfast parlour, laying on one of the tables, unattended.

I got off the table with every intention to breathe fire on whoever I saw first (unless that person was Gramps, then I'd have to settle for the second person). I planned to let them know how I felt about being left to "sleep it off" on a breakfast table while they continued with their lives as if nothing happened.


In his haste to get his hands on me, the chūnin overlooked the very important detail of the falling ice above us and moved under it. I had the heart stopping experience of watching it crush him to the ground. Time seemed to stop altogether as I watched him fall silent under the mass of it.

For a moment, I thought I had killed him and expected to see his soul ascend any second as I watched a group of kids push the ice boulder off his back (when or where they came from, is a question I cannot begin to answer). Fortunately, he began to move the moment the ice was removed, causing me to drop to the ground with relief.

He was going to live. I fell back onto the gravel.

I was quickly stirred back upright when a foot nearly stomped my face into the small stones. Having escaped an experience, which I could only assume was an entire world of pain on its own, I heard the frustrated cry of an adolescent female voice, and as far as simple mathematics goes, one foot and one female voice meant only one girl was not impressed with my existence. With that figured and placed aside, I rolled into her direction, hoping to wrestle her down, but she was no longer there. I supposed it was a blindside attack, she just wanted a cheap shot, so I rolled to my feet.

I was barely a second on my feet when I felt teeth sink into my left shoulder. I hardly had time react when an arm hooked my neck from behind. This was clearly not the doing of a trained kunoichi, otherwise I would've already been dead.

Using one hand to tug at the arm around my neck, I used the other to find her nostril and used them to yank her off my shoulder. When she was off, I attended to the arm around my neck. That was my second mistake. As I struggled with her right arm, I felt what I knew to be a kunai blade sliding over the silk fabric of my haori before ripping through it, and the cotton fabrics I had beneath it, to graze the right side of my lower back with it tip before ripping its way out again. Ironically, I was saved from a graver fate by her; if her arm had not been holding me backwards, away from her blade, she could have done some serious damage, and I think she knew it too, if her sounding like an animal was any indication.

I twisted my body under her hooking arm and her first instinct was transversing the hold into a headlock and I knew what was next – the kunai. I immediately used her breasts to guide me to the whereabouts of her right arm, which was on a forward thrust my way – that was, of course, before I gripped its base and halted its motion. I didn't have time to think I was out of danger when I felt her upper arm muscle adjust slightly in the same manner it would if she was bending her elbow. In a nutshell, this explains how I got the second rip on my brand new outfit – just below my elbow, barely escaping the blade. Regardless of that could have turned out, I had to act while I still knew where all her limbs were. My Taijutsu instructor always preached that an advantage is a temporary possession in combat, so one had to immediately exploit it.

Slipping a leg between hers to restrict leg movement, I pulling myself out beneath her arm and followed with quick basic taijutsu moves that had her pinned onto the ground with surprising ease.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked her.

She responded by spitting in my face.

"Just so you know, that went into my mouth," I shared, spitting on the side.

"Get off me," she demanded, struggling.

"Sure, why not? It's not like you tried to kill me or anything."

"Honestly, I never thought you were the type," I suddenly heard Gramps speak over us. I didn't have to look up to know where he stood when his boots were millimetres away from the girls' head. I ignored him. "Well, I guess I will give you two some privacy."

"Dad, please, get Koji off that girl," my aunt called.

"She's trying to kill me," I shouted to her.

"I don't care," she replied. "Get off that poor girl. Dad, please, get him off."

"You don't really think I'm pulling you off her, right?" Gramps was just being himself – not helpful.

"No, I do not," I replied. "But please find it in you to help me avoid death when I do get off her. Know any simple genjutsu I could use?" I looked up at him.

The girl didn't wait for Gramps to respond when she dropped the kunai in her hand, and for the first time spoke like a sane human. "Now, would you let me go?"

"Okay, but no funny business." I eased off her, still pinning her arms. "Now, I'm going to let go," I said hesitantly.

"Take your time, I'll just lay like this until you do," she sneered at me. I removed both arms and rolled away and crouched on the ready. "This is not over." She said before making her way to whom I can assume was her brother.

"Come with me," Gramps touched my shoulder.

"I'm not sure I should with him still laying there."

"If you think you can do a better job than four medics, go ahead."

I got to my feet. For the first time I was able to register that I was drenched from head to toe by the water prison I was trapped in earlier. In addition to the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes clinging to my skin, a slight sting on my lower back brought my attention to the kunai wound I sustained at the hands of a deranged girl. I decided to strip the wet clothing.

"What are you doing?" Gramps questioned.

"I'm wet," I said pulling a bundle of fabric over my head.

"I can see that," he said, using his cane to have me turn my back to him. "I want to know why?"

"I figured I can warm myself with my chakra better with them off."

"Interesting." That was all he said before walking off. "Please keep up, I don't have all night."

I held my tongue and opted to glare holes on his back as I struggled with the rest of my clothing. If I had learned anything about my granduncle, it was how ineffective words were to him, and I could not see how I would change that then or ever.

I eventually caught up to him when he was approaching the section of the Naka river that passed through Ten. "The results are back," he said. "You no longer have a sharingan. I still say wait a while before telling your parents about this."

What he meant was "Don't tell your parents."

It took us a year and a half to get to that point. I was a month away from my thirteenth birthday. Since the night Gramps discovered my secret, we have been meeting on and off to discuss my situation until he reluctantly agreed to my suggestion of getting my blood tested. I did understand his reluctance due to what was happening around the world, and I also feared how the world would react if they discovered another Uchiha was to bear a rinnegan.

As highly praised as the alliance between the Allied Nations was in books and all sorts of historical sights and landmarks; microscopically, it was deteriorating with political affairs and increasing distrust. The situation was so far advanced that all ninja were subjected to medical profiles that would be virtually public knowledge in all the countries aligned with the alliance. The point was further impressed onto ninja communities with the sanctioning of a law that made it fraudulent for a candidate to participate in any form of village exam with either insufficient or incorrect information on their profile. This was an innocent decision by the world executives that led to the assassination of many genkai holders and to the disappearance of over four jinchūriki. Yet nothing was done than just sweep everything under a rug in the false pretence of peace. Then as soon as the diplomatic smiles fell, murders and disappearances of ninja would continue in a conspicuous fashion. All discretion tossed aside.

In our generation, learning that one was a kekkei genkai holder was not the best news unless protection was guaranteed. Being an Uchiha, in Konoha, I had plenty of it. However, that was when they thought I had a sharingan: a tool they could use, but most importantly, one they knew how to defend themselves against. It was no secret we weren't the most popular clan in the world. We are the clan that had a record holding number of four Akatsuki members, not forgetting that two of those members were the first recorded Uchiha rinnegan holders (Obito and Madara) and they were solely responsible for the Fourth Ninja World War. I could not begin to imagine how the world would react when my profile was updated and made available to everyone.

"Orochimaru believes―" Gramps began, but the fan within me cut him off.

"Wait! Did you say Orochimaru?"

"What? Do you know an Orochimaru?"

"Yeah. Are you kidding me? He's like the only surviving Legendary Sannin, a former member of the Akatsuki, a medical enthusiast and the person holding the record of most ninja techniques learned. Oh, yeah, he's also one of my favourite authors. What do you mean do I know an Orochimaru?"

Gramps burst out laughing, like hard. It was only after a while he was able to say, "Funny enough, Shikamaru, Naruto and I were just talking about your generation and how we'd swap lives with you in a flash, even if we only got to live to half of our lives."

"We also have it tough," I shot back.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I've seen your faces when you discovered someone has drank all the milk in the morning and you have to wait until someone returns from the mall to have your cereal."

I fought the urge to point out he was the one drinking the milk and said instead, "You were saying about Orochimaru?"

"He thinks your shifting chakra system is not related to the rinnegan development. That's something else. However, there's no way telling what it is unless he examines you."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go see him."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I wasn't going to go there on my own – duh! You'll be there with me. He'll be crazy to try something with you there."

Gramps chuckled. "Are we talking about the same Orochimaru?"

"Which one do you know?"

Instead of responding to my question, Gramps shook his head with a smile and held out a necklace.

"You got me a gift?" Saying that aloud made me realise how improbable that was. "What are the odds of you recycling an unwelcome birthday present?" I suspiciously eyed him.

"It belonged to Itachi," he simply stated.

It was a gold chain decorated with red gems. It was certainly a valuable relic – market value alone in mind. Sentiment included, it was priceless. Still inspecting it, the thought of how empty the gesture was struck me. I had never met the man who originally owned the necklace. What would be my reason to hold on to it? In my possession, it will never have a meaning that transcends its market value. Gramps was its rightful owner, since my father and uncle had never met his father either.

"I think you should hold on to this one," I said, returning the necklace.

"I have been retired for some time now and I wonder how will loved ones remember me." I first thought Gramps was changing the topic as his usual self does when avoiding something. Then he proceeded to add, "I asked them to give my registration number to Eiji and Itachi's to Chikara. This is all I have left."

The necklace was from him, not my grandfather. "Did it belong to your father?"

When he didn't answer, I realised how insensitive the question was given the unique circumstance he lost his parents and who the necklace had belonged to.

"Thanks," I said. "Not just for the necklace, but for everything else too. Even for those I haven't learned of yet." I reached out to pat his shoulder, however, because of height differences, I ended up patting a little lower.

"Get your hand off me." Gramps used his cane to swat my arm away from behind him. "Here, read this." Another hand, besides the one holding his cane, held out a small black book. At first, this escaped my attention, then some part of me seemed to sense something was oddly off as I took the book from his hand and another was still holding on to his cane.

"You have a second arm," I noted aloud.

"I found it with Itachi's belongings," he replied.

"And you kept it!" I looked at his new arm – its hand buried in a pocket.

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"You just admitted to refitting an arm you found lying between your brother's possessions. It's not every day I hear that, even for―"

His cane struck my bare chest, twice.

"Focus," he said when I moved out of reach. "I said read the diary. Not count the number of limbs I have."

"A cane on a bare chest is not a pleasant thing to do to another human, you know," I rubbed the reddening marks.

"I said read," he instructed.

Getting the necklace out of the way, I placed it around my neck and screwed the chain closed. Then I turned my attention to the diary, opening to the very first page. From that point on, Gramps allowed me access to his brother's diary, a privilege I thought was only bestowed on me until Eiji burned its pages practising a fire technique my grandfather developed. After that, no one was allowed access to the diary.