Disclaimer: The anime and manga 'Naruto', including the lovely weapon mistress Tenten, were created by Masashi Mishimoto and his respective partners. I'm not making any money with this fanfic.
Author's notes: This chapter, revolving around Tenten's years in the Academy, was originally going to cover the time from her entrance to her graduation, but seeing how long just the first two years turned out, I decided to cut it into two sections.
Here is The Unwilling Kunoichi, chapter two. Feedback, as usual, is voluntary but much appreciated.
The Unwilling Kunoichi - Chapter two
by Haggath
I never wanted to be placed in a genin team.
Well, since you ought to know by now that I never wanted to become a ninja, that shouldn't come as that big of a surprise. But, this is different. I had different reasons for this one, believe it or not.
Graduation from the Academy and assignments to genin teams is an important milestone in the path of a ninja, as everyone knows. It represents a certain degree of skill, maturity, and responsibility in a ninja, and means that those ninjas now represent their village through their actions. The jounin who is assigned to the leader becomes the boss, the protector, and the teacher of those genins - in some cases, the jounin's role may be closer to that of an older sibling's than an experienced ninja's. The assignment also introduces the presence of death into the world of young shinobis on a whole new level. Age-wise, it circulates somewhere around the beginning of adolescence.
The changes are numerous, and their magnitude is heavy. It shouldn't come as a surprise that every year a certain percentage of the new genins is sent back to the Academy to re-take courses to gain maturity and more practice on their skills. Not everyone is ready for all the changes the graduation brings.
I sure as hell wasn't.
Still, that wasn't all of it. Let me explain.
I remember being frightened the day I was supposed to start at the Academy - terribly frightened. But hey, if you ask me, I had every reason to be so.
The ninja Academy of Konoha is a big building, and to a child, looks enormous - and downright threatening, if I may add. When I was standing under the Academy's gate that day, carrying a small backpack that held my lunch and other supplies I might need in school, I felt cold despite the warm sunshine. Stepping inside meant taking my first steps on a road that led to me being a ninja, and despite my resolve, I was still deathly afraid I'd end up the same as my mother. It had been one thing, deciding to become a ninja on a tranquil opening next to the grandpa-like Hokage. Actually taking actions to achieve that was an entirely different matter.
Miyu was standing besides me, observing me and the Academy in turn. I could tell she sensed my fear as well but said nothing. Father couldn't have made it there, but I couldn't tell whether it was about not being able to see his daughter become a ninja or because he had had work to do. Now that I think back to it, Miyu and father must've been much more afraid of my decision than I was.
I snapped out of my thoughts when the bell rang, indicating everyone that the classes were about to start soon. I could see how the other children began pouring inside, and felt my anxiety rise. I didn't want to be late right from the first day, but I was also more than slightly intimidated about stepping inside the large building. Thankfully, Miyu knew how to ease my mind. Must be the maternal instinct.
"I'll be here after the school is over, alright?" A brief glance over my shoulder confirmed that she was smiling. A heartbeat later, so was I.
A wave and a 'bye-bye' later I found myself wandering on the long hallway, my eyes darting everywhere before I finally found the sign of the classroom I had been looking for: '1B'. Judging from the noise and chatter, the teacher had yet to arrive. I sighed in relief and stepped inside, my entrance drawing the attention of some of the children in the class. I could feel their gazes on me, and saw a variety of different expressions examining me. Most of them, to my relief, were simply curious about the new person, and after confirming that I wasn't anything but another child, not very much different from the rest of them, their interest quickly died and they resumed to do whatever they had done a few seconds ago. However, they weren't the only type of stares I got. There were those - most of them boys - who looked at me with interested amusement, and I could hear them exchange muffled words with their friends, bringing out a slightly more audible laugh, laced with mirth that didn't ease my anxiousness about my first day at school at all, even though I couldn't identify why.
Later on, I was to be one of the main targets of their sneers, jokes, and pranks. Up to this day, I can't see why did my future bullies me to be their victim-to-be - who could understand a child's mind, anyway?
Ah, but I'm jumping years ahead, again. Back to the classroom.
The quiet laughter I got from the boys in the back seat faded away as I noticed a pair of entirely different-looking eyes in the second row of seats. Even though children can be cruel, they can also be unreserved in a positive way, too, and the friendly, shy, and warm stare I got from the charcoal-haired girl sitting all alone on a seat made for three people, I couldn't but return her gaze, adding a friendly smile to it. A few seconds later, we were sitting next to each other, exchanging the first words of a budding friendship.
"Hi, I'm Tenten, what's your name?" I chirped happily, delighted when she seemed to mirror my mood.
"I'm Rinai," she answered in a voice as delicate as Miyu's, but with enthusiasm that seemed to mirror my mood. "From the Yamanaka family." By the time she finished that, I was able to make out a flower in her hair as she turned her head towards me. Most in Konoha knew that Yamanaka was one of its lesser shinobi families, buteveryone knew of that family's enthusiasm, skill, and long tradition in flower-tending. The flower which I could now see fully was a testimony to that skill, for instead of looking like a simple flora placed on top of her charcoal curls, it seemed so alive and so in-place that one might mistake it to have sprouted of her head.
I would give all of my best kunais to learn that skill. Well, at least ten.
Awe-struck as I was for the flower amongst Rinai's hair, I immediately complimented her for it. That, in turn, seemed to visibly please her, and she thanked me for the compliment, smiling happily. It didn't take any more than that for us to quietly decide that we were going to sit next to each other for today, and if it depended on us, for the rest of our Academy years. By the time our teacher arrived, we were already chatting like we'd known each other for years.
"Hello everyone, and welcome to the Konoha ninja Academy," the silver-haired man said, immediately getting the attention of the people who had been too occupied to see his arrival. I remember looking up at our sensei, thinking how tall and impressive he looked - and of course thinking he was very old. I didn't learn in years that he in reality was only nineteen years old, a fresh teacher of the Academy. "I'm Enoden Mizuki, and I'm to be your sensei," Mizuki said with a serene, genuine smile. "I hope we're all going to get along."
At that point, at the sight of our seemingly nice teacher, and with a new friend sitting next to me, I felt the rest of my fears disappearing. For the first time, I dared to think I would be happy in the Academy.
I know what you're thinking. Yes, Mizuki did turn traitor, trying to steal Hokage-sama's forbidden scroll of techniques and trying to kill a fellow Academy teacher, Umino Iruka - who was, if rumours are anything to come by, a childhood friend no less! He also tried to kill an unfortunate Academy student, who was caught in the middle, but I'm not supposed to know, much less tell anything about it, for Konoha's secrets are a very hush hush thing - but I think you know who I mean anyway.
Anyway, as far as I saw it, Mizuki was a nice, friendly teacher who took most things thrown at him - proverbial and material - with good humour, but who also knew how to keep a bunch of seven-year-old students under his authority. He based his teaching - all of it - on showing much, speaking less, and mostly letting us try things on our own. Perhaps it wasn't a very scholarly way of teaching, making us draw - and colour, of course - the maps of the elemental countries when teaching about geography, or make us work in pairs and produce a small poem or a song based on the teachings of the First and Second Hokages, but he seemed to like this particular way of teaching. Plus, it did channel the bottled-up energy of a herd of seven-year-olds, I give him that. The only lessons where his strategy didn't fare so well were the basic chakra control exercises and the meditation that preceded it. It was simply too much for children to be patiently sitting still for even five minutes, let alone a whole lesson. But where his students' patience ended, his own came to the picture, and he would often come up with a way to keep the most impatient ones relatively still. He wasn't an Academy teacher for nothing.
Yes, I did like Mizuki. He was a good teacher, and a kind one at that - nowadays I know not many of the teachers held as much patience for their students as him or Umino Iruka, who was also one of the best chuunin in handling the children. I often find myself wondering what caused my silver-haired sensei to snap, and then, logically, go through my own memories to see if I had noticed anything that would've given away his change. Thankfully, I've yet to find a memory like that. I would probably choke on guilt if I did.
Apart from our teacher, the other person in the class who had become the subject of my liking - and secretly, awe - was my newest friend, Rinai. It was true that the name of her family had caught my interest; I mean, what girl wouldn't feel drawn to bright and beautiful flowers that had a scent sweeter than any other in the Fire Country? At least, that's what they claimed of Yamanakas' skills, and as I've come to learn, they weren't exaggerating very much. Even so, it was the charcoal-haired girl's personality that caused me to bond with her: She was a kind person, avoiding saying, much less doing, anything to other people that would hurt them, yet still she had a perfectly clear picture of her own worth and a healthy ego - she didn't take the sneers nor joking comments thrown at her well, and she often gave the spiteful kids a piece of her mind clearly and loudly. Rinai was a Yamanaka, after all, despite the dark hair that seemed to clash with the fact that most of her family had blondish hair. Just goes to show that marriages aren't so restricted amongst the lesser 'clans', lucky them.
To me, a plain girl with plain looks, who came out of a plain family and who easily got nervous in an unusual situation, Rinai was nothing short of an idol with her well-known family name, flowing black hair that was every day decorated with a beautiful flower, and self-esteem that would make anyone wonder about the state of their own. It was obvious that in our friendship, she was the ringleader and I was the underling - a fact that she never seemed to abuse, yet seemed to be perfectly aware of anyway.
As the first year in the Academy progressed, our class absorbed the mentality, principles, and ethics of a Konoha ninja like a sponge - much to our sensei's pleasure. His good nature and humour seemed to have an effect on us, too, and the atmosphere of our class gradually got warmer and warmer, making the Academy feel more like a place to meet our friends - some more well-known, some less - rather than a road to the hard life of a ninja. Again, I have to credit Mizuki, this time for fooling the group of youngsters so well.
Don't misunderstand me; I'm by no means praising how we were taught to become ninjas. In fact, now that I look back at it, I'm amazed at how sickening the principles of the Academy are: We train children in a warm, relaxed atmosphere, see them form bonds of friendship, learn things,grow - all the while teaching them to be loyal shinobis to Konoha, associating the principles, laws, codes, methods, techniques with the good and warm things they experience, teaching them that if you kill enemies of your village and even sacrifice yourself for it, you help preserve all the good and beautiful things in the world.
It's god-damn brainwashing! Brainwashing that produces Konoha shinobi, who are just as devoted to their village as they should be - to the death.
There's a fine line between treason and thinking with your own brains.
But, be that as it may, I can't hold it against my former sensei, or anyone else, really. The fault is in the system as of whole, not in its parts. And if we think that our world is the said system, the parts are many, and the fault is bad. I'm glad I didn't think that way back in the Academy; I would've probably been a damn moody kid and ruined the class for everyone else.
Ah, but where was I? You shouldn't let me wander off like that, you know, letting me ramble like a maniac…
As the first class of the Academy was drawing to an end, more serious matters were included into our education: Namely, physical exercises. Of course, actual ninjutsu and taijutsu training was still far off, but there were still numerous forms of exercise - some of which hidden inside games and other things more interesting to a child - that could be used to increase the raw stamina of the young ninja-to-be. Also, as an exception to the otherwise pacific physical education, we were taught to use the first and foremost weapon of a ninja.
A kunai.
"Alright, class, today's lesson is weapon training." We were outside, gathered on the backyard of the Academy. It was spring, and despite the sunshine, the weather was still far from warm, so most of us were wearing jumpsuits or other long-sleeved clothing. We had been playing catch for the last half an hour or so, which served as a warm-up, and when Mizuki announced that we were to do 'weapon training', he managed to immediately catch everyone's attention. Well, at least all the boys' attention. When Mizuki whipped out a kunai from his sleeve faster than eye could see, they were hanging to his every word. What was it with pointy and metallic objects that roused every youngster's fascination?
"This is a kunai, a ninja-knife," he began, not going to waste the temporary silence and absolute attention he had. "A kunai is a ninja's most important weapon and tool. It's light, durable, and endures blows from much heavier weapons. Learning to use it is easy, but mastering its use takes a huge load of work. All in all," he said, flinging the weapon in a seemingly relaxed way at one of the hay dummies. In an instant, everyone's eyes focused on it, and no one missed how it hit the bullseye. If we had been fascinated before, we were awe-struck now. I bet everyone wanted to have their hands on a kunai now. I sure as Hell did. "A kunai is going to become your most treasured possession as a ninja, along with your hitai-ite." With his last words, he touched the metallic plate on his forehead, and smiled. We were sold.
"Now, I have some blunt kunais for everyone here…" It didn't take anything else to get all of us swarming around Mizuki's feet, eagerly trying to get our own kunai from cardboard container. The next minute was spent on distributing the kunais evenly amongst us, and the next five teaching us the basics of its handling: grip, stance, how it is thrown, which end goes to the target, and so on. After that, we were told to pair up and practice throwing on the targets, or alternatively basic close combat on the dummies. I, of course, ended up paired with Rinai, and by sheer luck, we ended up facing a round target instead of a dummy. I've sometimes wondered if I had ended up somewhat different if it had been the other way round.
Rinai was the first one to have at the target, of course. Mimicking Mizuki's stance as closely as she could remember, she weighed the knife on her hands, eyeing the target with narrowed eyes as if it had been the worst bully of our class. She was, to put shortly, an impressive sight, and I was of course fascinated by her confident appearance. I was absolutely certain that she'd hit the bullseye with that determination. After all, it's the attitude that counts, right?
You can probably imagine my shock when her throw didn't even hit the target. Of course, you can't expect an eight-year-old child, who has had next to none training in wielding the kunai, much less throwing it, to come off with very staggering results. But, back then, we didn't - we couldn't - think it that way; To us, failure in something that seemed to be very easy to our sensei was humiliating and confusing.
"Shoot!" Rinai yelled as her knife dived in the thick, tall grass behind the target. "The wind must've caught it," she explained to me with a grin. I giggled, for both of us knew it was impossible. "Next one'll hit, I'm sure!" Taking the second kunai she had been given in her hand before dropping into a similar stance, complete with the facial gestures. Again, I was perfectly sure of my charcoal-haired friend's success. However, the second kunai ended just like the first, and Rinai stomped her foot angrily before turning to me. "You try now, Tenten!"
Uneasily, I walked to the spot she had previously occupied, and took a kunai into my hand. The target seemed to be so far, so tiny, and I suddenly didn't wonder at all why it had been so hard for Rinai to hit it. And, seriously, if she hadn't managed to do it, what chances did I have? Stealing a quick glance at her direction, I saw how she was looking at me with her hands crossed behind her back with an expecting smile. I knew she wouldn't mock me if I performed absolutely horribly - she never mocked anyone - but at the same time, I knew she wanted to see perform at least as well as she had. So, strengthening my resolve, I mimicked her stance the best I could, but couldn't bring myself to wear the same kind of face - that was just too much. Taking a careful aim, I concentrated on the middle of the target, and threw my kunai.
As soon as it had parted from my grasp, I just knew something was wrong. I couldn't identify what had gone wrong: the stance, the grip, the movement, but I knew that my knife wasn't going to even nick the target. My hunch was confirmed when the kunai sailed harmlessly past the target much like Rinai's, but this filled me with strange unease. How had I known the outcome immediately? As I looked at Rinai, my worry must've shown, for she said:
"Hey, don't worry about it! You'll do better with your next one!" Normally, I would've been right away cheered up by her support, but the throw bugged me for different reasons than what she thought. Weighing the second kunai on my left hand, I hesitated on throwing it. Would the same thing repeat itself?
"Tenten, let me point out a few things you could fix." Spinning my head at the direction of the familiar sound, I noticed Mizuki standing behind me. Obviously, he had witnessed my first throw, and suddenly I felt very embarrassed. Thankfully, he didn't mention anything about it. "Take your throwing stance again," he ordered gently, and I obeyed. Crouching at my side, Mizuki soon adjusted the position of my hand, the angle of my left and right knee, and a number of other things that seemed very minor to me. All the time, he explained the reasoning behind the alterations to my pose, how this would let my arm move more freely, how that would let me get more strength to my throw, and how this would be absolutely vital for the recovery from the throw. This went on for quite long.
"Mizuki-sensei," I complained. "I can't hold this much longer." My muscles were already starting to tremble from staying in the same, unfamiliar position for more than a minute.
"Oh, right." He stood up and pointed at the target. "Okay, try throwing now, keeping as many of those things I said to you in mind." Nodding, I relaxed for a few seconds before dropping into stance again, this time with Mizuki's corrections. And I threw.
I was surprised at how smoothly and easilythe piece of metal departed from my outstretched hand, and totally taken aback when I realized that those little things Mizuki had fixed really did make a difference. Again, a blink of an eye after I had thrown the kunai, I knew that it wasn't going to hit the target, but this time it wouldn't be so much off. Indeed, the knife missed the intended target, but this time only by an inch, whereas it had been more like a foot the last time.
"Very good, Tenten!" my sensei complimented me. "That was much better." It felt good, to be praised, but at the same time I felt guilty for getting so much attention, especially when Rinai was standing next to me. I quickly looked at her, but judging by the look on her face, it didn't seem to be bothering her as much as me. And when Mizuki asked me to get both of our kunais so that he could teach the same to Rinai too, I could see how her face lit up. Naturally, I dashed to the target to get our knives.
The next hour passed rather quickly, with me and Rinai taking turns on throwing four kunais in a row - she came up with the idea to combine our number of knives - at the target. In the end, she was pretty fed up with the whole practice, and gave all the kunais for me to throw, content on sitting next to me and watching me throw - she hadn't made much progress on her own throwing, and judging by the number of bored-looking kids on the yard, she wasn't the only one. As for myself, I was among the few who had actually scored a hit on the round targets, even though it didn't show - blunted kunais don't sink very easily into wooden targets. Because of my visible progress, I actually had the motivation to keep flinging the knives at the target 'til the end of the lesson. When Mizuki informed us that we should return to the class room for the calligraphy lessons, I found myself somewhat unhappy to leave the kunai practice behind, but my mood rose when he promised that we'd be doing kunai practice in the future too. And I just beamed when he assured that I could practice it on my own as well, as long as I told him of it.
How can I explain it, my immediate enthusiasm about throwing? I've known people who've been really passionate about painting, music, cooking, even something as silly as fishing - come on: fishing, in the land of Fire? - and I've seen how much it means to them. People who've really put their heart to their job always end up somewhere high, and enthusiastic devotees often end up with knowledge worthy of awe. Similarly like those people, I could tell I was interested in throwing, that I was passionate about it - only after one single hour we spent on the backyard of the Academy. How can I explain it, the sensation of the cold steel against my palm, the budding tension of my muscles, the feeling of repressed adrenaline as I aim, how throwing the lethal piece of metal in an elegant arc makes me feel like the most graceful thing on earth, my every sense concentrated on the kunai as it flies toward the target even though I somehow know that I did well… And then, the satisfaction and the euphoria when I my eyes confirm that I managed to hit my target.
How can I explain it? How can I explain it so that you understand, that you feel what I feel?
Perhaps I can't. Perhaps it isn't really meant to be put to words.
Let's just say I liked throwing things right from the start, okay?
When summer came and my first year in the Academy was over, I had gotten pretty well into the school; I had found a friend, had a good teacher, and had discovered that I was keenly interested in throwing. Of course, I hadn't forgotten that becoming a ninja could and most likely would put me in life-threatening danger, and I definitely hadn't forgotten what had happened to mother, but I had thought those things over less and less as my education had progressed.
Just so you know, there isn't actual summer vacation in the Konoha Ninja Academy - and not really any other vacations, either - like in civilian schools. Instead, the number of the obligatory lessons and exercises is cut down, and there are many kind of optional lessons in their place for those who want or have to practice their skills in chakra control, calligraphy, history, mathematics and physics, just to name a few. There are exercise hours on various subjects, ranging from basic physical exercises to taijutsu and ninjutsu training. The Academy even organizes hikes and weekend camping trips outside Konoha's walls - under strict supervision and led by skilled shinobis, of course. Even all though all optional, most of the students choose to attend to them so that days are just as long and draining as on seasons.
Most of those things are barred from eight-year-old children, though. Apart from the special people - namely, children of the major shinobi clans -, practically no one from our class was given additional training in ninjutsu or taijutsu, which was something most of us, especially boys really wanted to have. Instead, we were offered and encouraged to join the lessons of chakra control and theory behind ninja arts.
You can probably guess how excited we were about the idea of sitting in the dusty classroom listening the teacher's droning monologue about the fascinating world of chakra. Yup, we'd totally be there.
Miraculously, most of us chose to attend the physical exercise hours instead of the theory lessons. However, as much as a bundle of energy children are, you couldn't work them up all day, so the exercise hours never covered more than three hours of our day. After that, options were to attend the theory lessons or head home. There were those, of course, who were more content working themselves out 'til they dropped rather than choosing one of those options, most of whom boys, unsurprisingly - not many of us girls had as much physical strength or as much enthusiasm about physical training as the boys. In the end, most of us opted to go home.
Not me. Even though I was tired after the physical exercises and the day's lessons, I still had enough energy left for throwing - as if I'd ever run out of energy to do it. Thanks to Mizuki-sensei, I could have as much kunais as I wanted, and because there rarely were other children practicing in the afternoon, I often had all the targets just for me. Sometimes my silver-haired sensei came to supervise my throwing, correcting my technique and complimenting me, of which the former grew rarer and the latter more common as weeks passed. There were only two real downsides: I had no one of my own age to keep me company; Rinai - or any of the girls, really - didn't share my interest in throwing, and practicing with the boys seemed just icky - boy germs and all that. The second was that I eventually grew frustrated with the blunted knives: No matter how hard I threw, I just couldn't get them stick to the target. When I complained about this to my teacher, he explained that he wasn't allowed to give sharpened kunais to first grade students. He also hinted me not-so-subtly that he had no power over what I did home, however.
Back at that time, it was pretty obvious why the idea of training home had never even passed my mind. Ninjas, and all things related to them, were a sore subject there, and despite that I didn't avoid thinking about them as much as before, I still drew a clear line between my studies at the Academy and my life at home: No training there and no mourning at school. But as the realization that I could practice throwing, my passion, as much as I could home, that line became a lot more unclear.
Nonetheless, it took me over two weeks to gather up the courage and talk to father about setting up practice targets on our backyard for me to throw at. He didn't seem happy about the idea, but when I explained that it was more for my own interests than those of the Academy, he seemed to overcome his own sorrow enough to do as I asked. Getting sharp knives from him for me to throw, however, was an ordeal entirely of its own - let's just say that in the end, I got five kunais from him, and hope that ends really justify the means. Adding those pieces of metal with the ones I had gotten from my cousin, I had seven sharp, lethal kunais - all for me.
And of course I just had to cut my hand on one of them the first day I practiced. It took me a whole week to convince father that I would be more careful in the future.
Mind you, I've never cut my hand, or any other limb, on weapons of my own after that day.
Anyway, afterwards I was dang glad I made myself go through the whole hassle, for with the sharp kunais, throwing seemed to rise on a whole new level; It felt more real, more serious, no longer something that you'd teach to little children, but instead real, powerful,beautiful ninja arts. I was glad, no, ecstatic, to also notice my results rise along with the fascination - a week after I had started training with the real kunais, I hit my first bullseye.
I must've scared father and Miyu spitless with my triumphant cry.
It wasn't until a little later, when my joy had lessened, that I began to get depressed. Now that I had managed to get to the level I wanted and hit the bullseye, what was there more to achieve? The emptiness I suddenly felt was unbearable, and I nearly cried when I told about it in the dinner table. Thankfully, Miyu knew how to cheer me up. She asked me kindly how many throws I had made so far, to which I of course couldn't have answered - the number felt too enormous for me to understand. Then she asked how many bullseyes I had gotten. Sniffling, I answered truthfully, that I had gotten one. Her smile didn't hold any traces of mock when she pointed out that the ratio between my throws and bullseyes wasn't really good.
That silenced me immediately. Miyu didn't say anything more, but it was enough: The realization that I still had some work to do was already sinking in. When I realized just how much I could do to improve with my throwing, my eyes widened. I let out a delighted yell for the second time that day.
Damn those maternal instincts of yours, Miyu.
Needless to say, I practiced even more after that day, and when it was the time for me to enter the second grade, my skills had progressed up to the point where I could certainly get one bullseye out of every ten throws. That in itself was enough for me to begin the second year with fervour, just to show Mizuki-sensei and Rinai how much I had progressed.
It took me a while to get a chance to impress everyone with my skills. Right from the start, everyone could tell the second year was going to be a lot tougher than the first: Not only were the days longer, but they also consisted mostly of physical training and chakra control exercises. In addition, the few actual lessons we had were more and more about the drier and harder subjects, such as physics a ninja should know, and seal memorizing and their exercise. It was clear that we were being prepped for the ninjutsu and taijutsu training to come, and even though Mizuki did his best to soften the impact, the pressure and the pace of training was, bluntly put, hard on children as young as we.
It took two whole weeks before we had our first kunai practice of the year, and it didn't go as I had hoped. Again, we were given blunted kunais and again, Rinai was the first of the two of us to throw. And, yet again, she missed the target on both of her throws - to her defence it must be noted that so did many other child. But, as usual, she passed it with a shrug. When it came my turn to throw, however, I tossed the blunted kunais aside and took out a knife of my own from my pack, much to Rinai's shock and awe. I knew I didn't have much time before Mizuki-sensei would come and lecture me about taking sharp knives with me to school, so I did my best to aim and throw as quickly and accurately as possible.
It was a bullseye. I couldn't help myself, I just grinned wildly at my charcoal-haired friend who stared at me with her mouth open. For the first time ever, I saw admiration, a tinge of jealousy, and uncertainty in her eyes. When I threw again, and got a bullseye this time too - which was more luck than anything, I was still pretty ditzy from my previous success - the uncertainty in Rinai's eyes grew, and that's when I began to get worried. She was never uncertain. Even after Mizuki confiscated my knives for the rest of the day, thus thwarting my graceful success quite a bit, my friend remained uncharacteristically quite for a few hours, which in turn troubled me more than anything. It wasn't until lunchtime that she managed to get back into her confident self.
That was, unfortunately, just the beginning - the first loose stone that starts the avalanche. As the second grade progressed, Rinai started to become more and more uncertain, in both her nature and her performance. This, as you can probably guess, didn't go well with the gradually toughening education. I admit, I didn't do so well either, being only average or even below it: my chakra control was average for children my age, but below what kunoichis-in-training normally could do, and my chakra pool couldn't come anywhere near the sterner boys. I was average in the more scholarly subjects: calligraphy, history, geography, mathematics - but in turn, my knowledge and skill of hand-seals was amongst the lowest of our class, accompanied by Rinai and a few others. But, unlike my best friend, I had my throwing to boost my confidence - it didn't take me very long after the start of the Academy to realize that it was on much higher level than other kids' of our class. My charcoal-haired friend knew this, too, and it became more and more obvious after every kunai practice we had. Back then, I didn't realize exactly why my own throwing was so harmful for her ego, but I would've been blind not to notice the connection between them.
And I couldn't do a thing about it! I did my best to help her train her skills in projectiles, but it was obvious that she wasn't progressing as fast as she wanted - as fast as I had - and that only further deepened her worry. I even tried performing sloppier than usually once, but she saw through my bluff, and seemed to feel twice worse than usually. In the end, all I could think of was to cheer her up and try to seem spirited to keep her own hopes up, and that's what I ended up doing more and more as our education marched onward.
Sometimes around winter I realized that something had changed in our friendship. It happened when one of the loudmouthed boys of the back seat commented loudly on how 'useless' and 'weak' us girls were, using the two of us as an example: 'Just check those losers over there,' as he put it, pointing at our direction. In a flash, I had flung a half-empty scroll I had been painting on at him, and managed to hit him square in the forehead. Of course, this was followed my me yelling at him for being a 'sack of air' due to his boasting, an 'idiot' for viewing the girls like he did, and 'ugly' for, well, being ugly. I was rewarded with grumbling from his part and cheering from the other girls' part, except from the girl sitting next to me. As I looked at Rinai, I saw her smile widely at me, respect in her eyes for my courage.
It was then I realized that our roles had completely reversed: Her initial pride and confidence for her family name had been nearly completely wiped off by her lack of success, and the timidity and shyness I had borne when I had entered the Academy had been pushed aside to make room for my passion and skill in throwing kunais, as well as the need to stand strong to support my friend. She wasn't stupid - she knew it too, but I never asked what she thought about it.
Now that I think back to it, I don't think she minded. I knew I didn't. After all, we were still best friends when the second year ended, and that's what mattered.
When summer came and the number of lessons of the whole class was reduced, things changed. Rinai grew quieter, more distant, and her attention seemed to wander more and more often during the lessons. She didn't attend the exercise hours anymore, but opted for going home as soon as she had her completed her obligatory lessons for the day. That, in turn, gnawed at my morale to attend them, and I often went to the empty target range to do the only thing I could do alone, the only things I really wantedto do.
A week before the mid-summer training ended and the third grade would start, Rinai stopped attending the mandatory lessons. The same day I was approached by Mizuki-sensei.
"Tenten, could you please stay here? There's something I need to talk with you." Just the tone of my silver-haired teacher's voice was enough to stop me and sit on the closest vacant seat. The lesson had ended, and our class was moving outside for the physical education. My classmates gave me curious looks as they passed me. It's not very often Mizuki asked someone to stay in the class, and I wasn't known to stir trouble or otherwise do something that might earn me a lecture. But being the obedient girl I was, I sat still while the room emptied, leaving me to face my solemn-looking teacher.
"Tenten, you're probably wondering why Rinai isn't here today." Damn right I was - she never skipped lessons, and was rarely sick. As I nodded, Mizuki sighed wearily, and I could tell this wasn't his best day. "The thing is: she dropped out."
"What?!" I was leaning over the desk, supporting myself with my hands, eyes disbelieving and voice furious. I knew I should've controlled myself better, but that was just a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. My best friend had dropped out, given up! "Whaddya mean?! Why?!" Again, Mizuki sighed.
"I've talked with her and her parents about it along the year. Ever since from the beginning of the second grade, she has felt that becoming a ninja might not be the best option for her after all." I felt a lump form in my throat. It had been in the beginning of the year when I had shown her how much my throwing had improved. Did that mean that it was because of me…? No, it had to mean it was because of me…
Mizuki's eyes hardened slightly. He seemed to be able to know what I was thinking, because he shook his head. "Tenten, it's not your fault. Not to the slightest." Of course, one doesn't quiet down child's fears all that easily.
"But… If I hadn't… If I hadn't boasted…" In a matter of seconds, my teacher was next to me, crouching so that our faces were on the same level. He smiled.
"Tenten, without you, Rinai would've dropped out a long time ago. One of the reasons why she stayed in the Academy this long was because of you." I sniffled, fighting back tears. Why, why was I so emotional? "She often said: 'Tenten tries her best, and so should I. She always works so hard, but still tries to help me.' It was very nice of you to help her, Tenten." Mizuki-sensei stretched out his hand, patting me on the head gently. "I'm sure that she'll end up happy with her decision." Straightening up, he walked back to his desk, leaving me to chew on his words bitterly.
Decisions, decisions, it was always decisions that ended up taking people away from me! First mother, and now my best fried. When would people start caring for myhappiness? I clenched my fists, feeling my anger rise.
"Tenten." I snapped out of my irate thoughts at my teacher's stern voice. Looking up, I saw him looking more serious and stern than ever before. "It was her own decision, about her own life." I blushed, wondering how he had managed to know what I had been thinking - again. My gaze fell, and I felt horribly ashamed. Of course it was her own decision, of course she would care for her own well-being first. I would do, I had done the exact same thing. I had no right to feel angry or betrayed because of it.
"Sorry, Mizuki-sensei," I mumbled sombrely.
"I'm glad you see my point," he said, and I could hear from his voice that he was smiling. "And just because Rinai isn't an Academy student any longer doesn't mean you couldn't still be friends with her." I brightened up a bit at that, but somewhere deep inside me I knew it just wouldn't be the same. I nodded and smiled at my sensei nevertheless.
"Yeah, Mizuki-sensei." Our talk wasn't anywhere near finished, however.
"Tenten, there's something else I need to talk to you about." Again, his voice became more serious, and something that sounded like strained. "And this time it's just about you." I swallowed nervously. Mizuki sighed and rubbed his temples, gazing out of the window as he spoke. "I've seen just how good you've become with your throwing, and I haven't been the only one. Ever since I reported of your progress at the start of this year, you've been observed by other teachers as well. Oh, don't look so shocked," he commented with a smile upon seeing my surprised expression. I had thought I had always been alone when I had trained. "They wouldn't be very much of a ninja if they let an Academy student spot them, now would they?" This time I bet his smile was more because of my irritated blush than anything. No child likes to be underrated. Then he became all serious and business-like again.
"Tenten, there's a system here you, or any other student, haven't been told about." Oh, I just loved secrets. Grabbing a chalk, he turned to the board and started to draw symbols. "It goes like this: The Academy starts taking in students at the age of seven, like you and the rest of the class. You're then taught for five years, and you should graduate at the age of twelve." Mizuki drew a circle on the board and an arrow pointing up on it, and then drew a horizontal line on where the arrow ended, writing 'genin' next to it. "However, that's not all of it. The Academy accepts students as early as at the age of four, under the condition that children are from a major clan of Konoha, or that they have enormous potential. These students' education will be physically much tougher, in addition to the training that they often get home, and their days are longer. Still," Mizuki said, drawing a square on the board, lower than the circle, and an arrow on it, which ended on the genin-line as well. "These students will graduate and become official Konoha-nin at the age of twelve like other students - save for a few exceptions who manage to graduate earlier."
"Like?" I interrupted, my curiosity taking the better of me. There's a limit of how long a little girl can stay silent. Mizuki smiled slightly.
"Well, there have been a few children who've been called geniuses of their age group, and even as gifted as prodigies. But they're not-"
"Prawdigeez?" I tried to repeat the unfamiliar world. Mizuki-sensei's smile only widened.
"Pro-di-gy," he told me slowly. "A wonder-child; Someone who is very specially gifted and powerful. Someone special," he concluded, nodding as in agreeing with himself. "But you don't really have to know of them until you're older." He raised his chalk again, trying to continue his explanation, but I wouldn't let him to. Not now, when he had piqued my curiosity.
"But I wanna know! Tell me of them, I bet it's a good story!" My teacher sighed, and I thought at first that he was going to refuse and 'tell me later'. Instead, however, a different kind of emotion passed over his face before he smiled again. Cunningness.
"Alright, Tenten, I'll tell you."
Now, when I told you that my teacher wasn't a very scholarly type of teacher, I didn't mean to say that he didn't like speaking. No, it was the quite the opposite: When Mizuki noticed that he had the full attention of his pupils, he used it to the fullest, and spoke as much as he could, for he knew that the attention wouldn't hold for very long. Sitting there in that classroom with only my teacher, he had no trouble holding my attention, and there was nothing holding his tongue back. He spoke to me of the major clans, naming the Hyuugas as the most powerful and largest - now that its biggest competitor, the Uchiha clan had been almost wiped out -, and how many of their children ended up enlisted to the Academy at the age of four and graduated with the highest numbers. He told me of the medium-sized clans and of their repertoire of success; the Aburames, the Inuzukas, the Naras, Akimichis, Yamanakas and how their offspring had formed some of the most powerful teams and shinobis of Konoha. He also told me of the geniuses that rose from seemingly minor families, making an example of the legendary White Fang and his son, Hatake Kakashi, who had an his impressive record; Genin at the age of five, chuunin at six, jounin at eight, and an ANBU captain at the age of fourteen. But, most importantly, he told me of the three Sannin:
"The three children were the first prodigies of Konoha, and their value to the young hidden village was very soon realized. In order to make them as skilled and powerful as possible, they were placed under the guidance and training of the Third Hokage himself." I listened, no; I hung on Mizuki's every word as he detailed the trio to me: Jiraiya, the boy with an inextinguishable spirit, a keen understanding of the five elements - a genius of seal-making and the summoner of toads. Orochimaru, the pale-faced youngster who seemed to inherit his teacher's complicated mind with the ability to memorize a countless number of techniques - the strongest summoner of snakes to have ever lived. And then there was, of course…
"Tsunade, dubbed as 'The Princess' for her royal blood: She's the granddaughter of the First, and the niece of the Second. She has invented and developed most of the medical ninjutsu medic-nins use up to this day, and greatly affected the system behind determining ninja teams, making them more flexible and efficient. What's more, she has a flawless chakra control and is well-known for her raw strength that can be matched by no one, not even the strongest shinobi. She's everything a kunoichi should be." Mizuki was smiling, eyeing me as if to measure how well his speech had sunk into me. He probably wasn't disappointed when I let out an unbelieving yell.
"Wow, everything?!" I was completely awed. Mizuki was a sneaky man: At first, he had told me the tales of young men prodigies who had achieved much and gained much fame, and had left the Toad Sannin, the fabled Tsunade-hime last like a cherry on top.
"Yes, Tenten, everything," he confirmed, smiling. "She's a perfect kunoichi, worthy of becoming any girl's idol." There, that was the icing on the cake. And I swallowed the thing whole.
"She's so awesome!" I exclaimed. "I'm going to become just like her!" Mizuki's smile widened. The trap had been sprung.
"That's a good goal, but it requires a lot of work. Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" I hesitated a bit. I was by no means a genius like Tsunade or any other prodigy, and that showed in my every grade. Well, save for in one. I mimicked my teacher's smile.
"Yeah!" I pulled out a kunai, pointing it upwards. "I'll do the same with throwing Tsunade-hime did with chakra control! I'll master it completely!"
"That's the spirit!" Mizuki said, mirroring my enthusiasm, before his look became sorrowful. "But, Tenten, I'm afraid I'm not skilled enough as a teacher to help you get there."
"Wah?!" I asked disbelievingly. Mizuki-sensei was the best; he was my teacher after all. It just didn't fit into my mind that he wouldn't be skilled enough. He smiled. He liked to smile.
"I'm specialized as teacher of young children, you see. Your skill with kunai is already above what I normally face, and I have to go along with your other classmates, because they are the ones I can teach." He shook his head. "Tenten, if it were to that skill alone, you would've already graduated." My eyes widened. Sure, Mizuki had always complimented on my throwing, but to hear this…? This was beyond any pride I could feel. And there was still more to come.
"You're a genius when it comes to throwing, and your hard work is only adding to that. With it, I believe you truly can become like Tsunade-hime. But, like I said, not with me holding you down." So, what Mizuki was saying was that… He wouldn't teach me with throwing?
"You mean I'm going to get a second teacher?" I asked, puzzled by my teacher's words. He shook his head and turned back on the board.
"The system we have here in the Academy also allows students, who have begun their education at the age of seven, to move to the class of the students who have begun earlier. This will often happen if the student has shown skills and potential clearly above rest of their class, or," drawing an arrow from the circle to square, Mizuki turned to face me again. "Have been noticed to possess exceptional abilities in some particular ground. Like you." My eyes widened as the picture sank in.
"You mean, you're going to move me to a different class?" I blurted out, almost accusingly. Again, he shook his head.
"The decision is entirely yours, Tenten. I'm not moving you anywhere, and I'd be glad to teach you until you graduate." The silver-haired man let out a weary sigh. "But, like I've said, you've got potential, and I'm holding you down. This is how the system works in Konoha." He turned his head to gaze out of the window again, letting the afternoon soon bathe on his face. I absently realized just how much I had been sitting in the classroom, for the lesson had ended about one hour after noon. "Skilled ninja are our most valuable resource, and Konoha hates her resources go wasted. But, just as much, she hates to see her children pressed to do something they don't like." At that point, I wasn't sure whether he was talking to me or himself. "So, that's why you're given a choice. You can choose to stay under my tutoring, or opt for the higher grade. I won't lie to you, Tenten; It's going to be tough in there, but with hard work, I know you can make it work. But," with a smirk, Mizuki used his trump card. "In there, you can also reach your goal. In there, you truly have a chance to become a strong kunoichi like Tsunade-hime!"
The silence stretched on for more than a minute, with me thinking over the idea and Mizuki observing me. I silently hoped he didn't want me to answer right away - because I was sure I couldn't! To make a choice between familiar and safe but most likely in the end harmful, and unknown and hard but in the end rewarding on the spot wasn't just hard, it was pretty darn impossible! Thankfully, Mizuki knew this too.
"I've already informed your father and step-mother about the situation," my teacher said, putting the papers on his desk in order as he spoke. "And that I would talk about it with you." Scribbling something on an official-looking paper, he glanced at me a few times. "I'm going to pull you off from the lessons and training hours for the rest of this year. I know it's hard, but I'd like you to come up with a decision about how to continue in that time. That is, in a week." Smiling, he handed me a few scrolls. "Here, these scrolls contain the things you should know and the techniques you should handle in the upper class. They're above what you've been taught so far, but I'd like you to read them and decide if you're capable of learning them." Taking the scrolls, I was silently afraid of their size; They seemed double the length my normal scrolls. Again, Mizuki gave me a taste of his psychic-like skills. "Oh, don't worry, you don't have to learn them in a week: The teachers will be much easy-working on students such as you - but that isn't going to last forever, just so you know. Eventually, you will have to learn what's in those scrolls, and even master them at some point. But," the silver-haired man did his best to calm my fearful look. "Like I've said, hard work is all you need, and I know you're capable of that." Mizuki fell silent, and then sighed, looking at me sorrowfully.
"If you decide to continue here, come to this class when the new school year begins. But if you choose the other option, go to class 5A." Putting the scrolls silently in my bag, I stood up, thoughts swirling in my head. I had already slid the door open when my teacher's voice interrupted me.
"Remember what I said about one's own decisions." I looked over my shoulder at my teacher, who was looking at me with a genuine, supportive,fatherly smile on his face. "Remember that whatever you choose, I will support your decision, Tenten-chan." I blinked before nodding and hurrying out of the doorway. I had never heard Mizuki-sensei use suffixes before.
Despite that father and Miyu knew of what I had been offered, we never talked about it at home. They, too, would abide to whatever I ended up deciding. In the end, the decision was all mine to make, and there was no one I could ask for help. In the end, all I had were the scrolls containing the more advanced techniques and higher level information, and my jumbled mass of thoughts. And, let's be honest, it was going to be the latter which would determine my decision. The content on the scrolls was intimidating, yes, but I was confident in my own skills and Mizuki's words, and was positive I could hone my skills to the level they required. The only difference, of course, was the scroll of kunai and throwing techniques. As I first gazed upon it, I felt throat catch up in my throat and my hands tremble, but not because of fear - it was the sheer excitement that coursed through my veins.
Shurikens, senbons, fuuma windmills, hand scythes, wires, explosives - oh, my! The scroll opened my eyes to the fact that kunai, even though a primary projectile of the ninja, was only the tip of the iceberg. The number of the throwing weapons a ninja could use was formidable, their different uses staggering, and their potential combinations was nearly infinite! My excitement must've been obvious, for father let me have a number of shurikens and other projectiles from his workshop without objecting much. For the next few days, all I did was train, chopping three wooden targets to splinters and simply shreddingfour target dummies to pieces in my fervour.
That's how I wasted six out of the seven days I had been given.
On the seventh day, the reality came crashing down on me, and I began to fret over my decision. A week had seemed like more than enough time, but who could've known I would lose myself so totally in throwing?
Don't answer.
In the end, the scales ended up in a stalemate, with my passion, and my newly-found goal to improve it to the level where I could be reckoned as powerful as Tsunade in the one cup, and Mizuki-sensei along with the rest of my class in the other cup.
And it was threateningly weighing to the first option's direction, because I knew my dear friend Rinai was no longer going to be with me even if I opted for staying with my old class.
As I marched into the Academy, ready to begin my third year, I felt my goals change. Graduation no longer felt so important. Getting my hitai-ite didn't seem like such an important milestone anymore. I wanted to get stronger, I wanted to become better at throwing, I wanted to become as good kunoichi as Tsunade. Becoming a genin just wasn't satisfying enough any longer. Being in a genin team just seemed like a hindrance to me.
As I walked into the classroom, ten minutes before the first lesson would start, I noticed how I became the centre of attention - just like I had become the first day when I had become my studies. This time, however, there was not so much curiosity as there was inspecting and weighing. There wasn't a single pair of eyes that held similar friendly, accepting warmth like Rinai's had. In its place, there was coolness and questioning, hostility and silent sneering.
I didn't want to be put in a genin team without Rinai.
I didn't want to graduate without having Mizuki-sensei tie the hitai-ite around my head.
Yet as I challenged the cold gazes with a steady glare of my own, holding my head high and sitting down on an entirely vacant seat without a trace of hesitation, I realized this was how things were going to be. There was going to be no fatherly Mizuki-sensei, and no gentle Rinai. This was my decision of how things were going to be.
And if these prodigies, geniuses, and children of the major clans didn't like that, they could go bite dust, for 5A was now my class too.