It's been two years since the suspicions were aroused in my head, almost all by Konoha. I've tucked each one inside my head, but most seemed to be nothing. But, as all my mentors have said, "Any little thing can amount to a larger difference."
Which is why I've decided to take action. There was no question in my mind on whether I should or not. Kenji's been keeping secrets from me, and some Jonin here look at me as if I'm a criminal. They do nothing, however. And I know it's some kind of setup when I begin walking around the forests, woods, and the fields where ANBU are carefully placed, performing some jutsu that I've never seen before.
I'm in my room coming up with a plan at the current moment. Staring out my window on a sole stool, watching the thunder and lightning outside somehow calms me, while the rain, I feel, expresses some kind of thought process to me. I see the world in odd ways—which is the reason I typically am the victor in tight situations.
I think I'll ask Kenji again, who my family really was. I trust him enough to protect me and care for me, but as for reliable, I can't exactly say. Half the time I ask a question, it's two words and then his lips are pursed and he decides to go into his room. This, now I notice, is unoccupied. And why would he disappear to there anyway? Why not go out for a stroll like he used to when I was a child?
It's my day off from training and Kenji is probably at another meeting. The Hokage must trust him…so maybe they are in on it too.
I creak open the door and tiptoe in the room, as if he's out just down the hall. Before I know it I'm in his drawers and under his mattress looking for something that could help give me some kind of lead. I open a filing cabinet and there is a manila folder, neatly labeled 'Ket'. I open it, but there are no papers inside and there are two numbers: 12 and 4.
The only thing I see in the room that could be like coordinates, which I am assuming these are, are the floorboards. But they only run one way. I use my hands' lengths to measure the width of one floorboard. It's about just one of my hands in width.
So I stand at the door again, and walk 12 of the distressed spruce floorboards, and measure my way four of my hands. As I reach the spot, I step on it and it sags slightly and creaks. Jackpot, I think, and smirk. I lift under the lonely square and there are about ten envelopes, each with different information inside them.
I carefully stuff a couple papers under there to give it the effect and illusion that there is paper underneath, and I creep back to my room and stow them in one of my clothes drawers—because the laundry is one of the things that I have to do around our house.
I go back in to look for more, but to no avail. As I am walking out of the room, I stumble on another loose board and trip over a stray wire into the wall. It sags, setting off a trap, and a stream of fire is set spearing at me, and it stabs my back, the flames licking at my skin, consuming it. I take one of Kenji's dusty books and bat it out, but it's a bit too late.
The center of my lower back is stinging and I still feel as if the flames are gnawing away at my bones, but I know it's not. I've had plenty of bad burns before, but I am somewhat glad the flames hit me. If they missed and got somewhere else in the room, Kenji would find out. I walk back down into the kitchen and pretend to try and be cooking something for lunch—but failing. Cooking isn't one of my skills.
I am a good liar. My caretaker will never know what happened. But what happens next is a bit too much for me. I hear slow footsteps up to our door and see a lock turning. Why is he home so early? I can't get over the pain this quick, but I know what to do.
As Kenji walks in, I cry out and clutch my back, which relieves some of the pain. "I half-cracked it again!" I am leaning over looking at my feet. I straighten my back with a groan and make it look like I'm realigning the misplaced vertebrae.
He chuckles, and I ask him why. He responds, "Nothing, it's just that that spot on your back—" he stops, and I wait for him to finish. "It reminds me of an injury I got back when I was a child, Ket." Yeah, right. The only injury you're concerned about is the one I'm going to give you when I find out exactly what you're hiding from me, I think with an intent to wrestle the information out of him---
Whoa. I'm not that type. What am I thinking? And before I know it, the words come out of my mouth. Not in the way I would have intended them to.
"Kenji. who. were. my. parents." I say with a hint of maliciousness.
His eyes avert mine and I feel like I am the adult as he looks at his feet. "Another time, Ket."
My mouth won't stop now. "Another time? It's been FOURTEEN YEARS, KENJI! HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO WAIT TO BE READY?" I practically scream.
Kenji's eyes widen, and I don't know why—and then he darts to his room and locks the door.
Click.
***
Well, since Kenji won't tell me, I should go examine those letters and papers now. I lock my door as well, knowing it'll do nothing. If he wants to go into my room, he'll just smash it down. But it should give me enough time to examine them.
I quietly rustle the papers and shake the first envelope. There are two papers inside it. One is addressed to Kenji, and the other to an unnamed man or woman—I can't tell. I look at the one addressed to Kenji.
Kenji. It's me.
How is he doing?
Gee. Some letter. I mean, if this person—I'm assuming my father, who has calligraphic writing that looks almost flawless—would write letters to Kenji, why not me? And why wouldn't they be longer? I take a look at the one Kenji sent back…Whoa. Why would he keep a copy of a letter that he sent?
As I read it, it's full of lies.
Your son is doing fine. He's been so jubilant lately. Yesterday, as I go to the store, he hangs on to my leg and won't let me go.
It goes on further, but I don't bother to read more. I never did that. I never did ANY of these things. The paper is yellowish now, and warped, so I suppose it's about ten years old.
The next sheet is crumpled up and looks old, as it is already turning yellow, maybe five or four years since this has been looked at.
Kenji? It's me again. How is your cousin faring?
-Father
This one's handwriting is different—it looks as someone tried to write it with half an eye open. I take a look at the reply and I am not surprised.
He is doing fine. Healthy and skilled, and completely ignorant. He doesn't suspect a thing. And he probably never will.
His FATHER? Back up, letters on that stupid page. So I am related to Kenji? Makes sense…we hardly look different. I have hair that looks black in a certain light but it is usually bronze-looking, and his is practically completely black. We have the same fair skin on the pale side, and we both can make our eyes turn red. I suppose I shouldn't be shocked that we're related.
All the other letters are pretty much the same. But why would Kenji keep the letters that he wrote as well? I am taken aback by what my mind tells me. He has been making up my whole life, keeping secrets from me. And he needs the letters to keep up the charade.
And then I think about why he ran straight to his room. Right after that, there is a knock on my door. "Ketsueki, get out here this instant."
And it dawns on me.
He knows I have the letters.
***
I have to think quickly, and the only solution I know is to jump out my window and run. I should probably be back after dark and he'll be waiting for me. But I know I need some time alone for the moment.
I stash the letters under our house, through a small dug hole made between the dirt and the wall of the home and I walk to the only place I know for answers: The Library.
***
I reach the library casually, and I stroll in past the librarian, who just nods his head at me and keeps on doing his work. I don't know how the system works as I've never been here, so I go back up and ask the librarian if he knows where any books on kekkei genkai are. He points me in the direction, and I find an enormous book, black and dusty. I blow the dust off it and begin to find what I'm looking for.
I know there's a quicker way, but I don't exactly remember from what they taught us in school, something in the back of the book. I flip there regardless and there is a few pages labeled 'index', so this is where I should look. I search 'red eyes', but there is only 'red' and it lists a few page numbers.
I go to the first one and there is a picture of someone whose face is red. What on Earth….?
After a couple more trials, I find what I'm looking for. To my misfortune, most of the page is burned, and now I'm certain that this is the right page. Kenji probably burned it. I look for the capitalized words, because I know that it will be my answer, the name of the kekkei genkai and who it belongs to.
The only key words I find are Sharingan……see flow of chakra…. And finally: Uchiha.
So my name is Uchiha Ketsueki… or to know what it means… Uchiha Blood.
I stop there and go home.
***
I walk home and Kenji has his arms crossed and is tapping his foot. I say sarcastically, "Gee, I wonder what I did wrong." This time I don't regret.
"Ketsueki. You do not go into my room and steal my things. Anymore. And if I find out one more little disobedience, I will not hesitate to leave you."
Boy, wouldn't that make me happy? I smirk. I would try and kill him but I have no idea how much more skilled he is than me. "Uchiha Ketsueki," I repeat, like velvet on my lips. "I am a member of an almost-extinct clan? And so are you and your stupid father," I continue, and he scowls. "I know you're going to ask how. It's a magical place called the Library," I say.
"And now that I know, why don't you tell me who my father was." I activate my...Sharingan… to detect movements before he acts.
He starts to say no, but I shove him into the wall and hold a fireball in my hand. I jam it into his stomach and with my other hand; use the chakra drill that ANBU taught me two years ago. I then fuse them together and it is two spirals, moving up in a straight line towards his neck.
Before he slumps to the ground, he tells me what I've wanted to know all my life: "Uchiha---Itachi."
What kind of monster have I become?