Episode 1
Gasen And Doku: The Jaakuna Te Line
Young Kojama awoke from his rest, energized and eager to wander about the Bone Village. Despite the dark bruises on his arms, no aching or soreness could injure his charisma or curiosity.
He loved his village, even if it did have a reputation of being hostile and dangerous. He'd never experienced being hurt by anyone, besides his parents when they were disciplining him. Such was the cause of the marks and bruises left on his arms. He wasn't bitter towards his parents though, because he believed them when they said "We only do it because we care." They said this every time, and he listened.
This was the way of The Village Hidden in the Bones. The parents had very little leniency, and their punishments were always that of the physical extreme.
Some kids, like Kojama, kept their chin up through it all. Others, however, weren't as strong. It wasn't uncommon to hear of children running away from their parents, never seen again. Kojama swore he would never do this, no matter how bad things may seem at the time.
An outsider composing their first impression of Kojama might never guess it, but he had an astonishingly strong will and always remained positive. This kept him going from one day to the next. In a village like his, it was the only way to live.
At this moment, Kojama was tired, much like the village he resided in. He yawned and stretched to wave away some of the tiredness, then rummaged through his dresser to find his outfit for that day. After what seemed like hours, he finally uncovered his favorite shirt.
Upon first glance, the shirt would appear as just a blank, white t-shirt. Although, further inspection would reveal kanji printed in black. This kanji was the same one found by examining the hat of the Shikage, the village leader.
This was the single aspect of the shirt which made Kojama love it the most. His other clothes often went unworn, since he would wash and dry the shirt every night just so he could wear it again the next day.
Kojama excitedly threw the shirt on, next looking for the long dark grey shorts he always wore to contrast the bright white shirt. Once he discovered and applied the shorts, it was just a matter of finding the one missing piece.
He searched for the cherry on top to tie the outfit together: a black forearm sleeve one might see on a sports player. "There it is!" Kojama yelled with a smile. He swiped the sleeve from off the top of his dresser and slipped it onto his right forearm.
"Quiet!!"
Kojama's heart stopped mid-beat. His parents were very discouraging of loud noise, and the result was typically the same each time they were angered. He shuddered at the thought of more bruises being added onto his already battered arms.
He quickly apologized to avoid being disciplined. Directly following this, his stomach rumbled fiercely, making him realize he hadn't yet eaten breakfast. He almost began to complain about his growling belly, until he remembered the shout that had come from the living room. With this in mind, he quietly stepped out of his room into the hallway connecting to the kitchen. From the kitchen, one could view the living room. The two met via a wall with an open section cut out for easy passing from one room to the other.
Once in the kitchen, Kojama fixed himself a simple bowl of cereal, after gathering everything necessary from their various housing places. The first bite came nowhere close to satisfying his hunger, whether it be the physical hunger that now had his stomach roaring, or the internal hunger that made his very soul roar just the same. Kojama continued eating, noting how significant the difference seemed between the moment before his first bite and the shape of the bowl's contents as he came close to finishing it off.
Feeling a considerable bit less tired, Kojama kicked his feet about under the table. With one foot grazing the other, as they swung in opposition back and forth, he remembered that he still hadn't yet put on socks. Due to this realization, Kojama rinsed out his empty bowl, then made his way back to his room after placing the bowl in the half of the sink where the dirty dishes were kept.
In his mind, he was praying that his parents wouldn't come up with another ridiculous excuse to discipline him. While this thought rattled around in his head, Kojama once again rummaged through his dresser, finding a soft, clean pair of socks. He slipped them on, one after the other, then rushed back through the hallway and kitchen to the living room.
What awaited Kojama beyond the living room was the mud room, where Kojama's shoes lay ready for him. He slid his feet into them and firmly grabbed the doorknob with his right hand, which glowed with a bright purple chakra, capturing his attention.
He was not unfamiliar with the glowing, for every male in his whole family, save for his father and his father's side of the family, had the same glowing hand. What he felt as he watched the glow was more akin to a nagging tug in the back of his mind, telling him he forgot something. He thought deeply about what in the world this missing link could be.
Unable to conjure the answer, Kojama shrugged and twisted the doorknob, then quickly stepped around the now open door and closed it behind him after changing hands from one side of the door to the other, where the other half of the doorknob stayed, as he spun. Kojama smirked as he did this, congratulating himself in his thoughts. "Oh man, that must have looked so cool!"
Kojama's house was nestled in a wooded area on the outskirts of what one might call the "downtown" area of the village. A short walk took him from his house to a dirt path that seemed to part the village itself, keeping either side held tightly in place. The path was only a formality to Kojama now, considering he could navigate the village in his sleep.
Utilizing his knowledge of the village's layout, Kojama followed the path to a small stand where reading material like newspapers, magazines, and books were vended. Kojama would occasionally talk with the cashier of the stand, as he was one of the few men in the village that did not treat children rudely.
The cashier, Yuten, recognized Kojama instantly, and greeted him warmly as Kojama stepped through the curtain acting as the shop's doorway.
"Ah, there you are. I was wondering when your next visit might be. You're a little later than usual."
Kojama felt a bit guilty after hearing this, despite Yuten's cheerful tone. "I'm sorry, Yuten, I overslept." He looked down in self-disappointment.
"Oh don't be so hard on yourself bud. For a kid your age, even if you oversleep, you're still up early," Yuten laughed.
Kojama looked up and let out a sound of near confusion. "Huh?"
Yuten looked into Kojama's dark grey eyes, which shined with a contrastically radiant courage. This spark filled Yuten himself with confidence. "You're a very good kid, Kojama. You've got a lot of potential. There aren't many others like you in this village. Be proud of who you are."
Kojama very rarely heard such uplifting words. The only two people he'd ever known to talk to him in this way were Yuten and Kojama's older brother, Jiro. Kojama practically idolized Jiro for his undying compassion and generosity. These words that Yuten spoke sounded very akin to something he would've heard Jiro say, creating a wide grin and leaping spirit from Kojama. "Gee, thanks Yuten! You're probably the nicest man in the whole village!" Kojama remarked in appreciation.
"Don't worry about it, Kojama. Just don't forget to credit me for believing in you when you become as great as you can be one day." Yuten winked and chuckled a bit. "Well of course I won't forget. How could I forget the world's best bookseller? You've got, like, every book ever!" Kojama complimented.
"I don't know about that," laughed Yuten. "Lord Shikage has actually banned many books from being sold in the village. I have many in the back of the store that I would be executed for distributing."
Even though he was a regular visitor of this small reading shop, Kojama was ignorant to the Shikage's disdain for all of the other villages and their writings. Anyone caught buying or selling anything written in another village was sentenced to death, making a death sentence in the Bone Village about as easy to catch as the common cold.
"You have more books?" Kojama asked. "Loads more! You haven't even scratched the surface of my personal library," Yuten answered. "Do you think I could read them!?" Kojama requested.
Kojama frequently read from Yuten's shop. He wasn't very picky either. He read just about everything from novels written by some of the village's most distinguished philosophers to short children's picture books. Much of what Kojama knew about ninjas came from these books. Because of the Shikage's high censorship, books only included the two Jutsus taught in the village's ninja school, Shijutsu and Shinjutsu.
"I'll do you one better," Yuten smirked. Kojama listened eagerly. "When I eventually pass away, I'll leave my entire personal book collection to you. You see, as you get older, so will I. Once I'm gone, my books will most likely be burned unless someone takes them as their own. Since I don't have any children myself, I'd love for a kid with as much potential as you to inherit my books. Maybe one day you'll even read them all."
Kojama's eyes livened up even more than they already were, which seemed impossible to Yuten. "You really mean it!? I can just have them!? Thanks, Yuten!!! You really are the nicest man in the village!"
"Come on now, it only makes sense. If anyone should get to keep my books after I'm dust in the wind, it could only be you, I mean-" Yuten was cut off by the loud conversation of two men entering the shop.
The men appeared just the same as many other men in the Bone Village, with a facial expression representing the definition of unhappiness. "I heard the kid's parents killed themselves. He was the only child they ever managed to have that wasn't stillborn," casually reported one of the men, clearly feeling no sympathy for the people whom were the topic of the conversation.
Kojama and Yuten listened as the second man picked up where the first one left off. "Well if I were them, I probably would have too. Having your only child run away like that, I couldn't even imagine!"
"You know, I heard they were one of the families that had that weird purple hand. The, uh... Jaakuna Te, I think it's called."
"The one that kills anything it touches?"
"That's the one," responded the first man.
Kojama then looked down at his right hand, widening his eyes as he realized what his gut feeling had told him he was forgetting before he left his house.
"They keep it wrapped in bandaging to prevent themselves from killing anyone or anything out in public," the first man continued.
This stung Kojama in the chest like a large, infuriated wasp.
The second man then noticed Kojama's hand, nudging the first man in the side with his elbow. "Hey, doesn't that kid's hand look a lot like that Jaakuna Te?"
"Say, it kinda does," answered the first with a sinister tone, looking at Kojama's hand then back to his friend. They looked from each other to Kojama again, walking towards him menacingly and grabbing him by the arms tightly.
Kojama struggled in the men's grip, a look of utter fear covering his face. "Hey, let him go!" Yuten ordered to the two.
The two rolled their eyes simultaneously as the first one replied, "Shut up, old man."
"You might want to listen to him," said a voice from the entrance of the shop.
Everyone shifted their attention to the source of the voice. The light against the man's back cast a silhouette, covering the majority of his front half. He stepped forward into the shop until his appearance sprang to life, thanks to the illuminating paper lantern hanging from the ceiling.
Kojama and Yuten both grinned enormously as the man was revealed to be Kojama's older brother, Jiro.
Despite his relatively young age, that of only 16, Jiro was almost the size of a fully grown adult. His ability as a ninja was directly proportional to his appearance, for he was already known as one of the best ninjas in the village, even though he was only still in ninja school.
His right hand and half of his right forearm were wrapped in bandaging, much like Kojama's should have been.
"Let go of my brother before I hospitalize the two of you. The Gasen family isn't one you want to mess with, especially when there's more than one of us."
Jiro exerted an air of confidence, easily felt by everyone in the shop. The men frowned a bit then let go of Kojama, who looked at them in surprise then ran to Jiro's side.
"If you ever touch my brother again, I'll make sure you don't touch anything ever again," threatened Jiro. The two men would have laughed at this comment, if only it weren't true.
"Just get out of here you couple of freaks!" yelled one of the two men.
Kojama frowned, angered by the man's rude remark. He began to run at the man with his fist raised and reared back, ready to strike, before Jiro stopped him by lightly grabbing a hold of him by his shoulder.
"Come on little bro, don't let them get to you. Let's just get you back home so you don't run into any more jerks like these fools."
Kojama looked at Jiro's hand on his shoulder, then turned to look at Jiro himself. He smiled a little then answered, "Right." He then turned back to the men and stuck his tongue out. He may have been one of the more mature children in his village, but he was still definitely a kid.
Jiro rolled his eyes, smiling and laughing at Kojama's juvenile gesture while ruffling Kojama's hair playfully. The two brothers then began to turn back towards the curtain at the front of the shop when they heard Yuten say, "Come back any time boys. You're always welcome here."
The two turned to look at Yuten. They both smiled and waved as Jiro started to lead Kojama back home. Kojama giddily shouted out as he walked with his brother, "Wow Jiro, that was awesome! All you had to do was just look at those guys, and they were scared stiff! You're the best brother ever!"
Jiro stopped in place, still holding onto Kojama's shoulder. "Hm?" Kojama looked up at Jiro, wondering what made him pause.
"What's the matter, big brother?"
Jiro changed his expression from the natural quarter-smile that usually lay upon his visage to a stern, solemn state of stagnation. "Kojama, you've got to remember to wrap your hand every day before you leave the house. Even in this village, our family trait can get us into a lot of trouble," Jiro lectured.
Kojama looked down at his luminous violet hand, feeling a sinking in his chest. He then curled up the hand into a fist. "Rrr... what's the big deal about this stupid hand anyways? It's not like we asked to be born with it."
As he inquired about the Jaakuna Te, it seemed to light up with twice the intensity, almost as if it was listening to the two speaking. Kojama's eyes welled up with tears. Jiro then turned Kojama to face him, addressing him.
"I know you have a lot of questions; I did too when I was your age. Unfortunately, I can't answer them while we're still out in public. We should just get you home."
Kojama nodded, then the two continued on their stroll back home. As he walked with Jiro, Kojama dreaded what his parents would do when they heard what happened in the book shop.
"Stay strong, little bro. It'll be alright," Jiro encouraged Kojama, as if he had read his mind.
Shortly after this, the two finally made it home. Kojama would have been glad to be back, if he didn't have yet another punishment awaiting him.
Jiro reached his hand forward and gripped the doorknob. The rotation of the knob only went by in little over a second, but through Kojama's eyes, this second lasted years.
Once they had stepped inside, many people's first instinct might have been to let out a rather loud "We're home" to inform their parents, but such an attempt would have been met with serious consequences in the Gasen home. Instead, Jiro and Kojama entered their house as silently as though they were making their way into a library, treading carefully as to not disturb a sensitive librarian.
Kojama's heartbeat zoomed at an almost dangerous rate, accelerated even further at the moment he heard his brother begin to speak. "I'm afraid a small quarrel started at the reading shop, mother and father. Two men saw Kojama in the shop with his Jaakuna Te unwrapped."
Kojama looked down and bit his lip while his eyes were coated in fearful tears. He was not looking forward to this moment. In fact, he had been trying to mentally delay it as much as possible, from the instant he and Jiro had left the shop.
"Is that so?" asked Mako, the Gasen boys' mother. Jiro glanced at Kojama, sharing his younger brother's pain, then looked to his mother.
Mako Gasen, known as Mako Iro before her marriage, was quite the unforgiving woman. It was through her side of the family that the Gasens had gained the Jaakuna Te. Although she herself did not possess the hand, she was a carrier for it, passing it down to all three of her sons.
Mako was very different from her own mother, displaying a parenting style much more similar to that of her emotionally distant father. It was this figure of ruthless parenthood portrayed by her father that she now exhibited in the raising of her own children.
Jiro's silence acted as reassurance to Mako. "Bring him here," commanded their mother. Kojama began to quietly sob, regretting ever stepping foot outside the house. Jiro sadly complied, walking Kojama towards their mother by the shoulder. Jiro then stepped back, hoping the best for his sibling.
"Hold out your arm, Kojama," ordered Mako. Kojama stood in place, frozen with fright. Mako waited only five seconds before restating, "I said give me your arm, son. Now."
Kojama slowly rose his shaky left arm, weeping before his stone cold mother. She gripped his wrist tightly in her bony grasp, then with the other hand, she struck Kojama's forearm with the intensity of a bullet leaving the barrel of its housing gun. Kojama spent all the will he had in his being to prevent himself from screaming, because he knew if he let out any loud noise, the punishment would only worsen.
She lifted her thin, skeletal arm, before thrashing it back down for a second strike on Kojama's skin. He grimaced, wishing with all his might that it would soon be over. She then tightened her hold on his wrist, making him think at this point she was more of a machine than a mother. Even if he wanted to break free from her clutches and run away, which he very much did, there would be no possible way.
Mako lifted her hand one last time. She held her preparation pose a little longer than the two times before, almost changing her appearance to that of a student raising her hand to ask a question. Kojama felt his body temperature increase, feeling as if he had been submerged in bubbling lava. His body heat was then met with the final hit from his mother's fingers, sending the worst pain yet through his sensitive arm. To Kojama, the pain felt like he was being poked and prodded with sharpest pins and needles.
After a virtual eternity, Mako released her son's wrist. Tears lined the sides of his face like decorative paint. He was now extremely weakened, teetering on his heels and barely able to stand. Anyone else in his position would have fallen to the floor, but he stayed in place.
He ran to Jiro, wrapping his arms around him. In return, Jiro hugged his younger brother to comfort the hurt boy.
Now came the words that would imprint themselves within Kojama's memory for years to come.
"I only do it," Mako began. Kojama coughed in his struggle to hold himself together. This struggle was doubled when Mako completed her sentence, "because I care."
Jiro lightly patted Kojama's back, almost as if to say, "That's enough." Kojama let go of Jiro and turned back around to look at his mother. Her vulture eyes stabbed into Kojama's as she sat, fully composed, on the couch. "Kojama was curious about the Jaakuna Te, mother. I hoped you could possibly answer his questions better than I might," Jiro stated.
Mako shifted her gaze from Kojama, who now wore a face as lifeless as her own, to Jiro. She nodded faintly, then extended the same hand that had inflicted countless marks onto both Jiro's and Kojama's arms over the years. The hand's palm faced the ceiling, with the pinky, ring finger, and middle finger all curled inward towards the center of the hand. The index finger pointed towards Jiro and Kojama, then slowly curled up like the others, implying that she wished for Jiro to bring Kojama to her once again.
Jiro heeded the beckoning movement, walking Kojama to the couch that their mother sat on. Kojama began to shake again, for even being near his own mother made his skin crawl. "Sit, my son," spoke Mako, whose voice was now entirely unrecognizable without its typical shrill shriek. Kojama hesitantly did so, staring down at the floor.
"Look at me, Kojama," Mako told him. Terrified, Kojama complied.
"The Jaakuna Te comes from my mother's side of the family. My mother was one of the two Doku twins," Mako recounted. Kojama listened carefully, his interest fully captured.
"The other twin was the father of Karasu Doku, the first Shikage. Lord Shikage does not have any children, so you and your brothers are the only known living descendants of the Doku line, besides Lord Shikage, to have the Jaakuna Te."
Kojama lifted his hand into the air, wishing to ask his mother a question. "Yes, son?" Mako asked, giving Kojama permission to speak. "We're related to Lord Shikage?" Kojama asked with an unstable voice.
Mako nodded. "I am the cousin of Lord Shikage, making you and your brothers his second cousins," she answered. "I suppose, next, you'll want to know why people are so afraid of the hand, since you'd never intentionally touch someone with it," guessed Mako.
Kojama stayed silent, confirming Mako's suspicion. "People in this village do not often trust each other. They believe that at any moment, they can die by another villager's hand, even if that villager is a gentle child like you."
Mako paused, allowing Kojama a small gap of time to ask any more questions he might now have. After receiving no inquiries from her son, she continued. "Not only is wrapping your Jaakuna Te meant to keep you from hurting others, but also to prevent others from hurting you. This is your only warning, Kojama. Never again leave this house unless your hand is wrapped."
Expecting a response, Mako paused once again. Kojama still remained as silent as the body of a deceased soul. "Am I understood?" Mako asked, her voice returning halfway to its regular threatening scratch. Startled, Kojama replied, "Y-Yes, mother."
"Good."
Kojama was relieved to hear this word, for he still could not be entirely sure that he wouldn't receive more discipline. "Now," started Mako, "go back to Mr. Yuten's shop and apologize for the disturbance you caused."
"But I only stopped by there to talk to-" Kojama began to say back to his mother. "I didn't ask, boy, now wrap your hand and go," Mako responded, losing her already limited patience. Kojama wanted very much to persuade his mother to change her mind, but he knew this would never happened.
Kojama sighed, then answered, "Yes, mother."
He got up from the couch, then walked to the kitchen. In the kitchen, there was a drawer which held a few rolls of bandage wrapping. Kojama retrieved one, then began to cover his hand with it. He started by enveloping the thumb, then worked around from finger to finger until he reached the base of his hand. Before long, the entirety of his hand down to the wrist was blanketed in bandaging.
Kojama attempted to rip the bandaging once he was finished, but he could not tear through its fabric. Jiro walked near Kojama, inserting his hand into the same drawer from which the bandaging was taken. He pulled his hand back with a pair of scissors, then held part of the wrapping outstretched before cutting it.
Jiro placed the scissors back in the drawer, proceeding to grab a roll of strong tape. He tore off a piece of relatively small size, stamping it onto the wrapping to hold it together. Once this was done, Kojama returned the bandaging to its drawer, and Jiro did so as well with the scissors before closing the compartment.
Observing his little brother, Jiro could easily see how tired Kojama was, both internally and externally. As he looked at his younger brother, Jiro thought, "Stay strong, Kojama. It's what you're best at." Almost as if he had heard what Jiro was thinking, Kojama took a deep breath and nodded, walking to the door bordering the mud room.
Kojama stood before the door, resting his hand on the doorknob with nowhere near the same enthusiasm that filled him that morning. He now felt that even keeping his eyes open was a strenuous chore. Pushing through, he opened the door and exited the house. Following this, he restored the door to its original position and walked back to Yuten's shop.
The day was now only just reaching the late afternoon. The sun's light and the land's flowing breeze helped ever so slightly to lift Kojama back to his usual high spirits. His steps traveled at less than half the speed of the trek he had taken to the shop earlier that day. Even so, before he knew it, Kojama had been standing outside the shop's curtain door for a second time.
Configuring his posture to that of a more confident boy, Kojama stepped into the shop. Yuten fixed his eyes onto Kojama, who looked at the worker to see the man's familiar smile. However, even Yuten's warm expression did not change Kojama's countenance.
"Welcome back, young man," Yuten greeted him. Kojama said nothing back, worrying Yuten. "What's wrong, bud? You look almost like those two men from earlier with that grim look on your face."
"I'm alright, Yuten. I'm just hear to apologize for the commotion I stirred up earlier."
Yuten raised an eyebrow. "Commotion? Come now, Kojama," Yuten chuckled a bit. "You didn't do anything wrong, those two fellas should've just left you be. It wasn't right of them to be picking fights with a young boy like that."
Kojama walked towards the counter which Yuten stood behind, crossing his arms on top of it and leaning forward to rest himself against it. "I guess you're right. It's just that my mom told me to come say sorry... you know how she is..."
Yuten nodded. "You've got that right. Your mother sure is a Bone Village parent, alright. Just remember that she isn't a bad person, Kojama. She is the way she is because that's all she's known. She was one of the first to ever move to the Bone Village after her cousin, Lord Shikage, founded it. She witnessed the rise of the village and all of its sad cruelty."
Kojama listened as Yuten spoke, but gave no response. Yuten knew this was a sure sign that Kojama wasn't his usual self. Trying to think of a way to restore Kojama's cheerfulness, Yuten suddenly had an idea. Without saying a word, Yuten grabbed a brand new book from the top shelf of one of the book stands, holding it out in front of Kojama.
Kojama looked at the book's cover, which had the same symbol that his shirt held. The title read Shijutsu: The Technique of Karasu Doku And The Hidden Bone Village. It was the latest textbook used in teaching students of the village's ninja academy. Kojama sighed, stating glumly, "I don't have any money with me, I'm sorry."
Yuten let out his trademark chuckle, telling Kojama, "You don't understand, bud. You don't have to buy it. I'm giving it to you."
Kojama lifted his head and looked from the book to the generous shop owner. "Really?" Kojama asked. Yuten nodded, continuing, "You've had a rough day. It's just one book, kid. It's the least I can do for my regular."
At last, Kojama's face began to shape into an example of happiness. Yuten was very glad to see the boy climb out of the emotional hole he had been trapped in, up until that point. "Thank you, Yuten... I don't deserve this, you're so much kinder to me than you should be."
"Stop it, Kojama. You deserve it the most out of anyone in this entire village. You really are the brightest, most sensible young man this village has to offer. Never let anyone change you."
Kojama couldn't believe Yuten's unending generosity. He found himself speechless, shifting his stares between the brand new book's shiny cover, and Yuten's equally bright face and attitude. Kojama finally settled his eyes upon the shop owner, speaking, "I'm really never going to forget you now, Yuten. I promise. We may not be family, but I love you like you were an uncle!"
Yuten smiled and raked his hand through Kojama's hair in a jovial manner. "I know exactly what you mean, bud. I've grown as fond of you as if you were my own nephew, or even son," he admitted to the boy.
For a brief moment, Kojama began to imagine what having Yuten as a father might have been like. Perhaps his mother would not punish him as often or as intensely. Maybe he would get to spend all day reading and discussing what he learned with Yuten. The possibilities flooded Kojama's imagination, which was known to wander off its path of origin as easily as a bicycle with a flat tire.
Yuten looked beyond the gap in the shop's curtain door, and saw the bright yellow of the day's light slowly creep into a tamer orange. Knowing how highly Kojama's mother favored rapidity, Yuten spoke up, interrupting Kojama's daydream. The boy jerked his head the tiniest bit in reaction to Yuten's voice.
"As much as I enjoy your company, I think it's about time you got yourself back home. Your parents wouldn't be pleased if you stayed here until dark with your head in the clouds."
Kojama took a deep breath, then shifted the book into position between his forearm and side, his hand clasping the front and back covers together to prevent the book from either falling or flapping open. "As usual, I guess you're right, Yuten," Kojama said to the worker. "You know what I always say, though. You're welcome back any time, bud. And make sure you get started on that book, or else I might just have to take it back," Yuten joked.
Kojama smiled, then replied, "Of course. I'll start reading it as soon as I get home." Yuten patted the boy's head, happily saying, "Now that's what I like to hear. Little Kojama, as curious as ever." Kojama began to walk towards the shop's curtain, moving it to the side so he could exit. "You be good, bud. Don't make your mother any meaner than she already is," Yuten teased. "I'll try," said Kojama, letting the smallest of laughs escape his voice box.
The two waved goodbye as Kojama left the small shop, eager to return home for the first time in what seemed like decades. His anticipation increased with every step that he took, feeling that his new book was practically calling out his name in desperation to be read. To divert his thoughts away from the book and, in hopes, make the walk home shorter, Kojama looked around in the trees that encompassed the path home.
Kojama's mind began to clear of the day's past obstacles, leaving him feeling like a new person. He had almost completely forgotten about his punishment, until he felt the pressure of the thumb on his right hand rub against the base of his index finger on that same hand. This minuscule occurrence served to remind Kojama of his accursed family trait, in turn triggering the memory of his encounter with the two hostile men in the shop.
Suddenly, an ominous chill swept through his body. Although he could not pinpoint the cause, he now had a sense of danger around him as he passed the halfway mark on his trip home. The trees that comforted him before now stirred his emotions into a vague panic. He could not see any immediate threat to his safety, and yet he could not hope to shake this feeling.
Proving his fears to be justified, two figures took form in his peripheral vision. The shapes made contact with a very unpleasant familiarity. "We got that little Gasen punk now, " said a voice projected from one of the figures.
Now, no uncertainty remained. With the voice revealed, the pair were unmistakable as the couple who had threatened Kojama's safety hours ago. They quickly flanked both sides of the boy and seized his arms in their clutches, just like before. Just the same, Kojama's terror returned in full.
Almost as if he was reenacting the events, Kojama struggled and grunted in attempt to escape the men. This effort was soon proven useless, as the men did not even slightly loosen their hold. Desperation sparked within Kojama, who thoughtlessly screamed out for help.
"Put a lid on it, kid. Don't waste the breath," taunted one of the men. The two laughed in malevolence, relishing in their depraved victory. "Nobody's gonna come rescue you this ti-"
Kojama no longer heard the voices of the men. Once this thought set its weight inside his knowledge, he thereafter discovered that their grip was now only barely clinging to him. He wondered if something might have caught their attention and distracted them.
He slowly turned to look at one of their faces. He was stunned and horrified at what he now saw.
Blood flowed from a deep slice in the neck of the man who was, only seconds ago, boasting about having the upper hand. Kojama screamed, jerking his arm out of the now dead man's grip. The deceased body crashed to the ground. Following suit, the second man's body fell forward until a thud against the dirt path was audible.
The men's blood still excreted, now being reduced from the initial gush to a slowed drip. Kojama's eyes widened in shock, and he currently fought the urge to cry and scream more. Puzzled as to what had brought about the men's mysterious death, Kojama looked all around. He hoped, more than anything, that whatever had killed the men would not end his life as well.
After turning to face opposite of his original direction, Kojama identified yet another person's shape. Alarmed, Kojama fell back, catching himself with his hands as his rear end hit the ground. This man was taller than Jiro, and had a much more frightening stature.
The man was the oldest Gasen brother, Sena. He had been given the nickname of "The Serial Killer Ninja", and was feared almost as much as the Shikage himself. Although it may have appeared as though Sena was saving his baby brother, anyone who knew him personally would have guessed that he simply killed the men for amusement.
Sena and his presence shot the deepest of fear into Kojama. He had heard many accounts and what he believed tall tales of Sena's merciless way of life, but on the ground next to him directly lay two corpses which served as undeniable proof, confirming what Kojama previously hoped false.
"What's wrong, little brother?" Sena asked, smirking evilly. "You've seen blood before, haven't you?"
Kojama could not respond. He found himself totally immobilized with fright. Sena took a dark pleasure in Kojama's horror, visible within his young eyes.
Before he even realized what had happened, a spinning shuriken had rapidly buzzed past Kojama's ear. The circling weapon traveled in a precise line to Sena, who casually moved his hand out in front of him to intercept it.
The shuriken dripped a red fluid, which Kojama soon detected as blood. Moreover, he deduced that it must have been the blood of one of the men. Terrified, Kojama covered his head with his hand and looked around to see if another shuriken would follow the first. This entertained Sena, who then spoke, "Foolish child. This is why I call you my little bother."
Kojama looked again at Sena, confused. Sena sighed, then continued, "This is the only one." He held the shuriken out, implying that Kojama should focus his attention onto it. "I killed them both with this one shuriken."
Kojama backed himself away from the demon he knew as family. He now realized that the single shuriken had left Sena's hand, cut through both of the men, then circled back around like a boomerang to take its current resting place between Sena's fingers.
Now was the moment that Kojama was the most scared of his oldest brother that he had ever been. Sena's confidence almost doubled once he examined the fear in Kojama's young eyes. He casually stepped towards his cowaring little brother. "Don't be such a baby. I just saved you, pipsqueak. Now get up before I tell mom to give you more swats."
Kojama, still shaken with shock, elevated himself with the support of his hands until he stood back up. His posture made his fear even more obvious. The boy's knees rattled as he willed himself to stay upright.
Sena walked towards him with the same powerful swagger he always displayed, but it now seemed to impale Kojama. He rose his arms in a defensive reflex, worried that Sena would attack him. Before he had realized it, Sena had already past Kojama and proceeded to walk the rest of the way to the house. Noticing that Kojama was not following him, Sena then said, "Relax, you little runt. If I was going to hurt or kill you, it would've already happened before you even had time to blink. Now follow me back to the house. We're almost there."
Kojama began to turn around and follow Sena, but stopped when he felt his foot touch his new book. The book was now lightly powdered on the front and back with the path's dirt. Kojama was immensely disappointed in himself, allowing the book to become damaged before he had even made it home with it. He picked the book up and brushed as much of the dirt off of it as he could, then walked quickly to catch up with Sena.
Sena scoffed when he saw Kojama's book, mocking, "You'll never get anywhere by reading that. I'd be surprised if you ever even managed to master one jutsu of our village's technique. You might as well burn that thing, since you'll never make good use of it."
Kojama ignored Sena's teasing, as he was used to his oldest brother's discouraging words. He held the book even tighter by his side, continuing his way to their house.
Within minutes, the two had made it to the home's entrance. Sena impatiently tugged the door open by the knob. Kojama then entered through the open doorway, eager to create distance between him and his seemingly psychotic sibling.
After Sena resealed the door, Mako's shrill voice could be heard. "And just where were you, Sena?" Sena answered, "I was just making sure Kojama made it back to the house safely, mother." The mother shot a demonic glare at Sena, which, surprisingly, didn't seem to affect him.
Acknowledging that her mind trick had not budged Sena, she then turned her gaze away from the man. "Very well, then," she spoke.
She then ordered Kojama to eat and wash both himself and his clothes before he was to go to bed. Kojama respectfully responded, "Yes, mother."
Kojama did as his mother instructed, then prepared himself to go to sleep. He was not yet tired, and he had a small window of time open before he would be pressured to sleep by his parents. Thinking back to his gift, Kojama grabbed his new book from a nightstand next to his bed. He smiled, recalling the moment that Yuten offered it to him.
He slowly opened the book and skipped past the introductory pages including publication and distribution information. A small collection of pages gathered under his bandaged right thumb before he finally got to the actual bulk of the text. Kojama began to learn the detailed history of the Shikage, the founding of the village, and the creation of Shijutsu itself.
He was left in awe by the knowledge contained in this binding of pages. Before long, he had already found himself at least a tenth of the way through the entire book. He had never been so engrossed before. The more he read, the more his appreciation increased towards Yuten for giving him the book.
He learned the very basics of Shijutsu, and the names of some beginner hand signs to correspond with their moves. He also learned about the process that Karasu, the Shikage, went through to create each and every last one of these moves. He learned about the intense self-training that the Shikage pushed himself through; the terrible hardships he faced in his early life; the true reasons that Karasu now appeared as a cold shell of a man.
He developed a sympathy for the Shikage, and an unmatched eagerness to become a Bone Village shinobi.
"Kojama, it's time to sleep."
These words shot Kojama off of the cloud upon which his imagination and education had lifted his spirits. Yet again, Kojama answered to his authoritarian parent. "Yes, mother."
Kojama closed the book, making a mental note of his place within its words, then set it back onto the nightstand adjacent to his bed.
He grabbed the sheet and covering blanket, then pulled them most of the way over his body. Turning onto his side, he gazed out of his bedroom window to observe the night's serenity. With a slight smile, Kojama drifted his eyes to a close. In the same way, he slowly drifted his consciousness to a rest.