This is going to be the only quick update. Expect future ones to come at a very slow rate. For thos of you who read the first chapter and went "WTF?," I hope this will apease you a bit. Expect character building in the next chapter and the pot in the story after. I mean plot. No drugs involved.
Also, who can name the girl yet? I've got money with a friend that says no one gets it 'till I give the characters names.
Welcome to a new day. The sun is shining, the air is sweet, a breeze is blowing, and the grass is glistening. Who should we watch on this fine day? Why, who else but our favorite young man. We see him now, waking to the sounds of an obnoxiously loud alarm clock. With an amazing display of strength the young man doesn't destroy the blaring machine. He stops the hammer and begins to move towards his kitchen. There is no rush today. There won't be any class for another two months. That meant he had around sixty days to train and become stronger. He was going to accomplish his dream; failing wasn't even an option. No, it was merely a matter of long it would take. Patience was a virtue, one that he happened to lack. Tediousness, however, he had down to an art form.
Again, shall we skip forward in time? I have no desire to watch the boy spend an hour getting ready for his day. We need not to see him eat, bathe, change, brush, and relive himself. Instead we see the young man drabbed in his orange getup again, making his way for the front door. He is planning on visiting a nearby training area, one that is seldom used by teams. This is normal for him. He tries to send a few blades through the air and prays that they embed themselves into trees. Accuracy wasn't a strong point for the young man, so he instead goes for quantity. He can throw around a dozen pointy objects and at least two will hit their target.
He then tries to work on his almost nonexistent taijutsu. His disgruntled style is more suited for a drunk out on the street than for a shinobi in-training. There was little he could do, however, having no one to practice with and no one willing to teach him. There is only so much to be gained by kicking a log. After he reaches fifty punches with each hand and fifty kicks with each leg he plans to move on to his jutsus.
Now this was the part that the young man loves. Of the few jutsus he knew, two he can perform to near perfection. We watch as the young man disappears in a puff of smoke and in his place there is a naked young woman. Clouds of smoke protect her decency, but only barely. We are seeing this girl for the first time and continue to look as the girl strikes a few suggestive posses. The girl disappears in a puff of smoke and reveals the young man again, now with a sly smile on his face. That was his Oiroke no Jutsu, a variant of the Henge no Jutsu. The Henge no Jutsu transforms the user into anything the user sees. The young man we have been following has perfected this technique to be able to transform into anything he chooses, usually a nude female. A mixed blessing for his teachers to say the least.
In another puff of smoke, the young man disappears and reveals a log. The young man is now hiding where the log was by use of the Kawarimi no Jutsu, a body replacement technique that switches the user with something of near equal mass and volume, usually at least half and at most double. The young man is proficient at this skill, but is by no means a master.
The young man now has two jutsus to practice, neither of which he likes. There is the Nawanuke no Jutsu, or rope escape technique, and the Bunshin no Jutsu. Because the young man couldn't really tie himself up he was forced to practice his bunshins. We can watch all we want, nothing is going to change. Each time the young man will form the needed hand seals to perform the technique and each time he will gather the needed chakara and each time he will yell out the techniques name and each time a single sickly clone will appear next to the young man. It was kind of sad in a way, much like watching a starving dog gnaw on a rubber bone.
Shall we leave this young man and let him run his course for the moment? I believe we shall. Again we take to the sky and the birds eye view of things. We are looking for familiar faces. Shall we look at the man standing before the inscribed stone? How about the young girl helping her mother clip flowers? Or maybe the young man who's voice we had heard along with his sensei? Instead we see a young girl with a face we've seen. Should we zoom in for a closer look?
Now that we can see her, would you like to know what she looks like? Of course you would. If we look closely, which is the only way worth looking, we can see two small yellow balls attached to a hair clip in her long, brown hair. The hair cascading down the left side of her head is held together with a yellow ponytail. The right side hangs freely. Across her forehead is a blank piece of metal attached to a blue headband. Moving down we see a pair of eyes, colored with a mix of hazel and honey brown. Moving even further down, the girl appears to be wearing several shirts, the one closest to her skin being an off-white color, moving on to a dirty yellow and finally a purplish blue. This final and oddly colored shit covers her entire right arm while her left is cut off before her elbow, revealing the slightest bit of fish netting.
Should we look lower on her person? If she were able to see us, she might think us indecent. Let our eyes fall lower anyways. Holding her shirts closed is a pink sash around her entire midriff. She also appears to be wearing a slitted blue skirt, slightly lighter than her shirt. The skirt cuts off a few inches before her knees, again revealing a good inch of fish netting traveling down her legs. She is bare from here to her feet, which are clad in a pair of brown sandals that cover her ankles.
I have left out the most important part of her appearance, though. What might it be? I could tell you, but that would destroy the fun. Maybe when she meets someone whom we know they will be kind enough to tell you, as I will not. I will tell you, however, that this girl is going back to the dojo at which she practices. Her sensei is waiting. It would not do to be late.
Exhausted and crestfallen, our favorite young man trudges home. He has failed to make a single able bodied bunshin. His eyes are drooped and his feet drag across the ground. Failure can be rather disheartening. We watch as he makes his way to his favorite part of the city: The ramen stand. The very thought of a nice, warm bowl of sweet-smelling, soupy ramen raises the young man's spirits considerably. There are few things that a meal loaded with fats and a few smiling faces can't cure.
As has been his practice for the longest time, the young man hides any trace of tiredness or exhaustion from all those around him. He had long since learned that showing weakness made enemies feel stronger, perhaps strong enough to remove their enemy. It also did no good for his few friends to see him tired. The two that he had would fuss over him and make him more than uncomfortable. He loves the spotlight, to be sure, but having his temperature checked with the back of a hand gets tiring after a few dozen times.
He quickly turns into a little ball of sunshine, smiling constantly and positively beaming at anyone who looks at the young man with the slightest bit of contempt. So long as a single person did not step forward to start the attack no one would dare lay a finger on the boy. To be part of a mob is one thing; to initiate one is something else completely. With none to oppose him, the young man makes his way to his favorite ramen stand: Ichiraku's.
He works his way to the ramen stand while dodging any blocks that he knows inhabit some of the few that will fight him without regard for their own safety. We al know that it's best to avoid such people. The stand is before our very eyes and the young man hops onto the closest barstool. He is greeted by a young women's smiling face and a cheerful greeting for the kitchen in back. Grinning to himself, the young man places his order.
Duck, bob, dart, jump, twist, throw. We see how the girl tries to out-maneuver her opponent. The women she faces easily pulls the blades from the air and flings them back at their owner. The girl's eyes widen and she falls over backwards to prevent any serious damage. Before she is able to arise a sharp blade is pressed against her throat. We can see the girl's body go limp as she admits surrender.
"Again." Her opponent speaks as the blade is removed from her neck and the girl is allowed to stand. As she readies herself the sun catches off of her forehead. It glistens, showing the thin layer of perspiration pouring down her face. We can hear the girl panting and can we can see that her stance is weak, her back slouched and legs shaking. It is clear that she is tired and is on the brink of exhaustion.
She charges her opponent without warning. There is a kunai in her closed fist, clearly ready to be used as a blade rather than a projectile. Her empty hand presses against the ground and allows the girl to leap over her opponent and land behind her opponent's back. Without another moments thought, the young girl drives her blade into the small of the back on her opponent. Her target then disappears in a cloud of smoke and reveals a potted plant. To be more specific, the potted plant that was in the corner of the dojo only a moment before had suddenly replaced her opponent.
Suddenly, the young girl's eyes begin to empty. She falls to the floor, oblivious to the world around her. Her opponent quickly rushes over to the fallen girl and props her up against a wall. Her opponent kneels beside the collapsed girl and reaches for one of the smelling salts on their persons, placing it just a little below the fallen girl's nose. Life enters the girl's eyes again. As she gathers her senses, we notice that she seems embarrassed by her current condition. The girl looks at her opponent sheepishly. Her opponent looks at the girl crossly.
"I told you not to push yourself. If this was too much for you to take you should have said something. I don't want you to end up dead." The girl's opponent speaks firmly and without pity. The girl forfeited any right to pity when she did something as foolish as pushing herself past her limits. The girl against the wall has the good grace to blush.
"I apologize, sensei. I thought I could go longer, but I can see now that I was overconfident." The girl speaks in a soft, quite voice, barely able to be heard. If the girl was any meeker she would probably be confused with the furniture. It seems as if the girl is able to shrink into herself. In a way she does as she pulls her legs in and wraps her arms around them, pulling them even closer. Her opponent, now known as her sensei, sighs. The girl sees her opponent's head drops as words begin to come from her sensei's mouth.
"Just go home and rest. And make sure this doesn't happen again." The girl's sensei stands, allowing the girl to stand. She does so, shame clearly evident on her face. The girl didn't want to disappoint, but it seems as if that is all she can do. Tears fall silently from her face as the girl makes her way home.
It is getting dark. We need to stick closer to our favorite young man if we don't wish to lose him. He is radiating with happiness as he does every time he comes home from Ichiraku's. Few things are able to raise the young man's spirits as a trip to the only two people in the village that care about him. To be fare, the Hokage came by sometimes, but the young man believed this to be more out of duty than actual concern. After all, a Hokage was supposed to treat everyone in his village with love and compassion, or something along those lines. Maybe skipping school so often did have negative repercussions. Oh well, there is no use in thinking about that now.
We see the young man enter his home to go to sleep. We wait outside his door for him to exit. Expect to wait several hours as the young man enjoys sleeping in and has no appointments for tomorrow. So we will wait, and wait, and wait. At around eight in the morning an orange blur sprints out the doorway and down the hall. We have to race to catch up with it and finally see it stop in the same training area as the day before. The young man prepares his training regiment again.
Today will be the boy's fifth day following this routine and the young man is, quite honestly, getting restless. I have not yet told you of the boy's mischievous side, but now you are warned that it is a rather large part of the young man we see before us. To be frank, the young man despises repetition with a passion. Some of the first years of his life involved a rather unpleasant cycle that he was forced to follow and he has since detested any form of organized recurrence. To combat this distaste, the young man has broken as many daily routines as possible. While in school, he skipped random days and sometimes left in the middle of class. He never did his homework in the same place and never at the same time as the day before. He always slept in odd positions and rearranged his fridge every night so he would have to consciously dig through to find the food he wanted.
It is easy to guess that the young man's training pattern is beginning to frustrate him. Sure, he could change the order, but the spirit of the thing is still there. Today is going to take a break, but first he must think of what he plans to do instead. This training ground is one of the places he comes to think. The other two places are down by a river just outside the residential area of the village and on top of the fourth Hokage's head. No, it's not what it sounds like. One of the most disgusting features of the village is the set of four giant heads carved into the side of a cliff at the village's back. Each head belonged to a Hokage. They were and are the village's leaders. Of the four village leaders, there is only one still alive. This would be the third, or Sandaime. The first, second, and fourth have all passed away. Of the four, the fourth was arguably the strongest Hokage. It is atop the carving of this man's head that our young man sits to think.
If we had been watching the young man, we would have seen that he had already made his way to the top of the man's head. He is sprawled out on the ground, arms and legs stretched as far apart as possible. With a large yawn, the young man lets his head fall to the ground with a soft thud. There is no one anywhere near this secluded area. No one to throw cold glares, no one to spit at him, no one to yell strange obscenities at him, no one to hit him, and no one to simply pretend he doesn't exist. This was paradise. If left to his own devices the young man would live here, never coming down unless it was to visit Ichiraku's. That would be the life.
He would never be aloud to live on the precious monument though. So instead he lived in a worn down apartment with a leaky sink and rotten floor boards. Ahh, the life he lived. The eleven-year-old young man doesn't dwell on this and instead thinks of how perfect this one moment is, of how peaceful it is just to lay on his back on the soft grass and look up to the sky and watch the birds scatter and the rain clouds move.
Rain clouds.
Crap.
We hear a crack of thunder and see a flash of lightning. The world seems to stop for a moment. Then the world comes crashing around our heads. The rain doesn't fall; it pours. The thunder doesn't crack; it booms. The lightning doesn't flash; it blazes. The young man sprints to get out of the rain that is dumping loads onto his head. Raising his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself, the young man runs. His home is across the village and Ichiraku's isn't any closer. He either had to find a new shelter or allow himself to get soaked. Great options.
The young man is dashing aimlessly and we are right behind him. His jacket is being weighed down with water and the young man decides to discard it, knowing he could come back for it later. Why would someone be walking the streets to even be able to find it? With a quick zip the orange jacket is tossed over his shoulder and out of our story. It may reappear, or it may not. As it is, the young man is running down the street with a damp, black T-shirt and a pair of soaked pants. The water had even soaked down to his boxers, causing it to become rather uncomfortable to run.
Seeing an open dojo, the young man hurries inside.
A young girl is running away from her home. No, she is not running away. It just so happens that this girl is caught up in the same storm as the young man was. She knew she shouldn't be out in the rain; she could catch pneumonia and die, or perhaps something close to that. Chances are that her sensei hadn't even bothered to show up, not expecting the young girl to show up for her lessons. To be honest, the young girl wouldn't be going if the dojo wasn't closer than her house. She had walked over half the distance now; it would be foolish to run back. She would wait in the dojo until the rain let up and then she would go home. We watch her back as she runs for her training dojo.
The young girl should be thankful for her clothing. Her several shirts, though thin, are enough to protect her decency. That's good, because the water is falling faster than the stock market on Black Friday. Okay, that was a bad metaphor. The point is that no one could take three steps out their door without being assaulted with water and left wringing a small stream from their clothing. The young girl we are following has taken more than a few steps. Several blocks is more like it.
One arm is held above her eyes in an attempt to shield them from the downpour. This is met with limited success as the young girl can see if she squints her eyes. Regardless, the young girl is very much running blindly, so it is no surprise when she slips and falls. Her legs are thrown out in front of her, trapped in some oddly colored piece of fabric, and falls on her butt right in the middle of a puddle. With frustrated movements, the young girl pulls the material from her feet and then stands. She takes a few moments to examine it and discovers it to be a jacket, more specifically, a soggy, worn, and discarded orange jacket. The jacket is used as an umbrella above the young girl's head as she continues to make her way to her dojo.
We are no more than a block away when the young girl has her dojo in sight. Oddly, there is a set of wet footprints leading into the building. Who would be out here at a time like this? Her sensei? The girl doubted it, but remained hopeful none the less. Her steps became bounds as she rushed forward with anticipation. She thrust open the door and was about to come inside when a pair of blue eyes stared her in the face.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
