Disclaimer: Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto.
III.
To say that Mitama wished to attend the Academy solely for the chance to live alone would be a lie.
Explaining the exact reason would be impossible—it was merely a feeling that dwelled deep down in her soul. Her path was that of shinobi, a path muddled with darkness, death and sorrow but also irradiated with strength, pride and glory. Even as her heart beat rapidly with disquiet, Mitama knew the path she were to walk; she could not see herself following any other.
It was intrinsic, inscribed within every fiber of her being.
Doing anything else was not an option for her.
It scared her sometimes, feeling the things that she felt and knowing the things that she knew but not knowing how and why she knew and felt them.
Sakumo-san had been kind—just as usual—and treated her to a filling and tasty dinner of gyūtan at Yakiniku Q. Afterwards, they dropped by a local textile shop at her request to pick up some sheets for bedding and, when they were finished, the grey-haired man led her back to her fourth floor apartment.
Hours later, Mitama spent her first night in her apartment on the balcony counting stars while wrapped up in her newly-purchased tacky, multicolored quilt that Sakumo-san had picked out and gotten for her.
In the early morning, she shook off the vestiges of exhaustion that clung to her and allowed herself a moment to properly take note of her apartment.
Dust and cobwebs were aplenty, as previously noted. Refrigerator and cupboards were bare. Dressers and closets were empty. Her bed had sheets but she was reluctant to spread them over the mattress without proper cleaning.
She let out a sigh as she headed towards the shower; she had a lot of work to do within the span of a week.
Her goal had been time-consuming but ultimately amounted to purchasing the multiple necessities needed for comfortable, cleanly living and turning her house into a proper home for a budding kunoichi-in-training.
Her first stop had been to the Administration Building where, after showing her papers, she picked up her monthly stipend of five thousand ryō. Considering that all her utilities were paid by the village, five thousand ryō was quite a bit of money for her to spend through—especially at the age of six and without parental supervision.
She couldn't help but think it rather irresponsible to allow a child so young to have full reign over their own finances but Mitama was not one to question village politics and policies.
Her first purchase had been a cheap but decidedly pretty violet coin pouch that she had tucked into her blue obi for safe keeping and a store-bought miso onigiri that made her grimace in distaste.
The rest of her days seemed to fly by once she began to seek out stores, compare various prices, purchase items and drag them back to her fourth floor apartment with heavy, fatigued arms and legs. Cleaning items and household products were plentiful in Mitama's apartment—a chūnin was scheduled to inspect her living quarters the day before her first at the Academy. By the time she finished scrubbing and polishing, the girl was sure she had had a stroke and suffered from a hernia and, she knew it to be an odd moment when she welcomed sleep that evening.
It did not end well. Not when she awoke with a scream locked in her throat from being bisected.
Shopping for clothes and school supplies had been a reprieve for her tired body. Text books and work sheets were provided by the Academy; all Mitama herself really needed to buy were pencils, erasers, brushes and note scrolls, all of which had been available at a convenience store a short distance from home.
Clothing was easy enough to purchase as well—the Academy didn't have a mandatory dress code but there were suggestions on suitable apparel included. Unlike Gakuen Kareha, the Academy was a military training institute and was guaranteed to have practical activities that resulted in dirtied and damaged clothing. Cotton linen fabric was highly recommended for its durability and comfort; mesh material as well was suggested for a similar reason. Girls were urged to wear shorts of some kind if they preferred dresses and skirts—or, at the very least, stockings or leggings to avoid compromising their dignity.
What Mitama really stocked up on was food. The Academy had a nutrition guide, detailing the various food groups and nutrients she'd need for her body to grow healthy and strong. The girl paid careful attention—her body was frail, weak and the gods knew she'd need all the help she could get to build muscle and stamina.
She stared at her thin, wimpy arms in loathing.
Mitama stared at the small table full of food, too much for her small stomach. She regretted letting gluttony get the best of her. She out a soft, dismal sigh as she cleaned off her metal chopsticks with a cloth.
A beat of silence passed before something moved in her peripheral.
She could see them eating with her, there in the corner of her eye.
Her mother. Her father. Sakumo-san. Even Ayako and Genbu.
"Itadakimasu."
She enjoyed being alone but even she couldn't stop the forlorn feelings that roiled in her chest.
Her lips pursed as she wrung her hands together, anxiously watching the familiar chūnin, Ayako, run a finger over her dresser, looking for any bit of unacceptable dust to prove Mitama's inability to keep a clean space. When she found none, she gave a curt nod, scribbling something down on her clipboard before moving over to the sable-eyed girl's almost overflowing refrigerator.
"An adequate job." The blonde chūnin said. "I have seen better spaces but I have also seen worse."
Mitama let out a soft sigh of relief but still her eyebrows knitted with worry. She had known she would pass the inspection.
There was another, completely different matter on her mind that distracted her.
"You are nervous." Ayako stated blandly, tucking her papers under an arm. "Most clan less children are; the Academy is nothing like its counterpart."
Her head tilted and she leveled Ayako with a neutral look.
The woman was correct. The Academy and Gakuen Kareha were two completely different entities, almost on two separate planes of existence. The girl had felt it the moment she had stepped into the lofty establishment for testing; there was an intimidating prestige that clung to the painted walls and oaken floors—the sense that a pitiable girl like her didn't deserve to walk its halls. Gakuen Kareha, on the other hand, had been innocuous and warm, blending in perfectly with Konohagakure's bright and friendly scenery. The civilian school had been blissful and innocent, almost ignorant and mindless in a way.
"I find it interesting that a child who watched her village burn to the ground is faltering at the prospect of going to school." The chūnin arched a brow, looking down at the girl with indifference. "I suggest you get your emotions under control, child. Genbu has hopes much too high for a child like you but, for some reason, I thought it wise to get myself involved. Now, barely a month later, my name has already been associated with yours." Her turquoise eyes darkened, lips thinning as she moved towards the door. "I suggest you do all that is necessary to prove Genbu and me right—or there will be consequences."
She dipped her head, trying futilely to calm her clenching stomach. The last thing Mitama needed was someone threatening her—and it was an unnecessary threat at that. The girl was more than intelligent enough to know that her performance impacted more than just herself; two shinobi vouching for a miserable, hick orphan of a little girl to be accepted into the Academy on a scholarship funded by the village was not some piddling issue to ignore.
"Ah." Ayako paused briefly in her departure. "You were right, by the way. Genbu asked me to pass that along."
She nodded absently, not comprehending the woman's words.
A few minutes later, Mitama decided to get herself a plant for company.
She needed something that would not judge and condemn her, something silently supporting to spill her feelings to.
She was the child of farmers.
She was accustomed to dirt beneath her fingernails. She was used to muddying her clothes and skin. She was adjusted to watching small buds bloom into beautiful, majestic stalks and twisting, twining vines that provided food for both herself and many others. She even enjoyed whispering to the silent plants, telling them things she would never tell another.
Ayako herself had suggested it—not verbally but simply by being born Yamanaka.
The Yamanaka were a people that were known and feared for their techniques that could instantaneously infiltrate the dark recesses of the mind. They were experts in intelligence gathering, psychology, sociology, espionage and, in particular, interrogation. Along with the Nara and Akimichi, the Yamanaka created a trifecta of unsurpassed teamwork that garnered both the respect and terror of many.
To most civilians, however, the Yamanaka were merely the owners of the local flower shop.
"Can I help you today?" A boyish voice asked sprightly.
She jolted, an awkward smile pulling at her lips as she shifted slightly away from the boy invading her space. "A-ah…! Uh, jus' lookin' for a house plant."
"Oh?" His cyan eyes twinkled as he gave her a bright smile. "Well, why don't I show you some of our popular choices? Please follow me."
He led her around the vicinity, pointing out the various colorful plants with gleaming eyes and a mouthful of information about them. She played the polite customer, nodding whenever he turned to look at her and asking questions about the plants she knew nothing of—which weren't very many, surprisingly and unsurprisingly.
The faint sense of déjà vu squeezed her heart as she gently touched the soft petals of a yellow flower that resided in a box full of colored plants.
"Ah, the tulip. It's—"
"It's a bulbous, perennial plant indigenous ta mountainous regions that blooms in spring. They come in virtually all colors an' various shapes an' sizes. Despite bein' perennial, a lot o' people treat 'em as annuals ta be planted anew each year as Fire Country doesn't have the mountainous regions that tha flower prefer for vernalization." Mitama prattled off absently, eyes fastened on the yellow petals. "In hanakotoba, the tulip has different meanings dependin' on tha color: red for fame, charity an' trust. Yellow is…" Her voice weakened before she continued, "Yellow stands for…a one-sided love."
Mitama frowned lightly as she stepped away from the box of tulips, eyes flickering over to the boy with his mouth agape and eyes wide. Her pallid cheeks flushed and she offered the floundering blond a diffident, apologetic smile. "S-sorry. Uh, I'll just take a small box o' lavender, please."
The boy closed his mouth with a sharp click. "O-kay?"
She followed him to the register, eyes trained on the floor as she ignored the probing stares of the boy and the woman cashier that was obviously related to him. She pulled out a few bills, placed them on the counter, took her purchase and briskly stepped out into the late afternoon sun.
"—tama, I think Ayako said her name was. She doesn't really look like much to me."
Her shoulders hunched, the chūnin Yamanaka's earlier words following her home.
"You'll keep me company, right?" She whispered softly, fingers tracing the violet bits of petals. "I'll take care of ya so jus' listen ta me. Please."
She roused from her meditation early morning, before the sun had emerged from the horizon.
She picked out her clothing. She showered and washed her hair. She ate a hearty breakfast. She packed her supplies and lunch in her satchel. She watered her pot of flowers and whispered to them lovingly. She dried and brushed her hair. She brushed her teeth. She put on a bit of concealer makeup to obscure the dark bruises beneath her too large eyes. She slipped on her sandals. She muttered a soft prayer of strength before stepping out into the morning crisp.
Mitama walked to her first day of Academy alone.
She had trouble ignoring the spark of resentment that flashed through her as she watched mothers and fathers accompanying their beloved children to school that morning.
"Class, we have a new student today!" The rotund man, Matsudo-sensei, announced. "Why don't you introduce yourself to your classmates? Don't be shy."
The girl bowed deeply at the waist, hands clutched together tightly at her thighs. "My name is M-Mitama. I hope that ya'll will take care o' me an' I apologize for any trouble I might cause ya."
The twenty five or so class of child mumbled out tired, unenthusiastic greetings as she straightened. Matsudo-sensei placed a heavy, comforting hand on her shoulder. "All right, then. Let's get you seated… Kaede, raise your hand."
A lone arm raised, belonging to a girl with coffee-colored hair pulled into an immaculate bun. The girl regarded her with an irritated, pinched expression as Mitama slid into the seat beside her.
The ebony-haired girl could only hope that she could remain inconspicuous among her classmates—the less they noticed her, the less hassle and discomfort she would have to endure and the easier she could focus on her studies.
Mitama had arrived just a day after the end of summer break. Judging by the delayed answers and comprehension, she could only guess that most of the children were still recovering from the indolence the five week break had induced.
"How about we refresh ourselves with a bit of review?" Matsudo-sensei let out a booming, hearty chortle as the class burst into complaints and groans. "Now, now, we'll start with something easy. Can anyone tell me the history of our home, Konohagakure?"
The clamor died down almost immediately as the students did their best to become unassuming, not wanting to be picked to answer the teacher's question that required a bit too much thought. Mitama made no move to raise her hand, instead waiting a few moments to see if another would rise to the occasion. The bearded man chuckled lowly, head shaking as he motioned to someone seated somewhere behind her.
"I know you know the answer but why don't you give your peers a chance to answer, Minato?"
The name was one she had heard before—but not recently.
Her chest clenched painfully. Her lips twitched as she slowly lifted her hand.
"Ah, our new student. Go ahead, Mitama."
A tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. "Konohagakure was founded in 214 durin' tha Warring States Period by Hashirama Senju an' Madara Uchiha. Tha infrastructure of Konohagakure was made usin' Hashirama's famed Wood Release an', due to that unique ability as well as his charisma, he was selected ta be tha First Hokage in March of 215. Shortly after his induction inta office, he clashed wit' Madara Uchiha at tha Valley of tha End, a place created from tha destructive power displayed durin' their battle. It was with this battle that Konohagakure came inta possession of its first bijū—the Nine-Tails—an' its first jinchūriki—Mito Uzumaki, wife of Hashirama—who sealed tha great beast within herself. At some point, numerous small-scale wars began ta break out between tha villages an', it was during one of these that Hashirama Senju passed. On his death bed, he granted his position ta his brother, Tobirama Senju, who was inducted inta office in June of 243. Tobirama worked tirelessly ta achieve political stability an' implement institutions that would make tha village system work—tha Academy, tha Chūnin Exams an' tha Konoha Military Police Force were all brought about by tha Second Hokage. Only two years after his induction inta office, Tobirama died nobly in what had progressed ta be tha First Shinobi World War by actin' as a decoy ta protect his team from Kumogakure's Kinkaku Force. Before passin', he bestowed tha title of Hokage ta Hiruzen Sarutobi, who is now our third Hokage an' has been since 245."
A pencil dropped.
Mitama didn't dare to look up.
"A-ah…" Matsudo-sensei stuttered uncertainly before he cleared his throat. "T-that was wonderful, Mitama! Why, I think with your insightful answer, we can move on to our next topic! Right. Everyone, get out your math textbooks and turn to page 121."
She bit her lip as she opened her book, listening to the quiet whispers and shuddering under the hard, probing stares.
Mitama wondered if it would have been better to stay silent.
They were released for lunch around noon. Mitama had been the first out the door and had swiftly climbed into a tree to eat and observe.
The others filtered out at a sedated pace, gradually filling the bright courtyard with chattering children more aware than they had been that morning. As she stuffed a salmon onigiri into her mouth, she noted that all the students had fallen into groups of sorts, apparently based on family and background.
As expected, the Nara, Akimichi and Yamanaka grouped together, suffusing the area with bright laughter, exasperated murmurs and loud chewing and crunching. The Aburame occupied several dark corners, hiding away from both human and sunshine alike. The Inuzuka darted to and fro with their canine companions, twisting and weaving through their peers with boisterous growls, barks and yips. The Kurama took perch on the swing sets, seemingly distorting the reality around them with practiced illusions. The Hatake wandered around the perimeter of the enclosure, remaining distant and tame. The Uchiha and Hyūga lingered in densely packed congregations, separated from each other—and everyone else—as they scowled at any and all who dared approach. If she squinted, she could make out a few Senju children breaking the mold, conversing with all groups—except the Uchiha.
A few unaffiliated groups of two or three lingered in the areas unoccupied and, instantly, Mitama knew them to be the clan less children, much like herself. It was obvious; the lost looks marring their round faces and the way they shied away from the other, larger groups.
Mitama picked up another rice ball, briefly catching sight of sun-tinged gold and soft baby blues.
The day ended uneventfully with a review reading and written assignment that Mitama decided she would complete in the morning.
She made a perfect score on her first homework assignment that she completed a mere twenty minutes before she departed for class. She quietly tucked the paper into her bag to later be thrown away.
She had no one to show it to and, therefore, no reason to hold on to it.
Ayako smirked as she scribbled on her clipboard. "Doing well, I see."
Her fingers played with the edges of her dress, eyes fastened on her potted plant. "Ayako-san, w-would ya please eat din—"
"Didn't I tell you about speaking to me with that dialect? Get. It. Fixed."
Mitama bit her lip, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. She nodded mutely, listening to the scratching of Ayako's pencil and the click-clack of her heels as she left her apartment.
September tumbled into October.
After the three days of review, the class immediately delved into learning to channel chakra to the easiest of the three hundred sixty-one tenketsu, the forehead and hands. They expanded upon the basic chakra theory given in first year by learning the beginnings of the four E-ranked Academy ninjutsu: the Replacement, the Rope Escape, the Clone and the Transformation.
She had skipped first year because of her exceptional academic marks on her entrance exam.
"Rat. Ox. Tiger. Hare. Dragon. Snake. Horse. Ram. Monkey. Bird. Dog. Boar. The twelve basic hands seals, named after each of the twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac." Matsudo-sensei recited as he paced before the line of students. "Learn them. Remember them. They are your foundation for the ninja arts."
Her breathing was steady, light, her chest barely moving as she inhaled and exhaled. Her eyes were half-lidded, seeing the rows of seats before her but unable to pick out their distinct features. Concentration was trained completely, solely on the snaking heat that traveled from the pit of her stomach, coiled over her shoulders and pooled at her forehead.
The leaf stuck fast and firm.
Mitama learned to channel chakra because it was deemed redundant and a waste of time to put her with children her age to learn the things that she already knew like the back of her hand.
For her, it had been easy. Almost as if she had done it innumerable times before.
At the tender age of six, Mitama knew that she had never used chakra but she knew that she had used it once upon a time. It came to her, like a duck taking to water—known at the very beginning of her existence. It simply took her until that moment in time to realize.
She took another leaf, placing it above her left eye. The chakra slowly spread, roughly, like butter on newly baked bread. The leaf stuck.
She did the same over her right eye. The chakra spread easier that time, like peanut butter, thinning out over the three different areas. It stuck as well.
"Good job, Mitama! It seems that you are a natural at this."
The leaves fell as sharp stares burned the sides of her head.
"Another inspection passed." Ayako giggled, footsteps loud as she made to leave. "I hear from a relative you are doing well. I hope this keeps up—more for your sake than mine."
Mitama said nothing. She merely flipped a page of her book, A Guide to Fire Country's Language for Dummies.
"Ah, Mitama. Can you come here for a moment?"
She shouldered her satchel, making her way down to her teacher's desk. She inclined her head politely, a tiny, demure smile on her face. "Yes, Matsudo-sensei?"
"While I was looking over your exam files, I noticed that you hadn't taken the mandatory first aid course." He adjusted his glasses slightly, squinting with the action. "I'm aware that you skipped the first year because of your scores but it is vital that you get this completed by the end of this year."
She mutely looked over the slip of paper given to her. "…I know this, Matsudo-sensei."
He cocked an eyebrow, confusion clearly evident. "You do? May I ask where you learned?"
"I checked out some books in the library." She lied easily, suppressing the urge to avert her eyes. "While I was temporarily livin' in the orphanage, I read a few things an' helped out while waitin' for my papers ta be processed."
The rotund man made a humming noise, leaning his chin on his palm as he watched her. "I see. Well, you'll still have to take an assessment test on first aid—it requires a practical exam overseen by certified medical personnel at the hospital."
"Ah." She said simply. "Yes, Matsudo-sensei."
"Have a pleasant day, Mitama."
"…You too."
She sniffed derisively as she stepped into Konoha General Hospital.
There was an odd sense of belonging as she stepped over the threshold and the thick, suffocating smell of bleach pervaded her senses. She let out a huffing sigh and rubbed her arms as she made her way to the reception desk. She spoke softly, alerting the receptionist of her request.
"Another Academy student?" The nurse sighed softly, gesturing towards a girl passing by. "Nonō, can you take this girl to the where they're carrying out the CPR assessments?"
"Yes. Come this way please." The bespectacled teen smiled sweetly.
Mitama followed without qualm. The walk was quick, a few steps down a hallway—the ebony-haired girl wondered why the receptionist didn't get up and take her herself. The girl apparently named Nonō gently ushered Mitama into the room with a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Sensei is with another student. She'll be finished in a few moments. Just wait here, okay?"
Nonō left. Mitama waited. The curtain divider pulled back, revealing an irate woman and a sheepish blond that made Mitama's heart clench.
"Yeesh, brat. You made that a lot harder than it should've been." The woman tsked, shaking her head with a hand pressed to her forehead. "Just remember not to tongue the patient if you have to do CPR. As a matter of fact, just let a teammate do it—you should probably be the last resort."
"Y-yes, Tsunade-sensei." He rubbed the back of neck bashfully, fair cheeks glowing brightly. "Thank you for your time."
His blue gaze shifted towards her at that moment, a glint of recognition flashing in them before he realized that she had heard the doctor's blunt words. He mumbled out a quiet greeting, quickly brushing past her and into the sterile halls. She couldn't help feeling hurt for some reason and she couldn't stop her chest from throbbing so painfully. The amber-eyed woman cleared her throat loudly, obnoxiously and Mitama jolted into action, quickly scurrying to her side.
"C'mon, c'mon! I don't have all day, brat! Make goo-goo eyes later!"
"U-um, I wasn't—" She wilted beneath the woman's vicious glare, lips trembling beneath her wrath. "I meant, u-uh—Y-yes, Tsunade-sensei!"
("First clause! No medic-nin shall ever stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end!"
"Yes, Master!"
"Second clause! No medic-nin shall ever stand on the front lines!"
"Yes, Master!"
"Third clause! No medic-nin shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon!"
"Yes, Master!"
"Fourth clause! Only those medic-nin who have mastered the Strength of a Hundred Technique of the ninja art Creation Rebirth are permitted to discard the above mentioned laws!"
"Yes, Master!"
"It is by these tenets that you will live as a medic-nin! I will warn you: our job is not a glamorous one and, often times, it is a thankless one. Do not let the absence of fame and recognition deter you. Take comfort in that it is us who single-handedly hold up the foundation of any squad or platoon! It is us who are their backbones and, without us, they will crumble and they will die!")
The next day, Mitama and Minato had no interactions with each other.
She honestly didn't know why she expected anything different.
October faded into November.
They were gradually eased into learning the intricacies of genjutsu. The unit was unbelievably brief, only lasting about a week, mainly because of the advanced control one would need in order to effectively utilize it. Not only that, most shinobi preferred the tangible results ninjutsu and taijutsu yielded. The bare minimum of genjutsu was taught—the textbook definition, the telltale signs of a poorly-constructed illusion and the various ways one were to break out if caught.
Mitama stood quietly in the hallway, eyes trained on the door to her classroom.
The illusion was there, obscuring something for her sight. Mitama was sure of it.
She made no move to dispel the genjutsu.
Instead, she walked through the classroom door.
The students occupying the room burst into laughter as ice cold water splashed on her head, the metal bucket narrowly missing her. Her eyes blinked languidly, almost uncomprehendingly as she stared down at her ruined clothing and, without a word, she turned on her heel, intent on heading to the teacher's lounge to ask for a momentary pardon to change her clothes.
As she walked, she passed by the year's Ino-Shika-Chō trio: Inoichi Yamanaka, Shikaku Nara and Chōza Akimichi.
They said nothing, merely whispered amongst themselves with Shikaku muttering a low but loud, "What a bother."
"Inspection passed."
"Yes."
Ayako tapped a painted nail against her rosy lips as she hummed. "I hear through the grapevine that you are having some issues with the other students?"
She knew it was Inoichi passing along information—it was in both his and his clan's nature to pass around gossip, or rather, information as they called it. "A little bit."
"It is not affecting your grades, is it?" The chūnin inquired.
The girl couldn't stop the sardonic huff of laughter. "No."
"Then, you will be all right." She said derisively. "If you cannot even endure this, then you have no business in the Academy."
The woman left.
Mitama absently wiped the blood that bubbled from the broken, abused bit of skin on her lip.
("Team Three, you fail. Go back to the Academy. Go to the Administrative Corps. It doesn't really matter where you go. You're not suited to be on the battlefield.")
During the second week of November and into December, honing their dexterity, accuracy and shurikenjutsu had become the main focus.
There were two throws: the horizontal throw and the vertical throw. The vertical throw was recommended for beginners while the horizontal was for individuals comfortable with their weapon and control.
Using only the tips of the fingers, hold the shuriken between thumb and index finger. If one were to grip at one of the shuriken's tips, it became easier to throw and added more power but at the cost of accuracy. If one were to grip closer to the shuriken's center, accuracy increased but required extra power in the throw to be effective.
Mitama licked her lips as she held the wooden implement in her hand, getting a feel for the weight in her fingers.
She stood with her left leg forward, knees bent, body relaxed and eyes narrowed at the straw target several feet before her. She lifted her throwing arm, hand a few inches above her head. Her arm extended forth, downward and she shifted her weight to her front leg as she threw. Her cocked wrist flicked downward, the wooden training weapon flying from her hand silently.
It landed a few inches from the center. Her lips twitched as she changed her stance.
She shifted, moving her right leg forth. Elbow close to the body, arm swinging out and pivoting at the elbow. Weight shifted from the rear to front leg and elbow angled upwards for a longer distance. Her wrist flicked out.
It hit.
"Excellent, Mitama!" Matsudo-sensei's voice called out. "Retrieve your weapons and return to the back of the line!"
Something like a smile teased her lips at her teacher's praise.
She took a step. Her leg caught and a tiny squeak left her lips as she landed on her face. A cacophony of laughter filled the training grounds and her whole body burned with embarrassment. She inclined her head, catching sight of a root that hadn't been in that particular spot before. Her eyebrows knitted together as she ignored the raucous chortling, pushing herself to her feet to resume her journey.
She pulled the shuriken out with little effort, dodging the empty space that hid a thick root and stepping over another as her shoe knocked into it.
Her eyes lifted briefly, catching the hazel gaze of Murakumo Kurama.
His lips curled into a cruel smirk.
Her gaze dropped in shame.
He laughed, whispers of "Stay in your place!" following after her.
Mitama wondered when her savior would return to her.
Traditional sparring had been occurring since the second month of the school year. Mitama had not been present during that time and, thus, had spent her time after school learning and memorizing the beginning kata for the Academy's standard style.
It was hard for her to adhere to the movements—because of her size; because of her inexperience; because of the vague, hazy memories that skewed her body's motions. The fighting style didn't seem to be suited for her and her limbs rebelled in response, urging her to find an alternative to the rather rudimentary taijutsu style.
"Kaede, Mitama, enter the circle. Form the Seal of Confrontation." A pause. "Begin!"
She leaned back, narrowly missing the obvious punch aimed at her face.
Kaede pursued immediately, left hand bulleting out. The ebony-haired girl tilted her head and bent her knees, wincing as Kaede clipped her ear but ignoring it to use her right to uppercut the girl. The coffee-haired girl grunted, teeth clicking loudly as she easily shook off Mitama's admittedly weak punch and dropped, moving for a low sweep. Mitama hopped up, dodging the sweep but she was caught completely off-guard by the taller girl's seemingly unnatural speed.
A kick to the stomach forced the air from her lungs. A punch to the chest had her reeling and coughing. The jab to her cheek had her on the ground, seeing stars and clenching rattling teeth.
"The winner is Kaede! Meet at the center and form the Seal of Reconciliation!"
With broken pride and dignity, Mitama pulled herself up from the ground, clutching at her pale cheek that would undoubtedly bruise in the morning. Her tiny hand reached out, index and pointer fingers twining with Kaede's before the older girl snatched her hand away, loudly complaining about the clamminess of her hands.
She stared down at her trembling hand blankly.
Mitama watched in envy as Minato managed to outlast his opponent, a member of the Inuzuka, known for their fearsome speed and agility.
She couldn't even beat another civilian.
Her heart clenched with bitter admiration.
She entertained the thought of conversing with the golden boy, to ask for his assistance in what she herself could not do but she faltered when his baby blues barely landed on her pathetic form.
She grimaced at the dark, ugly blotch covering her right cheek as she looked in the mirror. She stared at her concealer makeup before picking up a large bandage.
Her peers giggled and whispered about her newest accessory when she slid into her seat that morning.
It was a month before the bruise fully healed.
("I think you're better suited here and off the front lines. You know you've never really been that great in close combat. You always get jittery, you know? And you can't take a punch to save your life.")
January was focused on learning the identification of foreign shinobi, using the differences between their flak jackets and headbands to differentiate them.
February and March served as the months of review, written and practical assessments for each individual's progress.
On March 10, 265, Konohagakure declared war on the hidden villages of Iwagakure and Sunagakure, beginning what had been dubbed the Second Shinobi World War.
On March 10, 265, Mitama turned seven.
She blew out the lone candle on her tiny cake, swathing her apartment in darkness.
She curled up in her bed and sobbed.
By the end of the first semester of the second—her first—year, Mitama had claimed second place in the class rankings, just after the boy genius, Minato Namikaze.
Mitama had maintained a steady grade despite her disadvantage of a late start. While her taijutsu scores were relatively low, residing in the lowest percentile, her exemplary academics and chakra control more than made up for it—the latter was exceedingly impressive, beating out even the class' Hyūga and Kurama members, clans renowned for their refined control.
The ire of the class had been roused since her arrival. Mitama could barely stand to look them in the eye as she stared at her scores in both disbelief and self-satisfaction.
Had she been a clan child, she would've been pissed as well.
They both were of civilian origin. Of the ten civilians that were in the second year class, it was two civilians—one of which came from the boonies of Fire Country—who were younger than the majority of the class that occupied the top spots of the class ranking.
Minato had managed to come away without noticeable scars.
Mitama had been a much easier target for the bigger, taller, and much more experienced of her peers.
("Why do you just stand there!? Why don't you fight back!? Why are you so weak!?")
A/N: This chapter was actually about nine thousand words but I split it. In this chapter, what I strove to portray was the MC's mentality and a facet of her personality—though she holds a sense of maturity through her vastly developed mind, she is still a child.
Side note 01: One ryō is equivalent to ten yen. It can then be further converted to USD, where one ryō equals a dime. Five thousand ryō would roughly convert to five hundred USD. Because there is no information on the cost of goods in canon, I merely used the prices from the video games and applied it. Five thousand ryō is chump change in comparison—trust me.
Side note 02: The shinobi schooling calendar is as such: the school year is based off the Japanese schooling year, including corresponding holiday breaks. The MC and Minato are both second year students, having skipped first year for their academic scores—each grade consists of two years of study, if that makes sense. So first year equals two, second year equals two, third year equals two, culminating for six years of official shinobi training. In accordance, if Minato was six and skipped his first year, he would graduate at age ten after finishing his second and third year—as he did in canon. Or he could have taken his graduation exam early. Eh.
I think that's enough. I thank you all for the favorites and follows. The reviews as well. I'm not sure about pairings but I giggled a little when someone already shipped the MC with Minato without them having even met in story. I'll keep it in mind, though. I don't mind canon-breaking pairings as long as they are well-founded.
