Exile
Neji Hyuga is tired.
No, not just tired, for that word cannot describe anything close to what the teenager is feeling, does not do it justice. Neji is physically and emotionally exhausted beyond belief. He had been told by other, older shinobi that the Chunin Exams did that to a person, but with his customary arrogance he had dismissed their claims. Was he not a genius, after all? Surely he could handle a little camping trip, even if he did have to put up with that idiot Rock Lee and some whiney Academy graduates?
After five days in the wilderness, each one filled with countless fights over the possession of some stupid scrolls, after precious little food and all of it nasty, and after less sleep than an insomniac gets, he was inclined to take their words at face value. After waiting through countless preliminary matches, and then fighting his own, after watching his teammates be hauled away to the hospital one by one, all his weary body wants is to return home.
The gate comes into view, not the large main one but the side entrance, bearing the Hyuga banner, and for once Neji is glad to see it. He can go into the compound, go to his small room, drop into his familiar bed, and sleep for days. When he wakes up, he will eat a good meal, one fit for a growing young man, and then begin training again. He has made it into the finals, after all. By this time next month, Neji may be a chunin.
He crosses the wide lawn undetected, grass browning from the extreme summer heat, and heads directly toward the nearly deserted wing where his room is. One hugely difficult step up onto the porch, plus three more careful ones to keep the floor from singing beneath his feet, and then he slides open the heavy wooden door and steps into the hallway. Almost there. Soon he will get his hard earned rest. His bandaged hand is on the smooth wood and paper of his bedroom door, ready to slide it open.
The blow, when it comes, is completely unexpected.
It does not hurt, not really. Mostly it is a surprise, an unwelcome one, and Neji's shocked and disjointed mind wonders briefly why he never felt the attack coming. Whirling on instinct to face his opponent, and resisting the urge to put his hand to his slightly stinging cheek, he is amazed to see his grandmother standing there. Confused, Neji drops out of his Gentle Fist stance but forgets the customary bow.
Now that she has his full and undivided attention, Grandmother Masako's small, perfect hand drops to her side. Even there though, half hidden by her kimono sleeve, it curls into a fist as if she would like to hit him again. Her dark, doe-like eyes are red at the edges, as if she has been recently crying, and for once her beautiful face seems to reflect some sort of anguish. Neji does not think he has even seen her look as uncomposed as this.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Masako's voice is an angry and sharp whisper, pitched so that it barely reaches his ears. She would rather no one else hear this conversation, or know of her disloyalty to the council of elders. At the end of this narrow corridor, full of nothing more than ghosts of yesterday, that is unlikely to happen. And yet, if she was smart enough to wait for him here, others would also be.
The old woman's question is too vague. Neji does not know what she means, so he simply stares at her with his tired pearl eyes.
"Hinata?" Watching her favorite grandchild struggle to comprehend, Masako asks once more, her voice now laced with an undercurrent of desperation. "Neji, why did you fight Lady Hinata?"
Why?
Weary as Neji is, he would rather not have to think of Hinata and the long awaited revenge against the main branch that had not felt as good as he'd so often imagined. Instead, he makes the only reply that he can, the one that leaves destiny as the villain, and not himself. "We were matched together, Honorable Grandmother. It was a randomly determined fight, and she knew the rules. I cannot be deemed responsible for her foolish actions."
"Is that all you have to say? So what?" Masako wrings her delicate hands in a manner unseen by most Hyuga. She is simply overwrought, having spent the last few days worrying secretly about her grandchildren while presenting a strong and confident face to the world. She had even bet her husband a full month's income that Neji would pass the exam, mostly out of pride but also as a way to goad the man. "That's not a good reason, Neji."
What better reason could there have been, he wonders? Anger is taking hold now, just as it did hours ago, and it puts new life into his body. Neji crosses his arms over his dirty clothing and meets her dark gaze with his own. This could be considered the epitome of rudeness, but he feels the woman needs to know that he feels no shame over his actions. His voice is biting. "What should I have done, then? Forfeited the very moment our names were announced?"
"Yes! Exactly." Exasperated beyond belief, Masako almost throws her hands in the air. She also does a little circle, a dance of irritation, checking behind them to be sure that they are not being watched. What she is about to do counts as treason. When she is once more facing Neji, she continues, "Or, if your pride is worth so damn much to you, you should have backed down later in the match. In short, you should have done anything but what you did. How stupid could you have been?"
In the back of his exhausted mind, underneath his building anger, Neji thinks that his grandmother almost sounds like Tenten now. No matter, though. If there is one thing the Hyuga teenager hates above all else, it is to be criticized by anyone, no matter what their relation to him. He stands firm, tense and silent, and is hard put to keep the dark glare off his face.
Masako does not back down. She tries once more to make him see reason. "Neji, you nearly killed her. She might be dying even as we speak."
Like you all killed my father?
The unspoken words hang heavy in the small space between them, the one that is somehow like a yearning gulf, and unbreachable chasm. Masako hears them anyway, and a new pain comes to her face, one that she thought she had hidden away years ago. She begins to cry again, silent and frustrated tears. "You're next, do you know that? They're in the main hall, your uncle and all the elders, debating your fate now. Most are in favor of killing you without delay. They've had enough, Neji!"
Funny, Neji thinks, his impending death does not worry him at all. He is a little disappointed, though, that he will not be finishing the exam.
Masako abruptly crosses the distance between them, moving with a determination that is shocking. Before Neji can move away, she grabs his hand, slaps a silken wallet into his calloused palm. Her words come quickly. "I will not lose another child to this family. Get out. I don't care where you go, or what you do. Just leave and do not come back until I send for you. I can't believe you were so stupid. If we're fortunate, I can convince them to spare you."
Neji stares dumbly at the colorful wallet in his hands, then looks back to his grandmother. She wants him to run away? To hide like a coward? To live?
Is she taking his side? Is someone finally choosing him over Hinata?
Somewhere in the distance a door slams, and the sound jump starts the world into motion. Masako, heart beating fearfully inside her chest, shoves him hard, much harder than Neji had thought the old woman would be capable of, and then she turns around and heads back toward the main hall at a jog. Her hard voice floats back to him, commanding. "Get going."
Neji has become so used to obeying orders that he is out of the side gate and into the dusty lane before he even realizes he has left the house.
Neji walks the wide and lonely streets of Konoha for a very long time.
He wanders aimlessly through the shadows caused by the gathering dusk, unsure where even to go. He has no friends to speak of, no one that would really want to help him. At least, he cannot think of a single person, and even if he could, Neji is not the sort to accept charity. The only place that comes to mind is the public building where ninja hang out when not assigned missions, but fear of being recognized drives him away. Neji is too prideful to sit around and let everyone know he has been thrown out of his home.
As darkness falls, it begins to rain, a heavy downpour so characteristic of the summertime. Fat, warm droplets pelt Neji's skin, loosening and then removing the layers of caked on grime that had accumulated during the exam. Water straightens his hair, plastering it against his back in a manner most annoying, and his clothes begin to retain liquid like a sponge. Mud begins to build in the roadway, sneaking into his open sandals. The Hyuga quickly becomes miserable.
Soaked, Neji pauses by the nearest restaurant, Ichiraku, and briefly considers stooping under the dripping awning into the bright, welcoming lights. Once inside, he could get something to eat, or at the very least he could wait out the storm. He quickly counts the money he has been given, surprised at the amount, and is about to enter when a voice rings out from inside, praising the ramen.
Neji would know that loud, annoying voice anywhere. He turns on his heel and heads back out into the wet night, unwilling to deal with Naruto Uzumaki.
It occurs to Neji, as he walks down one sopping and deserted road after another, that he has never done a single thing for himself. Never paid a bill, never really cleaned his room or done his own laundry, or even, with the small exception of the Forest of Death, found and cooked his own food. Although Neji walks around cloaked in adult mannerisms, he is not one in even the barest sense of the word. He is totally screwed.
As if to illustrate his point, ominious lightning strikes nearby. Thunder rumbles loudly, and the lights of the nearby buildings dim momentarily and go out before flickering back on. This must be the lowest point of his life.
When Neji stops out of instinct to get his bearings, he looks around and finds himself in the part of town that houses Konoha's lower rent apartments. Recognizing the nearest building, although he has never really been inside, simply dropped of its inhabitant once, he makes up his mind. Hurrying into the dark but thankfully dry concrete stairwell, he climbs up three agonizingly long flights and knocks on the heavy door of the corner domicile.
After a few long heartbeats, the thick wooden door opens a crack and Tenten's worried face peers out. "Neji? What are you doing here?"
Neji cannot tell her, but it does not seem to matter. Tenten flings the door open wide, and he steps into the cramped entryway, dripping all over her floor.
It is going to be long exile.