BAD APPLE
9. Memento Mori
"On the fiftieth thought, I can't do this at all!"
It should be illegal to be this loud in the early morning. What surprised me more was that the hubbub involved Itachi. Arriving at the Academy first thing in the morning, I found Itachi waiting for me—as he'd promised. I did not expect another Uchiha there.
He was obviously an Uchiha; if his skin didn't look like he'd been bathing in flour like most Uchiha looked, his curly black hair, telltale black eyes and uchiwa-emblem sewn onto his back would've given him away.
Perhaps because the taller Uchiha boy was shaking Itachi like a rag-doll but my friend didn't immediately notice me. "C-Calm down!" I think Itachi's teeth had knocked painfully together from the outrageous display of … violent affection? "Take a deep breath," instructed Itachi calmly, sounding way mature than his older relative—how backward was that? I wondered as I approached the duo. "Now release it."
He did.
Itachi cringed, face pinching tight. "Shisui, did you brush your teeth?"
"'Course I did!" the older Uchiha snapped. "Strawberry-flavored toothpaste to be exact. Wait, that's not important right now!" A deep inhale of breath, then a hysterical spew of words: "If I fail, I'll be the first Eternal Academy Student! I dunno why it sounds so grand when it's supposed to be awful and—"
Itachi poked his cousin's forehead, index and middle finger pinched together for more force, exasperation in the crease of his mouth. "Calm down, Shisui. You can do this. We've been practicing for weeks."
They made a sickeningly endearing sight.
Had it been anyone but Itachi, I would've even smiled slightly. But looking at them—recognizing the name Shisui—I felt like someone had pressed a kettle onto my chest. I didn't stop even though the two Uchiha perked: Shisui's ears twitched like a puppy's in curiosity; Itachi opened his mouth and barely got through, "Mi—" before I stomped ahead and past them.
The examination was held in a different classroom than the one I was used to.
I wasn't sure if I should feel happy to be free of that stifling environment or apprehensive that I'd be kicked off the cliff and into new waters.
Realistically, I knew that while kids who graduated during their single-digit years were considered impressive in peace time, it was actually because the Academy had nothing else to offer them even though the curriculum was supposed to accommodate their growth—to ensure they had the able body required for a ninja by the end of the six-year course. In the end, these kids were passed onto jōnin-sensei to be groomed.
We may grow up in different environments but I doubted the growing up part would differ greatly. They did it in the classroom; I did it in training grounds.
I hadn't gone to see the Hokage recently so I hadn't had the opportunity to ask him who my teammates were. If I would even have any.
"Good morning, Mirai."
"Oh, you," I droned dismissively.
Itachi had resumed the seat next to me, slotting into the empty space like he knew it was meant for him. The other genin-hopefuls obviously knew who I was—the blonde hair with the tips drenched in a color reminiscent of blood and purple slitted eyes were difficult traits to miss, as I was told—and they'd avoided sitting anywhere near me.
"… Did something happen on the way to school?" he inquired after a minute's pause where he flipped through his recent memories to find out what he'd done to mortally offend me.
"No," I deadpanned.
"What did I do to you?" asked Itachi shrewdly.
I was about to respond but then I saw Uchiha Shisui standing at our row. His bright—powerful—eyes were curious and assessing. I closed my mouth after saying, "It's a stupid thing. Never you mind." Because it was. What right I have to be jealous of who Itachi wants to be chummy with?
None. So I should keep my mouth shut and suck it up.
"Can I have the window seat?" Shisui pointed to show where he wanted to seat: on my right where sunlight had valiantly fought through the smothering blanket of wintery cold to bask us in its grace.
I ignored Shisui. He took my silence as an affirmative, completely missing the frigid glare I was giving him. Itachi leaned back to let Shisui scramble over. Biting back a curse, I stood to let Shisui pass and he plopped down happily by the window, peering out as if he'd never seen through a window before.
I stared at him, Shunshin no Shisui; Shisui who killed himself to give Itachi more power.
I blinked away the image of eyeless sockets on an older Shisui's face to see the Shisui of now: a boy not knowing that in years to come, he would die a pitiful, pointless death. A dog of Konoha. And his ears had the habit of perking too. Hmph, might as well leash him down with a collar while the authorities were at it. Cute—but sickening. I wrinkled my nose to hide the smile threatening to creep onto my mouth.
"Is there something on my face?" Shisui blinked earnestly at me, having turned back to face us.
"Piece of work, isn't he?" I looked at Itachi, pointedly away from Shisui, as I spoke, sneering sardonically as I did so.
"Among the Uchiha, yes," agreed the Uchiha heir, a hint of a rare smile on his face.
"Why are you ignoring me?" protested Shisui, tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. I shook his hand away from me, edging closer to Itachi. Who had pulled out a history book four-hundred pages thick for some light reading to pass his time waiting. Only Itachi could consider history light-reading.
Shisui was undeterred: he edged closer to me. I had to elbow Itachi for more space. I didn't know how long we'd squirmed and wrestled for space before Itachi closed his book to push back; "I don't have any more space. Please stop being so childish."
And true enough, half of his butt was already hanging off the bench. Glaring evilly at Shisui, I stopped moving and let the ignorant brat wedge himself beside me.
Unsatisfied by whatever vibe I radiated, Shisui clambered onto the desk and yelled, "HEY!"
My eyebrow twitched in annoyance; the whole class had quieted to stare as the foolhardy Uchiha confronted the village's pariah.
It's like he's got nothing better to do in his destined-to-be pitifully short life than to continue shortening it… and if he keeps this up, he won't live to see his next birthday … my temper can't take much anymore…
I clenched my fists. I knew, right now, I was weaker than he was and it sucked that I had to swallow my indignation down due to my weakness. Especially without Yagiza by my side. (Yagiza was safely kept in a storage scroll I tucked into my side pocket.)
Finally deciding to step down (as Itachi showed no signs of intervening; he was pretending we didn't know one another right now) and acknowledge him, just to get him off the desk, I opened my mouth to speak civilly to the uncivilized dog of Konoha to fucking get out of my face.
Before I could so much as spit out one syllable, a prelude of, "Ah, Gomen!" cut across me from the front row. I stared, startled: Shisui's eyes widened and he tumbled far too quickly for me to react—like get the fuck out of the way and let him hit the bench.
(His mouth covered mine—)
…
Strawberry.
Shisui did have strawberry-flavored toothpaste. And he most definitely brushed his teeth.
My eyes bulged, nearly popping out of their sockets, as I stared into Shisui's equally startled black eyes. The close proximity emphasized the largeness of his irises. Then red edged into my vision—literally. Hikenshi materialized in my distress; shoving Shisui off me when my arms were too numbed by shock to do so.
Shisui fell off the desk in stupefaction.
I wrenched on the red threads that still bound Shisui, dragging him back halfway up the desk. "You swine—!" I began to shriek, about to dig his eyeballs out, but Itachi finally intervened.
"Killing one of us will prompt the clan to rain hell on you, Mirai," he advised matter-of-factly. "You can simply wait until Shisui's natural lifespan ends."
I gnashed my teeth. Only the apoplectic fury on my face stopped the spectators from giggling and murmuring. "Scram!" I spat at them, swiveling my glare between the cruelly neutral Itachi and the dazed offender, Shisui. I was having a hard time deciding which of these two I wanted to off first. "Why won't you … come and kiss him goodbye too? Once I'm through with him—!"
Amusement traced the aristocratic planes of Itachi's youthful face. "Oh, him? I wouldn't want to risk your wrath."
Before I could fling Shisui into Itachi—an easy feat when my threads did all the work—the teacher body-flickered into the room. And promptly locked in on the three of us. "Sit down," he snapped, jabbing his finger at the bench.
I let Shisui go and he sidled into the seat next to mine once more.
Well, at least he was quiet.
…
(Bloody idiot, that was my first kiss—)
No, I couldn't afford to be distracted.
The taijutsu portion came up first: testing our aim and then we'd be set up to spar one another.
I was surprised to meet my opponent: Mizuki. His hair was a pale, stringy light color and so was his skin. His black eyes—the most common eye-color in Konoha—were shifty as he eyed me with no little amount of fear. But his fear didn't overwhelm him into hysteria, I'd give him that.
"Take your positions," droned the chūnin overseeing this section of the test, looking utterly bored behind his thick-lenses.
I glanced around and saw two other pairs getting into the remaining rings. There were three large white rings—the arenas—where three different pairs would fight at the same time, each supervised by a chūnin instructor. This was to quicken the pace of things.
"Form the seal of confrontation," droned the proctor.
"The seal of confrontation is for comrades," spat Mizuki—the imbecile who'd tricked Naruto and made my brother feel so, so low—virulently. The lines of his shoulders were stiff. He balled his fists in anticipation, sliding into the basic stance most Konoha shinobi utilized. "You're not one of us, demon."
"You do not even deserve to be the mud beneath my sandal –bito!" I spat on the ground, uncaring of how many people observing this rudeness. Anger simmered beneath my skin, behind my eyes, heating them. Naruto's tear-filled eyes sprang to mind.
"Begin," came the almost lazy call.
In the split second Mizuki tensed to charge me down, I decided not to use Yagiza unless the situation was dire.
He was fast; I was weighed down by my weighted clothing and weighting-fūin but that hardly mattered when the fight began. Feet still planted firmly on the ground, I twisted my body, letting his blow slide through. He was quick to regain his bearings, not overextending, and instead, he swung his arm sideways to catch me anyway.
I fell sideways, palms on the ground supporting my body as my lower-half twisted; shins slamming into his chest, knees connecting with his right ribcage, to push him back and give me a breather. Mizuki floundered, unused to another style—nothing in the Konoha Style said anything about shins. The thing about everyone training solely with the same style was that you could typically predict your comrade's movements and counter each move.
I rolled into a crouch, body heated with adrenaline and everything but Mizuki faded into a buzz. This time, I went straight for assault: I kicked off to the right and with every lunge forward, I switched direction: left, right, right, left, right, right, left: Mizuki missed the feint, thought I was attacking from the right and I slipped through his guard, driving my elbow into his sternum viciously.
He crumpled and choked but I didn't stop.
I was sure no fighting style here in the Narutoverse—and in my old world come to think of it—entailed anything about kicking your opponent when he was already down.
But I was filled with so much righteous fury, vision marred with every slight against me, of his cruelty towards Naruto, that I took it out on Mizuki: I shrieked in rage as I stomped on his face hatefully, swung the same leg back and kicked his jaw again, graciously showing him out of the ring.
I would've lunged like a wild animal and bash his head repeatedly into the ground but Itachi's cry of, "Mirai!" stopped me from making that leap between animal and human and really, when had that line blurred?
"Enough!" roared the deadbeat chūnin. His thick lenses did little to hide his apoplectic fury now. "Get back, demon!"
Biting my tongue, I fell back into line. Chest still heaving, rage still fluttering with every beat of my heart in a body that had yet to be drained of adrenaline, watching as the chūnin supposed to oversee the middle ring tend to Mizuki, quickly rushing him away to the hospital wing when it became clear there was something he was incapable of fixing.
"Mirai." A comforting weight on my arm; I unwittingly tensed. "It's okay." Lower than a whisper above the wind: "You're not a demon, you're not."
And Itachi gripped my arm so hard his fingernails left indents on my fair skin, as if he was trying to ingrain the truth into me.
Shisui poked my side. I squirmed away, annoyance returning in full blast as I looked at him. "Itachi's right. I mean, no demon can be as cute as a kitten! You hiss like one when you're angry, right Itachi?"
…
(I seriously wanted to kill him for practically shouting it to the whole class to hear. The only reason no one laughed was because Mizuki's beating was still fresh in their minds)
(They knew fear; good. It would seem Konoha wasn't a breeding ground for hopeless cases yet. Always with the yet)
…
"Namikaze Mirai!"
After three fucking hours of written testing, I was finally going to wrap this up with the ninjutsu portion. I flexed my fingers. The written test had been easy because I cheated like no tomorrow: I was more than happy to abuse ninshū to its fullest.
Twinning my spiritual energy with Itachi's or any other remarkable-looking graduates, I'd managed to scrape together a compilation of points that fit the criteria of the question, eventually succeeding in composing an essay to acquire the grade.
Their contemplative thoughts were sickening—my stomach was still churning even after a forty-minute lunch break—mainly because everyone was so patriotic, easily coming up with ideas to best serve Konoha if they became shinobi.
Don't even get me started on the question. If I hadn't been able to use ninshū and join minds to pluck their ideas, I would've failed for sure.
Disgust still curling around my shoulders like a snake, I entered the room at the back. And was faced with even more disgust from the examiners. They were certified chūnin with a great many dozen missions secured beneath belt so they were less intimidated by me and I'm sure no one in the village had missed how a disorganized mob had been capable of overwhelming me. That did little to erase the loathing and hatred.
Or the loathing could've been from me. Honestly, these days, it was getting harder to discern whose emotions were whose.
As if feeding upon my subconscious, innermost desire to be with my parents and Obito once more, the tendrils of Yin chakra in me always stretched in every direction, going as far as they could go—trying to find someone who was beyond reach, as futile as knowing someone you'd never met before.
Needless to say, I did not find Minato or Kushina or even Obito. Instead, for every unfriendly spiritual energy that I inadvertently brushed against, I would get a blast of hatred, fear, disgust and every possible negative emotion for the jinchūriki.
As I could feel what others were feeling, it might've mixed up what I was feeling myself.
Here I was, gazing into cold, discouraging eyes, and feeling a marginal amount of loathing that might not even be me. Hatred was tiring, withering; anger was stronger, fuelling. I wished they'd been angry instead of hateful.
My mouth turned down into a frown to mirror theirs.
"You can begin," said the elder, bearded chūnin in a stiff, overly formal tone. He was so different from the kind, fatherly man towards his first-years. "With the Kawarimi."
My eyes lingered on the trays that sported neat rows of metal on cloths: hitai-ate. Then I let my gaze flit around the room, scanning the place for available replacements. I had to take in my size and how it proportioned with the object I had in mind.
I carefully molded chakra, letting my fingers do the job for me, and I expelled it: my chakra lashed onto the broom in the corner and tugged the same time it flung me into the spot where the item was. I landed on my feet—thankfully—in the corner of the room, chest tight with the breath of relief I was withholding.
The first few times I'd tried it, I'd landed in ungraceful sprawls or I would only manage the journey halfway there.
"Henge, next," was the clipped response I got and a critical eye still gauging me. Hoping for a mistake.
I dragged my feet to the middle of the room again, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. My spiritual energy left the pores of my skin to cloak completely around me, altering itself to fit my imagination.
"What … without hand seals?" hissed the younger man—flaxen hair and emerald eyes—who'd been quiet up until now. His senior shrugged him off. Uttering a curse under his breath, I saw him clasping his hands together. "Kai." He stared in blatant shock at the unchanging scenery.
I couldn't stop the complacent from carving my lips into a smug shape.
The senior chūnin furrowed his brows; expression dark. "Let's see your Bunshin no jutsu then."
My spiritual energy divided, spreading into the atmosphere and created perfect mirages of me. "It's not a genjutsu," I assured the green-eyed fool, laughter in my voice. My chakra didn't invade their brains, after all, so it couldn't even be counted as genjutsu.
Liken my ability to that of a hologram. You could see it and its source but you couldn't touch it. The typical dispelling jutsu for genjutsu didn't work since my technique did not invade the target's brain.
"You seem to have remarkable chakra control," noted the senior chūnin impassively. He gestured generously to the tray of hitai-ate. "You passed, Namikaze."
"That's too bad," I paused, a wicked smirk directed at the younger, red-faced chūnin, "It must be what you're thinking right now." I swiped the hitai-ate closest to me and left as quickly as possible without coming off as running away.
Since examinees could leave once the graduation test was over, I was about to shoot out of the Academy—and off to the Hokage Tower since the old man wanted a 'chat' to check on my progress. But then I saw Shisui waving me over to where he and his cousin were seated and I remembered I did have a friend who could … dunno, share with me the joys of being a dog. No, wait, a dog gets better treatment than I do. A slave, I mean a slave.
"Hey," I said unenthusiastically.
"You passed." Itachi had to lean around to see the metal peeking out from my pocket. "Where will you tie it?"
"I'll find a place," I mumbled. "Good luck to you—not that you need it." I mustered a faint smile his way, ignoring Shisui completely.
"You should tie it around your forehead," Shisui spoke up anyway. He grinned, unabashed even though I still felt the faint twinge of embarrassment. I noticed that he was missing a tooth at the far back of his mouth, a gaping hole. "Keeps your bangs plastered underneath the cloth so we can see your eyes better."
I grunted noncommittally. "See ya."
"Mirai." I looked back at Itachi. "If you're free later this evening, can you make your way to Echizen's kissaten?"
"… Sure." It wasn't like I have anything to do anyway. Rin would be at home now, having requested to have a couple of hours break from work so she could celebrate with me.
"There's no question of you failing," Rin had told me, faith in her eyes and pride in her smile, as she cupped my cheek. Warming me better than my coat could. "You are your parents' son, after all."
But first, I had an audience with the Hokage.
…
..
.
"Congratulations, Mirai-kun. Your parents would've been proud."
I snorted. "Not proud enough to come back to life, I'm afraid." Then, in the empty space hatred and loathing had left, I felt regret at my callous words seeping in. The Sandaime had never expressed negativity in my presence and a tangle of spiritual energy let me know he pitied me, that he wanted me to be brave, to be strong and be loved.
Hypocrite, you placed me here in the first place.
"Sorry," I added after a moment' pause, where I was also reminded that he was Hokage and I a measly genin. "I'm really sorry." I softened my tone, blinking as morosely as possible. There, balm on open cut.
The crease upon his brows disappeared. "Sit and we'll talk, Mirai-kun." Sarutobi opened the lid of his teapot. "Green tea. Care for some?"
"No, I don't like bitter stuff." Also, it would be the height of stupidity a ninja could be capable of to accept drinks from anyone you don't know that well. And I didn't know Sarutobi that well. Rubbing my hands together brought little distraction. So I asked right off the bat, "What did you wish to discuss?"
"You're genin from today. Speaking of which, you must have your photo taken for your personal profile later."
"Oh, do tell me more about this two-month-old thing."
"It is in a very secure location," Sarutobi assured me, tapping his temple. "In here. Your official profile will have nothing but the most basic and mundane details."
I nearly smiled at his witty humor. "Right. Genin," I prompted somewhat impatiently s he took a long sip of his green tea. "Is this about team placements?"
"I have picked them," he offered neutrally. "Rather, we are here to discuss about the political aftermath of the Kyūbi Attack."
I examined my nails, scowling. The events that led to the coup d'état began right about now. "The Uchiha are being suspected. Oh, please. A dog could tell what's off. The Uchiha are the only clan being moved around, oppressed, placed under constant surveillance simply because they had also underestimated and belittled a boy who grew up to be like his ancestor. Good for Obito, really –bito."
I bit my tongue immediately after. My verbal tic only surfaced when I was feeling particularly strongly about something. Evidently, I came across too passionately to the man who had my life in his hands. Sarutobi steepled his fingers, eyeing me over them.
"Do you blame Obito?"
"Didn't you hear Rin's account? He was being forced to do it -bito!"
"A Mangekyō user," A dreadfully doubtful pause, "was being manipulated by genjutsu from afar?"
I shook my head angrily. "Rin didn't saw what she thought she saw."
"You weren't there," the Hokage recalled, "How would you know, Mirai-kun?" His tone of voice was carefully neutral; I tried not to let it fool me. I was walking on eggshells here. I knew.
"I know a shinobi worth his salt won't place bets on faith and bonds." I inhaled shakily, staring hard at his desk. At Minato's desk. I remembered with painful clarity of clambering onto the desk for Minato's attention and purposefully messing up his paperwork. Had even imagined a younger brother copying my action—double-team of hellions to bug our father.
"But … Obito is—he's my Obito, my guardian. The closest thing I had to an elder brother –bito." And more. "I know it's a flimsy excuse but whatever you say won't dispute what I have to say: it wasn't him. It wasn't the other Uchiha either. Obito was—is—easily the strongest Uchiha and he's the only one who could've subdued the Kyūbi; the reason why he was targeted in the first place."
Sarutobi stared at me. Long and contemplative. "I see. I knew Obito-kun too and I similarly do not believe he would attack Konoha without a sufficient reason. However, we cannot allay the blame and distrust on his part, on his clan's part, without concrete evidence."
I shrugged. I had an idea as to what it might be forcibly pulling Obito's strings but … "I dunno either, sir."
"Either way, we are off-track." Sarutobi waved the topic close. "You know, I suppose, that the Uchiha are a prideful lot. They would be unsatisfied by this treatment. And that is why I need your … ah, help to convince them I do trust them."
"How?" I asked, baffled.
"Your teammate is an Uchiha."
"Itachi?" I perked up. That was almost too good to be true.
And sure enough, Sarutobi dashed my short-lived hopes by saying: "A talented kunoichi of the Uchiha clan, Naori. She was your classmate, I believe. I have yet to receive her results so I do not know if she's graduated or not."
"You know she will," I rolled my eyes. "Or you won't even bother me with this conversation."
Sarutobi let me off the hook for the rudeness. "Yes. But Danzō is adamant about his distrust so he has sent—"
"A member of Root," I muttered bitterly. "Great. I'm the filings of a sandwich that wants to flatten itself from both ends."
Sarutobi chortled at the poor allegory—I can't be good at everything, okay? "Essentially." He pushed a file across the desk. A picture of a brown-haired boy with pale skin and bottomless black eyes stared impassively up at me, about four to five years older than I was. I recognized the stupid headdress so similar to the Nidaime's. "Tenzō. Equipped with the very weakness of a bijū: Mokuton. You have on your hands a team full of potential."
Potential to persevere and bring good to Konoha. Potential to fall apart and kill one another.
"Who's our jōnin-sensei?" I asked.
The old man's mouth curved into a faintly pleased smirk, alarming me. "You will see tomorrow."
I glanced at my teammate one last time before I closed the file and handed it back to him. "Is that all?"
"One more thing, your brother; have you seen him?"
I slanted him a wry smile. "Rin talked to you?"
"She has expressed her concerns to me," he conceded. "Mirai-kun, whatever happens, know that it will be worth it in the end." He reached over the distance and clasped my hand, surprising me. His palm was warm and callused, every mar on his skin told a tale of death and glory on the battlefield in his years as an active fighter. His eyes were older than both my lives added together. "The Will of Fire is within you as it is within everyone in the village; when you are at your weakest, think of what keeps that fire going. When you feel all hope is lost, look into the face what has brought you to this point, and make a choice."
"Don't you mean persevere?"
"That," said Sarutobi in a tone marked with finality that signaled the end of our meeting for today, "is one of the choices you can make. Good day, Mirai-kun."
He smiled me out of his office.
(But his eyes were darker than the night)
…
Walking home, getting lost in thoughts, I'd nearly forgotten about Rin.
(I had a choice? Really?)
Until she seized me around the middle and hugged me. "Mi-chan, where's your hitai-ate?" was the first thing out of her mouth. I was tempted to say I didn't get anything and watch her squirm in discomfort before delivering the punch line: but then, I saw beyond her shoulder.
At the dining table, a feast was positively making the table sag. How could I thoughtlessly make fun of her trust?
I fingered the hitai-ate in my pocket and withdrew it, slowly, kicking up the suspense. Smiling almost shyly when I showed it to her. "Um, I made it –dattebito."
Her beatific smile was almost enough to obscure the meaning of this hitai-ate.
Serve to your death.
Memento mori; this is what will kill you in the end.
But—for today, I'd pretend.
I touched Rin's cheek, and smiled like I mean it.
~{IX}~
Done up in my disguise, I entered Echizen's without fuss and scanned the area. I spotted her immediately; she was the only one who could've asked Itachi to pass along a message to meet up. I made my way to her. Stopped by her table and stared at her.
My godmother, Uchiha Mikoto, who hadn't shown her face in months since my parents' deaths. Suddenly here. Though she had not altered her appearance with genjutsu or Henge, she was wearing a mask of her own; a mask of serenity and careless abandon. Beneath it, I saw sadness.
"It's me." My eyes flashed violet slits before the brown of the disguise replaced it.
Mikoto smiled in understanding and gestured to the seat opposite of her. "Would you like anything?" she asked, not missing a beat.
"I've ate so I'm full, thanks." Rin had done her best to stuff me up. I don't think I can swallow down anything for dinner. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Mikoto opened her mouth to explain, stricken, and I knew abruptly what she was going to say: guilt wafted off her in palpable waves for a ninshū-practitioner. "I don't blame you; your clan's in a tough position, I get it. I'm sorry you have to go through this."
Mikoto, like Itachi, was one of the very few people I genuinely liked. As my godmother, she could've taken custody of me but the status of jinchūriki barred everything. Or Itachi and I could've grown up as brothers. In another world, another time, another life perhaps.
I smiled bitterly. "I did want to see you, however."
Mikoto fiddled her fingers, like a guilty child. I tried not to draw wry amusement from this scene. "I was … at their … funeral." She swallowed thickly. "You weren't there."
"They would've gone crazy –bito. You heard about the mob attack not long ago?"
"Yes." And her eyes hardened. "I've ordered more patrols around where you live. They'd regret it if you were attacked again." She didn't specify who'd regret it: the assailants or the Uchiha who had failed me once. So much for law-enforcers.
"It's much appreciated." Deciding to test the waters, see if she really came here for him, I added, "Because fighting through a mob of admirers isn't going to cut as an excuse for tardiness later on; Obito actually has a substantial reason, y'know –bito."
She tensed by a minuscule. Awareness flared through our connection—one she was unaware of. Bingo. "Oh. Obito."
"Troublemaker … disgrace to the clan to the very end, hm?"
"Mirai, please." I looked at her. "Please don't use that tone." She cast me a saddened look.
That tone—each syllable a needle coated in irony and stabbed through precisely to convey the utmost derision I felt. Taunting, laughing, bitter as coffee.
"I thought you knew Obito," I started with a tone of forced calmness, for her sake.
"I thought I knew him," she agreed, "Did you—?"
"Don't ask," I cut her off flatly, "I haven't seen him since that night of the Kyūbi Attack and … and if he had been back…" I inhaled sharply. "I would've known; Rin would've known. He always comes back, if he can. He promised."
"What if he can't?" she suggested delicately, fingers tightening together. "What do you think is stopping him?"
I know who. I know what. I looked away from her face. "I can't answer that. But, someday, I'll find him."
A long, heavy silence descended upon us but Mikoto didn't excuse herself. A waiter came around long enough to refill her cup before she spoke again, after taking a sip. "About Kushina—I'm sorry. You know not one of the Uchiha would've done it. We actually supported the Yondaime, did you know?"
"Itachi told me as much," I demurred, tracing nonsensical patterns on the desk. "I trust you."
"Thank you." She smiled. "Mirai, whatever happens, you are my godson. If you ever need anything, you know you can come to me and I'll see what I can do about it. You don't have a clan's backup for political battles but you may find refuge with us."
Humans were two-faced creatures. I didn't need ninshū to see right through my godmother.
While she spoke the truth, it was only the partial truth spurned on by what she thought she knew: that I was the Kyūbi's vessel. While a small part of her was fulfilling her role as a godmother, she was also securing a weapon, an ally, for her clan if worse comes to worse.
And we all know how infallibly loyal desperate, isolated jinchūriki could be after someone finally threw them scraps of kindness.
Looking into the woman who'd given birth to Itachi, to see his face looking at me from her, it made me wonder how genuine his friendship was.
I looked at the table, suddenly feeling ill to my gut.
There was a reason why I did not join minds with Itachi unless absolutely necessary—e.g. cheat answers during tests—because it would only completely break whatever trust I had in humanity.
(That our friendship was only a failsafe, a weapon to be used in the end, hurt to compute)
I was afraid of knowing, and suspecting—always pondering—was far better than dead certain absolution.
"That's … nice … of you, Mikoto-obā-san," I spoke gratefully, smiling, trying to look humbled and touched instead of looking like I wanted to spew poison in her face. "But, uh, I'm in a rush. There's nothing else you wanted?"
"Oh, no." Mikoto's smile dimmed slightly. "I'm sorry for taking your time. As a genin, your schedule will be even more hectic—I'm glad I managed to see you before that. Stay strong, Mirai."
I shrugged. "I'll try," I found myself saying to please her ears.
"Your parents' blood flows strongly in you and I know that you've inherited their Will of Fire."
Even the Uchiha spewed rubbish about that spiritual thingy? Probably must've been the decades of indoctrination and subjugation. I tried not to look flabbergasted as I nodded and stood, walking out of the kissaten, deep in thought.
My schedule was, as she'd said, was going to be change once I become genin. I knew who my teammates were and while I'd never spoken to Naori, I know she was a capable kunoichi and I think she had been a canon character. Though I'd never seen her in the manga. She looked nothing like Mikoto, a generic female Uchiha, not with her purple hair.
Danzō's dog was a different matter entirely. I've got to look in every direction to ensure no kunai came stabbing at me. We'd still be training together; such a disconcerting thought.
I filled my free time with training and, if Rin was free too, she'd rope me into spending time with her: preparing meals, watching TV, taking walks. She persisted in me seeing my brother but I repeatedly declined and would turn mysteriously deaf if she didn't change the topic right away. As I kept telling her, it was pointless and ate away at my time.
But—
(When you feel all hope is lost, look into the face what has brought you to this point, and make a choice)
Maybe the Sandaime's moniker of Professor isn't just a balloon of hot air.
Hands tucked in my pocket, the very picture of nonchalance, I headed to the outskirts of Konoha.
…
..
.
The orphanage was situated at the very outer parts; a worrying fact since enemies could easily kidnap them. I summoned the most nondescript images I could and altered my appearance, slipping through the front yard where children of ages from five to eleven were playing, running around like hooligans. Naruto would only be a few months old. Hardly qualified to be running around so I didn't linger at the front.
The front door of the large orphanage was wide open, allowing me to enter without resorting to drastic measures. Homely and warm, the interior of the orphanage was splashed in colors of modest brown, the same color as the wood on the outside. White-maroon carpets covered the floor. I saw a TV where toddlers were gathered before, watching avidly at the actors. There were no cartoons and animations here; technology wasn't that advanced yet, it would seem.
Automatically assuming the babies would be upstairs, I headed for the stairwell. I froze when I saw one of the matrons, a woman dressed like a nun. Funny, because we're supposed to be in Asian setting and if anything, priestesses did not dress like that.
I glanced at my hand and imagined really hard. Spiritual energy coiled around me tighter, and my arm disappeared from sight—so did the rest of my body. They had changed to the color of the flooring and wallpaper: I was a human chameleon. For now.
I walked up the stairs stealthily, quickly. The shrill cries of infants were a trail that led me to them.
With every step, excitement bubbled and frothed to the brim. Come to think of it, Minato said he was going to seal both himself and Kushina's remaining chakra into Naruto, right? Maybe … maybe I could communicate with them!
Why hadn't I remembered that fact before?
I hastened my pace.
I slipped into the room full of cribs. Toys littered the sitting area: few toddlers were building blocks together. A couple more toddlers were being taught how to read and write by an older child. Everywhere I looked, I saw an integral family composed of unrelated-by-blood children.
I paused long enough to wonder: in my previous life, had the orphanage I'd lived in ever shown such integrity? I was disconcerted to realize I didn't remember. Whether it was because I never go out of my way to be acquainted with the orphans or I just forgot—I don't know.
I found my brother.
The name plaque with his name on it looked saddening without a family name to accompany Naruto. He was awake, though just recently, if the dreamy expression generally induced by sleep was any indication. His eyes made me feel like Minato was staring through them at me.
I probed at Naruto's mind but found no traces of either of my parents. My hopes went to the drain and a scowl morphed my face though I doubted Naruto could see me. I placed my hand on his stomach, tentatively, trying to direct my spiritual energy through to reach the seal.
Spiraling into his skin, getting closer to the fūin—
My searching energy touched something. It did not prepare me for the roar in my mind that followed a complete blackout:
"YONDAIME! You interfering human cockroach, release me! I will rend you from limb to limb!"
Startled by the roar, I raised my shocked, wide purple eyes to that of the Kyūbi's.
~{IX}~
Reply to reviews:
CarishTale: Can't wait to see it :)
This is Chara's signature:
brunofanofk: I remembered so I already retrieved it from the outbox section. Thanks anyway :D
SupremeGeneralJoke: Rest assured, this creation is harmless. His other creations- and there'll be two more at least- will be more dangerous.
Dot. Rose: Lol, that'll be hilarious. Mirai won't have up to six, I think.
Em Cay: The parallels are deliberate, glad someone noticed. Sasori is one of my fav characters so he'll play a pretty big supporting role in later chapters, and their similarities will be noted by both then.
sereneskydragonslaye: He's the decoy; people don't know he's not the jinchuriki.
Queensj: I'm not contemplating romance yet, but maybe.
Guest: It's pretty much a given lol. It's heavily implied in the intro of the first chapter. XD
Thanks to: SophieNewman, Guests, Fushia Flame, kellyshl and everyone else! :)
AN: A last-minute update, so I didn't have time to proofread it once more for mistakes, excuse them please. Btw, I won't have access to a computer for a while so I probably won't be able to answer reviews immediately. Ask anyway, I'll get back as soon as I can.
And thank you misoriri for the fanart of Mirai. I would've shared it if FF's links aren't broke. ;)
Question: Do you think Mikoto is being genuine or just manipulative?
R&R
