Posted: 3/15/17
Delusions of a Visionary
Chapter Nine: Striving for More
I frown down at my hands in the dog sign as I mentally and internally will my chakra to shift to the next hand sign without me physically doing it. The bark of the tree behind me digs into my back, and I shift a little to get more comfortable, taking a momentary break before resuming my efforts. Until I can smoothly and seamlessly transition from each of the three transformation seals to the others without actually using a hand sign, I won't be satisfied.
Perhaps this newfound obsession of mine isn't the healthiest thing out there, but it's a distraction —a coping method. Following, memorizing, and discovering all the different paths chakra can build upon itself requires a lot of mental concentration that keeps my thoughts from dwelling on less pleasant things.
Not enough concentration though, to prevent me from noticing Dan's familiar chakra approach and finally settle on a nearby branch. I'm still not sure how I feel about Dan right now, but I do have a question, and I want answers.
"Why did you start training to become a medic-nin?" I ask quietly, before he can say anything. I don't have to look to know that he's listening. Why else would he have come out here than to attempt to speak to me? Mom probably sent him, thinking I would like talking with Dan best. A few weeks ago, she would have been right, but not anymore. Maybe not ever again.
"Why? Well, that's because I want to help people." Dan's voice sounds surprised, but I could scoff at his answer. Help? Help people? Did he become a medic because of a guilty conscious?
"Is that really enough for you?" I ask quietly. "Waiting for the damage to be done and cleaning up the mess that follows? Don't you ever want to find a way to prevent the damage in the first place?" I was the one damaged, once, in that other world in my head. I'm sure I'd have prefered not dying. What kind of a mess did I leave behind?
I meet Dan's eyes, and hold his stare until he finally looks away. I can't remember the last time I lost a staring contest. I've become notorious for winning them. Dan eventually lets out a heavy sigh.
"You know, Miyo, there's a lot of times, like right now, that you don't seem like a kid. What you're talking about is a far off and probably unrealistic ideal. The only way to stop the damage from being done in the first place is to have power so immense that no one dares to challenge you or the people close to you. Even Lord Tobirama doesn't have power like that, so, yes, cleaning up the mess is fine for me. Because if I don't try to clean it up, I'll lose even more than I do now."
I'm frowning heavily, I can feel the wrinkles in my forehead. I don't like Dan's answer. In my dreams, I fought in that place called a courtroom with words and facts and evidence —fighting, like Dan is now, to clean up a mess that somebody has already caused.
I'm sick of living like that.
"Don't frown like that. What'll you do if it sticks?" Dan tries to joke, but it falls flat, and I tell him as much with my eyes. When he flinches, I feel somewhat vindicated, but he isn't done yet. "Look, Miyo, is this...is this because Uncle died?"
"Dad was lucky enough to actually have a medic at the outpost with him, and he still died, Dan. They all died." My nails are digging into my fists now, and the pain is a nice distraction from the ache in my chest. "Dad's gone. What good is being a medic-nin if people still die in your arms? If you still die?" I can feel my chakra roiling inside like a violent summer thunderstorm.
Getting to my feet, I turn away from Dan, but I can feel his eyes watching my every move like a hawk. It's annoying.
Ever since the Ninja Games, ever since Dad died there's been this strange awareness in people's eyes when they look at me. Like they're constantly looking for a threat. Dan, Mom, my friends… I hate it.
"It takes a lot of bravery to be a medic-nin, Miyo." I roll my eyes, uninterested in the case Dan is trying to make. Honestly, I haven't cared (or at least wanted to) since he laughed at me with Tsunade. "You have to stay in the back and watch your teammates fight. It's a medic-nin's job to avoid injury so they can heal the survivors."
"Then I must be a coward. You can fight to keep people alive, Dan, but I…" I pause, placing a hand over my chest and lightly applying pressure. "I can't stand the sight of my own blood. I hate being in pain." It hurt so much, the stabbing, the bleeding, the deep ache, and the ripping of flesh.
But sometimes, I think that waking up again hurts worse.
"I hate causing pain. My body starts to shut down at the thought of it." Shut down, mimic a death I might have experienced, same thing. If I close my eyes right now, I know I'll see the demon behind them, see the satisfied look on his face at my pain, my death.
What is death, really? Is it an end? Or is it just a new beginning?
Shifting my weight, I transfer the necessary chakra to my legs and feet and up my spine, the tiger seal no longer a necessity. I spare a look over my shoulder at Dan, the ghost of a painful grimace on my face. "If I have to fight for something, then I would fight to prevent myself, and others, from feeling pain in the first place."
Dan opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Dan. Please, just leave me alone." My voice nearly cracks at the end, and with a shift of chakra, I run.
When I finally stop moving, I find myself at the top of a tall tree that allows me to see part of the village. My eyes drift to the academy building, it's bright colored roof sticking out like a sore thumb. Even though class started back up awhile ago, I haven't been back.
I need time, and space.
Grief can do strange things to a person, and right now, the idea of having to socialize and deal with my peers is just too much.
I'll go back when I'm ready...or when they make me. Duty to the village and all. Whichever comes first, I suppose.
..-. .- -.. . / .. -. - - / -. .-. .- -.-
"Miyo." I look up from my hands and let my chakra fall back to its natural flow at the sound of my Mom's quiet but steady voice. We haven't spoken much in the past few days, slipping silently around each other in the strange dance that is grief. It helps though, knowing someone else is here, in the house.
Mom's leaning against the frame of my door, and while her face is stoic and her posture is as straight and vaguely threatening as usual, there's something awkward around the set of her shoulders, like she isn't sure if she's welcome.
"Yeah, Mom?" I reply, shifting over obviously as Mom hesitates. She lingers a moment longer at the door before crossing the room to join me on my bed. It's… weird, I think, laying next to Mom in silence, staring at the ceiling. Dad is- Dad was the one who usually invaded my privacy like this.
I fidget a bit, twisting my fingers through the sheets on my bed. If I close my eyes, Mom's presence can almost seem like Dad's. Is it so bad of me, if I want it to be? For Dad to be the one to be here…
I bite back a grimace, and shove the thoughts away, lying still and silent, eyes tracing invisible patterns across the ceiling.
The thing about Mom and I, though, is that what isn't said is always more poignant that what is said. There's something about the heavy quietude between us, the lack, that's led us to the relationship that we have today. Something that's not quite fond but is entirely family.
So the silence works it's usual magic as we lay together. I can feel Mom slowly relax next to me, her shoulders loosening, one coming to rest just barely over mine; a spark of warm comfort from a woman who is usually cold.
"Dad knew," I break the silence, finally putting to words what's been haunting me for days now, "Dad knew that he wouldn't be coming back."
I can hear Mom breath a deep sigh, something wistful caught in her throat, "Probably," she says, voice soft.
"He didn't tell me."
"He wouldn't."
I close my eyes, and try to picture it. My dad, as loving and open as society lets him be, with something dark in his eyes before he left. He had hugged me, I remember, biting my lip. Dad hadn't hugged in me years. Not since I was just a little girl.
"Did you know?" I ask.
Mom doesn't answer for a moment. I look over at her, her short blue hair slick against her head, her eyes closed, her mouth tense.
"I wasn't home," she finally says, voice perfectly controlled. Something heavy falls in my stomach, because I can fill in the blanks.
Mom had been on a mission, had been out of the village for at least twenty-four hours before Dad had even received his mission, I bet. She had left, expecting her husband to be there when she returned, only to find him off on a mission, which isn't that odd. She probably didn't even guess that Dad wouldn't make it back.
Dad had always made it back.
I turn my head, away from my painfully composed mother, to stare at the ceiling again. There's a faintly pink stain up there, just above the foot of my bed: a memento from my childhood. I had been experimenting with my chakra and had had a vaguely genius idea (or so I had thought, at the time) involving strawberries and chakra pathways.
"Do you remember the strawberry accident?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the splatter of pink.
In my periphery, I watch Mom shift a bit, her eyes opening. I can see her lips quirk into something resembling a smile before her face smooths over again, "I told you to get rid of that stain years ago," she murmurs.
I smile slightly, eyes tracing the edges of the stain —an irregular splotch about the width of three fingers. "I liked the color," I tell her, which is kind of true. The barest tint of pink had seemed like a nice break from the straight white of my walls. The real reason I had kept it, though, was because, whenever Dad had come into my room, he always looked for it. And when he found it, he always smiled.
Mom glances over at me, and I shift so that I can meet her eyes, "I miss him," I say, voice coming out garbled and weak. Mom looks away again, her face falling into the lines of deeply felt grief, her eyes clenched closed and her lips twisted into something heartrending.
"Me, too," she breathes, like it's been ripped out of her. There's a heavy moment of silence, before Mom seems to realize how emotional she's gotten. Clearing her throat, she sits up in a quick movement, her face once again cold and smooth.
Not liking having to look up at her, and feeling oddly vulnerable for it, I sit up as well, shifting until my back is against the wall. Mom turns toward me, tucking one leg under her body, her hands resting flat against her thighs.
Mom seems to sigh, her eyes searching over my face, "You did better than I would have expected, in the Ninja Games," she tells me, voice monotone.
I grimace, better than I would have expected isn't exactly the best compliment a girl could ask for. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was entering," I say, not really meaning it.
Mom raises an eyebrow, a look of distant incredulity pulling thin lines around her eyes, her lips pursing tight together. "You should have told me," she agrees, "But nevertheless, you represented the Nakamura family well," she pauses, her eyes intently looking over my face, like she's looking for something.
We sit in silence like that for a long moment, with Mom having some sort of debate within herself about how worthy I am, or something. Maybe that's not what's happening, but it sure feels like it.
Mom finally seems to make a decision. "You represented the Kato family well," she says slowly, hesitantly.
My brows furrow, the Kato family? That's my mother's maiden name, and the last name of Dan and Yvette.
"Thank you?" I finally say, at a loss.
Mom quirks an eyebrow, a faint smirk on her lips, "Honestly," Mom says, "I thought Dan or Yvette would be the first to figure it out, but neither of them have shown any sign of it so far."
Okay, now I'm really confused. "Shown signs of what?" I ask, making an effort to keep my rising frustration out of my voice. Mom wouldn't appreciate that.
Mom seems to take a moment to gather her thoughts, before she starts explaining, "Anyone who watched the fight and that can figure out you were the one causing trouble around the field, will think you did it completely with genjutsu and illusions," Mom says with a rare smile that I find myself staring at. Mom is really pretty when she smiles.
And then she drops the bomb.
"To everyone else, Miyo, you used illusions because it is impossible that you used anything else. To them, it's not possible to make other people change places; it's not possible to force a transformation on another person."
I can feel my eyes growing wide. Impossible? It's not… possible, to transform other people? To make other people switch places? But that can't be right. What- what is Mom even..?
"But...why...how…?" I can't even think to form a coherent question to ask what I'm feeling inside my head.
Mom seems to understand though, "Most ninja can't manipulate another person's chakra without that person willingly channeling their chakra into them to use, Miyo," she says, succinct, completely blowing my mind.
"But, then how—" I cut myself off, totally bewildered.
Mom holds up a finger, her face a study in cool and composed, "You," she points to me, "me," she points to herself, "and a few other family members that have already died," her finger circles around, as if to indicated these dead people, "have a chakra ability that most other don't."
"Like a bloodline limit?" I ask.
Mom shakes her head, an amused snort escaping her lips, "Nothing quite so impressive, Miyo," she tells me, "Think of it more like a forbidden jutsu. The Kato clan has the ability to subtly influence others' chakra, which is something other ninja can certainly learn, if they cared to. Ninjas who reach Sage level are known for it, even. For others, though, it would be very taxing, and would require many years to learn."
I slump further against the wall,absolutely poleaxed.
"Why… why haven't you told me this before?" I question, "Do Dan and Yvette know?"
Mom shakes her head, "The ability is rare, Miyo," she explains, "It is unnecessary to tell you before you develop the ability. If none of you had developed it, I would have explained when you were all having children, or there is a journal detailing all of this, in case I die."
I flinch, a grimace stealing across my mouth. Die. She says it like it's no big deal.
Mom stares at me, unapologetic.
I take a deep breath, trying to sort through everything; bloodline limits and forbidden jutsus and, and—
"How does it work," I ask, trying to turn my thoughts into something like order, "What else can we do?"
Mom snorts, a wry smile twisting at her lips for a moment before it smooths out, "You've already about reached the limits on what we can do," she says, dry, "The less trained the person's chakra, the easier it is to manipulate. With people genin level and below, you'll be able to do as you've already done —force transformations and replacements on them, maybe stop a jutsu before they complete it. After that?" she shrugs.
I stare at her. Thats… thats it?
Mom smirks at me, "I told you, it's not very impressive."
"What… what about natural chakra, or something? Can we manipulate that?" I ask, voice rising a bit in pitch.
"Natural chakra?" Mom sounds amused, "Maybe if you become a sage," she says, laughter in her eyes.
I glare, crossing my arms over my chest, "So, after genin-level ninja, this —this ability is practically useless?" I ask.
"Not completely," Mom says, her hand tottling back and forth in the air, as if to say that it's so-so, "It can be a pretty effective distraction, to tug at someone's chakra, and you can usually replace yourself with someone, if they're distracted enough."
I lean back, just… absorbing. Mom seems to understand that I don't have any more questions.
"You'll have to practice with it, now that you're aware," she says, "find your limits. Family legend has it that our first ancestor could control all chakra." Mom leans back on her hands, face tilted toward the window.
"Legend says that Kubo Kato, the first of our clan, was born with no chakra of his own, and was about to die because of it," she continues, her voice settling into something low and hypnotic, "Chakra noticed the dying infant, though, and tried to fix the babe, filling him with it's power."
Is Mom actually telling me a… story?
Today is so weird.
"The chakra, while saving the dying child, never settled into Kubo's system, despite Chakra's best efforts. Instead, the chakra stayed on the outside of Kubo's skin, like an armor and a weapon all in one.
"As Kubo grew, he learned to control this chakra, even though he could never channel it through his body. Instead, he would channel it through other people, using it to manipulate their own chakra. This way, he was able to turn people into his own puppets, using their chakra for his own means."
Mom pauses, turning back to look at me, "The legend goes on to detail Kubo's supposed achievements, but I've never put much stock in it all. There's a book in your father's old study," her voice catches for a moment, "If you want it," she finishes, her voice soft.
She clears her throat, hands clenching in her lap, "After Kubo, the gift was passed on to his children, and their children after that, and their children after that. Over the generations, the gift has diluted, showing up less and less, and becoming less powerful every time it did make itself known."
Mom stands, brushing her clothes flat, "I'm-" she stops, looking uncomfortable, "I'm proud of you, Miyo," she finally says.
I suck in a harsh breath, staring up at her. Mom shifts, looking away from me, clearing her throat, "I thought you should know."
I nod, slowly, feeling like I've been rubbed raw of all emotions.
"I'm going on a mission tomorrow," Mom says, walking toward my door, "It's time to stop grieving. It's time to move on," a note of steel enters her voice. She turns once she reaches the doorway, her hand briefly disappearing into her pocket before it returns, a scroll held in her hand. In a quick movement, she throws it at me. I just barely manage to catch it.
I glance down at the scroll, and for a moment it looks black, black like death. Black like grief. I close my eyes, shaking my head. I look at the scroll again. It's a creamy white color, tied with some twine.
I look up, to question my mom, but she's gone.
..-. .- -.. . / .. -. - - / -. .-. .- -.-
Braiding my hair, I stare at the letter from the academy on my bed:
Under the decree of Lord Tobirama, prolonged absence from the academy is considered treasonous as it is seen as being against the interests of the village. Third year academy student Miyo Nakamura has been absent the maximum allowed lapse of time. Should said student fail to report to the academy the day after this notice is delivered, further action will be taken by the corresponding area chunin.
It's a generic letter, with my name filled into the blank space, but that doesn't make its meaning any less important. It's the reason I'm going back to the academy today; otherwise, I might have waited another day or two. Maybe a week (a lifetime). I just don't quite feel ready to go back, but then, will I ever actually feel ready to go back?
I doubt I'm going to like today; everyone will probably have a lot of questions about why I've been gone and what happened at the Ninja Games. Neither are topics I really want to talk about.
The black band around my bicep will answer their first question. It's a sign that I am mourning the death of a close friend or family member. Everyone in my family is wearing one right now, and probably will for another week or two.
I have the unfortunate feeling that my family and the families of the others who died with Dad are only the first of many who will bear the black band in the days to come. I'm not a fool. In recent months, I've observed that the number of ninja being called out on missions has doubled.
At the academy, starting this year, they've been heavily emphasizing the importance of being able to spot infiltrators aka spies (Eggs has told me that even the first years have started an infiltration unit, which definitely wasn't the case when I was a first year).
Spies are commonly the first heralding of a much bigger conflict.
Dad was killed by an ambush at the border of our country's lands.
I'm not sure how much longer it will take, or how high the tensions are currently between us and whoever the other party is, but war is coming.
War.
In comparison to other things; the fight with my friends, the ninja games; war just makes them seem so small, so insignificant. What are the worries of an academy, soon-to-be genin, in the face of what will be the death of hundreds if not thousands of people; civilian and ninja alike?
War.
In a few months, I'll be a genin, an official ninja of the Leaf. I'll be expected to do my part. I clench my fist, the one I threw a punch with in the Ninja Games. I can still vividly feel the sickening crunch of my opponent's nose against my skin. The thought makes my stomach want to turn. If nothing else, the Ninja Games just drove home the fact that I can't inflict serious pain on others.
Much more than a broken nose, and I would have lost it completely.
I meet my own gaze in the mirror.
War.
Should it reach the point that they need genin… If they send me to the battlefield, I know I'll probably die. I'm not a fighter, I don't do well in head-on combat.
"You've proven yourself apt at too many ninja arts to be allowed to have a nonmilitant life."
Dad.
I sigh, gathering up my things for the academy. I can't afford to drag my feet any longer. If war really is coming, and I know it is, I'm running out of time to figure out a way to survive.
..-. .- -.. . / .. -. - - / -. .-. .- -.-
I hunch over my desk, fingers tracing the fine grain. Coming back to school had not been easy, mostly because my classmates have made it so. Well, except for Noriyo, she's too lazy to turn her head to stare. For once, I'm grateful for her lackadaisical nature. Even now, I can feel Fugaku's eyes on me from behind, his stare burning against the fine hairs on my neck. And not just Fugaku. From all sides, I can feel my classmates' curious eyes.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a new student in school —I've never experience that before. If it is, I must apologize to all past new students that I've encountered. I am really uncomfortable right now. The black band around my bicep feels especially tight, under all this attention.
For the past few days, I've been arriving as late as possible (without actually being late) to avoid an inquisition from my classmates. So far it's been working. And it's been easy enough to leave early, before anyone could stop me.
During class, though, I can't escape from all the stares.
I huff to myself, crossing my arms over the desk. At least I'm free from the scrutiny of the Hyuga twins. I eye the backs of brothers, silently mourning the newfound tension between the two. Not once in the past few days have they even looked at each other, or me for that matter, outside of a quick glance at the black band on my arm that is. I'm thinking we aren't exactly friends anymore.
Shaking away thoughts of the Hyuga clan (any help I would try and offer would just make the situation worse, I'm sure), instead I turn my attention behind me. Specifically, I think about one Caxin Shiranui. It's the first day since I've been back that the serene brown eyed boy has been to class, and I have plans.
Patiently, I ignore my classmates and count down the last hours of class, keeping all of my attention on the boy behind me. Caxin can be slipperier than a bar of wet soap when he chooses to be, so I have to catch him while I can.
When we're dismissed from class, I once again dodge the other students and stick close behind Caxin, lightly taking his arm once we clear the building, steering the indifferent faced boy to my tree. Luckily, he seems to be in a good enough mood to humor me.
"Can I help you, Nakamura?" Caxin asks, cool as a cucumber when I've finally stopped dragging him around. I watch as his eyes flick to the black band on my arm before returning to my face. I hold back a grimace. The twenty-seven days of grieving will be over in a few more days, and then my family will all take the bands off.
"I need you to teach me perfect chakra concealment and how to disappear all the time like you do. Right now —or give your word that you will before we graduate." Caxin's normally relaxed features take on a sharper edge as his usually narrowed eyes open more to better expose his deep brown eyes.
"And why would I want to do that, Nakamura?" So, perhaps demanding that he teach me his techniques is a bit rude (a lot rude), but at this point I'm beyond caring about that.
"Because I made a promise, and come hell or highwater, you're going to teach me those techniques so I can keep it," I growl quietly, my nails digging into the skin of his arm. To his credit, he doesn't flinch.
"I'm not teaching you unless you give me something of equal value in return." His voice is cool and low, and I know no one else can hear it but me.
I furrow my brow, but nod my head after a moment. It's only fair I suppose. "What do you want?" I ask back just as quietly.
Perhaps, above all else, I'm just not ready to die… again.
..-. .- -.. . / .. -. - - / -. .-. .- -.-
As graduation looms closer and closer, Professor Abe has really started trying to go about desensitizing us ninja-wannabes. His most recent attempt? Mercy killing. My classmates and I are gathered around a realistic dummy dressed in a standard Rock issued chunin uniform sprawled across the ground. It has fake stab wounds decorating it's chest and fake blood staining the grass below it.
I don't feel it when I hit the floor, my eyes locked firmly on the knife protruding through my sternum, my hands grasping desperately toward the figure before me, trying to hold on to something stable. No, all I feel as the shock quickly settles is a sharp, intensely overwhelming, pain.
"Now, students, can anyone tell me why you might want to take the time to kill an enemy ninja who is already dying out?" Professor Abe dryly asks. I try and pay attention, but it sort of sounds like Professor Abe is speaking from a great distance, even though he's only a few paces away from me. It's just… I reach up and press a shaking hand to my sternum.
It's just so hard to breathe right now.
I slowly reach up and grasp the handle of the knife and the resulting shock of rippling pain joins and meshes with the still radiating pain from deep inside my chest, where I can feel the tip of the knife lodged into my spine.
A sob catches in my throat, and as I try to breathe in, the pain flares in my sternum, oozing into my lungs.
"Maybe," Jessiryn Rass, the rich civilian-raised-girl, muses out loud, "If you aren't sure the enemy ninja is really as injured as they're pretending to be?"
Professor hums a bit, and nods, "Yes, that may be fair. But if you fear that they are better than they are letting on, why not, in that case, try and take the enemy ninja in as your prisoner for interrogation?"
Rass looks stumped. I distantly realize that I would normally find that funny, because Rass likes to act smug and superior at all times, but nothing much is registering beyond the distant, remembered pain in my chest, where it is so, so hard to breathe.
My eyes skip from the knife to the demon in front of me. His mouth is stretched thin in a mad grin below his crazed eyes, contorting his handsome face.
"Althea!" I hear called from the front of my house, but I can't look away from those eyes.
It's a demon. There's a demon in my house.
A demon.
Hiashi clears his throat, catching the attention of Professor Abe and the rest of the class. I try desperately to pay attention, but I can't keep my eyes from flicking back toward the dummy and its bloodied, stabbed chest, "I believe that such an action will depend on the situation," Hiashi begins stiffly, his baring proud amidst the curious gaze of his classmates, "Perhaps, if you are close to Konoha or one of our border posts, and you are confident that you can overpower the injured enemy-nin, you can reasonably take the enemy prisoner." Hiashi pauses a moment, to gather his thoughts. I turn my shoulder a bit, placing my back more firmly toward the dummy.
"However," the Hyuga heir continues, "if it isn't reasonably possible to take the enemy-nin into your custody, it would not be wise to leave an enemy alive, with the chance of being saved or of recovering. In that case, it would be best to kill the enemy."
Enemy, enemy, enemy. They're really beating the point home, aren't they? No talk of gender, or that this is a person. Just an enemy. Like its supposed to be easier that way.
An enemy in a Rock uniform. I wonder if that means anything.
"Oh, Althea. You should have listened when we warned you off the case," the demon croons in a lilting, accented voice. It leans down, it's crazy, demented eyes locked onto the knife in my chest, where my hand is still locked around the handle. I watch, numb from the pain, as his hand reaches out toward it. I quickly release the knife and try to back away, digging my elbows and heels into my white carpet, but I can't drag myself fast enough. The demon, in one swift move, grasps the handle of the knife and pulls it from my chest.
There is a second of relief before the pain ratchets up again. Just one second where I can breathe.
The demon swiftly brings his hand down again, and I watch with wide eyes as the knife is once more plunging into my body.
I almost don't recognise the scream I hear as my own.
"Very well thought out," Professor Abe rasps, nodding at Hiashi. The ninja-child promptly puffs up, like a proud peacock. I can't find the breath to laugh at him. The class all nod to each other, as if what the Hyuga heir had said makes sense. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the dummy lying still in the grass.
I choke on a cough, pulling my arm from beneath me and swinging my hand out toward the demon's wicked, wicked face.
The demon lurches back with a hiss, its macabre grin shifting into a vicious sneer, "All enemies of the family will die," the demon spits, its hand reaching up toward its face, wiping at the bloodied scratches there.
Had I done that?
The demon takes one more step back and disappears, "Au revoir, Miss Jackson," it hisses from the shadows.
"Now, I'm sure this will be common sense for most of you," Professor Abe says as he crouches beside the prone dummy. I close my eyes and press my hand harder into my sternum, trying to breathe, "but the quickest, most efficient way to kill an enemy that's on their back like this is to slit their throats."
"Althea!" I hear again, but Agent Alec Seig —for who else could it be?— sounds even further away than before. I drag my hands up over my ribs and press them against my chest, where I can feel blood, wet and hot and sticky, beneath my fingers.
The pain is fading.
I take a step back, and then another, ignoring Fugaku's half chastising, half concerned look as I bump his shoulder with mine.
Between one blink and the next, Agent Seig's handsome face is above mine, and I can feel his hands first linger near the knife embedded in my stomach, before pressing over the hole in my chest.
"French," I rasp, blood bubbling up between my teeth, the taste of copper heavy in the back of my mouth.
"No, don't talk, Althea, help is on the way," the agent's face looks so desperate and sad, but I can't really hear him.
"French," I tell him again, slipping one hand out beneath his and grasping at his bicep, because this is important, "He's French."
"As you should all know," Professor Abe continues to lecture as I back up, positioning myself behind the clustered group of my classmates where I can no longer see the dummy, my breath hitching and catching in my throat, "the carotid artery is in your neck. If you have a kunai on hand, it is easiest to simply cut through it."
Everything goes dark. I can feel my chest rising up and down, as I try and breathe.
Breathe in.
There's faint, gray blobs moving in and out of my vision. A great, sudden pain stems from my stomach.
Breath out.
I can feel hands all over my body. My chest, my stomach, my neck, my face, my feet.
Breath in.
A swift, darker blob bobs into the corner of my periphery, and I try to flinch away. It's the demon! The demon is back!
Breath out.
"If you don't have anything sharp in hand," Professor Abe sounds wry, and I imagine that he would be very disappointed in us if we managed to become so defenseless as to have lost all of our weapons, "then press up hard against where the internal carotid artery branches away from the main artery. This artery, as you've learned in your anatomy classes, is the artery that provides blood to the brain. Blocking it will efficiently kill your enemy."
This far removed from the dummy, I can finally feel myself gaining control over my breathing. In and out. In and out.
There are no more breaths in. Just a final numbness that seemed to seep out from my toes, inching up my fingers and toes and infecting my heart.
It's just gray, after that.
A bell rings out from the academy and Professor Abe dismisses us. I give a sharp, discrete shake of my head towards Fugaku as he walks toward me. Smooth as ice, he redirects his path among the other students, giving me a look from the corner of his eye. Noriyo slumps past me, her shoulder brushing against mine. I ignore the few odd looks I receive from others as I stare at the dummy, unmoving.
At least, it was gray, until the rocks.
My feet seem to move on their own as I slowly traipse towards the dummy I had just tried so hard to get away from. I focus my eyes on Professor Abe (it's the only way I can continue to move towards the dummy) who looks like he's about to start cleaning up.
"Professor Abe," my voice cracks as my words come out more a strangled question that anything. He stops, straightening up from his stooped position to look down into my eyes.
"What is it, Nakamura?" I'm sure he notices how fidgety I seem, and I doubt he missed what just happened to me, but I'm forever grateful that he doesn't mention it.
"Can I…" I pause, taking a gulping breath, my eyes quickly darting from his face to the dummy and back. "Can I try?" My fingers slowly clench into fists.
Professor Abe blinks, the only sign that he's surprised. After what feels like an eternity to me, he nods, and steps back a bit to give me better access. Reaching into my pouch, I clasp clammy fingers around the hilt of one of my few kunai.
My breath is shaky, and there is an obvious trembling in my limbs. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, holding it until I can't before I let it go. When I open them again, Professor Abe is staring at me, a calculating look in his eyes.
"Either a slash to the throat or a deep stab to the heart will suffice," he says after moments of deliberation. A demon flashes before my eyes, his laughter in my ears, but I force him away.
"Right," I say quietly, bringing my kunai up to bear. I step forward, and stare directly down at the dummy. My eyes lock on his chest and the fake bloodstains there. I can do this, I can do this, I tell myself in my head. No, I have to do this. Just...just pretend it's a pig or something.
My grip tightens around the handle.
Just a pig.
Sweat drips down the side of my face.
A pig. Just a pig.
A demon's laughter.
Just a-
French vanilla.
Pig.
"Rahh!" I growl, going to my knees as I stab the kunai I'm holding into the dummy. Pulling it out I swiftly stab it in again and again.
"Nakamura, that's enough," Abe says firmly, his hand somehow having grabbed ahold of my arm at some point. I didn't realize that I am sobbing, my breathing ragged, my throat beginning to feel a slight rawness from my guttural growls and screams as I stabbed the dummy.
My chest aches.
I can't hold it back anymore. The cool metal of the kunai hilt slips from my fingers as I turn my head to the side and empty the contents of my stomach onto the ground. I fall to my hands and knees, eyes clenched closed and nose stinging from the pungent scent of vomit.
Dad, I think, imagining his warm arms wrapped around me. I'll never be ashamed of you.
I swallow down my tears, my hands coming up to cover my face.
I'm… I'm ashamed of me.
I wipe my face clear of tears and vomit. Slowly, I bring one foot up, bracing myself against my knee, before I bring the other foot under me, lurching up straight.
Professor Abe is still standing next to me, his eyes politely (if not a bit awkwardly) focused on the academy building, leaving me a small bit of privacy.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, voice flat.
I'm so sorry, Dad.
"The merits of an untraditional ninja are vastly underappreciated these days, Nakamura," is all he says.
I stare up at my teacher, eyes wide.
"You are dismissed," Abe rasps, one eyebrow raised.
"I'll help clean up."
Professor Abe shakes his head, waving his hand through the air, "Dismissed, Nakamura. I'll see you tomorrow."
I nod slowly, taking one last look at the dead dummy before I turn to leave. It's still just lying there, in a pool of blood and vomit.
I grimace and turn sharply away, reluctantly heading toward Merchant Corridor, mentally preparing myself for something that I never thought I would do.
I'm going to go buy some meat.
It's just that, I'm really, really craving bacon right now, vows of vegetarianism or not.
Once again, we have managed to pull off a miracle, people. We were so sure that we wouldn't get this chapter done in time to post today, but lo and behold, we have been blessed by the writing gods!
Enter stage left: bacon cravings. Because nothing satisfies emotional trauma like bacon.
Thanks to each and every one of you for your continued support -every read through, favorite, follow, and review are very much appreciated. That 100 followers mile marker was especially sweet~! And with this post, we'll be exceeding 60,000 words. Progress has never felt so good.
Stay tuned for more kick-butt Miyo, and her upcoming graduation from the Academy. The pacing of this story is about to pick up a bit (hopefully -we never really know, this story just kind of writes itself).
The Splits
