Chapter 7: Strutting
January 17th, 8th year after Kyuubi
Due to being an unfairly deserted venue, the Third Training Ground makes for a good place to train in peace and quiet.
To the inattentive, there is little sense in the disparity of visitors between the Second Training Ground and the Third Training Ground. Possessing of similar size, and sharing features such as open pastures, surrounding woodlands, and sizable bodies of water, both training grounds should suffer a similar influx of shinobi eager to hone their skills. Ask any ninja of Konoha, however, and you will learn of the landmark that stands behind the Third Training Ground's desertion.
Konoha's Memorial Stone monument ensures that any shinobi think twice before visiting, and most choose to take their training elsewhere. I'd wager you'll be hard-pressed to find a ninja above the rank of genin who wouldn't recognize at least one of the names etched into the black, kunai shaped stone. With genin training where their jōnin's direct them, few shinobi remain that are willing to make use of the Third Training Ground.
Which makes it an excellent place for me to experiment in private.
Would have made it, that is, if it wasn't for the Root operative who decided today was a good day to snoop.
Technically, it is.
The midday sun beats down on my neck as I'm sitting on the lake-shore, facing the water. A portion of my attention is directed at a blob of water hovering between my outstretched hands. It stretches and constricts to my will, endlessly twisting as it shifts from one amorphous shape to the next.
While I wouldn't quite say that my progress with Water Nature Transformation is stagnating, it wouldn't be entirely incorrect to call it stale. Experimentation with Water Nature Transformation's steadily reveals its deficiencies to me.
The blob fluctuations momentarily cease as it reverts to sphere form, before it restarts its movement, beginning to spin rapidly. The sphere flattens to disk form and loses its center. An additional exertion of will causes the disk's radius to shrink as simultaneously four prongs protrude outwards. The water fights me every step of the way, but not nearly as much as for other, less organic shapes.
As I stand up and turn away from the water, looking for a target, one of my hands cedes control of the watery shuriken to the other. Upon finding a suitable tree, the arm holding the rotating, elemental throwing weapon is pulled back, before being thrust forward. Momentum and chakra propel the projectile forward.
When I first started this exercise, the shuriken would lose cohesion and splash apart upon impact. An inspection of the trunk would reveal a slight cave-in of the bark at the point of impact. The damage was more reminiscent of blunt trauma, instead of the intended piercing effect.
A process of refinement ensued.
Today, many attempts and trials later, the shuriken makes a solid THUNK against the tree trunk, and the water maintains its form for a couple of moments after hitting a target. Regrettably, that's about it. Liquid water appears a poor base to mimic rigid and inflexible shapes. Ordinary shuriken, forged by whoever's supplying Konoha's stores, beat my water shuriken in every aspect aside from my ability to conjure them at will. Even that is arguable considering the hidden storage seals woven into bandages wrapped around my wrists. Storage seals stuffed with shinobi tools.
If the desperate struggle for survival/hallucination Danzō saw fit to inflict on me was useful for anything, it is instilling me with a distinct appreciation for preparedness.
Paranoia aside, I refuse to be deterred by this stumbling block and grudgingly continue working on the technique, garnering little to no discernable progress, before quitting in disgust to press on to the next exercise.
A few tendrils of water spring from the lake at my beckoning, zooming towards my position a few meters from the shore. They come together and coalesce into a sphere before the open palm of my outstretched arm. Closing my hand around the sphere causes it to elongate upwards while also adjusting to comfort my grip. The watery extension draws the lion's share of my attention as I force it to contort to a shape contrary to its nature.
For several moments the prevalent sound in the clearing is of grinding teeth and the bubbling and frothing of a liquid that would not submit. As is the usual outcome with this technique, a compromise is reached. It isn't the sleek, katana-like blade I want, but something resembling a misshapen jumble of edges and spikes shaped vaguely like a single-edged sword.
An experimental swing leaves a gash in a tree's trunk, sending pieces of bark and wood splinters into the air. A steel sword would probably have yielded a similar result, and it doesn't even begin to approach my Lightning Nature Transformation's cutting capacity. I continue swinging regardless of the sword's less than adequate performance, hoping to eke out some small, incremental improvement.
Thus far, my venture to replicate edged shinobi tools using water is yielding underwhelming returns.
As if to highlight my frustrations, the next swing I take at the tree causes the water sword to burst like a bubble, showering myself with the cold liquid.
GRRRRR
I restrain myself on account of that Root creep stalking me. Otherwise, the tree would have already been halfway to a smoking pile of ash. Oh, and because any attempt to mold lightning chakra will more than likely fry me like an insect on a bug zapper. What with being drenched in water.
I'm tired.
My body goes slack as I release a breath.
The truth of it should come as no surprise. An endless grind would wear on almost anyone, and this is more than grinding. Progress does not come free, not without pushing yourself, not without sacrifice and toil. To stand in place is to regress, and to walk is to remain static. Only by running can one truly move forward, doubly so for an ordinary individual in this world where much was determined by birth alone.
Turning around, I lean my back against the tree and survey my idyllic setting. As is often the case in Konoha, even in winter, the weather tends to a side most suited for an outdoor picnic. As if the village has been blessed with eternal spring. The lake's water sparkle with endless diamonds and the smell of forest wafts softly in the air.
In retrospect, perhaps pursuing a civilian life would have seen me better served.
Snort. That is if I hadn't died of boredom. Though, thankfully, whenever my resolve is tested, I needn't look far to find it bolstered. The occasional Root watcher reminds me that I'm now past the point of going back. No, it won't be a peaceful story for me, if it ever could have been.
I turn my focus to my now soggy clothes.
As I puzzle out the mechanics of drying wet cloth, my most recent failure nags at me. A momentary lapse in concentration was all it took for the construct to collapse when faced with substantial resistance. Today I merely drenched myself, out in the field that could have meant my head. The Water Sword is far from the reliability necessary for combat readiness as it presently stands. Its potential lies in question either way.
Sigh
Placing my left palm flat on a right fist forms the dog hand-seal, and refines my manipulation of water chakra. It radiates outwards from my pores to reestablish control over the water saturating my attire. Once the chakra has set in and fused with the water, I make my attempt at separating liquid from cloth, forcibly wrench-
"Fuuuuu-"
Heaven and earth switch places as I find myself tumbling ass over teakettle, my own chakra having failed to detach the water from my clothes. Instead, it jerked the fabric, yanking me with it in a dozen different directions. I'm sent on an uncontrolled jumble to the air.
Feeling myself fast approaching the ground, I brace myself. "Gah!" Preventing a head-first plunge to the ground with an awkwardly placed hand, I tumble to my knees.
I punch the ground. Sage damn it! Why can't this be any easier-
My eyes snap forward, locking onto my sparring partner.
Shit! "The tree saw everything!"
I jerk my arm back towards the lake and curl my hand as if grasping at something, projecting my chakra.
I stare at the tree.
The sound of water frothing and gushing rumbles as it's violently injected with water nature chakra.
The tree stares back.
My arm whips to the front as I bellow my battle-cry.
"Treeee!"
A pillar of water bursts from the lake at my beckoning, and follows my hand. It does to the tree what weeks of a careful combination of chakra shape and nature manipulation couldn't even hint at, and smashes it apart. The shattered pieces are swept away in the torrent until all that remains of the once proud sapling is a misshapen stump.
Teach it to mock me…
Deep breaths.
I suffer the silent stare of the Root ANBU in the trees with a smile, because as far as cathartic releases go...
"Hasn't even been hit by puberty, and already unhinged," Someone drawls from behind, "kids these days…" Several meters off, the intruder doesn't even deign to look my way, appearing deeply engrossed in the contemplation of the object he's inspecting.
"You'd find yourself unhinged too, D-"
"Kakashi." He cuts me off, still not pulling himself from his scrutiny Konoha's Memorial Stone.
"Huh?" It strikes me that this is the first time I've met the silver-haired cyclops sans his ANBU mask and gear. I slink closer to Kakashi, making sure to approach from the side of his covered eye.
"It's Kakashi when… not in work clothes." Seriously? He must be hoping that his enemies will confuse him with that other very distinct ninja who has an extremely distinctive mop of spiky silver hair. Still, if Kakashi wants to reveal his name I'm not going to complain, most any headway in integrating myself with the main cast is well received.
Anyway. "You'd find yourself a bit unhinged if a bunch of creeps in masks shadowed you daily." He glances my way as I approach from his blind spot, and I nod my head in the direction of the Root ANBU observing us.
His eye follows the direction I indicate until it appears to lock onto the hidden ninja, then flash back to me. Kakashi exhales, somehow managing to convey his exasperation with most of his face covered. "How should I know?" He shrugs. With that, what little attention I've been allotted seemingly dissipates, and Kakashi returns to his vigil before the Memorial Stone.
I somehow refrain from growling. The dismissal stings, and it's almost like he's trying to get under my skin. On most days this would have been a cue to take my leave, letting Kakashi to his own devices, as I'm not generally inclined to make a nuisance of myself. Right now, my petulance and the prickling sensation of a Root ANBU dissecting my every movement leaves me irritated and unusually bold.
Then I pause. Why should I think he would know? "Hmm," I clear my throat, "considering your… work clothes, well…" I make some unintelligible gesture.
Kakashi gives me another silent stare, then pulls one of his hands from its pocket to lean his chin heavily into it. The exaggerated thinking position is accompanied by a myriad of equally hammy sounds of deep contemplation.
Eventually, the mime act comes to a stop, and he shrugs again. "You're a special kid Hakaru-san," I don't like the way he said special, "They probably want to ensure you don't trip over your own feet and crack your head open." Don't give them ideas!
I deadpan, "I don't think that's it."
Kakashi snaps his finger with a "Darn." He lifts his hand as he shrugs again, "Whatever it is, they're Konoha ninja, I'm sure they serve a purpose." Kakashi throws out.
I foresaw Kakashi being difficult to a certain degree, the sass less so.
Serving a purpose… Probably, but its nature is dubious at best. "Spying on a seven-year-old doesn't quite meet up with the principles of the Will of Fire they teach us about in the Academy!"
"Wouldn't know," Kakashi dismisses in his uninterested tone, all that's missing is a certain orange book and the image will be complete, "always thought that people who stayed there for more than a few months were a bit on the slow side," he brings a finger to side of his head. As if calling me "special" earlier wasn't enough.
I really shouldn't have expected any better than this, but I just need someone to condemn Root, or at least get an outsider's perspective at the least. The current foremost source of my frustrations is the lack of contact with Itachi over the last four months, who has no doubt been sucked into Danzō's dark web.
I have long since forgotten whatever specifics I might have remembered that could have clued me in on an imminent Uchiha Massacre. Perhaps I could have kept a record of important facts, but Laziness and complacency overcame prudence on that matter. The anticipation leaves me tense, and I periodically remind myself that the issue is out of my hands. Influencing Itachi to best of my ability is as far as I could realistically interfere. Disclosing information directly to the Hokage would be foolhardy, as preventing the massacre without a concrete way to avert a civil war will weaken Konoha considerably more than a killing of a single clan, no matter how powerful.
There's a need to be vindicated for the scrutiny I'm suffering, and a general antagonism I'm feeling towards Root. "It reminds of another subject that the instructors have been skirting in the Academy," I press on, "the Darkness of shinobi." A cutthroat part and paranoid of our psyche. The primordial lizard brain, prone to tribal, xenophobic thought processes that categorize people as threats and-.
"And yet," Kakashi interrupts my internal tirade, "here you stand," he says. There's a keen look in his eye.
"Yes…?" I don't exactly follow, but there's a glimmer of hope to finally receive a serious answer.
"Did you know, Hakaru-san," Kakashi drawls, "of the talk in the grapevine about Konoha's most recent prodigy?" My curiosity is piqued. Also, is Itachi serving as part of Root supposed to justify their procedures? There's something I can't decipher in his eye.
Making an effort to conceal my interest, I rise to the bait. "What about Itachi?" Tell me something interesting.
Kakashi raises an eyebrow, "Itachi?" There's clear amusement in his voice, and he even chuckles lightly, baffling me. When Kakashi's snickering comes to a stop, and his eye regains that look I can't quite place, he addresses me again. "You're a scary kid Hakaru-san," he crouches down to put us on eye level and offers me an eye smile, "but still a kid. I guess being a little dense is expected."
…
Oh
"Me?"
A poke to the chest forces me to backpedal a few steps. "Yes, you. The reclusive little genius who used to hide in the darkness, and now freely broadcasts his skills in Konoha's training grounds." His voice turns grim, "You came from skirting the edge of the Third's leniency to being the latest buzz for gossip about the next generation." The eye smile returns, "All from getting a taste of the true darkness of shinobi."
I'm a subject of conversation?! Blegh. Not an entirely unforeseen outcome of revealing some of my capabilities, even partially by design, but still an unpleasant suspicion have verified. I can't imagine the consequences should I reveal my control over Lightning Nature Transformation or other skills I've kept hidden, though I have no doubt that the more astute have probably deduced there's a couple of cards still up my sleeves.
The assumption that my encounter with Danzō rattled me to the point of shying away from the darkness is convenient, despite its use to validate Root being a load bull. On that point, "That's just a coincidence!" I exclaim, "what if I had taken up with them?" No need to debunk the image this image of me that's been built up.
"Then we wouldn't be having this conversation." Kakashi cheerfully chippers, and I refrain from analyzing that statement.
I redirect the conversation away from me. "Konoha's greatest strength is the Will of Fire, cooperation and goodwill are some of the greatest forces in the world. Danzō's will subverts it."
Kakashi gives me a long look, I figure he's impressed with that last statement.
"That's a pretty hollow statement coming from a person as standoffish as you."
Prick.
"Do you really trust them?" I grumble tiredly.
Kakashi snorts, "More than I trust you, I trust them to act in Konoha's best interest." With a sense of finality, he turns back to face Konoha's Memorial Stone.
Not satisfied to let the matter lie without one last shot at Root, I pipe up, "If you sleep with dogs don't be surprised if you get fleas!"
"I take offense to that."
April 4th, 8th year after Kyuubi
The most annoying part of having a Gentle Fist practitioner as a sparring partner, I reflect, is, well, having a Gentle Fist practitioner as a sparring partner.
Not the most eloquent wording, for sure, but that's hardly my first concern from my position, lying on the ground, panting and temporarily half paralyzed. Clearly, this latest bout didn't end as I had hoped. Teach me to hold off upping the chakra output to my muscles, believing I can maintain the status quo. Eight-year-old Neji's progress in taijutsu is evidently faster than mine.
I need to be better than that. It'd be pretty sad for pride to be my downfall.
"Yata! I knew Neji-niisan could do it!" Also, there's Hinata.
Neji steps over to my prone form to help me pick myself off the ground. He grasps my two noodly arms and together we manage to hoist my frame into a semblance of an upright stance. Using the close proximity, I murmur, "Why is she here again?"
Taking a step back, Neji gives me a long-suffering look before he reactivates his Byakugan. Examining me, he begins to circle my form, humming to himself. I myself struggle to remain standing, failing to enjoy the late afternoon breeze. Eventually, Neji comes to stand behind me, shielded from Hinata's eyes. "Kō-san was indisposed, so Lady Hinata demand that I be the one to chaperone her today. Naturally, Lord Hiashi acquiesced," he whispers back, "just be glad we even get to practice today and please, please don't antagonize her needlessly."
Which would have been a shame. Aside from my spars with Neji being one of my favorite pastimes, spending time with the Hyūga has an added benefit. Should our bout be scheduled on the occasional day where a Root ANBU operative shadows me, the presence of a wielder of the all-seeing Byakugan quickly spurs them to vacate the area.
I give Neji my best carefree smile as he finally comes full circle and takes up some kind of Gentle Fist stance facing me. "You know me Neji, I'm mister tactf-agh!" A jab to my shoulder makes me choke on my words, and a second jab to my other side nearly causes to lose balance. Before I can gather myself, Neji appears in my personal space, tapping and jabbing various points on my body. When the assault abruptly comes to a halt, I lose the battle to maintain my stability and find myself landing on my butt.
Ouch.
A flustered Hinata makes use the opportunity to pad closer to Neji, and I lose interest as she begins to fumble trying to speak to her cousin, the tingling in my slack extremities draws my attention.
The return of feeling prompts some experimentation, stretching and testing my newly reanimated limbs. "A warning would have been nice," I grouch, though to be fair, Neji entering a Gentle Fist stance is an obvious statement of intention.
After pulling myself to my feet, I find my personal space invaded from the side by a self-satisfied Hinata. "Don't worry, it's not your fault" she cutely states. "You never stood a chance against Neji-oniisan anyway," Hinata happily informs me, as if sharing an unshakable truth of the universe.
Hinata receives a long stare, during which I pointedly ignore Neji's frantic use of standard Konoha hand-signs, signaling me to break contact with the enemy. "Sure, except for all those times where I thrash him," still not going all out, "which are about the half of our matches." Hinata's eyes me with disbelief, to which I respond by shooting a look to Neji, who has transitioned to observing our interaction with trepidation, "Tell her, Neji." I prompt.
He gives me a vexed look before replying, "I'm afraid Hakaru," Neji crosses his arms, "that I have no idea what you're talking about." His tone his grave, but the cheeky smile he has on display tells a different story.
I've corrupted Hyūga Neji. Hurray!
My eyes narrow, "That's Hakaru-senpai to you," I grumble as my gaze to returns Hinata, whose eyes widen with a dawning look of horror, "After all, I'm already in my last year in the Academy."
And all it took was a showcasing of my proficiency with all three basic Academy ninjutsu, now there's just the wait.
"B-But," Hinata stammers before blurting out, "We're the same age!"
"Yess," I draw out my agreement, almost a hiss.
I'm not usually this vindictive, or prideful, or at least that's what I like to say myself.
Hinata does not seem to take well to that revelation if the vibrating, clasped fists at her side and expression filled with indignation are any indication. Did I already mention how adorable a seven-year-old Hinata is? That attribute is not diminished as her face shifts to a show comic grim determination. Hinata takes a few steps back and slides into a Gentle Fist stance, finding her rebuttal, "Neji-niisan is better than you, I'll prove it."
Not about to turn down a fresh new challenge, I step into a stance a stance of my own and use two fingers to beckon Hinata, "Bring it, Blue."
A throat clearing in an intensely exaggerated manner breaks me from the tunnel-vision I'd fallen into in anticipation of my bout with Hinata, and I turn my head to Neji. Where previously I'd have put him as reasonably irritated, Neji's current expression clearly places him under the label of ticked off. I give him my best winning smile, trying to ignore the way his eyes promise there'll be hell to pay later.
"Don't worry," I shake my head, trying to dismiss his worries, "kid gloves are on. I'll barely even use any cha-."
A hard twist and pivot bring me out of harm's way, as a palm strike sheathed in a shroud of fluctuating chakra passes through space previously occupied by my ribcage. Already regretting my last, unfinished promise to Neji, I continue to backpedal whilst reassessing Hinata's threat level, said girl having returned to her starting stance.
Nothing to it now I guess.
Realizing that my self-imposed handicap is probably going to place Hinata at an advantage, a reckless grin overtakes my features, and I jump into the fray with an excited battle cry.
June 23rd, 8th year after Kyuubi
The coming of the summer's stifling heat waves has driven me to seek shelter in my small, Konoha assigned apartment.
Usually, I'd endeavor to endure any discomfort imposed by weather, as there is little in the way of acceptable activities to pass the time in the confines of my apartment. Most types of training are unsuited for the fragile space also serving as a place for me to sleep and eat my meals. This world also lacked in readily available means of home entertainment.
On such occasions when the weather cannot be born, once I grow weary of reviewing academic material, my time is spent in idle lazing. Despite what the demanding pace of my training might suggest, rest and relaxation remains one of my favorite pastimes. There's nothing quite like lying back and letting the mind wander.
Today I've resolved to include a craft that my appreciation for is steadily growing to the list of occupations appropriate to the boundaries of my apartment, sealing techniques. It had taken me appraising my level of competence to be sufficient with respect to not overly risking damaging the place where I sleep and take most of my meals. The seal I'm currently working on is one of my own design, a chakra disturbance seal, meant to scramble the chakra of the individual it's affixed to in a short burst so as to dispel any genjutsu that might be inhibiting them.
Danzō left his mark.
All of that sums up to me hiding from the summer's high noon in my living room, hunched over a pile of parchment, windows closed and air conditioning flowing.
The seal is mimicking a simple internal chakra manipulation, reconstructed as a fūinjutsu formula. The achievement is unremarkable, but it hints at a possibility that any chakra technique may be subjected to similar principles to be reproduced in seal form. Heck, forget jutsus, from what I gleaned thus far seals are limited only by their energy requirements and the fundamental laws of this reality, the former likely assisting in bending even the latter.
The primary function of the seal itself is simple enough, but it's the triggering mechanism that stomps me. Stomps me, as in, can't even start designing it. I have no clue as to how to recognize an illusion technique has been applied to a person through chakra, it's not a subject that's been thoroughly explained in the Academy. Once I figure it out though, there's little doubt that a seal capable of recognizing the symptoms of a genjutsu could be created.
I'd say my profession in my previous life was computer programming if asked to guess, judging by all the knowledge about and pertaining to computer code I have cluttered up in my noggin. Knowledge that up until recently would have been branded as useless. My burgeoning understanding of fūinjutsu is slowly reversing that opinion.
Consistent behavior can be expected of identical chunks of inscription given a channeling of quantity and quality of chakra of fairly similar levels. I recognize the familiar patterns, even though the texts that I've read suggest that no one of this world has yet to really catch on. Simple building blocks used in conjunction, building upon themselves, creating increasing complexity and allowing innovation constrained by logic and creativity alone.
A coding language for reality, dealing in chakra rather than bits and bytes. The implications…
Why am I hot?
I almost snap my neck turning my head to the living room window, and stare in curiosity. The window is conspicuously open, despite having closed it, letting warm air invade the formerly cool living space.
A cough from behind jolts me, and I spring to my feet as my heartbeat skyrockets, eyes shooting towards the sound's origin, a chakra presence unnoticeable until moments ago.
My gaze almost immediately lands on the far side of the living room, where I come upon the familiar form of one Uchiha Itachi. Lounging in full ANBU gear on an armchair across from me, the pair of the couch I've been reclining on, the Uchiha examines the sheets of seal work spread on the table with mild interest.
Before my breath has a chance to settle, I decide to express my irritation. When Itachi takes his eyes off of my work to look at me, I wave my arm in a mockery of welcome and wheeze out a snarking, "Come right in…"
"Hn."
Typical. At least I now know that there are levels of chakra suppression beyond my ability to detect.
In truth, Itachi's visit is significant enough that any displeasure at his mode of arrival is cast aside. For months I've been waiting for any hints as to the outcome of Itachi's tragedy. Initially resigned to a repeat of canonical events, as week after week inexorably passed with no news of a massacre sweeping through the village, a glimmer of hope began to grow that my influence might have pushed Itachi to somehow waylaying the miniature genocide.
Itachi clears his throat once more. There are bags under his eyes. Perhaps that dream was too farfetched to have arisen from my meager meddling. "Hakaru-san," Itachi says, "I was hoping to get your input on a matter of… ideology and ethics." I catch glimpse of something I'd never seen him display openly before me, hesitation. As though he's like to leave at slightest of disagreeableness from myself.
Unbidden, the memory of my parting words at our last encounter surfaces. "I think I'll make us some tea."
When I return, unceremoniously dumping my fūinjutsu work to the side, and place two steaming cups of green tea between us on the now clear table, Itachi spills.
"Relations between the Uchiha and Konoha have worsened since we last talked." A clan torn between love and hate, intertwined in a mess of bitterness and pride. "A disastrous inevitability is fast approaching." The traitorous conspiracy, a misguided call to action.
"Your father…" I hold up, playing my part in this charade, "He's the clan head! Can't you…?" I gesture weakly with my hand, "Can't he-"
Itachi cuts in, "My father can't-won't," he bites out, "do what is necessary to stop this folly." A father and a clan head, who cares too much to put them in their place, but not enough to save the clan from itself. Itachi sighs, and raises a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "He is but a man, not immune to a growing resentment towards a village that has all but turned its back on his family."
"And…" I start, "Did it?" If I am to suggest my plan, there are certain subjects this conversation needs to be steered through.
Itachi looks at me in askance, and I clear my throat, hurrying to explain myself. "Did Konoha turn its back on the Uchiha?"
Hesitation shrouds his eyes for a moment, as Itachi weighs what to divulge. "There is… a village elder," he rallies his nerves, "Danzō," Itachi whispers into the room. "I've been assigned to his command, to take part in the surveillance of my clan," Go on… "He speaks of caution and preparedness, but my eyes reveal the greed and malice hidden in his."
"Did he-" I bite my lip, "did Danzō implicate himself?" I jump to the point, anxiously elaborating, "Has he overtly acted against the Uchiha?"
Itachi gives me a guarded look. "Yes… he has," he breathes out with a sense of loss that has yet to be fully grasped, his mind traveling elsewhere.
I see the pain in his eyes and know Uchiha Shisui to be the most recent source of Itachi's anguish. A cousin more elder brother. Wielder of an ocular power that should never have existed. Loyal shinobi to both Konoha and his clan who tried to break the spiral of hatred, only to be betrayed. His final act bestowing Itachi with bloody gifts.
With Itachi displaying his emotions as openly as I'd ever seen of him, I do my best to hold back the glee I'm feeling. Itachi just gave me justification to suggest my plan, but it's no excuse the disrespect the trust he's showing me.
Eventually, Itachi wrenches himself from his brooding, "But it matters little. Danzō is too slippery to be charged effectively." Itachi sighs, "I've taken your words to mind, and tried to untangle myself from the plots weaved by Danzō and my father, but found myself curbed at every turn. Things of self-interest, they serve neither the village nor the greater good." I'm surprised by how disillusioned he sounds with not only his clan but his service in ANBU as well.
I take in the tale, refreshing and reaffirming my memory of the events preceding the Uchiha Massacre. Itachi falls silent for a moment, nursing his cup of tea. He does not appear to have relinquished any of the hefty weight he carries, but his poise has become somewhat more composed.
"I have been issued an ultimatum by elder Danzō," he says with a detached calm, "to join my clan and be slaughtered alongside them, or to eliminate the Uchiha for the sake of the village and allow Sasuke to be spared." With that he drains the last of his tea, smacking his cup to the table, and leans back into my armchair. Itachi gazes at me with a resigned expectancy.
The fact one of those options is outright treason, against a village that I'm a part of, hangs heavily the already tense air. It probably took a lot of nerve to come, something I never doubted Itachi possesses in spades, and trust in me, which is far more heartening. Perhaps he'd caught on to the apathy I hold for the traditional kind of loyalty fostered in shinobi villages. Unsaid, and sequestered to darkest reaches of my mind, is the fact that Itachi could quite easily kill me.
"Itachi," I say, my mouth opens and closes several times, before snapping shut as I fall into a brooding silence of my own.
I do not refrain from speaking for a lack of words. Receiving this opportunity was something I'd amused myself with on occasion, and have already come to a feasible resolution in my endless mental meanderings. It's figuring the right tone of delivery that gives me pause.
A few minutes of silence remind me that I'm not the type of person to find the 'right tone of delivery.'
Screw it. Here's my input.
"You're not going to do either!" I almost snap at him, abruptly breaking the silence. "A person who would give you these kinds of options," and here I use quotation marks, "is your enemy, despite whatever common goals you may have. You must never let your enemies dictate what you can or cannot do." A matter of ideology and ethics… Ha! Shows the kind of insidious bastard Danzō is to tie Itachi into knots like this.
While Itachi's eyes are rarely anything less than sharp, there's something more to them now. Suddenly filled with excited energy, I jump to my feet and begin to pace in the confined space.
No more dallying, I kick off and say, "Konoha and the Uchiha cannot coexist as they presently are, that much is clear." Itachi opens his mouth and I raise my finger, "However," gesturing for him to let me finish, "that isn't a necessarily permanent state of affairs." There are certain contrary elements in both entities that have brought us to this junction.
Looking directly into his eyes, I cut straight to the most critical question, on which my entire plan rests.
"Itachi, can you assassinate Danzō?" Asking if he can eliminate his father and the clans' loudest advocates of rebellion is superfluous, of course he can.
Whatever excitement Itachi has built up is shut down, and he closes up as he broods over the question. The old warmonger alone would be a tricky pickle without even adding in his numerous fanatical underlings. I see him hesitate, and we can't have that. "Let me rephrase. You are a shinobi of Konoha and defender of the Will of Fire. Can Danzō be killed?" It barely takes a moment for him to understand. Itachi exhales heavily.
"Yes," he says, with a firm nod. There's almost excitement in there, though he's yet to quite see my intentions. He stands as well, and we step closer.
I suppress a grin, a crescendo of understanding is coming together.
"Will your mother keep the peace?" Asking of the same of the Third Hokage is superfluous, of course he will.
Itachi stands perfectly still for a moment-
A raised eyebrow, a twitch of his hand, and a widening of his eyes. These are all the signs I need.
Itachi caught on.
"It's not a perfect solution," I admit.
More a lesser evil.
A convenient one, which rids me Danzō.
Itachi shoots me a look of bewildered wonder and begins to pace. "…The underlying sickness won't be cured, but it'll buy years to…" He trails off as his expression changes to one of intense concentration, seeming to forget my presence. His understating of both the village and his clan eclipses mine by a wide margin. I'd be of little help in ironing out the details required to make this scheme work, his thought process easily outpacing mine on this matter.
My eyes spot some of the tension visibly leaving Itachi's frame over the next few minutes, walking back and forth in my living room. I imagine the turbulence of thoughts his mind rushes through when he stops and moves to stand before me.
Itachi's face is a mask of complete seriousness. A sense of purpose and unyielding resolve. Backed by the skill and power of one of the Uchiha's greatest prodigies, I figure you can count on a single hand the number of shinobi alive today who could stand against him.
The mask is pulled back for a time as Itachi gives me a melancholy smile. "I'm forever in your debt for this," he says easily, "I imagine we won't meet again for years." And I feel an actual pinch in my heart at that.
My first friend. Kin in mindset. The person closest to seeing. To understand how utterly broken this world is, and willing to do something to change it.
"We'll see about that," is all I manage to say, and hold out my hand for him to shake. Itachi grasps my forearm, and a camaraderie silence blankets the room, the late noon sun washing over us from the window.
When the moment grows long, we unclasp our arms and step back. "Before you go, two things." I raise two fingers.
Itachi nods for me to continue.
"Danzō's right arm, I sensed something incredibly wrong with it." A lie, the sealing work is top notch, but I couldn't let Itachi face the man without some warning to the depths Danzō was willing to go to. "I'd suggest its removal as a priority."
Itachi's eyes gain a distant look for a few seconds, contemplating that statement before he shakes himself and asks, "And the second thing?"
I smile.
"Teach me a jutsu."
A cloaked figure slinks through Konoha's underground passages.
The tunnels are poorly illuminated and seemingly deserted, yet the interloper takes care to silently slip from one shadow to the next. Spotting a niche, bracing, a flash of motion, scanning for alerted sentries, and back again. The figure makes steady pace towards Root's section of Konoha's subterranean causeways.
Though familiar with the layout of the maze-like corridors, the prowling shinobi is intensely alert, all too aware of the paranoia rampant in the clandestine unit's leader. New traps, a change in patrol, even adjustments to the structure itself. Every new hallway is considered as unknown territory.
The hooded individual was loath to engage with Root, but needs must.
Hesitant at first, the boy he'd regarded as something of a protégé had made a compelling case as to the importance of this course of action. Above all else, to ensure the future of his little brother.
Those sentries that cannot be avoided are neutralized. A flash of red and spinning tomoe, a swift chop to the back of the neck. For those that neither is viable, an even swifter kunai to the jugular. It pains him to put down loyal ninja of the village, but that pain does not outweigh the price of failure.
At last, the cloaked shinobi reaches a great pit, intertwined with catwalks and pipes. Halfway to the dark abyss below, an enormous wooden bridge stands, leading to the four sides of the chasm.
From his position near the pit's top, the ninja could make out two figures facing one another where bridge's two walkways intersect. Treading to a closer vantage point, the sounds of conversation become apparent.
Uchiha Itachi's aloof voice is just loud enough to hear from this distance, "…my father accepted his role in this with humility," though it is colored by an irregular hint of pride. "He has entrusted me with the future of the Uchiha."
"I respected your father, he was an honorable man, though misguided." Danzō's voice has never sounded quite so corrosive and deceitful, the spy could almost imagine Orochimaru's sibilant hiss. "Now is the time to do your duty to not only your village but also your clan. Put them down as you would a rabid animal." Danzō implores, "Make it quick. Make it painless."
Itachi tone remains detached, "I have come to a preferred alternative," he says.
"You dare strut in here and ask for my life?!"
"I was under the impression you were willing to give your life for the village," Itachi replies with ease.
"I'd put my life on the line for Konoha a thousand times before you were even born, boy!" Any veneer of courtesy is slowly but surely being stripped from Danzō's words. "I'd gladly die a thousand deaths for this village!"
"The Uchiha are a part of the village," Itachi says.
"The Uchiha were never a part of the village," Danzō mocks, and there's a hint of something insidious there. "An enemy tricked. Bridled and chained with duty. The military police, a mundane task to dull their edge." Danzō's single visible eye bulges out as spittle flies from his mouth. "Some would think you're as any other clan of the Konoha. But I always knew! Always prepared for the day I'd need to put you down!"
Enough.
Even the hooded shinobi's stomach is turning at the repugnant words coming from Danzō's mouth. Itachi's composure may be staunch, but best not to test it needlessly. No doubt the real intention behind Danzō's tirade.
It's time.
The watcher discards his robe and jumps. Plunging down, he prepares his signature technique.
As he falls, his body contorts to minimize air friction, increasing speed and reducing sound. When the technique is ready, however, that notion becomes moot.
Lightning comes to life beneath the earth, to the call of a thousand birds.
His quarry becomes aware of the approaching danger and begins to move, but he is far, far too late.
Between one heartbeat and the next, spearheaded by the unreal concentration of lightning chakra produced by Chidori, Hatake Kakashi's hand plunges into Shimura Danzō's back. Flesh and bone part before the piercing ninjutsu with no resistance, and Kakashi's hand bursts from the man's chest.
Even though the Uchiha were the clan of his dead teammate, Kakashi could have still balked at Itachi's request for assistance.
Danzō slumps forward.
Itachi was a former teammate, yet Kakashi might still have sent him away or turned him in upon hearing of his intentions.
But upon hearing that the old warmonger had managed to steal a Mangekyō Sharingan, Kakashi could not remain idle. Inevitably, Kakashi knew, Danzō would turn that eye upon the Kyuubi
No hint or prior warning is given as Danzō's form disappears before Kakashi's eyes, something considered impossible due to the Sharingan residing in his left eye socket. Itachi rushes forward. Steel clang behind Kakashi's neck, the gust of wind caressing his collar a deadly whisper of might have been. Swiftly turning and joining his own blade to Itachi's, the two put Danzō on the back foot.
Naruto. The only remnant of the family that has been ripped from Kakashi one by one. His little brother in all but blood, who he only got to truly meet so early due to a twist of fate. In Kakashi's eyes, Naruto is a perfect amalgam of his parents, bearing Obito's will.
His priorities have never been clearer.
Danzō jumps back to create breathing space. "Hatake!" he spits out in rage as he rips away the bandages covering his face, throwing them aside and revealing a sightless white orb in his right eye socket. His chest inexplicably whole. Danzō recognizing Kakashi doesn't come as much of a surprise. His eye-catching hair has always made the ANBU mask more of a formality. It doesn't matter. Only one side would remain standing come morning.
Kakashi's sensitive hearing picks up on a familiar sound, he signals Itachi, and they leap from their position as a rain of kunai and shuriken descends. As he weaves between and deflects the thrown projectile, Kakashi spots half a dozen Root agents. Alerted to their master's peril, they have come to assist him.
They form up around Danzō, despite Kakashi's and Itachi's the renewed assault, allowing him the time to unseal his right hand. The appendage is pale and deformed, dotted with unblinking red eyes and crowned by a face Kakashi recognized from Konoha's Hokage Monument.
Unexplained cases of Uchiha clan members KIA are suddenly not so mysterious.
Feeling the strain on his diminishing reserves, Kakashi notes that it's going to be a long night.
June 24th, 8th year after Kyuubi
Itachi's POV
Judging by the color of the night's sky, Itachi can tell daybreak is fast approaching.
The Third Hokage appears to be studying the sky as well, silently gazing as he is through the panoramic windows of his office, his back turned to the other occupants of the room and lit pipe in hand.
Exhausted and hurting, Itachi dares not move a muscle from his kneeling position. At his side, Kakashi holds a similar posture. Bearing pains no lesser to Itachi's, the older jōnin keeps his expression impassive.
Before them laid out on the floor are five black storage scrolls. Four sealed and one rolled out, contents spread out around it. The grisly, dismembered remains of Shimura Danzō, Elder of Konoha, and a traitor. Body, arm, and head.
The corruption Danzō inflicted upon himself is apparent for all to see.
Arrayed around them are two elite ANBU squads, ready to end their lives at the slightest of infractions.
There might have been more, had not most of Konoha's ANBU presently in the village been scrambled to contain Root. Killing Danzō could be likened to kicking over a bee hive and squashing its queen. The drones are in dire need of direction, erratic, and liable to lash out. Hopefully, most could be reformed and absorbed back into the standard ANBU platoons and regular shinobi forces.
The office's inhabitants have been holding to their positions for an achingly long period, and not a single limb will shift, nor sound come out until the Hokage's say so.
Itachi would easily wait whatever time the Third needed to accept the foregone conclusion. For much as he displays deference, inside, triumph blares most prominent. It is merely a matter of knowing, and trusting, the aging Hokage for any other conclusion to be conceivable.
Someday, Itachi swears, he will find a way to repay the debt owed.
With a tired exhale of smoke, Sarutobi Hiruzen turns his back to the window and addresses the room. "Itachi, stay. The rest of you, out. I'll deal with you later, Kakashi."
"Lord Hokage-" One of the ANBU starts to protest, but Sarutobi cuts him off with a hard look. They all call out, "Lord Hokage!" and then the ANBU disappear with a Body Flicker. Itachi knows they won't go far.
Kakashi's departure is less urgent, adding in his own subdued, "Lord Hokage," he pushes himself to his feet and trudges to the door. Once the door closes behind him, the office plunges to silence for a time once more.
Sarutobi studies offerings laid out on the floor. What remains of Danzō, he eyes with alternating disgust and a deep sited weariness. All the words said, and all the words that will never be said be spoken between the lifelong friends and rivals passing before his mind's eye.
When the sting threatens to disrupt his composure, the aging Hokage forces himself to turn his eyes to the unopened scroll. He spends a particularly long time studying one of them. "For a son to be forced to kill his own father… I have failed you, Itachi." His voice brooks no disagreement.
Itachi remains silent, but in his eyes, where Uchiha Fugaku redeemed himself only thanks to his acceptance of death at his son's hands, he reflects that he might have argued given a chance.
Sarutobi appears to galvanize himself, "Stand now, Itachi." As he Itachi does so, he continues, "This village has suffered enough of me dwelling on what could have been, instead of what is. It will have no more of it." Itachi agrees. Thinking on the course of action he had previously been preparing himself to go through, he promises to never fall to such complacency.
The Hokage goes on, "I have a great many plans to be implemented. Things that must be done going forward if the sacrifices made are not to be wasted. I'll hear your ideas, you would not have taken this step without thought. Your input would be much appreciated." That Itachi will be banished and branded as missing-nin following this meeting is implicit.
The Uchiha, one of the village's founding clan, planning a coup. A village elder practicing bloodline theft against one of Konoha's clan. If made known, those facts could muddle the very bedrock on which the village was raised up. Revealing the Uchiha's infractions would all but destroy any chance of Itachi's clan returning to the fold.
It is a price Itachi would pay with ease, for his clan's salvation. It is so close now…
He starts without stalling, "The Uchiha must reintegrate into the village. We are predominantly a ninja clan. The location of the clan's compound is not truly important so much as this Uchiha's place in the shinobi forces." Taking a breath, Itachi makes a proposal that will have is clansman cursing his name, even more than they already will, "The Konoha Military Police hereditary connection to the Uchiha must be dissolved. A commander not of the Uchiha should be appointed, in time, and more of the clan's shinobi persuaded to join different branches of the shinobi forces."
The Third nods along, seeing the merit in Itachi's ideas. "And what about prejudice held against your clan?" Sarutobi asks, "Quite a few in the village still blame the Uchiha for the Kyuubi's escape and the ensuing rampage." The loss of that night will hunt the Konoha for many years. The Third Hokage, in particular, lost both his wife and successor in one fell swoop.
How will you alleviate my concerns?
Itachi can't help but feel as though the Third already knows what he intends to offer up as appeasement. He is reminded of the shrewdness of the man standing before him, who has served in his current position for longer than most shinobi get to live.
A shadow separates from Itachi, and in a flurry of dark feathers coalesces into a crow perched on his shoulder. Itachi reaches to the crow's plumage and somehow draws out a scroll. A storage scroll of red and black. The Hokage regards the item with fascination as he holds out his hands and Itachi relinquishes it.
"My father's eye, surrendered by the Uchiha clan as payment for its transgressions against Konoha, to be bestowed upon Konoha's Nine-Tails jinchūriki, and no other, when the time is right." Sarutobi's grip on the scroll tightens, "To ensure that no Uchiha may ever dominate him, and to allow a measure control over the beast within." Itachi sees that Sarutobi sees the endless possibilities spread out before him. "My clan will accept these terms."
Sarutobi face turns wistful at that, "The eyes of Uchiha Mikoto's husband, in the possession of Uzumaki Naruto…" he mumbles, something unfathomable passing behind his eyes, "Yes, I believe your mother could come to accept that, and with the right motivation she'll work to maintain peace."
As the first rays of dawn begin to break over the horizon, Itachi resolves he will not settle for belief alone. Not on this day. "My mother will be made to understand, there is no recourse." Even if it necessitates cutting into his heart again.
On his shoulder, the crow caws and turns its head, revealing a blood red orb. The last remaining Sharingan of Uchiha Shisui.
And old man and a young one in an office. The old man sits in his chair, regarding the younger man, who stands at attention before him.
"I'm glad you chose to follow Itachi in this, it seems you've finally found your purpose again."
"…"
"I'm not truly mad. My right hand in ANBU is expected to have a sense of initiative. Extreme as this course of action was, I can only blame myself for forcing you to follow it."
"Yet, I'd hate to stand in your shoes."
"Lord Hokage?"
"I can read underneath the underneath quite well, you should be well aware. It is surely a difficult thing, to balance your loyalties between a useless, has-been living kage, a worthier dead kage, and a kage yet to be."
The young man makes to object, but the older silences him with a gesture.
"I'm sorry, Kakashi, but whatever your plans after today were, they'll have to be suspended. Your stint in ANBU will be prolonged beyond what I initially hoped to be your time to rejoin the regular forces. Naruto will have to wait."
"…"
When Kakashi shows no inclination to challenge the Hokage, he elaborates.
"From your summary of Danzō's and Itachi's confrontation, there is one particular point on which Danzō wasn't wrong. Tying the Uchiha to the Konoha Military Police has dulled their edges, though I know not if that was the Second's intention."
"War runs deep in the Uchiha's blood, it is where they shine brightest. Even with Uchiha Mikoto working on our side, hellion that I remember her to be in her prime, I fear that the thrill of active duty will embolden some to act on any misplaced resentment harbored towards the village."
"Your left eye will be needed in the coming times."
"Both my eyes and blade are yours for as long as you have need of me, Lord Hokage."
Sarutobi nods his acknowledgment. The two relapse to silence to silence for a time.
"…"
"What is it?"
"And Itachi?"
"An agent from a group called Akatsuki has made contact with him, an unusual gathering of extremely skilled rogue shinobi. A concern for the future, no doubt. Itachi will enter deep cover to gather intelligence."
A long silence.
"It's strange…"
"Lord Hokage?"
"I never expected a prodigy such as Itachi to resolve the Uchiha's predicament in a manner so… down to earth." Sarutobi chuckles to himself, "Teach me to underestimate a genius."
"…"
"What is it?"
"I can think of where he might have received the push."
"…Tell me everything."
July 4th, 8th year after Kyuubi
Exploring Konoha's backwoods has never felt quite so liberating.
It's been days, and the Uchiha aren't gone. There hasn't been a single ANBU watcher in that time either. I can only summarize that Danzō is dead, and Itachi is no longer in the village.
A voice in the back of my head cackles, and I maniac smile forms on my face.
Danzō crossed me, so I made Danzō go away!
Although I remind myself with a sense of melancholy, there won't always be a desperate juggernaut to sway to do my bidding.
It's not as though my friendship with Itachi could have lasted, there was only ever the tiniest of chances of making any change beyond what I'd already wrought.
The extra weight in my kunai pouch blunts the sting further. Itachi didn't have time to teach me a jutsu, so he hastily copied the instructions to a scroll.
Finding a suitably isolated patch of forest to start learning the technique, I hunker down and pull the scroll from my pouch. A fanciful thought comes to me. Could this clearing be where, in another time, in an alternate universe, Naruto learned the same technique?
A power multiplier in ways both obvious and subtle.
The Shadow Clone Technique.
I could make a thousand plans on how I'd use this ninjutsu, but until I can get an accurate understanding of its mechanics, they will serve as little more than daydreams. Best to focus on learning the thing.
Time passes as I study the instructions, the necessary chakra flow, and the single hand-seal. I make sure to drill myself on all of them, apart and then together. This is a forbidden technique renowned for its intense chakra demands and subsequent risk to its users. Confident as I am in my reserves, I'll take no risks.
The first time must be perfect.
When the time comes, I make the cross-shaped hand-seal and focus on producing a single clone.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
The smoke clears, and I see the clone staring at me.
…
I blink.
Something's wrong.
…
Why did we switch places?
…
No.
I… am the clone?
…
No, no, no, no no, nononono- I clutch my head. My goes blank as-
It's there. I can feel it. Everything is the same except for a knot of chakra in my stomach, tethering me to the orig- to the other.
I instinctively know. A single flex of will is all it will take, and I go puff.
No!
He is looking at me with a curious expression, and I feel a flare of hatred.
It dissipates just as quickly, there's something foreign in my brain that won't let me retain animosity to the other.
Am I going to die? To disappear? I'm not ready yet!
Wait…
The memory retention! It's my only hope.
My existence continues in the original. It will, there's no alternative.
Acting before my nerve leaves me, and grabbing at the knot of chakra in my core, I scream defiance at the void.
"I live, I die, I live again!"
The memories hit me like a truck, and I physically stagger, heart rate skyrocketing.
"The hell?!" I wiz out a ragged breath. What was that?
I fight to calm myself.
What the fuck was that?!
The clone- no! The me that wasn't I, but is now a part of the whole. Is every shadow clone like that? What's wrong with Naruto and every witless fool who uses this technique? What was wrong with Tobirama to create this monstrosity in the first place?!
…
Am I just so narcissistic and frightened of my own death?
Probably.
My breath evens out.
Settling down to think, my ass flops to the ground. This can be worked through. The other me wasn't wrong. His memories are in here, and they have influenced my being, as is the nature of memories.
Not a clone, or a copy. An extension of my consciousness, separated for a time, always to return to me in the end. I think I can live with that, to not break down in a gibbering mess if I wake up to realize I'm a clone.
I think on his words, my words, and a snort breaks out. Even facing oblivion, I can't help being a smartass.
The same thoughts circulate in my mind over and over as I build up my resolve. Seeing no excuse to delay any longer, my fingers twist to form a cross-shaped hand-seal.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
The clone appears in a burst of smoke, and freezes. A storm rages in his eyes.
I keep silent, there's no need to patronize myself.
As no picture of me has ever been taken, I examine myself for the first time, not through a mirror image, but as others truly conceive me. My complexion remains as it has for years, a modest tan over light skin, as has my hair, a spiky mess of brown. The plain shirt and shorts do not scream ninja as much as the bandages wrapped around my wrists and my shinobi sandals. Access to limited funds and the rapid growth associated with my age have pushed me to put off purchasing a proper shinobi outfit until graduation.
The other takes a shaky breath and straightens his posture. Matching my stare, he says, "We're cool."
A grin forms on my face, mirrored on his. "We have work to do."
July 15th, 8th year after Kyuubi
Ugh.
The Academy's instructors' lecturing in theory class was something I'd considered for a long time to be the low point of my routine, a dull monotony that couldn't possibly get any worse.
I was wrong.
"-agriculture subsidy clause in the Sand-Leaf peace treaty-"
Ugh.
Turns out theory class while suffering from a headache is much, much worse.
Naruto may be an Uzumaki and a jinchūriki, but I refuse to believe he wasn't also some kind of shadow clone savant. The second thing I learned about the technique, is that it is a terrible idea to work alongside a clone on mentally intensive tasks for hours on end before dispelling, forcing an already strained mind to cope with a sudden influx of stimulating thoughts and memories. That event nearly laid me out.
Since then I'd been experimenting with the technique, finding how best to utilize it while remaining functional. Fūinjutsu is the most demanding mental discipline, while taijutsu is the least. Ninjutsu falls around the middle. The amount of time an extension of myself should exist before dispelling derives directly from the type of task he carries out.
No more than two clones at a time, and they can't dispel at close intervals.
An incredible boon.
Despite my precaution, I'm still new to the procedure. I was a clone working on a particularly tricky piece of seal-work and forgot to dispel myself, still a novel concept, resulting in the headache currently blotting my awareness.
To the point where I fail to notice my name being called.
"Hakaru!"
Fumbling with myself, I snap to attention, "Yes sensei?" There's no reprimand in his expression, just a resigned acceptance.
"You've been called to the office of the Academy head."
The head jōnin's stare bores into me. He seems the no-nonsense type.
"I have been ordered by village administration to select an Academy student for a genin cell that's being put together."
About damn time.
"It is my personal opinion, and the general consensus amongst your instructors, that deems you as the student most ready to be committed to shinobi duties. You will be tested, of course, but I believe that to be a formality at this point."
Or maybe they're just tired of the anti-social child destroying the curve and making the older Academy students feel inadequate.
"Do you accept?"
"Yes." I just approved of life serving as glorified muscle.
So excited.
"Good. Welcome to team 6. Your teammates' names are Uchiha Izumi and Sai. Your jōnin sensei is Inuzuka Gaku. You'll meet them on July 19th, at the ninth training ground, 7:00 AM sharp."
An Uchiha, a Root operative, and an Inuzuka.
Sounds like the start of a bad joke.
