-BAD APPLE-
7. [Revised]
Leaves of burnt brown, amber and red fluttered to the ground in downpours by the time the Academy reopened. Some leaves were so red my threads could've blended in. Red like fresh, oxygenated blood.
In the morning as I walked to school alone, I caught snatches of noise from the world I was growing increasingly detached to: a shrill cry quickly muffled by a palm, murmurs followed me like flies buzzing in my ears. I stopped. Glanced back at the source of the closest noise and the woman behind the stall—the lady who used to smile and offer me extra sticks of dango to share with Itachi—flinched away. She didn't meet my eyes, her shoulders trembled.
The sight of her emphasized the emptiness in my pockets (no parents to give pocket money to me) and the blank space beside me (no Itachi to share dango with as a pre-school snack).
Itachi's absence was explainable and perhaps not permanent.
The Uchiha clan was being relocated. As part of the clan, naturally, he had to do his part and pitch in to help with the moving. Plus, there was baby Sasuke to take care of when Mikoto would be undoubtedly busy about other political matter within the clan. The clan head's wife must play her part, she was the matriarch of the clan after all. Her role as my godmother was not as urgent.
It had me wondering … mulling … thinking about my nonexistent future …
I roughly knew the intended future of everyone—it meant that they, at least, have a future to maybe walk onto. I had nothing; no map, no instruction, no hint.
In stories, the one with the knowledge should've made things happier, better for the people around them.
Did I?
My mere presence caused fear and misery to shift among the villagers.
(This was not making things better; having thousands of people fearing you, hating you, a living reminder of what they had lost)
How could Naruto be happier when he had not known anything lesser?
I swallowed the bitterness of my thoughts and shouldered on to the Academy.
Naturally, I did not receive a warm welcome. The class was half-empty, not everyone had been fit to come back—maybe their grieving period wasn't over yet or their spirits were too crushed for them to face daily life just yet.I doubted any of them died, sadly; maybe some of their shinobi relatives but certainly not them. Funeno-sensei had dumped us to get them up into the shelters quickly enough.
And we all know how my father died to save them.
I resumed my usual seat by the window, distinctly aware of how everyone cropped up in the front and left me alone. Usually at least a dozen of them called out a greeting to the Hokage's son; today, the air was charged with fear. Apprehension was thick in the air, so thick I doubted any of my classmates would be able to cross through.
But someone did. I was surprised she even dared to approach me.
There had been all sorts of rumors flying around about me: how I ate kids for breakfast, how many people I'd butchered and who I was planning on killing next, etcetera. There was also one where I disemboweled puppies as a pastime—these idiots have colorful imagination—so imagine my surprise when Inuzuka Hana approached me.
Her face was set in that stubborn way of hers that was both amusing and annoying. My heart ached when I saw her. Before you launch into any assumptions, I was just feeling pained at the thought that my mother would no longer tease me about the animosity between me and Hana. Neither of my parents would see their grandchildren in life; how sad. My eyes burned in their sockets with the urge to cry but people were watching.
"What do you want?" I grumbled when she opened her mouth but did not speak immediately. Either she was trying to catch flies or she'd lost her courage to speak to the 'demon' midway.
A dull flush crept across her cheeks as her eyes snapped into an imposing glare. "I just … You saved Ma-kun." Her voice was barely above a mumble. "Thanks," she grouched, flicking a forelock behind her ear. "Unless you saved him only to cook him in a stewpot later?" She continued suspiciously.
I rolled my eyes—evidently I'd underestimated her intelligence—as I gestured towards the aisle. "Take a hike, Inuzuka."
Hana glared at me. "You're such a jerk!" Then she flounced away even though all I had done so far was play nice. She hadn't seen me at my most vindictive or she would've run home in tears, never to return to my sight.
Still, her consistent treatment towards me was a reprieve from the rest. Her childish dislike of boys—stemmed from the abandonment of her father who'd hightailed it out of the Land of Fire by now—was a welcome in comparison to their fear.
Hidden behind my palm, I smiled.
At least they left me alone instead of opting to bully me … if they did, hell, their parents might be grieving over newly erected graves.
Thinking of parents and graves led me to the dark lane of thoughts where my parents were dead. Such a brutal word. I frowned as the tugging in the back of my mind surfaced again. I didn't know what caused it but it made me scratch the back of my head.
My scalp tingled—my spiritual energy was restless as it sizzled in the air, unseen by the naked eye, twinning with my classmates' thoughts out of random. Heaps of fear, terror and hatred crushed my head and I severed the connection before I was infected.
I hated lectures in classes. Inactivity made my limbs quiver even more. My eyes listlessly fell onto the empty seat beside me and the empty rows stretching to my right: Itachi was not here. I suppose I better pay attention since he wouldn't be here taking notes for both of us to pore over later, when I had more of an attention span.
…
School was the only aspect of my life that hadn't changed. Attending classes—same teacher, same children—was consistent.
But home was gone, evaporated into thin air as surely as Obito had been consumed by the dark, how my mother's body had vanished, and my father was deader than a doornail.
Only Rin remained.
Beautiful when she was done up in her kindness; she was the only proof I have of inner and natural beauty. The rest were artificial monstrosity. I could see why Obito loved her; her kindness, her gentle smile. They warmed you to the core.
That she was now the homemaker of the huge, empty house marked with solid memories of Kushina and Minato—it was almost bearable to think of that mirthless place as home.
But of course, by the time I was out of school, she'd be at the hospital, working her shift. Or she'd inevitably be sent on a mission as the combat medic of the team. And I'd be alone.
Alone was bad enough. Now I had nothing.
…
The quiet pulse of my steady heart kept me company in the silence of the apartment.
…
Then—a knock broke through my ennui.
The spiritual energy was familiar. "Itachi?" I croaked. Red threads wove through air, curling around the doorknob and turning it. Itachi's doe-like eyes, set into a porcelain-pale face, grim and young, appeared when the door opened.
He entered without prompting, closing the door behind him, unperturbed by the red threads that twisted in the empty space.
"Mirai." My name, spoken without heat but a mild sort of pity and sadness, was enough to assuage some of my fears. He was a solid presence, unchanged. He approached me without apprehension or fear, coming to crouch beside where I was—slumped against the couch, not even bothering to climb up or head to the kitchen and fix myself lunch when my stomach called for it.
Completely out of the blue, his arms wound around me—a protective embrace from the harsh world out there. I was shocked. Itachi wasn't one for physical display of affections. Usually, Kushina would squeeze us together into a hug and I did it to see him squirm and annoy him (even as a child, he was difficult to ruffle). I didn't know why it touched me more than Rin's hugs did. Maybe because I knew Rin hugged me only because she was desperately imagining Obito, Minato, Kakashi and Kushina in place. And Itachi hugged me only to comfort me, only with my well-being in mind.
"I'm sorry for everything that's happened, Mirai." Arms tightened around me. "Your parents and your stillborn brother…" That was the cover story, right, I tried to recall.
"All for nothing," I coughed out.
"Do you need anything?" he asked softly.
(A horrid nightmare. The nightmare of Rin dying in canon, of Kakashi shoving a Chidori through her chest, of Obito's death. Kushina was there; she wiped my tears, smiled, and assured me everything would be okay over a mug of hot chocolate.)
Itachi made it for me.
It tasted too salty.
Less to do with the lack of sugar than how I my eyes kept leaking of their own accord. My brain didn't have the heart to stop the tears. Every inch of my body knew I needed to shed as much grief as possible, that I needed every outlet I could get.
…
"Will you be going back to school anytime soon?"
Itachi drew a listless pattern on the tea table. His hand paused. My eyes, fixed on his hand, stopped too. I didn't look at his face; I didn't want him to see my bloodshot eyes and miserable face. "In a month or two," he finally answered. "My father wishes me to finish the Academy within this year. He claims my skills are better off put to use."
"Intensive training?"
"Basically."
That meant our time together would be even more limited. How many more times could he sneak off and come here, to me?
"Okaa-sama turned a blind eye when she caught me sneaking out," said Itachi casually, picking up on my thoughts. I blinked in surprise at the mention of my godmother. "She sends her condolences and … and she asks if you'll be at the funeral service this Saturday."
I couldn't suppress the bitter snort. "They wouldn't let me besmirch the sacred place. And I wouldn't want to go either."
"Not even to pay respects to your parents?"
"Memories of them are here, Itachi." I gestured to my apartment. To the empty space bar for me and Itachi. I tried to look like I believed marks of Kushina and Minato could still be seen. "A cold slab of rock doesn't remind me of them. I don't get why they have to be buried, why not cremated? Uchiha are cremated upon death, aren't they? That's a better option."
"Or self-immolation," added Itachi.
"That's not important—they still get to spiral into the sky, right?"
"I'm sure it was important to the Uchiha who were forced to self-immolate," said Itachi solemnly.
My mouth twitched against the rim of my mug; I nearly smiled. Nestled together at the foot of the couch, shins propped against the tea table, in the waning light of the setting sun—I hadn't known peace like this since my parents died and Obito vanished.
Obito.
"What action did your clan take?" I asked abruptly. "Rin told me they're being relocated because they've been suspected of unleashing the Kyūbi on the village. Never mind that Obito was the one who did it. Against his will." But I did wonder how many people believe that Obito was possessed by black goo. Or as I suspect, Black Zetsu. I was disturbed to realize I'd forgotten he had such an ability.
"The village isn't taking the chance," said Itachi quietly. The troubled sort of quiet. "We're being watched. But I believe in Obito's innocence. The Obito-san I knew would never betray the clan, Konoha and the people he loves."
Silence. I could not find anything to say to that. Whichever way you look at it, Obito and I were both in muck-deep shit. Albeit in different muddy pools. I just wished I knew which pool he was in so we could, at the very least, be together.
I changed the subject. "I suppose you don't need the handouts from today…?"
"I'll take it," he said.
I stood—because even I couldn't direct Hikenshi without sight—and shuffled to my room. Itachi didn't follow, he seemed to know I needed a bit of space. Talking about Obito wasn't easy. Rin hadn't brought him up even though I could feel her emotional turmoil and hear her tears.
I was in my room before I recalled that I hadn't even brought my bag up here. It was in the living room. Beside Itachi. Damn it.
What's wrong with me? Why am I so out of it?
I sat heavily on my bed, wrenching at my hair. Scalp aching, eyes burning, skin tingling with the expectation of a concerned parent's touch. Their visages bloomed like flowers, splashed in colors and awash with life behind my closed lids. So vivid, so real—
I choked, wheezing on my shock. Because there, right in front of me—my parents. Before I could scramble away or scream, they had reached me and their arms enveloped me. There was no light, no groundbreaking changing scenery. It was still my bedroom; the place I hated and loved the most, the place where I spent much of my childhood bedridden and where my parents were by my side.
They were here. Still here. It was not a figment of my desperation, it was—
Nothing.
I could see their arms, their faces, their bodies as they hugged me. A tangle of family and love. But, it was all wrong. There was no weight on my shoulders, their embrace was not warm. I could not inhale the familiar scent of home on their skin.
So … what was … in front of me?
I reached for them. Fast and lunging, but they eluded me. I tumbled through them. Off the bed. Crashing onto the ground was a painful thing to experience; it jarred me awake. I twisted around on the floor, chest thudding, only to see them flicker minutely.
Not possible, but oh so real—a figment of my imagination. Given nearly colored form through the energy that governed imagination. Spiritual energy had carved perfect replicas of my parents for me.
My father's mirage reached for me. His hand touched my cheek but there was no warmth, no reality. Without physical energy, something created from spiritual energy could not interact with anything solid. He smiled sadly at me, as if to confirm yes, whatever you dream up, nothing will compare to the real deal.
My mother's mouth moved but I couldn't decipher what she was saying. Her face looked pained.
"Mirai?"
The replicas faded, spiritual energy seeping into my skin and body once more, humming in my chakra pathways. I didn't turn around.
Itachi came up to me and crouched to my height. His eyes flickered to the spot where the mirages had disappeared. He was unnerved by the sight of the fakes, even though they couldn't harm anyone. He didn't ask how I made them. He just said, "They're not real."
I looked at him. "I know," I said simply.
~{VII}~
November: snowflakes drifted down, intervals similar to the pause for each tear your eyes could shed. Fresh snow caked the sidewalks and coated the rooftops of the buildings in Konoha.
The winter was freezing enough without icicles of hate jabbing at my sides. I know I could've easily avoided this as much as possible. I still attended the Academy and I needed to take this route—the quickest one to my destination—but in the afternoons, I holed myself up in my house's basement—a wooden infrastructure on the outside holding up the main living area up—where my parents had installed a training ground of their own.
I wasn't masochistic enough to venture out for more hate.
Already, a large part of me wanted to spin on my heel and fly back to my home and avoid this for much longer. Until tomorrow where I had to go to school.
But the thought of Rin—tired but determined—at home had me moving. It had been a tiring day at the hospital. A failed operation. She was clearly beating herself up about it. Why shinobi were so quick to blame themselves baffled me. If it were me, I'd shelve all the blame on someone else and pretend I was never there in the first place.
So I chivalrously volunteered to cook for her—Kushina had taught me and prior to this life, I had done my fair share of work in the care home as one of the more capable kids—but found that our fridge lacked groceries for a fulfilling dish.
No one approached me in the streets, something I didn't mind.
What I was pissed about was being denied entry to the market. "What?" I hissed at the hastily flipped sign—from OPEN to CLOSE—and locked doors. Through the glass doors, I could clearly see villagers still inspecting their grocery lists, chattering amiably, and shopping.
The man on the other end—a foolish civilian—glared frostily at me. But there was a set to his jaw, the quiver in his shoulders that disheartened me. He was afraid of me but he desperately wanted me to get lost too, he didn't want to bow down to his fear of me, of the Kyūbi.
Such treatment, while hurtful, I didn't mind at first. It was a mere annoyance, being denied entry to pretty much every store and restaurant in Konoha. And how they weren't going to let fear bring them to their knees was something to be respected.
I think I wandered for two hours before I decided to give up. I headed home, cold, tired and hungry. Utterly miserable too. I must say some part of me—self-esteem, pride, ego?—took a huge blow that didn't heal.
The second and third day passed without fuss. But I would have to be blind to not notice: the petrified fear that my presence inspired had dwindled. Their hatred was still tangible; it turned their eyes cold and their shoulders shifted away from me, not acknowledging me.
On the fourth day, I noticed something else: defiance and restlessness. They were tired of being oppressed by a phantom fear. Word must've spread that the "demon" was submissive in its weakened form. You could slam a door shut in its face and it couldn't even retaliate.
We should stamp it out when we have the chance, were the thoughts I reaped from the villagers every morning I passed them.
I was scared and a bit worried—just a bit, mind. However, my jumpy nerves only made for a clumsy disposition; I tripped and fell, getting a face full of snow. I grimaced, nose stinging, as I pushed myself up. Tried to anyway. My knees hadn't even straightened when a foot nearly snapped my spine in half.
I crashed back into the snow and I laid there for awhile, stunned by the shock of the cold and abrupt attack; pain was numbed by the softened blow. Only the red threads wrapped around my torso shielded me from any broken bones. Heart thudding, I scrambled away, kicking up snow.
I turned, bewildered that anyone would kick a fallen child instead of offering a helping hand, and saw hateful eyes. Comprehension clicked into place: they did not see a child, they saw only the embodiment of what they'd lost, the demon that had caused all this grief, a demon that might unleash the same chaos and terror upon them again. A demon weakened.
They attacked. I couldn't discern which were the shinobi, what their ranks were, if there were even civilians: their hatred coalesced into one unit of driving intent to hurt, maim and kill me.
I ran, pumping my legs to scramble through the snow.
I didn't get far before I came to one bitter conclusion: they were faster, older and stronger. They caught up.
I didn't think I'd ever been this fucking scared before, not even in my first life. I barely felt the winter cold in the face of cold fear that fastened on my bones, nearly locking my limbs in place. Cornered, completely and utterly cornered like a damned rat, I could only retaliate in defense.
(How could they be so brazen? Had this happened to Naruto in canon? Or had the years before he was reintroduced to the world eased some of the bitter pain, to forestall such aggressiveness?)
The writhing red threads lashed out, seizing them to halt their approach. Hikenshi was different from the spiritual images I created for one crucial component set them apart—physical energy.
The red threads thickened in dozens, becoming red braids that strangled and withheld them. More shinobi surged to the chaos, trying to subdue the 'demon' that never really was, maybe some even trying to help me, to respect the Hokage's wishes. My ears rang with their frenzied shouts.
A shinobi broke through the sea of red, his eyes crazed with violence and murder (of loss, his wife, child, brother had been lost that night). His punch crushed my ribcage—my fragile body couldn't take such heavy hits—with a single, chakra-enforced punch.
Hikenshi wound around my torso, a red dome of protectiveness, but the red threads barely deterred him. He seized my skull and slammed me into the ground. Galaxies could've exploded in my ears and I wouldn't have heard it through the pain wracking my body as my barrier faltered.
My body instinctively tried to curl into itself but the shinobi was vicious. His kick sent me careening through glass doors of a store; screams of surprise rippled in the air, adding more to the cacophony of red violence. Shards of glass cut into my face. Through a red haze of pain, I saw a kunai.
What saved my life was a freaking puppy's bark.
(And the back of a girl, arms thrust to her sides defensively, her chocolate-colored hair tossed in that stubborn way of hers)
Hana's puppy. The one I'd saved the day Kyūbi attacked. And Hana herself, repaying the time I'd rescued Ma, the puppy.
...
Their interference gave me the space to breathe, for my brain to stop knocking into my skull. I did not feel pathetically grateful, I was pissed.
Hana was yelling something, and over the shoulder of my assailant, I saw uchiwa-symbols sewn into the back of the shirts of the men forcing the others back. One of them turned, eyes widening, and started toward us.
He was shouting too: "Get away from him—right now!"
Hana half-turned, gasped. The shinobi she was facing had been hauled away by the Uchiha, and another Uchiha of the Konoha Military Police Force seized and pulled Hana away, her puppy tripping after her. It took me an embarrassingly long second to realize they were retreating from me.
My skin had tightened with goose bumps. I stood shakily, belatedly aware the pain in my side and the back of my head had faded. I looked down to assess the damage. Saw red, translucent chakra bubbling like foam. In the reflection of the kunai the shinobi had dropped, the pupils of my eyes were as pronounced as ever, irises crimson. I held up my hands, unfurling my fingers: my skin scalded and melted and regenerated in the noxious chakra, in seconds.
For what felt like an eternity, we stood and stared at one another, stunned, and maybe too scared to do anything else.
Hana's puppy yipped.
At what was possibly the most nonthreatening sound ever, my canines receded into my throbbing gums, my claws shrinking into humanoid fingernails. I blinked and nearly fell over when the chakra shroud dispersed in a gust of wind, taking with it the boost of energy; the two Uchiha and Hana backed hastily out of the alley.
I regained my voice last.
"That—that was the dumbest thing you could do, throwing yourself in front of the kunai!" I yelled. I balled my fists. I would've felt worse if she had been hurt.
"B-Baka! I didn't do that for you, it's just Ma-kun suddenly ran off and he could've gotten hurt by that lunatic!"
"And is he?" I looked at the puppy. He was trying to get cozy with my ankle. I let him, befuddled by his behavior.
"No," Hana huffed, crossing her arms. The two Uchiha had left her side to reestablish order outside the alley. It won't be long before the ANBU came and escorted me to the Hokage's office. "Whataboutyou," she got out in a gush, cheeks tinting pink.
"I'm fine." And, after a long, narrow-eyed pause, I added: "Thanks, that was—" Brave. Stupid. Touching. "Very appreciated."
Whatever clever riposte she had was lost by the arrival of the ANBU, dried leaves falling.
I shouldered past Hana, stumbling. She was breathing hard. I teetered on the verge of speech, but the words tipped back into my throat, and I hurried past her.
~{VII}~
The Sandaime wasn't in battle-mode but his shoulders didn't relax until he assessed me with his own two eyes and relaxed. He signaled everyone else out of the room. I saw my father's bodyguards, now back under the Sandaime's service: Tatami Iwashi, Shiranui Genma and Namiashi Raidō. They filed past me without meeting my eyes.
"That's everyone gone," said Sarutobi. "Now, tell me everything."
I slumped in the chair and gave the abbreviated version. Went shopping for groceries, tripped, was attacked by a vigilante, an avenger.
"The perpetrator has apprehended," Sarutobi assured me levelly. He waited patiently. I didn't say anything. "A few of my men reported something strange," he offered suggestively.
I rubbed my palm over my face. "You mean the chakra that I released? It wasn't consciously. I wasn't even tapping into my chakra reserves, it just —" I clutched thin air for words.
"It was diluted, but unmistakably, as I was told, the Kyūbi's chakra. In the time it took you to get here, I've no less than a dozen men exploding through the windows demanding if the seal is inadequate."
"After my father gave his life for that seal, they dare to doubt him?" I seethed.
Sarutobi didn't look happy either. "I've only heard of your condition, never seen it myself in person."
"My condition?"
"The Shodaime's wife, Uzumaki Mito, was the first jinchūriki. One of the three children she had after the sealing inherited the Kyūbi's chakra. The Nidaime called him a pseudo-jinchūriki. He has the chakra but not the beast itself." Sarutobi puffed on his pipe.
"So all children of jinchūriki are pseudo-jinchūriki of the beast?" I asked.
"Most probably only if the jinchūriki is female. An infant's chakra coils is branched off the mother's."
"Because the mother has the bijū's chakra in her chakra coils for one reason or the other, whether the seal allows a leakage of it into the vessel or she recently drew its chakra on?"
Sarutobi nodded. "And if not during the pregnancy, then at the time of birth, when the seal is at its weakest and the bijū's chakra isn't just leaking, but pouring out."
Kinda like HIV. Jeez. Come of think of it, Kushina did breastfed me. Not long after the birth, she must've done it, when Kurama's chakra wasn't entirely out of her system yet. I'm starting to feel diseased.
"This is beneficial to both of us," said Sarutobi. "Don't you agree? Just—try to keep that from happening in the middle of the village. My windows are all broken."
"Oh." That explained why it was so windy. Sarutobi looked more exasperated than angry though. "Right. Provided they don't attack me."
"Deal. I'll send a word to Fugaku-san to heighten patrols in the areas you frequent. Try not to stray too far from sight of the Konoha Military Police Force." Sarutobi checked the clock on his desk. "For now, I'll have Shiranui Genma escort you home. It's late, and Nohara-san must be worried."
I cringed—both at the mention of Shiranui Genma's name and Rin's undoubtedly horrified reaction to the evening's events.
"Mirai-kun?"
"I'm leaving," I sighed, "Bye, Sarutobi." I dragged my sorry ass out of his office and was met with the sore sight of Shiranui Genma, Rin's maybe boyfriend. My mood worsened further.
After all that fuss, I still hadn't bought groceries.
~{VII}~
Note: Mirai is a pseudo-jinchūriki who inherited Kurama's chakra from his mother in all three ways above. Mirai cannot consciously tap into the beast's residual chakra in him; it is triggered by and corresponds to his hatred. The initial jinchūriki form seen in this chapter is the mildest level.
